← catalogue

The Junior Classics, Volume 4: Heroes and heroines of chivalry

by unknown · English · Gutenberg #6323 · 744,706 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Junior Classics, Volume 4: Heroes and heroines of chivalry
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Junior Classics, Volume 4: Heroes and heroines of chivalry

Editor: William Patten


        
Release date: August 1, 2004 [eBook #6323]
                Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6323

Credits: Produced by Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNIOR CLASSICS, VOLUME 4: HEROES AND HEROINES OF CHIVALRY ***




Produced by Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




THE JUNIOR CLASSICS:
A LIBRARY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS




[Illustration: HE SEIZED THE HILT
AND INSTANTLY DREW FORTH THE SWORD (Page 16)
From the painting by Walter Crane]




THE JUNIOR CLASSICS


SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY WILLIAM PATTEN
Managing Editor of the Harvard Classics

INTRODUCTION BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, LL.D.
President Emeritus of Harvard University

WITH A READING GUIDE BY WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON, Ph.D.
Professor of English, Harvard University
President, Smith College, Northampton, Mass., since 1917




VOLUME FOUR:
HEROES AND HEROINES OF CHIVALRY




CONTENTS


PREFACE

THE STORY OF KING ARTHUR

Of Arthur's Birth and How He Became King (Beatrice Clay)

The Round Table (Beatrice Clay)

Merlin the Magician (Beatrice Clay)

The Sword Excalibur (Sir Thomas Malory)

Sir Launcelot and the Adventure of the Castle Perilous (Beatrice
Clay)

Sir Launcelot and the Falcon (Beatrice Clay)

The Adventures of Sir Gareth (Beatrice Clay)

The Coming of Sir Galahad (Beatrice Clay)

How Sir Galahad Won the Red Cross Shield (Beatrice Clay)

The Adventures of Sir Percivale (Beatrice Clay)

The Adventures of Sir Bors (Beatrice Clay)

The Adventures of Sir Launcelot (Beatrice Clay)

How Sir Launcelot Saw the Holy Grail (Beatrice Clay)

The End of the Quest (Beatrice Clay)

The Fair Maid of Astolat (Beatrice Clay)


THE MABINOGION

Kynon's Adventure at the Fountain (Lady Charlotte Guest)

Owain's Adventure at the Fountain (Lady Charlotte Guest)

Gawain's Adventure in Search of Owain (Lady Charlotte Guest)

The Adventure of the Lion (Lady Charlotte Guest)

How Pwyll Outwitted Gawl (Lady Charlotte Guest)

How Manawyddan Caught a Thief (Lady Charlotte Guest)

The Story of Lludd and Llevelys (Lady Charlotte Guest)


TALES FROM EARLY ENGLISH CHRONICLES

The Adventures of King Horn (F. J. H. Darton)

Horn is Dubbed Knight (F. J. H. Darton)

Horn the Knight Errant (F. J. H. Darton)

Horn in Exile (F. J. H. Darton)

Horn's Return (F. J. H. Darton)

The King of Suddenne (F. J. H. Darton)

Havelok Hid from the Traitor (F. J. H. Darton)

Havelok Married Against His Will (F. J. H. Darton)

Havelok Wins Back His Kingdom (F. J. H. Darton)

The Fair Unknown (F. J. H. Darton)

The Fight With the Two Giants (F. J. H. Darton)

In the Castle of the Sorcerers (F. J. H. Darton)


TALES TOLD BY CHAUCER'S CANTERBURY PILGRIMS

The Old Woman and the Knight (F. J. H. Darton)

Death and the Three Revellers (F. J. H. Darton)

Patient Griselda (F. J. H. Darton)


TALES FROM FRENCH AND ITALIAN CHRONICLES

Ogier the Dane (Thomas Bulfinch)

A Roland for an Oliver (Thomas Bulfinch)

The Treason of Ganelon (Sir George W. Cox)

The Great Battle of Roncesvalles (Sir George W. Cox)

Charlemagne Revenges Roland (Sir George W. Cox)

How Thierry Vanquished Ganelon (Sir George W. Cox)

Rinaldo and Bayard (Thomas Bulfinch)

How the Child of the Sea Was Made Knight (Robert Southey)


THE SPANISH CHRONICLE OF THE CID

Why Don Sancho Attacked His Neighbors (Robert Southey)

Don Garcia Defies Don Sancho (Robert Southey)

Don Garcia Takes Don Sancho Prisoner (Robert Southey)

The Siege of Zamora (Robert Southey)

How Don Diego Fought the Three Brothers (Robert Southey)


TALES OF ROBIN HOOD

Robin Hood and the Knight (Mary Macleod)

Little John and the Sheriff of Nottingham (Mary Macleod)

How Robin Hood Was Paid His Loan (Mary Macleod)

The Golden Arrow (Mary Macleod)

How the Sheriff Took Sir Richard Prisoner (Mary Macleod)

How the King Came to Sherwood Forest (Mary Macleod)

How Robin Hood Went Back to the Greenwood (Mary Macleod)

Robin Hood and the Butcher (Mary Macleod)

The Jolly Tanner (Mary Macleod)

How Robin Hood Drew His Bow for the Last Time (Mary Macleod)


DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA (Miguel de Cervantes)

An Introduction to that Spanish Gentleman (Judge Parry)

He Sets Forth on His Adventures (Judge Parry)

The Knighting of Don Quixote (Judge Parry)

The Dreadful Adventure of the Windmills (Judge Parry)

Don Quixote and the Goatherds (Judge Parry)

How Don Quixote Arrived at an Inn Which He Imagined to be a Castle
(Judge Parry)

How Sancho Paid the Reckoning at the Inn (Judge Parry)

The Adventure of the Two Armies (Judge Parry)

Don Quixote Does Penance as Did the Knights of Old (Judge Parry)

Sancho's Journey to the Lady Dulcinea (Judge Parry)

The Story of Cardenio (Judge Parry)

The Story of Dorothea (Judge Parry)

The End of the Penance (Judge Parry)

The Journey to the Inn (Judge Parry)

Sancho Panza's Story of His Visit to the Lady Dulcinea (Judge
Parry)

Don Quixote Wages a Battle Against a Giant (Judge Parry)

Adventures at the Inn (Judge Parry)

The Princess Micomicona (Judge Parry)

The Last of the Notable Adventures of our Good Knight (Judge
Parry)




ILLUSTRATIONS


HE SEIZED THE HILT, AND INSTANTLY DREW FORTH THE SWORD
Of Arthur's Birth and How He Became King
Frontispiece illustration in color from the painting by Walter
Crane

THERE CAME AN ARM AND A HAND ABOVE THE WATER
The Sword Excalibur
From the painting by Walter Crane

AN AGED MAN ENTERED THE HALL, FOLLOWED BY A YOUNG MAN
The Coming of Sir Galahad
From the painting by Walter Crane

"THIS IS MY BRIDE," HE CRIED TO ALL THE PEOPLE
Patient Griselda
From the drawing by Hugh Thomson




PREFACE


The word chivalry is taken from the French cheval, a horse. A knight
was a young man, the son of a good family, who was allowed to wear
arms. In the story "How the Child of the Sea was made Knight," we are
told how a boy of twelve became a page to the queen, and in the
opening pages of the story "The Adventures of Sir Gareth," we get a
glimpse of a young man growing up at the court of King Arthur. It was
not an easy life, that of a boy who wished to become a knight, but it
made a man of him. He was taken at an early age, sometimes when only
seven years old, to the castle of the king or knight he was to
serve. He first became a page or valet, and, under the instruction of
a governor, was taught to carve and wait on the table, to hunt and
fish, and was drilled in wrestling and riding on horseback. Most pages
were taught to dance, and if a boy had talent he was taught to play
the harp so he could accompany his voice when singing to the ladies.

By the time a boy was fourteen he was ready to become an esquire. He
was then taught to get on and off a horse with his heavy armor on, to
wield the battle axe, and practise tilting with a spear. His service
to the ladies had now reached the point where he picked out a lady to
serve loyally. His endeavor was to please her in all things, in order
that he might be known as her knight, and wear her glove or scarf as a
badge or favor when he entered the lists of a joust or tournament.

To become a knight was almost as solemn an affair as it was to become
a priest. Before the day of the ceremony he fasted, spent the night in
prayer, confessed his sins, and received the Holy Sacrament. When
morning came he went, clothed in white, to the church or hall, with a
knight's sword suspended from his neck. This the priest blessed and
returned to him. Upon receiving back the sword he went and knelt
before the presiding knight and took the oath of knighthood. The
friends who accompanied him now came forward and handed him the spurs,
the coat of mail, the armlet and gauntlet, and having put these on he
girded on his sword. The presiding knight now bade him kneel, and,
touching him three times on the shoulder with the flat of his sword,
he pronounced the words that received him into the company of worthy
knights: "In the name of God, of St. Michael, and St. George, I make
thee a knight; be valiant, courteous, and loyal!" After this he
received his helmet, his shield, and his spear, and the ceremony was
completed.

The knight's real work, and greatest joy, was fighting for some one
who needed his help. Tournaments and jousts gave them chances to show
off their skill in public. We must remember that there were no big
open-air theatres in those days, such as the Greeks had, no public
races or trials of strength such as the Greeks held in the stadiums,
nor were there chariot races or fighting gladiators such as the Romans
had at an earlier day. Tournaments or jousts were the big public
entertainments, and you will find a famous description of one by Sir
Walter Scott in Ivanhoe, in the volume "Stories that Never Grow Old,"
the tournament of Ashby-de-la-Zouche. In it you will find a clear
description of how the field of contest was laid out, of the
magnificent pavilions decorated with flags, and the galleries spread
with carpets and tapestries for the ladies.

The same qualities that made a manful fighter then, make one now: to
speak the truth, to perform a promise to the utmost, to reverence all
women, to be constant in love, to despise luxury, to be simple and
modest and gentle in heart, to help the weak and take no unfair
advantage of an inferior. This was the ideal of the age, and chivalry
is the word that expresses that ideal. In all our reading we shall
perhaps find no more glowing example of it as something real, than in
the speech of Sir Jean de Vienne, governor of the besieged town of
Calais who, when called upon by King Edward III of England to
surrender unconditionally, replied:--

"We are but a small number of knights and squires, who have loyally
served our lord and master as you would have done, and have suffered
much ill and disquiet, but we will endure far more than any man has
done in such a post, before we consent that the smallest boy in the
town shall fare worse than ourselves."

And this story you can find in the volume "Tales of Courage and
Heroism," entitled "The Noble Burghers of Calais."

WILLIAM PATTEN.




THE STORY OF KING ARTHUR

This great treasure-house of stories is to the English race what
the stories of Ulysses and Aeneas were to the Greeks and Latins, a
national inheritance of which they should be, and are, proud.

The high nobility, dauntless courage and gentle humility of Arthur and
his knights have had a great effect in moulding the character of
English peoples, since none of us can help trying to imitate what he
admires and loves most.

As a series of pictures of life in the Middle Ages the stories are of
the greatest value. The geography is confused, as it is in the Iliad
and the Odyssey, and facts are sometimes mixed up with magic, but
modern critics believe there was a real Arthur, who lived about the
year 500 A.D.




OF ARTHUR'S BIRTH AND HOW HE BECAME KING

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Long years ago, there ruled over Britain a king called Uther
Pendragon. A mighty prince was he, and feared by all men; yet when he
sought the love of the fair Igraine of Cornwall, she would have naught
to do with him, so that, from grief and disappointment, Uther fell
sick, and at last seemed like to die.

Now in those days, there lived a famous magician named Merlin, so
powerful that he could change his form at will, or even make himself
invisible; nor was there any place so remote that he could not reach
it at once, merely by wishing himself there. One day, suddenly he
stood at Uther's bedside, and said: "Sir king, I know thy grief, and
am ready to help thee. Only promise to give me, at his birth, the son
that shall be born to thee, and thou shalt have thy heart's desire."
To this the king agreed joyfully, and Merlin kept his word: for he
gave Uther the form of one whom Igraine had loved dearly, and so she
took him willingly for her husband.

When the time had come that a child should be born to the king and
queen, Merlin appeared before Uther to remind him of his promise; and
Uther swore it should be as he had said. Three days later, a prince
was born, and, with pomp and ceremony, was christened by the name of
Arthur; but immediately thereafter, the king commanded that the child
should be carried to the postern-gate, there to be given to the old
man who would be found waiting without.

Not long after, Uther fell sick, and he knew that his end was come;
so, by Merlin's advice, he called together his knights and barons, and
said to them: "My death draws near. I charge you, therefore, that ye
obey my son even as ye have obeyed me; and my curse upon him if he
claim not the crown when he is a man grown." Then the king turned his
face to the wall and died.

Scarcely was Uther laid in his grave before disputes arose. Few of the
nobles had seen Arthur or even heard of him, and not one of them would
have been willing to be ruled by a child; rather, each thought himself
fitted to be king, and, strengthening his own castle, made war on his
neighbors until confusion alone was supreme, and the poor groaned
because there was none to help them.

Now when Merlin carried away Arthur--for Merlin was the old man who
had stood at the postern-gate--he had known all that would happen, and
had taken the child to keep him safe from the fierce barons until he
should be of age to rule wisely and well, and perform all the wonders
prophesied of him. He gave the child to the care of the good knight
Sir Ector to bring up with his son Kay, but revealed not to him that
it was the son of Uther Pendragon that was given into his charge.

At last, when years had passed and Arthur was grown a tall youth well
skilled in knightly exercises, Merlin went to the Archbishop of
Canterbury and advised him that he should call together at
Christmas-time all the chief men of the realm to the great cathedral
in London; "for," said Merlin, "there shall be seen a great marvel by
which it shall be made clear to all men who is the lawful king of this
land." The archbishop did as Merlin counselled. Under pain of a
fearful curse, he bade the barons and knights come to London to keep
the feast, and to pray heaven to send peace to the realm.

The people hastened to obey the archbishop's commands, and, from all
sides, barons and knights came riding in to keep the birth-feast of
Our Lord. And when they had prayed, and were coming forth from the
cathedral they saw a strange sight. There, in the open space before
the church, stood, on a great stone, an anvil thrust through with a
sword; and on the stone were written these words: "Whoso can draw
forth this sword is rightful King of Britain born."

At once there were fierce quarrels, each man clamoring to be the first
to try his fortune, none doubting his success. Then the archbishop
decreed that each should make the venture in turn, from the greatest
baron to the least knight; and each in turn, having put forth his
utmost strength, failed to move the sword one inch, and drew back
ashamed. So the archbishop dismissed the company, and having
appointed guards to watch over the stone, sent messengers through all
the land to give word of great jousts to be held in London at Easter,
when each knight could give proof of his skill and courage, and try
whether the adventure of the sword was for him.

Among those who rode to London at Easter was the good Sir Ector, and
with him his son, Sir Kay, newly made a knight, and the young Arthur.
When the morning came that the jousts should begin, Sir Kay and Arthur
mounted their horses and set out for the lists; but before they
reached the field, Kay looked and saw that he had left his sword
behind. Immediately Arthur turned back to fetch it for him, only to
find the house fast shut, for all were gone to view the tournament.
Sore vexed was Arthur, fearing lest his brother Kay should lose his
chance of gaining glory, till, of a sudden, he bethought him of the
sword in the great anvil before the cathedral. Thither he rode with
all speed, and the guards having deserted their post to view the
tournament, there was none to forbid him the adventure. He leaped from
his horse, seized the hilt, and instantly drew forth the sword as
easily as from a scabbard; then, mounting his horse and thinking no
marvel of what he had done, he rode after his brother and handed him
the weapon.

When Kay looked at it, he saw at once that it was the wondrous sword
from the stone. In great joy he sought his father, and showing it to
him, said: "Then must I be King of Britain." But Sir Ector bade him
say how he came by the sword, and when Sir Kay told how Arthur had
brought it to him, Sir Ector bent his knee to the boy, and said: "Sir,
I perceive that ye are my king, and here I tender you my homage;" and
Kay did as his father. Then the three sought the archbishop, to whom
they related all that had happened; and he, much marvelling, called
the people together to the great stone, and bade Arthur thrust back
the sword and draw it forth again in the presence of all, which he did
with ease. But an angry murmur arose from the barons, who cried that
what a boy could do, a man could do; so, at the archbishop's word, the
sword was put back, and each man, whether baron or knight, tried in
his turn to draw it forth, and failed. Then, for the third time,
Arthur drew forth the sword. Immediately there arose from the people a
great shout: "Arthur is King! Arthur is King! We will have no King
but Arthur;" and, though the great barons scowled and threatened, they
fell on their knees before him while the archbishop placed the crown
upon his head, and swore to obey him faithfully as their lord and
sovereign.

Thus Arthur was made King; and to all he did justice, righting wrongs
and giving to all their dues. Nor was he forgetful of those that had
been his friends; for Kay, whom he loved as a brother, he made
seneschal and chief of his household, and to Sir Ector, his foster
father, he gave broad lands.




THE ROUND TABLE

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Thus Arthur was made King, but he had to fight for his own; for eleven
great kings drew together and refused to acknowledge him as their
lord, and chief among the rebels was King Lot of Orkney, who had
married Arthur's sister, Bellicent.

By Merlin's advice, Arthur sent for help overseas, to Ban and Bors,
the two great kings who ruled in Gaul.

With their aid, he overthrew his foes in a great battle near the river
Trent; and then he passed with them into their own lands and helped
them drive out their enemies. So there was ever great friendship
between Arthur and the Kings Ban and Bors, and all their kindred, and
afterward some of the most famous Knights of the Round Table were of
that kin.

Then King Arthur set himself to restore order throughout his kingdom.
To all who would submit and amend their evil ways, he showed kindness;
but those who persisted in oppression and wrong he removed, putting in
their places others who would deal justly with the people. And because
the land had become overrun with forest during the days of misrule, he
cut roads through the thickets, that no longer wild beasts and men,
fiercer than the beasts, should lurk in their gloom, to the harm of
the weak and defenceless. Thus it came to pass that soon the peasant
plowed his fields in safety, and where had been wastes, men dwelt
again in peace and prosperity.

Among the lesser kings whom Arthur helped to rebuild their towns and
restore order, was King Leodegrance of Cameliard. Now Leodegrance had
one fair child, his daughter Guenevere; and from the first he saw her,
Arthur gave her all his love. So he sought counsel of Merlin, his
chief adviser. Merlin heard the king sorrowfully, and he said: "Sir
king, when a man's heart is set, he may not change. Yet had it been
well if ye had loved another."

So the king sent his knights to Leodegrance, to ask of him his
daughter; and Leodegrance consented, rejoicing to wed her to so good
and knightly a king. With great pomp, the princess was conducted to
Canterbury, and there the king met her, and they two were wed by the
archbishop in the great cathedral, amid the rejoicings of the people.

On that same day did Arthur found his Order of the Round Table, the
fame of which was to spread throughout Christendom and endure through
all time. Now the Round Table had been made for King Uther Pendragon
by Merlin, who had meant thereby to set forth plainly to all men the
roundness of the earth. After Uther died, King Leodegrance had
possessed it; but when Arthur was wed, he sent it to him as a gift,
and great was the king's joy at receiving it. One hundred and fifty
knights might take their places about it, and for them Merlin made
sieges or seats. One hundred and twenty-eight did Arthur knight at
that great feast; thereafter, if any sieges were empty, at the high
festival of Pentecost new knights were ordained to fill them, and by
magic was the name of each knight found inscribed, in letters of gold,
in his proper siege. One seat only long remained unoccupied, and that
was the Siege Perilous. No knight might occupy it until the coming of
Sir Galahad; for, without danger to his life, none might sit there who
was not free from all stain of sin.

With pomp and ceremony did each knight take upon him the vows of true
knighthood: to obey the king; to show mercy to all who asked it; to
defend the weak; and for no worldly gain to fight in a wrongful cause:
and all the knights rejoiced together, doing honor to Arthur and to
his queen. Then they rode forth to right the wrong and help the
oppressed, and by their aid, the king held his realm in peace, doing
justice to all.




MERLIN THE MAGICIAN

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Of Merlin and how he served King Arthur, something has been already
shown. Loyal he was ever to Uther Pendragon and to his son, King
Arthur, and for the latter especially he wrought great marvels. He
brought the king to his rights; he made him his ships; and some say
that Camelot, with its splendid halls, where Arthur would gather his
knights around him at the great festivals of the year, at Christmas,
at Easter, and at Pentecost, was raised by his magic, without human
toil. Bleise, the aged magician who dwelt in Northumberland and
recorded the great deeds of Arthur and his knights, had been Merlin's
master in magic; but it came to pass in time that Merlin far excelled
him in skill, so that his enemies declared no mortal was his father,
and called him devil's son.

Then, on a certain time, Merlin said to Arthur: "The time draws near
when ye shall miss me, for I shall go down alive into the earth; and
it shall be that gladly would ye give your lands to have me again."
Then Arthur was grieved, and said: "Since ye know your danger, use
your craft to avoid it." But Merlin answered: "That may not be."

Now there had come to Arthur's court, a damsel of the Lady of the
Lake--her whose skill in magic, some say, was greater than Merlin's
own; and the damsel's name was Vivien. She set herself to learn the
secrets of Merlin's art, and was ever with him, tending upon the old
man, and with gentleness and tender service, winning her way to his
heart; but all was a pretence, for she was weary of him and sought
only his ruin, thinking it should be fame for her, by any means
whatsoever, to enslave the greatest wizard of his age. And so she
persuaded him to pass with her over seas into King Ban's land of
Benwick, and there, one day, he showed her a wondrous rock formed by
magic art. Then she begged him to enter into it, the better to declare
to her its wonders; but when once he was within, by a charm that she
had learned from Merlin's self, she caused the rock to shut down that
never again might he come forth. Thus was Merlin's prophecy fulfilled,
that he should go down into the earth alive. Much they marvelled in
Arthur's court what had become of the great magician, till on a time,
there rode past the stone a certain Knight of the Round Table and
heard Merlin lamenting his sad fate. The knight would have striven to
raise the mighty stone, but Merlin bade him not waste his labor, since
none might release him save her who had imprisoned him there. Thus
Merlin passed from the world through the treachery of a damsel, and
thus Arthur was without aid in the days when his doom came upon him.




THE SWORD EXCALIBUR

By Sir Thomas Malory


Merlin took up King Arthur, and rode forth with him upon the knight's
horse. As they rode King Arthur said, "I have no sword." "No matter,"
said Merlin, "hereby is a sword that shall be yours, Sir King." So
they rode till they came to a lake, which was a fair water and a
broad; and in the midst of the lake King Arthur was aware of an arm
clothed in white samite, that held a fair sword in the hand. "Lo,"
said Merlin unto the king, "yonder is the sword that I spake of." With
that they saw a damsel going upon the lake. "What damsel is that?"
said the king. "That is the Lady of the Lake," said Merlin, "and
within that lake is a reach, and therein is as fair a place as any is
on earth, and richly beseen; and this damsel will come to you anon,
and then speak fair to her that she will give you that sword."
Therewith came the damsel to King Arthur and saluted him, and he her
again. "Damsel," said the king, "what sword is that which the arm
holdeth yonder above the water? I would it were mine, for I have no
sword." "Sir king," said the damsel of the lake, "that sword is mine,
and if ye will give me a gift when I ask it you, ye shall have
it."--"By my faith," said King Arthur, "I will give you any gift that
you will ask or desire." "Well," said the damsel, "go ye into yonder
barge, and row yourself unto the sword, and take it and the scabbard
with you; and I will ask my gift when I see my time." So King Arthur
and Merlin alighted, tied their horses to two trees, and so they went
into the barge. And when they came to the sword that the hand held,
King Arthur took it up by the handles, and took it with him: and the
arm and the hand went under the water, and so King Arthur came to the
land, and rode forth. * * * Then the king looked upon the sword, and
liked it passing well. "Whether liketh you better," said Merlin, "the
sword or the scabbard?" "Me liketh better the sword," said King
Arthur.--"Ye are more unwise," said Merlin; "for the scabbard is worth
ten of the sword; for while ye have the scabbard upon you ye shall
lose no blood, be ye never so sore wounded; therefore keep well the
scabbard alway with you."

* * * Then Arthur proclaimed that all the lords, knights, and
gentlemen of arms, should draw unto a castle, that was called in those
days Camelot, and the king would have a council-general and a great
joust. So when the king was come thither, with all his baronage, and
lodged as them seemed best, there came a damsel, sent on message from
the great Lady Lily, of Avilion; and, when she came before King
Arthur, she told him from whom she came, and how she was sent on
message unto him for these causes. And she let her mantle fall, that
was richly furred, and then she was girded with a noble sword, whereof
the king had great marvel, and said, "Damsel, for what cause are ye
gird with that sword? It beseemeth you not." "Now shall I tell you,"
said the damsel. "This sword, that I am gird withal, doth me great
sorrow and remembrance; for I may not be delivered of this sword but
by a good knight; and he must be a passing good man of his hands and
of his deeds, and without villany or treachery. If I may find such a
knight that hath all these virtues, he may draw out this sword of the
scabbard. For I have been at King Rience; for it was told that there
were passing good knights, and he and all his knights have assayed it,
and none can speed."

"This is a great marvel," said King Arthur, "and if besooth, I will
myself assay to draw out the sword; not presuming upon myself that I
am the best knight, but that I will begin to draw at your sword, in
giving example to all the barons, that they shall assay every one
after other, when I have assayed." Then King Arthur took the sword by
the scabbard and girdle and pulled at it eagerly, but the sword would
not out. "Sir," said the damsel, "ye need not pull half so hard; for
he that shall pull it out shall do it with little might." "Ye say
well," said King Arthur: "now assay ye, all my barons; but beware ye
be not defiled with shame, treachery, nor guile."--"Then it will not
avail," said the damsel; "for he must be a clean knight, without
villany, and of gentle stream of father's side and mother's side."
Most of all the barons of the Round Table, that were there at that
time, assayed all in turn, but none might speed. Wherefore the damsel
made great sorrow out of measure, and said, "Alas! I weened in this
court had been the best knights, without treachery or treason." "By my
faith," said King Arthur, "here are as good knights as I deem any be
in the world; but their grace is not to help you, wherefore I am
greatly displeased."

It happened so, at that time, that there was a poor knight with King
Arthur, that had been prisoner with him half a year and more, for
slaying of a knight, which was cousin to King Arthur. The knight was
named Balin le Savage: and by good means of the barons he was
delivered out of prison; for he was a good man named of his body, and
he was born in Northumberland. And so he went privily into the court,
and saw this adventure, whereof his heart rose, and would assay it as
other knights did; but for because he was poor, and poorly arrayed, he
put him not far in press. But in his heart he was fully assured (if
his grace happened him) as any knight that was there. And, as that
damsel took her leave of King Arthur and the barons, this knight,
Balin, called unto her, and said, "Damsel, I pray you of your
courtesy, to suffer me as well to assay as these lords; though I be
poorly clothed, in mine heart meseemeth I am fully assured as some of
these other lords, and meseemeth in my heart to speed right well." The
damsel beheld the poor knight, and saw he was a likely man; but,
because of his poor array, she thought he should be of no worship
without villany or treachery. And then she said to the knight Balin,
"Sir, it is no need to put me to any more pain or labour; for
beseemeth not you to speed there as others have failed." "Ah, fair
damsel," said Balin, "worthiness and good graces and good deeds are
not all only in raiment, but manhood and worship is hid within man's
person; and many a worshipful knight is not known unto all people; and
therefore worship and hardiness is not in raiment and clothing."--"By
God!" said the damsel, "ye say truth; therefore ye shall assay to do
what ye may." Then Balin took the sword by the girdle and scabbard,
and drew it out easily; and when he looked upon the sword, it pleased
him well. * * * Anon after Balin sent for his horse and his armour,
and so would depart from the court, and took his leave of King Arthur.

The meanwhile that this knight was making him ready to depart, there
came into the court a lady, which hight the Lady of the Lake, and she
came on horseback, richly beseen, and saluted King Arthur, and there
asked him a gift that he had promised her when she gave him the sword.

"That is sooth," said King Arthur, "a gift I promised you; but I have
forgotten the name of the sword which ye gave me." "The name of it,"
said the lady, "is Excalibur; that is as much to say _cut-steel_."--
"Ye say well," said King Arthur. "Ask what ye will, and ye shall have
it, if it lie in my power to give it." "Well," said the Lady of the
Lake, "I ask the head of the knight that hath won the sword, or else
the damsel's head that brought it. And though I have both their heads
I care not; for he slew my brother, a full good knight and true, and
the gentlewoman was causer of my father's death."--"Truly," said King
Arthur, "I may not grant you either of their heads with my worship;
therefore ask what ye will else, and I shall fulfil your desire." "I
will ask none other thing of you," said the lady. When Balin was ready
to depart, he saw the Lady of the Lake there, by whose means was slain
his own mother, and he had sought her three years. And when it was
told him that she demanded his head of King Arthur, he went straight
to her, and said, "Evil be ye found. Ye would have my head, and
therefore ye shall lose yours!" And with his sword lightly he smote
off her head, in the presence of King Arthur. "Alas! for shame," said
the king. "Why have you done so? You have shamed me and all my court.
For this was a lady that I was much beholden unto; and hither she came
under my safe conduct. I shall never forgive you that trespass." "My
lord," said Balin, "me forethinketh much of your displeasure; for this
lady was the untruest lady living; and by her enchantment and
witchcraft she hath been the destroyer of many good knights, and she
was the causer that my mother was burnt, through her falsehood and
treachery." Then King Arthur and all his court made great dole, and
had great shame of the death of the Lady of the Lake. Then the king
full richly buried her.

* * * "My time hieth fast," said King Arthur unto Sir Bedivere;
"therefore take thou Excalibur, my good sword, and go with it unto
yonder water-side; and when thou comest there, I charge thee, throw my
sword into that water, and come again and tell me what thou shalt see
there." "My lord," said Sir Bedivere, "your command shall be done, and
lightly bring you word again." And so Sir Bedivere departed, and by
the way he beheld that noble sword, where the pommel and the haft were
all of precious stones. And then he said to himself, "If I throw this
rich sword into the water, thereof shall never come good, but harm and
loss." And then Sir Bedivere hid Excalibur under a tree; and as soon
as he might, he came again unto King Arthur, and said he had been at
the water. "What sawest thou there?" said the king. "Sir," said he, "I
saw nothing but waves and wind."--"That is untruly said of thee," said
King Arthur. "Therefore go thou lightly, and do my command; as thou
art to me life and dear, spare not, but throw it in." Then Sir
Bedivere returned again, and took the sword in his hand; and then he
thought it sin and shame to throw away that noble sword: and so after
he hid the sword and returned again, and told the king that he had
been at the water and done his command. "What saw ye there?" said the
king. "Sir," said he, "I saw nothing but the water lap and waves
wan."--"Ah! traitor untrue," said King Arthur, "now hast thou betrayed
me two times, who would have weened that thou that hast been unto me
so self and dear, and thou art named a noble knight, and wouldest
betray me for the rich sword. But now go again lightly, for thy long
tarrying putteth me in great jeopardy of my life, for I have taken
cold; and but if thou do as I command thee, and if ever I may see
thee, I shall slay thee with mine own hands, for thou wouldest for my
rich sword see me dead." Then Sir Bedivere departed and went to the
sword and lightly took it up and went to the water's side, and there
he bound the girdle about the belts. And then he threw the sword into
the water as far as he might, and there came an arm and a hand above
the water, and met it and caught it, and so shook it thrice and
brandished. And then the hand vanished away with the sword in the
water.

So Sir Bedivere came again to the king, and told him what he had
seen. "Alas!" said the king, "help me from hence; for I dread me I
have tarried over long." Then Sir Bedivere took King Arthur upon his
back, and so went with him to the water's side; and, when they were at
the water's side, even fast by the bank hovered a little barge, with
many fair ladies in it: and among them all was a queen, and they all
had black hoods; and they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur.

"Now put me into the barge," said the king. And so he did softly, and
there received him three queens with great mourning; and so these
three queens sat them down, and in one of their laps King Arthur laid
his head. And then that queen said: "Ah! dear brother, why have ye
tarried so long from me? Alas! this wound on your head hath taken
overmuch cold." And so then they rowed from the land; and Sir Bedivere
cried, "Ah! my lord Arthur, what shall become of me now ye go from me,
and leave me here alone among mine enemies?" "Comfort thyself," said
King Arthur, "and do as well as thou mayest; for in me is no trust for
to trust in: for I will into the vale of Avilion, for to heal me of my
grievous wound; and, if thou never hear more of me, pray for my soul."




SIR LAUNCELOT AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE CASTLE PERILOUS

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Now, as time passed, King Arthur gathered into his Order of the Round
Table knights whose peers shall never be found in any age; and
foremost among them all was Sir Launcelot du Lac. Such was his
strength that none against whom he had lain lance in rest could keep
the saddle, and no shield was proof against his sword dint; but for
his courtesy even more than for his courage and strength, Sir
Launcelot was famed far and near. Gentle he was and ever the first to
rejoice in the renown of another; and, in the jousts, he would avoid
encounter with the young and untried knight, letting him pass to gain
glory if he might.

It would take a great book to record all the famous deeds of Sir
Launcelot, and all his adventures. He was of Gaul, for his father;
King Ban, ruled over Benwick; and some say that his first name was
Galahad, and that he was named Launcelot du Lac by the Lady of the
Lake, who reared him when his mother died. Early he won renown by
delivering his father's people from the grim King Claudas, who, for
more than twenty years, had lain waste the fair land of Benwick; then,
when there was peace in his own land, he passed into Britain, to
Arthur's Court, where the king received him gladly, and made him
Knight of the Round Table and took him for his trustiest friend. And
so it was that, when Guenevere was to be brought to Canterbury, to be
married to the king, Launcelot was chief of the knights sent to wait
upon her.

Now on a day, as he rode through the forest, Sir Launcelot met a
damsel weeping bitterly, and seeing him, she cried, "Stay, sir knight!
By your knighthood I require you to aid me in my distress."
Immediately Sir Launcelot checked his horse and asked in what she
needed his service. "Sir," said the maiden, "my brother lies at the
point of death, for this day he fought with the stout knight, Sir
Gilbert, and sorely they wounded each other; and a wise woman, a
sorceress, has said that nothing may stanch my brother's wounds unless
they be searched with the sword and bound up with a piece of the cloth
from the body of the wounded knight who lies in the ruined chapel hard
by. And well I know you, my lord Sir Launcelot, and that, if ye will
not help me, none may." "Tell me your brother's name," said Sir
Launcelot. "Sir Meliot de Logris," replied the damsel. "A Knight of
our Round Table," said Sir Launcelot; "the more am I bound to your
service. Only tell me, gentle damsel, where I may find this Chapel
Perilous." So she directed him, and, riding through forest byways, Sir
Launcelot came presently upon a little ruined chapel, standing in the
midst of a churchyard, where the tombs showed broken and neglected
under the dark yews. In front of the porch, Sir Launcelot paused and
looked, for thereon hung, upside down, dishonored, the shield of many
a good knight whom Sir Launcelot had known.

As he stood wondering, suddenly there pressed upon him from all sides
thirty stout knights, all giants and fully armed, their drawn swords
in their hands and their shields advanced. With threatening looks,
they spoke to him, saying, "Sir Launcelot, it were well ye turned back
before evil befell you." But Sir Launcelot, though he feared to have
to do with thirty such warriors, answered boldly, "I turn not back for
high words. Make them good by your deeds." Then he rode upon them
fiercely, whereupon instantly they scattered and disappeared, and,
sword in hand, Sir Launcelot entered the little chapel. All was dark
within, save that a little lamp hung from the roof, and by its dim
light he could just espy how on a bier before the altar there lay,
stark and cold, a knight sheathed in armor. And drawing nearer Sir
Launcelot saw that the dead man lay on a blood-stained mantle, his
naked sword by his side, but that his left hand had been lopped off at
the wrist by a mighty sword-cut. Then Sir Launcelot boldly seized the
sword and with it cut off a piece of the bloody mantle. Immediately
the earth shook and the walls of the chapel rocked, and in fear Sir
Launcelot turned to go. But, as he would have left the chapel, there
stood before him in the doorway a lady, fair to look upon and
beautifully arrayed, who gazed earnestly upon him, and said: "Sir
knight, put away from you that sword lest it be your death." But Sir
Launcelot answered her: "Lady, what I have said, I do; and what I have
won, I keep." "It is well," said the lady. "Had ye cast away the sword
your life days were done. And now I make but one request. Kiss me
once." "That may I not do," said Sir Launcelot. Then said the lady,
"Go your way, Launcelot; ye have won, and I have lost. Know that, had
ye kissed me, your dead body had lain even now on the altar bier. For
much have I desired to win you; and to entrap you, I ordained this
chapel. Many a knight have I taken, and once Sir Gawain himself
hardly escaped, but he fought with Sir Gilbert and lopped off his
hand, and so got away. Fare ye well; it is plain to see that none but
our lady, Queen Guenevere, may have your services." With that, she
vanished from his sight. So Sir Launcelot mounted his horse and rode
away from that evil place till he met Sir Meliot's sister, who led him
to her brother where he lay, pale as the earth, and bleeding fast. And
when he saw Sir Launcelot, he would have risen to greet him; but his
strength failed him, and he fell back on his couch. Sir Launcelot
searched his wounds with the sword, and bound them up with the
blood-stained cloth, and immediately Sir Meliot was sound and well,
and greatly he rejoiced. Then Sir Meliot and his sister begged Sir
Launcelot to stay and rest, but he departed on his adventures, bidding
them farewell until he should meet them again at Arthur's court. As
for the sorceress of the Chapel Perilous, it is said she died of grief
that all her charms had failed to win for her the good knight Sir
Launcelot.




SIR LAUNCELOT AND THE FALCON

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Sir Launcelot rode on his way, by marsh and valley and hill, till he
chanced upon a fair castle, and saw fly from it, over his head, a
beautiful falcon, with the lines still hanging from her feet. And as
he looked, the falcon flew into a tree where she was held fast by the
lines becoming entangled about the boughs. Immediately, from the
castle there came running a fair lady, who cried: "O Launcelot,
Launcelot! As ye are the noblest of all knights, I pray you help me to
recover my falcon. For if my husband discover its loss, he will slay
me in his anger." "Who is your husband, fair lady?" asked Sir
Launcelot. "Sir Phelot, a knight of Northgalis, and he is of a hasty
temper; wherefore, I beseech you, help me." "Well, lady," said Sir
Launcelot, "I will serve you if I may; but the tree is hard to climb,
for the boughs are few, and, in truth, I am no climber. But I will do
my best." So the lady helped Sir Launcelot to unarm, and he led his
horse to the foot of the tree, and springing from its back, he caught
at the nearest bough, and drew himself up into the branches. Then he
climbed till he reached the falcon and, tying her lines to a rotten
bough, broke it off, and threw down the bird and bough to the lady
below. Forthwith Sir Phelot came from among the trees and said: "Ah!
Sir Launcelot! Now at length I have you as I would; for I have long
sought your life." And Sir Launcelot made answer: "Surely ye would not
slay me, an unarmed man; for that were dishonor to you. Keep my armor
if ye will; but hang my sword on a bough where I may reach it, and
then do with me as ye can." But Sir Phelot laughed mockingly and said:
"Not so, Sir Launcelot. I know you too well to throw away my
advantage; wherefore, shift as ye may." "Alas!" said Sir Launcelot,
"that ever knight should be so unknightly. And you, madam, how could
ye so betray me?" "She did but as I commanded her," said Sir Phelot.

Then Launcelot looked about him to see how he might help himself in
these straits, and espying above his head a great bare branch, he tore
it down. Then, ever watching his advantage, he sprang to the ground
on the far side of his horse, so that the horse was between him and
Sir Phelot. Sir Phelot rushed upon him with his sword, but Launcelot
parried it with the bough, with which he dealt his enemy such a blow
on the head that Sir Phelot sank to the ground in a swoon. Then Sir
Launcelot seized his sword where it lay beside his armor, and stooping
over the fallen knight, unloosed his helm. When the lady saw him do
that, she shrieked and cried: "Spare his life! spare his life, noble
knight, I beseech you!" But Sir Launcelot answered sternly: "A felon's
death for him who does felon's deeds. He has lived too long already,"
and with one blow he smote off his head. Then he armed himself, and
mounting upon his steed, rode away, leaving the lady to weep beside
her lord.




THE ADVENTURES OF SIR GARETH

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Gareth was the youngest of the sons of Lot and Bellicent, and had
grown up long after Gawain and Mordred left their home for King
Arthur's court; so that when he came before the king, all humbly
attired, he was not known even by his own brothers.

King Arthur was keeping Pentecost at Kink Kenadon on the Welsh border,
and, as his custom was, waited to begin the feast until some adventure
should befall. Presently there was seen approaching a youth who, to
the wonderment of all that saw, leaned upon the shoulders of two men,
his companions; and yet as he passed up the hall, he seemed a goodly
youth, tall and broad-shouldered. When he stood before the king,
suddenly he drew himself up and after due greeting, said: "Sir king, I
would ask of you three boons; one to be granted now and two hereafter
when I shall require them." And Arthur, looking upon him, was pleased,
for his countenance was open and honest. So he made answer: "Fair son,
ask of me aught that is honorable and I will grant it." Then the youth
said: "For this present, I ask only that ye will give me meat and
drink for a year and a day." "Ye might have asked and had a better
gift," replied the king; "tell me now your name." "At this time, I may
not tell it," said the youth. Now King Arthur trusted every man until
he proved himself unworthy, and in this youth he thought he saw one
who should do nobly and win renown; so laughing, he bade him keep his
own counsel since so he would, and gave him in charge to Sir Kay, the
seneschal.

Now Sir Kay was but harsh to those whom he liked not, and from the
first he scorned the young man. "For none," said he, "but a low-born
lout would crave meat and drink when he might have asked for a horse
and arms." But Sir Launcelot and Sir Gawain took the youth's part.
Neither knew him for Gareth of the Orkneys, but both believed him to
be a youth of good promise who, for his own reasons, would pass in
disguise for a season.

So Gareth lived the year among the kitchen boys, all the time mocked
and scorned by Sir Kay, who called him Fairhands because his hands
were white and shapely. But Launcelot and Gawain showed him all
courtesy, and failed not to observe how, in all trials of strength, he
excelled his comrades, and that he was ever present to witness the
feats of the knights in the tournaments.

So the year passed, and again King Arthur was keeping the feast of
Pentecost with his knights, when a damsel entered the hall and asked
his aid: "For," said she, "my sister is closely besieged in her castle
by a strong knight who lays waste all her lands. And since I know that
the knights of your court be the most renowned in the world, I have
come to crave help of your mightiest." "What is your sister's name,
and who is he that oppresses her?" asked the king. "The Red Knight, he
is called," replied the damsel. "As for my sister, I will not say her
name, only that she is a high-born lady and owns broad lands." Then
the king frowned and said: "Ye would have aid but will say no name. I
may not ask knight of mine to go on such an errand."

Then forth stepped Gareth from among the serving-men at the hall end
and said: "Sir king, I have eaten of your meat in your kitchen this
twelvemonth since, and now I crave my other two boons." "Ask and
have," replied the king. "Grant me then the adventure of this damsel,
and bid Sir Launcelot ride after me to knight me at my desire, for of
him alone would I be made knight." "It shall be so," answered the
king. "What!" cried the damsel, "I ask for a knight and ye give me a
kitchen-boy. Shame on you, sir king." And in great wrath she fled from
the hall, mounted her palfrey and rode away. Gareth but waited to
array himself in the armor which he had kept ever in readiness for the
time when he should need it, and mounting his horse, rode after the
damsel.

But when Sir Kay knew what had happened, he was wroth, and got to
horse to ride after Gareth and bring him back. Even as Gareth overtook
the damsel, so did Kay come up with him and cried: "Turn back,
Fairhands! What, sir, do ye not know me?" "Yes," answered Gareth, "I
know you for the most discourteous knight in Arthur's court." Then Sir
Kay rode upon him with his lance, but Gareth turned it aside with his
sword and pierced Sir Kay through the side so that he fell to the
ground and lay there without motion. So Gareth took Sir Kay's shield
and spear and was about to ride away, when seeing Sir Launcelot draw
near he called upon him to joust. At the first encounter, Sir
Launcelot unhorsed Gareth, but quickly helped him to his feet. Then,
at Gareth's desire, they fought together with swords, and Gareth did
knightly till, at length, Sir Launcelot said, laughing: "Why should we
fight any longer? Of a truth ye are a stout knight." "If that is
indeed your thought, I pray you make me knight," cried Gareth. So Sir
Launcelot knighted Gareth, who, bidding him farewell, hastened after
the damsel, for she had ridden on again while the two knights talked.
When she saw him coming, she cried: "Keep off! ye smell of the
kitchen!" "Damsel," said Sir Gareth, "I must follow until I have
fulfilled the adventure." "Till ye accomplish the adventure,
Turn-spit? Your part in it shall soon be ended." "I can only do my
best," answered Sir Gareth.

Now as they rode through the forest, they met with a knight sore beset
by six thieves, and him Sir Gareth rescued. The knight then bade
Gareth and the damsel rest at his castle, and entertained them right
gladly until the morn, when the two rode forth again. Presently, they
drew near to a deep river where two knights kept the ford. "How now,
kitchen knave? Will ye fight or escape while ye may?" cried the
damsel. "I would fight though there were six instead of two," replied
Sir Gareth. Therewith he encountered the one knight in midstream and
struck him such a blow on the head that he fell, stunned, into the
water and was drowned. Then, gaining the land, Gareth cleft in two
helmet and head of the other knight, and turned to the damsel, saying,
"Lead on; I follow."

But the damsel mocked him, saying: "What a mischance is this that a
kitchen boy should slay two noble knights! Be not overproud,
Turn-spit. It was but luck, if indeed ye did not attack one knight
from behind." "Say what you will, I follow," said Sir Gareth.

So they rode on again, the damsel in front and Sir Gareth behind, till
they reached a wide meadow where stood many fair pavilions; and one,
the largest, was all of blue, and the men who stood about it were
clothed in blue, and bore shields and spears of that color; and of
blue, too, were the trappings of the horses. Then said the damsel,
"Yonder is the Blue Knight, the goodliest that ever ye have looked
upon, and five hundred knights own him lord." "I will encounter him,"
said Sir Gareth; "for if he be good knight and true as ye say, he will
scarce set on me with all his following; and man to man, I fear him
not." "Fie!" said the damsel, "for a dirty knave, ye brag loud. And
even if ye overcome him, his might is as nothing to that of the Red
Knight who besieges my lady sister. So get ye gone while ye may."
"Damsel," said Sir Gareth, "ye are but ungentle so to rebuke me; for,
knight or knave, I have done you good service, nor will I leave this
guest while life is mine." Then the damsel ashamed, and, looking
curiously at Gareth, she said, "I would gladly know what manner of man
ye are. For I heard you call yourself kitchen knave before Arthur's
self, but ye have ever answered patiently though I have chidden you
shamefully; and courtesy comes only of gentle blood." Thereat Sir
Gareth but laughed, and said: "He is no knight whom a maiden can anger
by harsh words."

So talking, they entered the field, and there came to Sir Gareth a
messenger from the Blue Knight to ask him if he came in peace or in
war. "As your lord pleases," said Sir Gareth. So when the messenger
had brought back this word, the Blue Knight mounted his horse, took
his spear in his hand, and rode upon Sir Gareth. At their first
encounter their lances shivered to pieces, and such was the shock that
their horses fell dead. So they rushed on each other with swords and
shield, cutting and slashing till the armor was hacked from their
bodies; but at last, Sir Gareth smote the Blue Knight to the
earth. Then the Blue Knight yielded, and at the damsel's entreaty, Sir
Gareth spared his life.

So they were reconciled, and, at the request of the Blue Knight, Sir
Gareth and the damsel abode that night in his tents. As they sat at
table, the Blue Knight said: "Fair damsel, are ye not called Linet?"
"Yes," answered she, "and I am taking this noble knight to the relief
of my sister, the Lady Liones." "God speed you, sir," said the Blue
Knight, "for he is a stout knight whom ye must meet. Long ago might he
have taken the lady, but that he hoped that Sir Launcelot or some
other of Arthur's most famous knights, coming to her rescue, might
fall beneath his lance. If ye overthrow him, then are ye the peer of
Sir Launcelot and Sir Tristram." "Sir knight," answered Gareth, "I can
but strive to bear me worthily as one whom the great Sir Launcelot
made knight."

So in the morning they bade farewell to the Blue Knight, who vowed to
carry to King Arthur word of all that Gareth had achieved; and they
rode on till, in the evening, they came to a little ruined hermitage
where there awaited them a dwarf, sent by the Lady Liones, with all
manner of meats and other store. In the morning, the dwarf set out
again to bear word to his lady that her rescuer was come. As he drew
near the castle, the Red Knight stopped him, demanding whence he came.
"Sir," said the dwarf, "I have been with my lady's sister, who brings
with her a knight to the rescue of my lady." "It is lost labor," said
the Red Knight; "even though she brought Launcelot or Tristram, I hold
myself a match for them." "He is none of these," said the dwarf, "but
he has overthrown the knights who kept the ford, and the Blue Knight
yielded to him." "Let him come," said the Red Knight; "I shall soon
make an end of him, and a shameful death shall he have at my hands, as
many a better knight has had." So saying, he let the dwarf go.

Presently, there came riding toward the castle Sir Gareth and the
damsel Linet, and Gareth marvelled to see hang from the trees some
forty knights in goodly armor, their shields reversed beside them. And
when he inquired of the damsel, she told him how these were the bodies
of brave knights who, coming to the rescue of the Lady Liones, had
been overthrown and shamefully done to death by the Red Knight. Then
was Gareth shamed and angry, and he vowed to make an end of these evil
practices. So at last they drew near to the castle walls, and saw how
the plain around was covered with the Red Knight's tents, and the
noise was that of a great army. Hard by was a tall sycamore tree, and
from it hung a mighty horn, made of an elephant's tusk. Spurring his
horse, Gareth rode to it, and blew such a blast that those on the
castle walls heard it; the knights came forth from their tents to see
who blew so bold a blast, and from a window of the castle the Lady
Liones looked forth and waved her hand to her champion. Then, as Sir
Gareth made his reverence to the lady, the Red Knight called roughly
to him to leave his courtesy and look to himself: "For," said he, "she
is mine, and to have her, I have fought many a battle." "It is but
vain labor," said Sir Gareth, "since she loves you not. Know, too, sir
knight, that I have vowed to rescue her from you." "So did many
another who now hangs on a tree," replied the Red Knight, "and soon ye
shall hang beside them," Then both laid their spears in rest, and
spurred their horses. At the first encounter, each smote the other
full in the shield, and the girths of the saddles bursting, they were
borne to the earth, where they lay for a while as if dead. But
presently they rose, and setting their shields before them, rushed
upon each other with their swords, cutting and hacking till the armor
lay on the ground in fragments. So they fought till noon and then
rested; but soon they renewed the battle, and so furiously they
fought, that often they fell to the ground together. Then, when the
bells sounded for evensong, the knights rested again, unlacing their
helms to breathe the evening air. But looking up to the castle
windows, Gareth saw the Lady Liones gazing earnestly upon him; then he
caught up his helmet, and calling to the Red Knight, bade him make
ready for the battle; "And this time," said he, "we will make an end
of it." "So be it," said the Red Knight. Then the Red Knight smote
Gareth on the hand so that his sword flew from his grasp, and with
another blow he brought him grovelling to the earth. At the sight of
this, Linet cried aloud, and hearing her, Gareth, with a mighty
effort, threw off the Red Knight, leaped to his sword, and got it
again within his hand. Then he pressed the Red Knight harder than
ever, and at the last bore him to the earth, and unlacing his helm,
made ready to slay him; but the Red Knight cried aloud: "Mercy! I
yield." At first, remembering the evil deaths of the forty good
knights, Gareth was unwilling to spare him; but the Red Knight
besought him to have mercy, telling him how, against his will, he had
been bound by a vow to make war on Arthur's knights. So Sir Gareth
relented, and bade him set forth at once for Kink Kenadon and entreat
the king's pardon for his evil past. And this the Red Knight promised
to do.

Then amid much rejoicing, Sir Gareth was borne into the castle. There
his wounds were dressed by the Lady Liones, and there he rested until
he recovered his strength. And having won her love, when Gareth
returned to Arthur's court the Lady Liones rode with him, and they two
were wed with great pomp in the presence of the whole fellowship of
the Round Table; the king rejoicing much that his nephew had done so
valiantly. So Sir Gareth lived happily with Dame Liones, winning fame
and the love of all true knights. As for Linet, she came again to
Arthur's court and wedded Sir Gareth's younger brother, Sir Gaheris.




THE COMING OF SIR GALAHAD

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Many times had the Feast of Pentecost come round, and many were the
knights that Arthur had made since first he founded the Order of the
Round Table; yet no knight had appeared who dared claim the seat named
by Merlin the Siege Perilous. At last, one vigil of the great feast, a
lady came to Arthur's court at Camelot and asked Sir Launcelot to ride
with her into the forest hard by, for a purpose not then to be
revealed. Launcelot consenting, they rode together until they came to
a nunnery hidden deep in the forest; and there the lady bade Launcelot
dismount, and led him into a great and stately room. Presently there
entered twelve nuns, and with them a youth, the fairest that Launcelot
had ever seen. "Sir," said the nuns, "we have brought up this child
in our midst, and now that he is grown to manhood, we pray you make
him knight, for of none worthier could he receive the honor." "Is this
thy own desire?" asked Launcelot of the young squire; and when he said
that so it was, Launcelot promised to make him knight after the great
festival had been celebrated in the church next day.

So on the morrow, after they had worshipped, Launcelot knighted
Galahad--for that was the youth's name--and asked him if he would ride
at once with him to the king's court; but the young knight excusing
himself, Sir Launcelot rode back alone to Camelot, where all rejoiced
that he was returned in time to keep the feast with the whole Order of
the Round Table.

Now, according to his custom, King Arthur was waiting for some marvel
to befall before he and his knights sat down to the banquet. Presently
a squire entered the hall and said: "Sir king, a great wonder has
appeared. There floats on the river a mighty stone, as it were a block
of red marble, and it is thrust through by a sword, the hilt of which
is set thick with precious stones." On hearing this, the king and all
his knights went forth to view the stone and found it as the squire
had said; moreover, looking closer, they read these words: "None shall
draw me hence, but only he by whose side I must hang; and he shall be
the best knight in all the world." Immediately, all bade Launcelot
draw forth the sword, but he refused, saying that the sword was not
for him. Then, at the king's command, Sir Gawain made the attempt and
failed, as did Sir Percivale after him. So the knights knew the
adventure was not for them, and returning to the hall, took their
places about the Round Table.

No sooner were they seated than an aged man, clothed all in white,
entered the hall, followed by a young knight in red armor, by whose
side hung an empty scabbard. The old man approached King Arthur, and
bowing low before him, said: "Sir, I bring you a young knight of the
house and lineage of Joseph of Arimathea, and through him shall great
glory be won for all the land of Britain." Greatly did King Arthur
rejoice to hear this, and welcomed the two right royally. Then when
the young knight had saluted the king, the old man led him to the
Siege Perilous and drew off its silken cover; and all the knights were
amazed, for they saw that where had been engraved the words, "The
Siege Perilous," was written now in shining gold: "This is the siege
of the noble prince, Sir Galahad." Straightway the young man seated
himself there where none other had ever sat without danger to his
life; and all who saw it said, one to another: "Surely this is he that
shall achieve the Holy Grail." Now the Holy Grail was the blessed dish
from which Our Lord had eaten the Last Supper, and it had been brought
to the land of Britain by Joseph of Arimathea; but because of men's
sinfulness, it had been withdrawn from human sight, only that, from
time to time, it appeared to the pure in heart.

When all had partaken of the royal banquet, King Arthur bade Sir
Galahad come with him to the river's brink; and showing him the
floating stone with the sword thrust through it, told him how his
knights had failed to draw forth the sword. "Sir," said Galahad, "it
is no marvel that they failed, for the adventure was meant for me, as
my empty scabbard shows." So saying, lightly he drew the sword from
the heart of the stone, and lightly he slid it into the scabbard at
his side. While all yet wondered at this adventure of the sword,
there came riding to them a lady on a white palfrey who, saluting King
Arthur, said: "Sir king, Nacien the hermit sends thee word that this
day shall great honor be shown to thee and all thine house; for the
Holy Grail shall appear in thy hall, and thou and all thy fellowship
shall be fed therefrom." And to Launcelot she said: "Sir knight, thou
hast ever been the best knight of all the world; but another has come
to whom thou must yield precedence. "Then Launcelot answered humbly:
"I know well I was never the best." "Ay, of a truth thou wast and art
still, of sinful men," said she, and rode away before any could
question her further.

So, that evening, when all were gathered about the Round Table, each
knight in his own siege, suddenly there was heard a crash of thunder,
so mighty that the hall trembled, and there flashed into the hall a
sunbeam, brighter far than any that had ever before been seen; and
then, draped all in white samite, there glided through the air what
none might see, yet what all knew to be the Holy Grail. And all the
air was filled with sweet odors, and on every one was shed a light in
which he looked fairer and nobler than ever before. So they sat in an
amazed silence, till presently King Arthur rose and gave thanks to God
for the grace given to him and to his court. Then up sprang Sir Gawain
and made his avow to follow for a year and a day the Quest of the Holy
Grail, if perchance he might be granted the vision of it. Immediately
other of the knights followed his example, binding themselves to the
Quest of the Holy Grail until, in all, one hundred and fifty had vowed
themselves to the adventure.

Then was King Arthur grieved, for he foresaw the ruin of his noble
Order. And turning to Sir Gawain, he said: "Nephew, ye have done ill,
for through you I am bereft of the noblest company of knights that
ever brought honor to any realm in Christendom. Well I know that never
again shall all of you gather in this hall, and it grieves me to lose
men I have loved as my life and through whom I have won peace and
righteousness for all my realm."

So the king mourned and his knights with him, but their oaths they
could not recall.




HOW SIR GALAHAD WON THE RED CROSS SHIELD

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Great woe was there in Camelot next day when, after worship in the
cathedral, the knights who had vowed themselves to the Quest of the
Holy Grail got to horse and rode away. A goodly company it was that
passed through the streets, the townfolk weeping to see them go; Sir
Launcelot du Lac and his kin, Sir Galahad of whom all expected great
deeds, Sir Bors and Sir Percivale, and many another scarcely less
famed than they. So they rode together that day to the Castle of
Vagon, where they were entertained right hospitably, and the next day
they separated, each to ride his own way and see what adventures
should befall him.

So it came to pass that, after four days' ride, Sir Galahad reached an
abbey. Now Sir Galahad was still clothed in red armor as when he came
to the king's court, and by his side hung the wondrous sword; but he
was without a shield. They of the abbey received him right heartily,
as also did the brave King Bagdemagus, Knight of the Round Table, who
was resting there. When they had greeted each other, Sir Galahad asked
King Bagdemagus what adventure had brought him there. "Sir," said
Bagdemagus, "I was told that in this abbey was preserved a wondrous
shield which none but the best knight in the world might bear without
grievous harm to himself. And though I know well that there are better
knights than I, to-morrow I purpose to make the attempt. But, I pray
you, bide at this monastery awhile until you hear from me; and if I
fail, do ye take the adventure upon you." "So be it," said Sir
Galahad.

The next day, at their request, Sir Galahad and King Bagdemagus were
led into the church by a monk and shown where, behind the altar, hung
the wondrous shield, whiter than snow save for the blood-red cross in
its midst. Then the monk warned them of the danger to any who, being
unworthy, should dare to bear the shield. But King Bagdemagus made
answer: "I know well that I am not the best knight in the world, yet
will I try if I may bear it." So he hung it about his neck, and
bidding farewell, rode away with his squire.

The two had not journeyed far before they saw a knight approach, armed
all in white mail and mounted upon a white horse. Immediately he laid
his spear in rest and, charging King Bagdemagus, pierced him through
the shoulder and bore him from his horse; and standing over the
wounded knight, he said: "Knight, thou hast shown great folly, for
none shall bear this shield save the peerless knight, Sir Galahad."
Then, taking the shield, he gave it to the squire, and said: "Bear
this shield to the good Knight Galahad and greet him well from me."
"What is your name?" asked the squire. "That is not for thee or any
other to know." "One thing I pray you," said the squire; "why may this
shield be borne by none but Sir Galahad without danger?" "Because it
belongs to him only," answered the stranger knight, and vanished.

Then the squire took the shield and setting King Bagdemagus on his
horse, bore him back to the abbey where he lay long, sick unto death.
To Galahad the squire gave the shield and told him all that had
befallen. So Galahad hung the shield about his neck and rode the way
that Bagdemagus had gone the day before; and presently he met the
White Knight, whom he greeted courteously, begging that he would make
known to him the marvels of the red-cross shield. "That will I
gladly," answered the White Knight. "Ye must know, sir knight, that
this shield was made and given by Joseph of Arimathea to the good King
Evelake of Sarras, that, in the might of the holy symbol, he should
overthrow the heathen who threatened his kingdom. But afterward, King
Evelake followed Joseph to this land of Britain, where they taught the
true faith unto the people who before were heathen. Then when Joseph
lay dying, he bade King Evelake set the shield in the monastery where
ye lay last night, and foretold that none should wear it without loss
until that day when it should be taken by the knight, ninth and last
in descent from him, who should come to that place the fifteenth day
after receiving the degree of knighthood. Even so has it been with
you, sir knight." So saying, the unknown knight disappeared and Sir
Galahad rode on his way.




THE ADVENTURES OF SIR PERCIVALE

Retold by Beatrice Clay


After he had left his fellows, Sir Percivale rode long through the
forest until, one evening, he reached a monastery where he sought
shelter for the night. The next morning, he went into the chapel to
hear mass and there he espied the body of an old, old man, laid on a
richly adorned couch. At first it seemed as if the aged man were dead,
but presently, raising himself in his bed, he took off his crown and,
delivering it to the priest, bade him place it on the altar. So when
the service was concluded, Sir Percivale asked who the aged king might
be. Then he was told that it was none other than King Evelake who
accompanied Joseph of Arimathea to Britain. And on a certain occasion,
the king had approached the Holy Grail nigher than was reverent and,
for his impiety, God had punished him with blindness. Thereupon he
repented and, entreating God earnestly, had obtained his petition that
he should not die until he had seen the spotless knight who should be
descended from him in the ninth degree. (This his desire was fulfilled
later when Sir Galahad came thither; after which, he died and was
buried by the good knight.)

The next day, Sir Percivale continued his journey and presently met
with twenty knights who bore on a bier the body of a dead knight. When
they espied Sir Percivale, they demanded of him who he was and whence
he came. So he told them, whereupon they all shouted, "Slay him! slay
him!" and setting upon him all at once, they killed his horse and
would have slain him but that the good knight, Sir Galahad, passing
that way by chance, came to his rescue and put his assailants to
flight. Then Galahad rode away as fast as he might, for he would not
be thanked, and Sir Percivale was left, horseless and alone, in the
forest.

So Sir Percivale continued his journey on foot as well as he might;
and ever the way became lonelier, until at last he came to the shores
of a vast sea. There Sir Percivale abode many days, without food and
desolate, doubting whether he should ever escape thence. At last it
chanced that, looking out to sea, Sir Percivale descried a ship and,
as it drew nearer, he saw how it was all hung with satin and velvet.
Presently it reached the land and out of it there stepped a lady of
marvellous beauty, who asked him how he came there; "For know," said
she, "ye are like to die here by hunger or mischance." "He whom I
serve will protect me," said Sir Percivale. "I know well whom ye
desire most to see," said the lady. "Ye would meet with the Red Knight
who bears the red-cross shield." "Ah! lady, I pray you tell me where I
may find him," cried Sir Percivale. "With a good will," said the
damsel; "if ye will but promise me your service when I shall ask for
it, I will lead you to the knight, for I met him of late in the
forest." So Sir Percivale promised gladly to serve her when she should
need him. Then the lady asked him how long he had fasted. "For three
days," answered Sir Percivale. Immediately she gave orders to her
attendants forthwith to pitch a tent and set out a table with all
manner of delicacies, and of these she invited Sir Percivale to
partake, "I pray you, fair lady," said Sir Percivale, "who are ye that
show me such kindness?" "Truly," said the lady, "I am but a hapless
damsel, driven forth from my inheritance by a great lord whom I have
chanced to displease. I implore you, sir knight, by your vows of
knighthood, to give me your aid." Sir Percivale promised her all the
aid he could give, and then she bade him lie down and sleep, and
herself took off his helmet, and unclasped his sword-belt. So Sir
Percivale slept, and when he waked, there was another feast prepared,
and he was given the rarest and the strongest wines that ever he had
tasted. Thus they made merry, and, when the lady begged Percivale to
rest him there awhile, promising him all that ever he could desire if
he would vow himself to her service, almost he forgot the quest to
which he was vowed, and would have consented, but that his eye fell
upon his sword where it lay. Now in the sword-hilt there was set a red
cross and, seeing it, Percivale called to mind his vow, and, thinking
on it, he signed him with the cross on his forehead. Instantly, the
tent was overthrown and vanished in thick smoke; and she who had
appeared a lovely woman disappeared from his sight in semblance of a
fiend.

Then was Sir Percivale sore ashamed that almost he had yielded to the
temptings of the Evil One and earnestly he prayed that his sin might
be forgiven him. Thus he remained in prayer far into the night,
bewailing his weakness; and when the dawn appeared, a ship drew nigh
the land. Sir Percivale entered into it, but could find no one there;
so commending himself to God, he determined to remain thereon, and was
borne over the seas for many days, he knew not whither.




THE ADVENTURES OF SIR BORS

Retold by Beatrice Clay


Among the knights vowed to the Quest of the Holy Grail was Sir Bors,
one of the kin of Sir Launcelot, a brave knight and pious. He rode
through the forest many a day, making his lodging most often under a
leafy tree, though once on his journey he stayed at a castle, that he
might do battle for its lady against a felon knight who would have
robbed and oppressed her.

So, on a day, as he rode through the forest, Sir Bors came to the
parting of two ways. While he was considering which he should follow,
he espied two knights driving before them a horse on which was
stretched, bound and naked, none other than Sir Bors' own brother, Sir
Lionel; and, from time to time, the two false knights beat him with
thorns so that his body was all smeared with blood, but, so great was
his heart, Sir Lionel uttered never a word. Then, in great wrath, Sir
Bors laid his lance in rest and would have fought the felon knights to
rescue his brother, but that, even as he spurred his horse, there came
a bitter cry from the other path and, looking round, he saw a lady
being dragged by a knight into the darkest part of the forest where
none might find and rescue her. When she saw Sir Bors, she cried to
him: "Help me! sir knight, help me! I beseech you by your knighthood."
Then Sir Bors was much troubled, for he would not desert his brother;
but bethinking him that ever a woman must be more helpless than a man,
he wheeled his horse, rode upon her captor, and beat him to the
earth. The damsel thanked him earnestly and told him how the knight
was her own cousin, who had that day carried her off by craft from her
father's castle. As they talked, there came up twelve knights who had
been seeking the lady everywhere; so to their care Sir Bors delivered
her, and rode with haste in the direction whither his brother had been
borne. On the way, he met with an old man, dressed as a priest, who
asked him what he sought. When Sir Bors had told him, "Ah! Bors," said
he, "I can give you tidings indeed. Your brother is dead;" and
parting the bushes, he showed him the body of a dead man, to all
seeming Sir Lionel's self. Then Sir Bors grieved sorely, misdoubting
almost whether he should not rather have rescued his own brother; and
at the last, he dug a grave and buried the dead man; then he rode
sorrowfully on his way.

When he had ridden many days, he met with a yeoman whom he asked if
there were any adventures in those parts. "Sir," said the man, "at the
castle, hard by, they hold a great tournament." Sir Bors thanked him
and rode along the way pointed out to him; and presently, as he passed
a hermitage, whom should he see sitting at its door but his brother,
Sir Lionel, whom he had believed dead.

Then in great joy, he leaped from his horse, and running to Lionel,
cried: "Fair brother, how came ye hither?" "Through no aid of yours,"
said Sir Lionel angrily; "for ye left me bound and beaten, to ride to
the rescue of a maiden. Never was brother so dealt with by brother
before. Keep you from me as ye may!" When Sir Bors understood that his
brother would slay him, he knelt before him entreating his pardon. Sir
Lionel took no heed, but mounting his horse and taking his lance,
cried: "Keep you from me, traitor! Fight, or die!" And Sir Bors moved
not; for to him it seemed a sin most horrible that brother should
fight with brother. Then Sir Lionel, in his rage, rode his horse at
him, bore him to the ground and trampled him under the horse's hoofs,
till Bors lay beaten to the earth in a swoon. Even so, Sir Lionel's
anger was not stayed; for, alighting, he drew his sword and would have
smitten off his brother's head, but that the holy hermit, hearing the
noise of conflict, ran out of the hermitage and threw himself upon Sir
Bors. "Gentle knight," he cried, "have mercy upon him and on thyself;
for of the sin of slaying thy brother, thou couldst never be quit."
"Sir priest," said Lionel, "if ye leave him not, I shall slay you
too." "It were a lesser sin than to slay thy brother," answered the
hermit. "So be it," cried Lionel, and with one blow struck off the
hermit's head. Then he would have worked his evil will upon his
brother too, but that, even as he was unlacing Sir Bors' helm to cut
off his head, there rode up the good knight Sir Colgrevance, a fellow
of the Round Table. When he saw the dead hermit and was aware how
Lionel sought the life of Bors, he was amazed, and springing from his
horse, ran to Lionel and dragged him back from his brother. "Do ye
think to hinder me?" said Sir Lionel. "Let come who will, I will have
his life." "Ye shall have to do with me first," cried Colgrevance.
Therewith, they took their swords, and, setting their shields before
them, rushed upon each other. Now Sir Colgrevance was a good knight,
but Sir Lionel was strong and his anger added to his strength. So long
they fought that Sir Bors had time to recover from his swoon, and
raising himself with pain on his elbow, saw how the two fought for his
life; and as it seemed, Sir Lionel would prevail, for Sir Colgrevance
grew weak and weary. Sir Bors tried to get to his feet, but so weak he
was, he could not stand; and Sir Colgrevance, seeing him stir, called
on him to come to his aid, for he was in mortal peril for his
sake. But even as he called, Sir Lionel cut him to the ground, and, as
one possessed, rushed upon his brother to slay him. Sir Bors entreated
him for mercy, and when he would not, sorrowfully he took his sword,
saying: "Now, God forgive me, though I defend my life against my
brother."

Immediately there was heard a voice saying, "Flee, Bors, and touch not
thy brother;" and at the same time, a fiery cloud burned between them,
so that their shields glowed with the flame, and both knights fell to
the earth. But the voice came again, saying, "Bors, leave thy brother
and take thy way to the sea. There thou shalt meet Sir Percivale."
Then Sir Bors made ready to obey, and, turning to Lionel, said: "Dear
brother, I pray you forgive me for aught in which I have wronged you."
"I forgive you," said Sir Lionel, for he was too amazed terrified to
keep his anger.

So Sir Bors continued his journey, and at the last, coming to the
sea-shore, he espied a ship draped all with white samite, and entering
thereon, he saw Sir Percivale, and much they rejoiced them in each
other's company.




THE ADVENTURES OF SIR LAUNCELOT

Retold by Beatrice Clay


After Sir Launcelot had parted from his fellows at the Castle of
Vagon, he rode many days through the forest without adventure, till he
chanced upon a knight close by a little hermitage in the wood.
Immediately, as was the wont of errant knights, they prepared to
joust, and Launcelot, whom none before had overthrown, was borne down,
man and horse, by the stranger knight. Thereupon a nun, who dwelt in
the hermitage, cried: "God be with thee, best knight in all this
world," for she knew the victor for Sir Galahad. But Galahad, not
wishing to be known, rode swiftly away; and presently Sir Launcelot
got to horse again and rode slowly on his way, shamed and doubting
sorely in his heart whether this quest was meant for him.

When night fell, he came to a great stone cross which stood at the
parting of the way and close by a little ruined chapel. So Sir
Launcelot, being minded to pass the night there, alighted, fastened
his horse to a tree and hung his shield on a bough. Then he drew near
to the little chapel, and wondered to see how, all ruinous though it
was, yet within was an altar hung with silk and a great silver
candlestick on it; but when he sought entrance, he could find none
and, much troubled in his mind, he returned to his horse where he had
left it, and unlacing his helm and ungirding his sword, laid him down
to rest.

Then it seemed to Sir Launcelot that, as he lay between sleeping and
waking, there passed him two white palfreys bearing a litter wherein
was a sick knight, who cried: "Sweet Lord, when shall I be pardoned
all my transgressions, and when shall the holy vessel come to me, to
cure me of my sickness?" And instantly it seemed that the great
candlestick came forth of itself from the chapel, floating through the
air before a table of silver on which was the Holy Grail. Thereupon,
the sick knight raised himself, and on his bended knees he approached
so nigh that he kissed the holy vessel; and immediately he cried: "I
thank Thee, sweet Lord, that I am healed of my sickness." And all the
while Sir Launcelot, who saw this wonder, felt himself held that he
could not move. Then a squire brought the stranger knight his weapons,
in much joy that his lord was cured. "Who think ye that this knight
may be who remains sleeping when the holy vessel is so near?" said the
knight. "In truth," said the squire, "he must be one that is held by
the bond of some great sin. I will take his helm and his sword, for
here have I brought you all your armor save only these two." So the
knight armed him from head to foot, and taking Sir Launcelot's horse,
rode away with his squire. On the instant, Sir Launcelot awoke amazed,
not knowing whether he had dreamed or not; but while he wondered,
there came a terrible voice, saying: "Launcelot, arise and leave this
holy place." In shame, Sir Launcelot turned to obey, only to find
horse and sword and shield alike vanished. Then, indeed, he knew
himself dishonored. Weeping bitterly, he made the best of his way on
foot, until he came to a cell where a hermit was saying prayer. Sir
Launcelot knelt too, and, when all was ended, called to the hermit,
entreating him for counsel. "With good will," said the hermit. So Sir
Launcelot made himself known and told the hermit all, lamenting how
his good fortune was turned to wretchedness and his glory to shame;
and truly, the hermit was amazed that Sir Launcelot should be in such
case. "Sir," said he, "God has given you manhood and strength beyond
all other knights; and more are ye bounden to his service." "I have
sinned," said Sir Launcelot; "for in all these years of my knighthood,
I have done everything for the honor and glory of my lady and naught
for my Maker; and little thank have I given to God for all his
benefits to me." Then the holy man gave Sir Launcelot good counsel and
made him rest there that night; and the next day he gave him a horse,
a sword and a helmet, and bade him go forth and bear himself knightly
as the servant of God.




HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SAW THE HOLY GRAIL

Retold by Beatrice Clay


For many days after he bad left the hermitage, Sir Launcelot rode
through the forest, but there came to him no such adventures as had
befallen him on other quests to the increase of his fame. At last, one
night-tide, he came to the shores of a great water and there he lay
down to sleep; but as he slept, a voice called on him: "Launcelot,
arise, put on thine armor and go on thy way until thou comest to a
ship. Into that thou shalt enter." Immediately, Sir Launcelot started
from his sleep to obey, and, riding along the shore, came presently to
a ship beached on the strand; no sooner had he entered it, than the
ship was launched--how, he might not know. So the ship sailed before
the wind for many a day. No mortal was on it, save only Sir Launcelot,
yet were all his needs supplied. Then, at last, the ship ran ashore
at the foot of a great castle; and it was midnight. Sir Launcelot
waited not for the dawn, but, his sword gripped in his hand, sprang
ashore, and then right before him, he saw a postern where the gate
stood open indeed, but two grisly lions kept the way. And when Sir
Launcelot would have rushed upon the great beasts with his sword, it
was struck from his hands, and a voice said: "Ah! Launcelot, ever is
thy trust in thy might rather than thy Maker!" Sore ashamed, Sir
Launcelot took his sword and thrust it back into the sheath, and going
forward, he passed unhurt through the gateway, the lions that kept it
falling back from his path. So without more adventure, Launcelot
entered into the castle; and there he saw how every door stood open,
save only one, and that was fast barred, nor, with all his force,
might he open it. Presently from the chamber within came the sound of
a sweet voice in a holy chant, and then in his heart Launcelot knew
that he was come to the Holy Grail. So, kneeling humbly, he prayed
that to him might be shown some vision of that he sought. Forthwith
the door flew open and from the chamber blazed a light such as he had
never known before; but when he made to enter, a voice cried:
"Launcelot, forbear," and sorrowfully he withdrew. Then where he
knelt, far even from the threshold of the wondrous room, he saw a
silver table and, on it, covered with red samite, the Holy Grail. At
sight of that which he had sought so long, his joy became so great
that, unmindful of the warning, he advanced into the room and drew
nigh even to the table itself. Then on the instant there burst between
him and it a blaze of light, and he fell to the ground. There he lay,
nor might he move nor utter any sound; only he was aware of hands busy
about him which bore him away from the chamber.

For four-and-twenty days Sir Launcelot lay as in a trance. At the end
of that time he came to himself, and found those about him that had
tended him in his swoon. These, when they had given him fresh raiment,
brought him to the aged king--Pelles was his name--that owned that
castle. The king entertained him right royally, for he knew of the
fame of Sir Launcelot; and long he talked with him of his quest and of
the other knights who followed it, for he was of a great age and knew
much of men. At the end of four days he spoke to Sir Launcelot,
bidding him return to Arthur's court: "For," said he, "your quest is
ended here, and all that ye shall see of the Holy Grail ye have seen."
So Launcelot rode on his way, grieving for the sin that hindered him
from the perfect vision of the Holy Grail, but thanking God for that
which he had seen. So in time he came to Camelot, and told to Arthur
all that had befallen him.




THE END OF THE QUEST

Retold by Beatrice Clay


After he had rescued Sir Percivale from the twenty knights who beset
him, Sir Galahad rode on his way till nightfall, when he sought
shelter at a little hermitage. Thither there came in the night a
damsel who desired to speak with Sir Galahad; so he arose and went to
her. "Galahad," said she, "arm you and mount your horse and follow me,
for I am come to guide you in your quest." So they rode together until
they had come to the seashore, and there the damsel showed Galahad a
great ship into which he must enter. Then she bade him farewell, and
he, going on to the ship, found there already the good knights Sir
Bors and Sir Percivale, who made much joy of the meeting. They abode
in that ship until they had come to the castle of King Pelles, who
welcomed them right gladly. Then, as they all sat at supper that
night, suddenly the hall was filled with a great light, and the holy
vessel appeared in their midst, covered all in white samite. While
they all rejoiced, there came a voice, saying: "My knights whom I have
chosen, ye have seen the holy vessel dimly. Continue your journey to
the city of Sarras and there the perfect Vision shall be yours."

Now in the city of Sarras had dwelt long time Joseph of Arimathea,
teaching its people the true faith, before ever he came into the land
of Britain; but when Sir Galahad and his fellows came there after long
voyage, they found it ruled by a heathen king named Estorause, who
cast them into a deep dungeon. There they were kept a year, but at the
end of that time, the tyrant died. Then the great men of the land
gathered together to consider who should be their king; and, while
they were in council, came a voice bidding them take as their king the
youngest of the three knights whom Estorause had thrown into prison.

So in fear and wonder they hastened to the prison, and, releasing the
three knights, made Galahad king as the voice had bidden them.

[Illustration: THERE CAME AN ARM AND A HAND ABOVE THE WATER. From
the painting by Walter Crane.]

Thus Sir Galahad became king of the famous city of Sarras, in far
Babylon. He had reigned a year when, one morning early, he and the
other two knights, his fellows, went into the chapel, and there they
saw, kneeling in prayer, an aged man, robed as a bishop and round him
hovered many angels. The knights fell on their knees in awe and
reverence, whereupon he that seemed a bishop turned to them and said:
"I am Joseph of Arimathea, and I am come to show you the perfect
Vision of the Holy Grail." On the instant there appeared before them,
without veil or cover, the holy vessel, in a radiance of light such as
almost blinded them. Sir Bors and Sir Percivale, when at length they
were recovered from the brightness of that glory, looked up to find
that the holy Joseph and the wondrous vessel had passed from their
sight. Then they Went to Sir Galahad where he still knelt as in
prayer, and behold, he was dead; for it had been with him even as he
had prayed; in the moment when he had seen the vision, his soul had
gone back to God.

So the two knights buried him in that far city, themselves mourning
and all the people with them. And immediately after, Sir Percivale
put off his arms and took the habit of a monk, living a devout and
holy life until, a year and two months later, he also died and was
buried near Sir Galahad. Then Sir Bors armed him, and bidding
farewell to the city, sailed away until, after many weeks, he came
again to the land of Britain. There he took horse, and stayed not till
he had come to Camelot. Great was the rejoicing of Arthur and all his
knights when Sir Bors was once more among them. When he had told all
the adventures which had befallen him and the good knights, his
companions, all who heard were filled with amaze. But the king, he
caused the wisest clerks in the land to write in great books this
Quest of the Holy Grail, that the fame of it should endure unto all
time.




THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT

Retold by Beatrice Clay


At last, the Quest of the Holy Grail was ended, and by ones and twos
the knights came back to Camelot, though many who had set out so
boldly were never seen again about the Round Table.

Great was the joy of King Arthur when Sir Launcelot and Sir Bors
returned, for, so long had they been away, that almost he had feared
that they had perished. In their honor there was high festival for
many days in London, where Arthur then had his court; and the king
made proclamation of a great tournament that he would hold at Camelot,
when he and the King of Nortgalis would keep the lists against all
comers.

So, one fair morning of spring, King Arthur made ready to ride to
Camelot and all his knights with him, save Launcelot who excused
himself, saying that an old wound hindered him from riding. But when
the king, sore vexed, had departed, the queen rebuked Sir Launcelot,
and bade him go and prove his great prowess as of old. "Madam," said
Sir Launcelot, "in this, as in all else, I obey you; at your bidding I
go, but know that in this tournament I shall adventure me in other
wise than ever before."

The next day, at dawn, Sir Launcelot mounted his horse and, riding
forth unattended, journeyed all that day till, as evening fell, he
reached the little town of Astolat, and there, at the castle, sought
lodgment for that night. The old Lord of Astolat was glad at his
coming, judging him at once to be a noble knight, though he knew him
not, for it was Sir Launcelot's will to remain unknown.

So they went to supper, Sir Launcelot and the old lord, his son, Sir
Lavaine, and his daughter Elaine, whom they of the place called the
Fair Maid of Astolat. As they sat at meat, the baron asked Sir
Launcelot if he rode to the tournament. "Yea," answered Launcelot;
"and right glad should I be if, of your courtesy, ye would lend me a
shield without device." "Right willingly," said his host; "ye shall
have my son Sir Tirre's shield. He was but lately made knight and was
hurt in his first encounter, so his shield is bare enough. If ye will
take with you my young son, Sir Lavaine, he will be glad to ride in
the company of so noble a knight and will do you such service as he
may." "I shall be glad indeed of his fellowship," answered Sir
Launcelot courteously.

Now it seemed to the fair Elaine that never had she beheld so noble a
knight as this stranger; and seeing that he was as gentle and
courteous as he was strong, she said to him: "Fair knight, will ye
wear my favor at this tournament? For never have I found knight yet to
wear my crimson sleeve, and sure am I that none other could ever win
it such honor." "Maiden," said Sir Launcelot, "right gladly would I
serve you in aught; but it has never been my custom to wear lady's
favor." "Then shall it serve the better for disguise," answered
Elaine. Sir Launcelot pondered her words, and at last he said; "Fair
maiden, I will do for you what I have done for none, and will wear
your favor." So with great glee, she brought it him, a crimson velvet
sleeve embroidered with great pearls, and fastened it in his
helmet. Then Sir Launcelot begged her to keep for him his own shield
until after the tournament, when he would come for it again and tell
them his name.

The next morn Sir Launcelot took his departure with Sir Lavaine and,
by evening, they were come to Camelot. Forthwith Sir Lavaine led Sir
Launcelot to the house of a worthy burgher, where he might stay in
privacy, undiscovered by those of his acquaintance. Then, when at dawn
the trumpets blew, they mounted their horses and rode to a little wood
hard by the lists, and there they abode some while; for Sir Launcelot
would take no part until he had seen which side was the stronger. So
they saw how King Arthur sat high on a throne to overlook the combat,
while the King of Northgalis and all the fellowship of the Round Table
held the lists against their opponents led by King Anguish of Ireland
and the King of Scots.

Then it soon appeared that the two kings with all their company could
do but little against the Knights of the Round Table, and were sore
pressed to maintain their ground. Seeing this, Sir Launcelot said to
Sir Lavaine: "Sir knight, will ye give me your aid if I go to the
rescue of the weaker side? For it seems to me they may not much longer
hold their own unaided." "Sir," answered Lavaine, "I will gladly
follow you and do what I may." So the two laid their lances in rest
and charged into the thickest of the fight and, with one spear, Sir
Launcelot bore four knights from the saddle. Lavaine, too, did nobly,
for he unhorsed the bold Sir Bedivere and Sir Lucan the Butler. Then
with their swords they smote lustily on the left hand and on the
right, and those whom they had come to aid rallying to them, they
drove the Knights of the Round Table back a space. So the fight raged
furiously, Launcelot ever being in the thickest of the press and
performing such deeds of valor, that all marvelled to see him, and
would fain know who was the Knight of the Crimson Sleeve. But the
knights of Arthur's court felt shame of their discomfiture, and, in
especial, those of Launcelot's kin were wroth that one should appear
who seemed mightier even than Launcelot's self. So they called to each
other and, making a rally, directed all their force against the
stranger knight who had so turned the fortunes of the day. With lances
in rest, Sir Lionel, Sir Bors, and Sir Ector, bore down together upon
Sir Launcelot, and Sir Bors' spear pierced Sir Launcelot and brought
him to the earth, leaving the spear head broken off in his side. This
Sir Lavaine saw, and immediately, with all his might, he rode upon the
King of Scots, unhorsed him and took his horse to Sir Launcelot. Now
Sir Launcelot felt as he had got his death-wound, but such was his
spirit that he was resolved to do some great deed while yet his
strength remained. So, with Lavaine's aid, he got upon the horse, took
a spear and laying it in rest, bore down, one after the other, Sir
Bors, Sir Lionel, and Sir Ector. Next he flung himself into the
thickest of the fight, and before the trumpets sounded the signal to
cease, he had unhorsed thirty good knights. Then the Kings of Scotland
and Ireland came to Sir Launcelot and said: "Sir knight, we thank you
for the service done us this day. And now, we pray you, come with us
to receive the prize which is rightly yours; for never have we seen
such deeds as ye have done this day." "My fair lords," answered Sir
Launcelot, "for aught that I have accomplished, I am like to pay
dearly; I beseech you, suffer me to depart." With these words, he rode
away full gallop, followed by Sir Lavaine; and when he had come to a
little wood, he called Lavaine to him, saying: "Gentle knight, I
entreat you, draw forth this spear head, for it nigh slayeth me." "Oh!
my dear lord," said Lavaine, "I fear sore to draw it forth lest ye
die." "If ye love me, draw it out," answered Launcelot. So Lavaine did
as he was bidden, and, with a deathly groan, Sir Launcelot fell in a
swoon to the ground. When he was a little recovered, he begged Lavaine
to help him to his horse and lead him to a hermitage hard by where
dwelt a hermit who, in bygone days, had been known to Launcelot for a
good knight and true. So with pain and difficulty they journeyed to
the hermitage, Lavaine oft fearing that Sir Launcelot would die. And
when the hermit saw Sir Launcelot, all pale and besmeared with blood,
he scarce knew him for the bold Sir Launcelot du Lac; but he bore him
within and dressed his wounds and bade him be of good cheer, for he
should recover. So there Sir Launcelot abode many weeks and Sir
Lavaine with him; for Lavaine would not leave him, such love had he
for the good knight he had taken for his lord.

Now when it was known that the victorious knight had departed from the
field sore wounded, Sir Gawain vowed to go in search of him. So it
chanced that, in his wanderings, he came to Astolat, and there he had
a hearty welcome of the Lord of Astolat, who asked him for news of the
tournament. Then Sir Gawain related how two stranger knights, bearing
white shields, had won great glory, and in especial one, who wore in
his helm a crimson sleeve, had surpassed all others in knightly
prowess. At these words, the fair Elaine cried aloud with delight.
"Maiden," said Gawain, "know ye this knight?" "Not his name," she
replied; "but full sure was I that he was a noble knight when I prayed
him to wear my favor." Then she showed Gawain the shield which she had
kept wrapped in rich broideries, and immediately Sir Gawain knew it
for Launcelot's. "Alas!" cried he, "without doubt it was Launcelot
himself that we wounded to the death. Sir Bors will never recover the
woe of it."

Then, on the morrow, Sir Gawain rode to London to tell the court how
the stranger knight and Launcelot were one; but the Fair Maid of
Astolat rose betimes, and having obtained leave of her father, set out
to search for Sir Launcelot and her brother Lavaine. After many
journeyings, she came, one day, upon Lavaine exercising his horse in a
field, and by him she was taken to Sir Launcelot. Then, indeed, her
heart was filled with grief when she saw the good knight to whom she
had given her crimson sleeve thus laid low; so she abode in the
hermitage, waiting upon Sir Launcelot and doing all within her power
to lessen his pain.

After many weeks, by the good care of the hermit and the fair Elaine,
Sir Launcelot was so far recovered that he might bear the weight of
his armor and mount his horse again. Then, one morn, they left the
hermitage and rode all three, the Fair Maid, Sir Launcelot, and Sir
Lavaine, to the castle of Astolat, where there was much joy of their
coming. After brief sojourn, Sir Launcelot desired to ride to court,
for he knew there would be much sorrow among his kinsmen for his long
absence. But when he would take his departure, Elaine cried aloud:
"Ah! my lord, suffer me to go with you, for I may not bear to lose
you." "Fair child," answered Sir Launcelot gently, "that may not be.
But in the days to come, when ye shall love and wed some good knight,
for your sake I will bestow upon him broad lands and great riches; and
at all times will I hold me ready to serve you as a true knight may."
Thus spoke Sir Launcelot, but the fair Elaine answered never a word.

So Sir Launcelot rode to London where the whole court was glad of his
coming; but from the day of his departure, the Fair Maid drooped and
pined until, when ten days were passed, she felt that her end was at
hand. So she sent for her father and two brothers, to whom she said
gently: "Dear father and brethren, I must now leave you." Bitterly
they wept, but she comforted them all she might, and presently desired
of her father a boon. "Ye shall have what ye will," said the old
lord; for he hoped that she might yet recover. Then first she required
her brother, Sir Tirre, to write a letter, word for word as she said
it; and when it was written, she turned to her father and said: "Kind
father, I desire that, when I am dead, I may be arrayed in my fairest
raiment, and placed on a bier; and let the bier be set within a barge,
with one to steer it until I be come to London, Then, perchance, Sir
Launcelot will come and look upon me with kindness." So she died, and
all was done as she desired; for they set her, looking as fair as a
lily, in a barge all hung with black, and an old dumb man went with
her as helmsman.

Slowly the barge floated down the river until it had come to
Westminster; and as it passed under the palace walls, it chanced that
King Arthur and Queen Guenevere looked forth from a window. Marvelling
much at the strange sight, together they went forth to the quay,
followed by many of the knights. Then the king espied the letter
clasped in the dead maiden's hand, and drew it forth gently and broke
the seal. And thus the letter ran: "Most noble knight, Sir Launcelot,
I, that men called the Fair Maid of Astolat, am come hither to crave
burial at thy hands for the sake of the unrequited love I gave thee.
As thou art peerless knight, pray for my soul."

Then the king bade fetch Sir Launcelot, and when he was come, he
showed him the letter. And Sir Launcelot, gazing on the dead maiden,
was filled with sorrow. "My lord Arthur," he said, "for the death of
this dear child I shall grieve my life long. Gentle she was and
loving, and much was I beholden to her; but what she desired I could
not give." "Yet her request now thou wilt grant, I know," said the
king, "for ever thou art kind and courteous to all." "It is my
desire," answered Sir Launcelot.

So the Maid of Astolat was buried in the presence of the king and
queen and of the fellowship of the Round Table, and of many a gentle
lady who wept, that time, the fair child's fate. Over her grave was
raised a tomb of white marble, and on it was sculptured the shield of
Sir Launcelot; for, when he had heard her whole story, it was the
king's will that she that in life had guarded the shield of his
noblest knight, should keep it also in death.




THE MABINOGION


Mabinogion means Tales, and it is the name given to the collection of
popular tales belonging to the people of Wales. The Welsh is a very
old language, one of the oldest in Europe, with poems dating from the
sixth century. It is so much a spoken language, and so little a
printed language, that it was only in recent years that the tales were
translated into English by Lady Charlotte Guest. The following stories
have been retold from her text.




KYNON'S ADVENTURE AT THE FOUNTAIN

By Lady Charlotte Guest


King Arthur was at Caerleon upon Usk; and one day he sat in his
chamber, and with him were Owain, the son of Urien, and Kynon the son
of Clydno, and Kay the son of Kyner, and Guenevere and her handmaidens
at needlework by the window. In the centre of the chamber King Arthur
sat, upon a seat of green rushes, over which was spread a covering of
flame-covered satin, and a cushion of red satin was under his elbow.

Then Arthur spoke. "If I thought you would not disparage me," said he,
"I would sleep while I wait for my repast; and you can entertain one
another with relating tales, and can obtain a flagon of mead and some
meat from Kay." And the king went to sleep. And Kynon the son of
Clydno asked Kay for that which Arthur had promised them. "I too will
have the good tale which he promised me," said Kay. "Nay," answered
Kynon; "fairer will it be for thee to fulfil Arthur's behest in the
first place, and then we will tell thee the best tale that we know."
So Kay went to the kitchen and to the mead-cellar, and returned,
bearing a flagon of mead, and a golden goblet, and a handful of
skewers, upon which were broiled slices of meat. They ate the collops,
and began to drink the mead. "Now," said Kay, "it is time for you to
give me my story." "Kynon," said Owain, "do thou pay to Kay the tale
that is his due." "I will do so," answered Kynon.

"I was the only son of my mother and father, and I was exceedingly
aspiring, and my daring was very great. I thought there was no
enterprise in the world too mighty for me: and after I had achieved
all the adventures that were in my own country I equipped myself, and
set forth to journey through deserts and distant regions. And at
length it chanced that I came to the fairest valley in the world,
wherein were trees all of equal growth; and a river ran through the
valley, and a path was by the side of the river. I followed the path
until midday, and continued my journey along the remainder of the
valley until the evening; and at the extremity of the plain I came to
a large and lustrous castle, at the foot of which was a torrent. I
approached the castle, and there I beheld two youths with yellow
curling hair, each with a frontlet of gold upon his head, and clad in
a garment of yellow satin; and they had gold clasps upon their
insteps. In the hand of each of them was an ivory bow, strung with the
sinews of the stag, and their arrows and their shafts were of the bone
of the whale, and were winged with peacock's feathers. The shafts also
had golden heads. They had daggers with blades of gold, with hilts of
the bone of the whale, and they were shooting at a mark.

"A little away from them I saw a man in the prime of life, with his
beard newly shorn, clad in a robe and mantle of yellow satin, and
round the top of his mantle was a band of gold lace. On his feet were
shoes of variegated leather, fastened by two bosses of gold. When I
saw him I went towards him and saluted him; and such was his courtesy,
that he no sooner received my greeting than he returned it. And he
went with me towards the castle. Now there were no dwellers in the
castle, except those who were in one hall. There I saw four and twenty
damsels, embroidering satin at a window. And this I tell thee, Kay,
that the least fair of them was fairer than the fairest maid thou
didst ever behold in the island of Britain; and the least lovely of
them was more lovely than Guenevere, the wife of Arthur, when she
appeared loveliest, at the feast of Easter. They rose up at my coming,
and six of them took my horse, and divested me of my armor, and six
others took my arms and washed them in a vessel till they were
perfectly bright. And the third six spread cloths upon the tables, and
prepared meat. And the fourth six took off my soiled garments, and
placed others upon me, namely, an under vest and a doublet of fine
linen, and a robe and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin, with a
broad gold band upon the mantle. And they placed cushions both beneath
and around me, with coverings of red linen. And I sat down. Now the
six maidens who had taken my horse unharnessed him as well as if they
had been the best squires in the island of Britain.

"Then behold they brought bowls of silver, wherein was water to wash,
and towels of linen, some green and some white; and I washed. And in a
little while the man sat down at the table. I sat next to him, and
below me sat all the maidens, except those who waited on us. The table
was of silver, and the cloths upon the table were of linen. No vessel
was served upon the table that was not either of gold or of silver or
of buffalo horn, and our meat was brought to us. And verily, Kay, I
saw there every sort of meat and every sort of liquor that I ever saw
elsewhere; but the meat and the liquor were better served there than I
ever saw them in any other place.

"Until the repast was half over, neither the man nor any one of the
damsels spoke a single word to me; but when the man perceived that it
would be more agreeable for me to converse than to eat any more, he
began to inquire of me who I was. I told the man who I was, and what
was the cause of my journey, and said that I was seeking whether any
one was superior to me, or whether I could gain mastery over all. The
man looked upon me, and smiled and said, 'If I did not fear to do thee
a mischief, I would show thee that which thou seekest.' Then I
desired him to speak freely. And he said: 'Sleep here to-night, and in
the morning arise early, take the road upwards through the valley,
until thou reachest the wood. A little way within the wood thou wilt
come to a large sheltered glade, with a mound in the centre, and thou
wilt see a black man of great stature on the top of the mound. He has
but one foot, and one eye in the middle of his forehead. He is the
wood-ward of that wood. Thou wilt see a thousand wild animals grazing
around him. Inquire of him the way out of the glade, and he will reply
to thee briefly, and will point out the road by which thou shalt find
that which thou art in quest of.'

"Long seemed that night to me. The next morning I arose and equipped
myself, mounted my horse, and proceeded straight through the valley to
the wood, and at length I arrived at the glade. The black man was
there, sitting upon the top of the mound; and I was three times more
astonished at the number of wild animals that I beheld than the man
had said I should be. I inquired of him the way, and he asked me
roughly whither I would go. When I had told him who I was and what I
sought, 'Take,' said he, 'that path that leads toward the head of the
glade, and there thou wilt find an open space like to a large valley,
and in the midst of it a tall tree. Under this tree is a fountain, and
by the side of the fountain a marble slab, and on the marble slab a
silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, that it may not be carried
away. Take the bowl and throw a bowlful of water on the slab. If thou
dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou needest not seek it
during the rest of thy life'

"So I journeyed on until I reached the summit of the steep. And there
I found everything as the black man had described it to me. I went up
to the tree, and beneath it I saw the fountain, and by its side the
marble slab, and the silver bowl fastened by the chain. Then I took
the bowl, and cast a bowlful of water upon the slab. Immediately I
heard a mighty peal of thunder, so that heaven and earth seemed to
tremble with its fury. And after the thunder came a shower; and of a
truth I tell thee, Kay, that it was such a shower as neither man nor
beast could endure and live. I turned my horse's flank toward the
shower, and placed the point of my shield over his head and neck,
while I held the upper part of it over my own neck. And thus I
withstood the shower. Presently the sky became clear, and with that,
behold, the birds lighted upon the tree, and sang. Truly, Kay, I never
heard any melody equal to that, either before or since. And when I was
most charmed with listening to the birds, lo! a chiding voice was
heard of one approaching me, and saying: 'O knight, what has brought
thee hither? What evil have I done to thee, that thou shouldst act
toward me and my possessions as thou hast this day? Dost thou not know
that the shower to-day has left in my dominions neither man nor beast
alive that was exposed to it?' And thereupon, behold, a knight on a
black horse appeared, clothed in jet-black velvet, and with a tabard
of black linen about him. We charged each other, and as the onset was
furious, it was not long before I was overthrown. Then the knight
passed the shaft of his lance through the bridle-rein of my horse, and
rode off with the two horses, leaving me where I was. He did not even
bestow so much notice upon me as to imprison me, nor did he despoil me
of my arms. So I returned along the road by which I had come. And
when I reached the glade where the black man was, I confess to thee,
Kay, it is a marvel that I did not melt down into a liquid pool,
through the shame that I felt at the black man's derision. That night
I came to the same castle where I had spent the night preceding, and I
was more agreeably entertained that night than I had been the night
before. I conversed freely with the inmates of the castle, and none of
them alluded to my expedition to the fountain, neither did I mention
it to any. And I remained there that night. When I arose on the
morrow I found ready saddled a dark bay palfrey, with nostrils as red
as scarlet. After putting on my armor, and leaving there my blessing,
I returned to my own court. That horse I still possess, and he is in
the stable yonder. And I declare that I would not part with him for
the best palfrey in the island of Britain.

"Now, of a truth, Kay, no man ever before confessed to an adventure so
much to his own discredit; and verily it seems strange to me that
neither before nor since have I heard of any person who knew of this
adventure, and that the subject of it should exist within King
Arthur's dominions without any other person lighting upon it."




OWAIN'S ADVENTURE AT THE FOUNTAIN

By Lady Charlotte Guest


"Now," quoth Owain, "would it not be well to go and endeavor to
discover that place?" "By the hand of my friend," said Kay, "often
dost thou utter that with thy tongue which thou wouldest not make good
with thy deeds."

"In very truth," said Guenevere, "it were better thou wert hanged,
Kay, than to use such uncourteous speech towards a man like Owain."

"By the hand of my friend, good lady," said Kay, "thy praise of Owain
is not greater than mine."

With that Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not been sleeping a
little.

"Yes, lord," answered Owain, "thou hast slept awhile."

"Is it time for us to go to meat?"

"It is, lord," said Owain.

Then the horn for washing was sounded, and the king and all his
household sat down to eat. When the meal was ended Owain withdrew to
his lodging, and made ready his horse and his arms.

On the morrow with the dawn of day he put on his armor, mounted his
charger, and travelled through distant lands, and over desert
mountains. At length he arrived at the valley which Kynon had
described to him, and he was certain that it was the same that he
sought. Journeying along the valley, by the side of the river, he
followed its course till he came to the plain, and within sight of the
castle. When he approached the castle he saw the youths shooting with
their bows, in the place where Kynon had seen them, and the yellow
man, to whom the castle belonged, standing hard by. And no sooner had
Owain saluted the yellow man, than he was saluted by him in return.

He went forward towards the castle, and there he saw the chamber; and
when he had entered the chamber, he beheld the maidens working at
satin embroidery, in chains of gold. Their beauty and their comeliness
seemed to Owain far greater than Kynon had represented to him. They
arose to wait upon Owain, as they had done to Kynon, and the meal
which they set before him gave even more satisfaction to Owain than it
had done to Kynon.

About the middle of the repast the yellow man asked Owain the object
of his journey. Owain made it known to him, and said, "I am in quest
of the knight who guards the fountain." Upon this the yellow man
smiled, and said that he was as loath to point out that adventure to
him as he had been to Kynon. However, he described the whole to Owain,
and they retired to rest.

The next morning Owain found his horse made ready for him by the
damsels, and he set forward and came to the glade where the black man
was. The stature of the black man seemed more wonderful to Owain than
it had done to Kynon; and Owain asked of him his road, and he showed
it to him. And Owain followed the road till he came to the green tree;
and he beheld the fountain, and the slab beside the fountain, with the
bowl upon it. Owain took the bowl and threw a bowlful of water upon
the slab. And, lo! the thunder was heard, and after the thunder came
the shower, more violent than Kynon had described, and after the
shower the sky became bright. Immediately the birds came and settled
upon the tree and sang. And when their song was most pleasing to Owain
he beheld a knight coming towards him through the valley; and he
prepared to receive him, and encountered him violently. Having broken
both their lances, they drew their swords and fought blade to blade.
Then Owain struck the knight a blow through his helmet, head-piece,
and visor, and through the skin, and the flesh, and the bone, until it
wounded the very brain. Then the black knight felt that he had
received a mortal wound, upon which he turned his horse's head and
fled. Owain pursued him, and followed close upon him, although he was
not near enough to strike him with his sword. Then Owain descried a
vast and resplendent castle; and they came to the castle gate. The
black knight was allowed to enter, but the portcullis was let fall
upon Owain, and it struck his horse behind the saddle, and cut him in
two, and carried away the rowels of the spurs that were upon Owain's
heels. And the portcullis descended to the floor. And the rowels of
the spurs and part of the horse were without, and Owain with the other
part of the horse remained between the two gates, and the inner gate
was closed, so that Owain could not go thence; and Owain was in a
perplexing situation. While he was in this state, he could see through
an aperture in the gate a street facing him, with a row of houses on
each side. He beheld a maiden with yellow, curling hair, and a
frontlet of gold upon her head; and she was clad in a dress of yellow
satin, and on her feet were shoes of variegated leather. And she
approached the gate, and desired that it should be opened. "Heaven
knows, lady," said Owain, "it is no more possible for me to open to
thee from hence, than it is for thee to set me free." And he told her
his name, and who he was. "Truly," said the damsel, "it is very sad
that thou canst not be released; and every woman ought to succor thee,
for I know there is no one more faithful in the service of ladies than
thou. Therefore," quoth she, "whatever is in my power to do for thy
release, I will do it. Take this ring and put it on thy finger, with
the stone inside thy hand, and close thy hand upon the stone. As long
as thou concealest it, it will conceal thee. When they come forth to
fetch thee, they will be much grieved that they cannot find thee. I
will await thee on the horseblock yonder, and thou wilt be able to see
me, though I cannot see thee. Therefore come and place thy hand upon
my shoulder, that I may know that thou art near me. And by the way
that I go hence do thou accompany me."

Then the maiden went away from Owain, and he did all that she had told
him. The people of the castle came to seek Owain to put him to death;
and when they found nothing but the half of his horse, they were
sorely grieved.

And Owain vanished from among them, and went to the maiden, and placed
his hand upon her shoulder; whereupon she set off, and Owain followed
her, until they came to the door of a large and beautiful chamber, and
the maiden opened it, and they went in. Owain looked around the
chamber, and behold there was not a single nail in it that was not
painted with gorgeous colors, and there was not a single panel that
had not sundry images in gold portrayed upon it.

The maiden kindled a fire, and took water in a silver bowl, and gave
Owain water to wash. Then she placed before him a silver table, inlaid
with gold; upon which was a cloth of yellow linen, and she brought him
food. Of a truth, Owain never saw any kind of meat that was not there
in abundance, but it was better cooked there than he had ever found it
in any other place. There was not one vessel from which he was served
that was not of gold or of silver. Owain eat and drank until late in
the afternoon, when lo! they heard a mighty clamor in the castle, and
he asked the maiden what it was. "They are administering extreme
unction," said she, "to the nobleman who owns the castle." And she
prepared a couch for Owain which was meet for Arthur himself, and
Owain went to sleep.

A little after daybreak he heard an exceeding loud clamor and wailing,
and he asked the maiden what was the cause of it. "They are bearing to
the church the body of the nobleman who owned the castle."

And Owain rose up, and clothed himself, and opened a window of the
chamber, and looked towards the castle. He could see neither the
bounds nor the extent of the hosts that filled the streets, and they
were fully armed; and a vast number of women were with them, both on
horseback and on foot, and all the ecclesiastics in the city singing.
In the midst of the throng he beheld the bier, over which was a veil
of white linen; and wax tapers were burning beside and around it; and
none that supported the bier was lower in rank than a powerful baron.

Never did Owain see an assemblage so gorgeous with silk and
satin. And, following the train, he beheld a lady with yellow hair
falling over her shoulders, and stained with blood; and about her a
dress of yellow satin, which was torn. Upon her feet were shoes of
variegated leather. It was a marvel that the ends of her fingers were
not bruised from the violence with which she smote her hands together.
Truly she would have been the fairest lady Owain ever saw, had she
been in her usual guise. And her cry was louder than the shout of the
men or the clamor of the trumpets. No sooner had he beheld the lady
than he became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire
possession of him.

Then he inquired of the maiden who the lady was. "Heaven knows,"
replied the maiden, "she is the fairest, the purest, the most liberal,
and the most noble of women. She is my mistress, and she is called the
Countess of the Fountain, the wife of him whom thou didst slay
yesterday." "Verily," said Owain, "she is the woman that I love best."
"Verily," said the maiden, "she shall also love thee not a little."

The maiden prepared a repast for Owain, and truly he thought he had
never before so good a meal, nor was he ever so well served. Then she
left him, and went towards the castle. When she came there, she found
nothing but mourning and sorrow; and the countess in her chamber could
not bear the sight of any one through grief. Luned, for that was the
name of the maiden, saluted her, but the Countess of the Fountain
answered her not. And the maiden bent down towards her, and said,
"What aileth thee, that thou answerest no one to-day?" "Luned," said
the countess, "what change hath befallen thee, that thou hast not come
to visit me in my grief. It was wrong in thee, and I so sorely
afflicted." "Truly," said Luned, "I thought thy good sense was greater
than I find it to be. Is it well for thee to mourn after that good
man, or for anything else that thou canst not have?" "I declare to
Heaven," said the countess, "that in the whole world there is not a
man equal to him." "Not so," said Luned, "for an ugly man would be as
good as or better than he." "I declare to Heaven," said the countess,
"that were it not repugnant to me to put to death one whom I have
brought up, I would have thee executed, for making such a comparison
to me. As it is, I will banish thee." "I am glad," said Luned, "that
thou hast no other cause to do so than that I would have been of
service to thee, where thou didst not know what was to thine
advantage. Henceforth, evil betide whichever of us shall make the
first advance towards reconciliation to the other, whether I should
seek an invitation from thee, or thou of thine own accord should send
to invite."

With that Luned went forth; and the countess arose and followed her to
the door of the chamber, and began coughing loudly. When Luned looked
back, the countess beckoned to her, and she returned to the countess.
"In truth," said the countess, "evil is thy disposition; but if thou
knowest what is to my advantage, declare it to me." "I will do so,"
said she.

"Thou knowest that, except by warfare and arms, it is impossible for
thee to preserve thy possessions; delay not, therefore, to seek some
one who can defend them." "How can I do that?" said the countess. "I
will tell thee," said Luned; "unless thou canst defend the fountain,
thou canst not maintain thy dominions; and no one can defend the
fountain except it be a knight of Arthur's household. I will go to
Arthur's court, and I'll betide me if I return not thence with a
warrior who can guard the fountain as well as, or even better than he
who defended it formerly." "That will be hard to perform," said the
countess. "Go, however, and make proof of that which thou hast
promised."

Luned set out under the pretence of going to Arthur's court; but she
went back to the mansion where she had left Owain, and she tarried
there as long as it might have taken her to travel to the court of
King Arthur and back. At the end of that time she apparelled herself,
and went to visit the countess. The countess was much rejoiced when
she saw her, and inquired what news she brought from the court. "I
bring thee the best of news," said Luned, "for I have compassed the
object of my mission. When wilt thou that I should present to thee the
chieftain who has come with me hither?" "Bring him here to visit me
tomorrow," said the countess, "and I will cause the town to be
assembled by that time." And Luned returned home.

The next day, at noon, Owain arrayed himself in a coat and a surcoat,
and a mantle of yellow satin, upon which was a broad band of gold
lace; and on his feet were high shoes of variegated leather, which
were fastened by golden clasps, in the form of lions. And they
proceeded to the chamber of the countess.

Right glad was the countess of their coming. She gazed steadfastly
upon Owain, and said, "Luned, this knight has not the look of a
traveller." "What harm is there in that, lady?" said Luned. "I am
certain," said the countess, "that no other man than this chased the
soul from the body of my lord." "So much the better for thee, lady,"
said Luned, "for had he not been stronger than thy lord, he could not
have deprived him of life. There is no remedy for that which is past,
be it as it may." "Go back to thine abode," said the countess, "and I
will take counsel."

The next day the countess caused all her subjects to assemble, and
showed them that her earldom was left defenceless, and that it could
not be protected but with horse and arms, and military skill.
"Therefore," said she, "this is what I offer for your choice: either
let one of you take me, or give your consent for me to take a husband
from elsewhere, to defend my dominions."

So they came to the determination that it was better that she should
have permission to marry some one from elsewhere; and thereupon she
sent for the bishops and archbishops, to celebrate her nuptials with
Owain. And the men of the earldom did Owain homage.

Owain defended the fountain with lance and sword. And this is the
manner in which he defended it. Whensoever a knight came there, he
overthrew him, and sold him for his full worth. What he thus gained he
divided among his barons and his knights, and no man in the whole
world could be more beloved than he was by his subjects. And it was
thus for the space of three years.




GAWAIN'S ADVENTURE IN SEARCH OF OWAIN

By Lady Charlotte Guest


It befell that, as Gawain went forth one day with King Arthur, he
perceived him to be very sad and sorrowful. And Gawain was much
grieved to see Arthur in this state, and he questioned him, saying, "O
my lord, what has befallen thee?" "In sooth, Gawain," said Arthur, "I
am grieved concerning Owain, whom I have lost these three years; and I
shall certainly die if the fourth year pass without my seeing him. Now
I am sure that it is through the tale which Kynon, the son of Clydno,
related, that I have lost Owain." "There is no need for thee," said
Gawain, "to summon to arms thy whole dominions on this account, for
thou thyself, and the men of thy household, will be able to avenge
Owain if he be slain, or to set him free if he be in prison and, if
alive, to bring him back with thee." And it was settled according to
what Gawain had said.

Then Arthur and the men of his household prepared to go and seek
Owain, and Kynon, the son of Clydno, acted as their guide. And Arthur
came to the castle where Kynon had been before, and when he came
there, the youths were shooting in the same place, and the yellow man
was standing hard by. When the yellow man saw Arthur, he greeted him,
and invited him to the castle. Arthur accepted his invitation, and
they entered the castle together. Great as was the number of his
retinue, their presence was scarcely observed in the castle, so vast
was its extent. And the maidens rose up to wait on them. The service
of the maidens appeared to them all to excel any attendance they had
ever met with; and even the pages, who had charge of the horses, were
no worse served that night than Arthur himself would have been in his
own palace.

The next morning Arthur set out thence, with Kynon for his guide, and
came to the place where the black man was. And the stature of the
black man was more surprising to Arthur than it had been represented
to him. They came to the top of the wooded steep, and traversed the
valley, till they reached the green tree, where they saw the fountain
and the bowl and the slab. And upon that Kay came to Arthur, and spoke
to him. "My lord," said he, "I know the meaning of all this, and my
request is that thou wilt permit me to throw the water on the slab,
and to receive the first adventure that may befall." And Arthur gave
him leave.

Then Kay threw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and immediately there
came the thunder, and after the thunder the shower. And such a
thunderstorm they had never known before. After the shower had ceased,
the sky became clear, and on looking at the tree, they beheld it
completely leafless. Then the birds descended upon the tree. And the
song of the birds was far sweeter than any strain they had ever heard
before. Then they beheld a knight, on a coal-black horse, clothed in
sating coming rapidly towards them. Kay met him and encountered him,
and it was not long before Kay was overthrown. The knight withdrew,
and Arthur and his host encamped for the night.

When they arose in the morning, they perceived the signal of combat
upon the lance of the knight. Then, one by one, all the household of
Arthur went forth to combat the knight, until there was not one that
was not overthrown by him, except Arthur and Gawain. And Arthur armed
himself to encounter the knight. "O my lord," said Gawain, "permit me
to fight with him first." And Arthur permitted him. He went forth to
meet the knight, having over himself and his horse a satin robe of
honor, which had been sent him by the daughter of the Earl of Rhangyr,
and in this dress he was not known by any of the host. And they
charged each other, and fought all that day until the evening. And
neither of them was able to unhorse the other. And so it was the next
day; they broke their lances in the shock, but neither of them could
obtain the mastery.

The third day they fought with exceeding strong lances. They were
incensed with rage, and fought furiously, even until noon. They gave
each other such a shock that the girths of their horses were broken,
so that they fell over their horses' cruppers to the ground. And they
rose up speedily and drew their swords, and resumed the combat. All
they that witnessed their encounter felt assured that they had never
before seen two men so valiant or so powerful. Had it been midnight,
it would have been light, from the fire that flashed from their
weapons. And the knight gave Gawain a blow that turned his helmet from
off his face, so that the knight saw that it was Gawain. Then Owain
said, "My lord Gawain, I did not know thee for my cousin, owing to the
robe of honor that enveloped thee; take my sword and my arms." Said
Gawain, "Thou, Owain, art the victor; take thou my sword." And with
that Arthur saw that they were conversing, and advanced toward them.
"My lord Arthur," said Gawain, "here is Owain, who has vanquished me,
and will not take my arms." "My lord," said Owain, "it is he that has
vanquished me, and he will not take my sword." "Give me your swords,"
said Arthur, "and then neither of you has vanquished the other." Then
Owain put his arms round Arthur's neck, and they embraced. All the
host hurried forward to see Owain, and to embrace him. And there was
nigh being a loss of life, so great was the press.

The next day Arthur prepared to depart. "My lord," said Owain, "this
is not well of thee. For I have been absent from thee these three
years, and during all that time, up to this very day, I have been
preparing a banquet for thee, knowing that thou wouldst come to seek
me. Tarry with me, therefore, until thou and thy attendants have
recovered the fatigues of the journey, and have been anointed."

[Illustration: AN AGED MAN ENTERED THE HALL FOLLOWED BY A YOUNG MAN.
From the painting by Walter Crane.]

And they all proceeded to the castle of the Countess of the Fountain,
and the banquet which had been three years preparing was consumed in
three months. Never had they a more delicious or agreeable banquet.
And Arthur prepared to depart. Then he sent an embassy to the countess
to beseech her to permit Owain to go with him, for the space of three
months, that he might show him to the nobles and the fair dames of the
island of Britain. And the countess gave her consent, although it was
very painful to her. So Owain came with Arthur to the island of
Britain. And when he was once more amongst his kindred and friends, he
remained three years, instead of three months, with them.




THE ADVENTURE OF THE LION

By Lady Charlotte Guest


As Owain one day sat at meat, in the city of Caerleon upon Usk, a
damsel entered the hall upon a bay horse, with a curling mane, and
covered with foam; and the bridle, and as much as was seen of the
saddle, were of gold. The damsel was arrayed in a dress of yellow
satin. And she came up to Owain, and took the ring from off his
hand. "Thus," said she, "shall be treated the deceiver, the traitor,
the faithless, the disgraced, and the beardless." And she turned her
horse's head and departed.

Then his adventure came to Owain's remembrance, and he was sorrowful.
Having finished eating, he went to his own abode, and made
preparations that night. The next day he arose, but did not go to the
court, nor did he return to the Countess of the Fountain, but wandered
to the distant parts of the earth and to uncultivated mountains. And
he remained there until all his apparel was worn out, and his body was
wasted away, and his hair was grown long. And he went about with the
wild beasts, and fed with them, until they became familiar with him.
But at length he became so weak that he could no longer bear them
company. Then he descended from the mountains to the valley, and came
to a park, that was the fairest in the world, and belonged to a
charitable lady.

One day the lady and her attendants went forth to walk by a lake that
was in the middle of the park. They saw the form of a man, lying as if
dead, and were terrified. Nevertheless they went near him, and touched
him, and saw that there was life in him. And the lady returned to the
castle, and took a flask full of precious ointment and gave it to one
of her maidens. "Go with this," said she, "and take with thee yonder
horse, and clothing, and place them near the man we saw just now; and
anoint him with this balsam near his heart; and if there is life in
him, he will revive, through the efficiency of this balsam. Then watch
what he will do."

The maiden departed from her, and went and poured of the balsam upon
Owain, and left the horse and garments hard by, and went a little way
off and hid herself to watch him. In a short time she saw him begin to
move. He rose up, looked at his person, and became ashamed of the
unseemliness of his appearance. Then he perceived the horse and the
garments that were near him. He clothed himself, and with difficulty
mounted the horse.

Then the damsel discovered herself to him, and saluted him. And he and
the maiden proceeded to the castle, and the maiden conducted him to a
pleasant chamber, and kindled a fire, and left him.

He stayed at the castle three months, till he was restored to his
former guise, and became even more comely than he had ever been
before. And Owain rendered signal service to the lady, in a
controversy with a powerful neighbor, so that he made ample requital
to her for her hospitality; and he took his departure.

As he journeyed he heard a loud yelling in a wood. It was repeated a
second and a third time. And Owain went towards the spot, and beheld
a huge craggy mound, in the middle of the wood, on the side of which
was a gray rock. There was a cleft in the rock, and a serpent was
within the cleft.

Near the rock stood a black lion, and every time the lion sought to go
thence the serpent darted towards him to attack him. And Owain
unsheathed his sword, and drew near to the rock; and as the serpent
sprung out he struck him with his sword and cut him in two; and he
dried his sword, and went on his way as before. Behold the lion
followed him, and played about him, as though it had been a greyhound
that he had reared.

They proceeded thus throughout the day, until the evening. When it was
time for Owain to take his rest he dismounted, and turned his horse
loose in a flat and wooded meadow. He struck fire, and when the fire
was kindled, the lion brought him fuel enough to last for three
nights. And the lion disappeared. Presently the lion returned, bearing
a fine large roebuck, and threw it down before Owain, who went towards
the fire with it.

Owain took the roebuck, skinned it, and placed slices of its flesh
upon skewers round the fire. The rest of the buck he gave to the lion
to devour. While he was so employed, he heard a deep groan near him,
and a second, and a third. The place whence the groans proceeded was a
cave in the rock; and Owain went near, and called out to know who it
was that groaned so piteously. And a voice answered, "I am Luned, the
hand-maiden of the Countess of the Fountain." "And what dost thou
here?" said he. "I am imprisoned," said she, "on account of the knight
who came from Arthur's court, and married the countess. And he staid a
short time with her, but he afterwards departed for the court of
Arthur, and has not returned since. And two of the countess's pages
traduced him, and called him a deceiver. And because I said I would
vouch for it he would come before long and maintain his cause against
both of them, they imprisoned me in this cave, and said that I should
be put to death, unless he came to deliver me, by a certain day; and
that is no further off than to-morrow, and I have no one to send to
seek him for me. His name is Owain, the son of Urien." "And art thou
certain that if that knight knew all this, he would come to thy
rescue?" "I am most certain of it," said she.

When the slices of meat were cooked, Owain divided them into two
parts, between himself and the maiden, and then Owain laid himself
down to sleep; and never did sentinel keep stricter watch over his
lord than the lion that night over Owain.

The next day there came two pages with a great troop of attendants to
take Luned from her cell, and put her to death. Owain asked them what
charge they had against her. They told him of the compact that was
between them; as the maiden had done the night before. "And," said
they, "Owain has failed her, therefore we are taking her to be burnt."
"Truly," said Owain, "he is a good knight, and if he knew that the
maiden was in such peril, I marvel that he came not to her rescue. But
if you will accept me in his stead, I will do battle with you." "We
will," said the youths.

And they attacked Owain, and he was hard beset by them. And with that,
the lion came to Owain's assistance, and they two got the better of
the young men. And they said to him, "Chieftain, it was not agreed
that we should fight save with thyself alone, and it is harder for us
to contend with yonder animal than with thee." And Owain put the lion
in the place where Luned had been imprisoned, and blocked up the door
with stones. And he went to fight with the young men as before.

But Owain had not his usual strength, and the two youths pressed hard
upon him. And the lion roared incessantly at seeing Owain in trouble.
And he burst through the wall, until he found a way out, and rushed
upon the young men and instantly slew them. So Luned was saved from
being burnt.

Then Owain returned with Luned to the castle of the Lady of the
Fountain. And when he went thence, he took the countess with him to
Arthur's court, and she was his wife as long as she lived.




HOW PWYLL OUTWITTED GAWL

By Lady Charlotte Guest


Once upon a time Pwyll was at Narberth, his chief palace, where a
feast had been prepared for him, and with him was a great host of men.
And after the first meal Pwyll arose to walk; and he went to the top
of a mound that was above the palace, and was called Gorsedd Arberth.
"Lord," said one of the court, "it is peculiar to the mound that
whosoever sits upon it cannot go thence without either receiving
wounds or blows, or else seeing a wonder." "I fear not to receive
wounds or blows," said Pwyll; "but as to the wonder, gladly would I
see it. I will therefore go and sit upon the mound."

And upon the mound he sat. While he sat there they saw a lady, on a
pure white horse of large size, with a garment of shining gold around
her, coming along the highway that led from the mound. "My men," said
Pwyll, "is there any among you who knows yonder lady?" "There is not,
lord," said they. "Go one of you and meet her, that we may know who
she is." And one of them arose, and as he came upon the road to meet
her, she passed by; and he followed as fast as he could, being on
foot, and the greater was his speed, the further was she from him.
When he saw that it profited him nothing to follow her, he returned to
Pwyll, and said, "Lord, it is idle for any one in the world to follow
her on foot." "Verily," said Pwyll, "go unto the palace, and take the
fleetest horse that thou seest, and go after her."

So he took a horse and went forward. He came to an open, level plain,
and put spurs to his horse; and the more he urged his horse, the
further was she from him. And he returned to the place where Pwyll
was, and said, "Lord, it will avail nothing for any one to follow
yonder lady. I know of no horse in these realms swifter than this, and
it availed me not to pursue her." "Of a truth," said Pwyll, "there
must be some illusion here; let us go toward the palace." So to the
palace they went, and spent the day.

And the next day they amused themselves until it was time to go to
meat. And when meat was ended, Pwyll said, "Where are the hosts that
went yesterday to the top of the mound?" "Behold, lord, we are here,"
said they. "Let us go," said he, "to the mound, and sit there. And do
thou," said he to the page who tended his horse, "saddle my horse
well, and hasten with him to the road, and bring also my spurs with
thee." And the youth did thus. They went and sat upon the mound and
ere they had been there but a short time they beheld the lady coming
by the same road, "Young man," said Pwyll, "I see the lady coming;
give me my horse." Before he had mounted his horse she passed him. And
he turned after her and followed her. He let his horse go bounding
playfully, and thought that he should soon come up with her, but he
came no nearer to her than at first. Then he urged his horse to his
utmost speed, yet he found that it availed not. Then said Pwyll, "O
maiden, for the sake of him whom thou best lovest, stay for me." "I
will stay gladly," said she; "and it were better for thy horse hadst
thou asked it long since." So the maiden stopped; and she threw back
that part of her head-dress which covered her face. Then he thought
that the beauty of all the maidens and all the ladies that he had ever
seen was as nothing compared to her beauty. "Lady," he said, "wilt
thou tell me aught concerning thy purpose?" "I will tell thee," said
she; "my chief quest was to see thee." "Truly," said Pwyll, "this is
to me the most pleasing quest on which thou couldst have come; and
wilt thou tell me who thou art?" "I will tell thee, lord," said
she. "I am Rhiannon, the daughter of Heveydd, and they sought to give
me a husband against my will. But no husband would I have, and that
because of my love for thee; neither will I yet have one, unless thou
reject me; and hither have I come to hear thy answer." "By Heaven,"
said Pwyll, "behold this is my answer. If I might choose among all
the ladies and damsels in the world, thee would I choose." "Verily,"
said she, "if thou art thus minded, make a pledge to meet me ere I am
given to another." "The sooner I may do so, the more pleasing will it
be to me," said Pwyll; "and wheresoever thou wilt, there will I meet
with thee." "I will that thou meet me this day twelvemonth at the
palace of Heveydd." "Gladly," said he, "will I keep this tryst." So
they parted, and he went back to his hosts, and to them of his
household. And whatsoever questions they asked him respecting the
damsel, he always turned the discourse upon other matters.

When a year from that time was gone, he caused a hundred knights to
equip themselves, and to go with him to the palace of Heveydd. And he
came to the palace, and there was great joy concerning him, with much
concourse of people, and great rejoicing, and vast preparations for
his coming. And the whole court was placed under his orders.

And the hall was garnished, and they went to meat, and thus did they
sit: Heveydd was on one side of Pwyll, and Rhiannon on the other; and
all the rest according to their rank. And they ate and feasted, and
talked one with another. After the meat there entered a tall,
auburn-haired youth, of royal bearing, clothed in a garment of satin,
who saluted Pwyll and his companions. "The greeting of Heaven be unto
thee," said Pwyll; "come thou and sit down." "Nay," said he, "a suitor
am I, and I will do my errand." "Do so willingly," said Pwyll. "Lord,"
said he, "my errand is unto thee, and it is to crave a boon of thee
that I come." "What boon soever thou mayest ask of me, so far as I am
able, thou shalt have." "Ah!" said Rhiannon, "wherefore didst thou
give that answer?" "Has he not given it before the presence of these
nobles?" asked the youth. "My soul," said Pwyll, "what is the boon
thou askest?" "The lady whom best I love is to be thy bride this
night; I come to ask her of thee, with the feast and the banquet that
are in this place," And Pwyll was silent, because of the promise which
he had given. "Be silent as long as thou wilt," said Rhiannon, "never
did man make worse use of his wits than thou hast done." "Lady," said
he, "I knew not who he was." "Behold, this is the man to whom they
would have given me against my will," said she; "and he is Gawl, the
son of Clud, a man of great power and wealth, and because of the word
thou hast spoken, bestow me upon him, lest shame befall thee." "Lady,"
said he, "I understand not thy answer; never can I do as thou sayest."
"Bestow me upon him," said she, "and I will cause that I shall never
be his." "By what means will that be?" asked Pwyll. She told him the
thought that was in her mind, and they talked long together. Then Gawl
said, "Lord, it is meet that I have an answer to my request." "As much
of that thou hast asked as it is in my power to give, thou shalt
have," replied Pwyll. "My soul," said Rhiannon unto Gawl, "as for the
feast and the banquet that are here, I have bestowed them upon the men
of Dyved, and the household and the warriors that are with us. These
can I not suffer to be given to any. In a year from to-night, a
banquet shall be prepared for thee in this palace, that I may become
thy bride."

So Gawl went forth to his possessions, and Pwyll went also back to
Dyved. And they both spent that year until it was the time for the
feast at the palace of Heveydd. Then Gawl, the son of Clud, set out to
the feast that was prepared for him; and he came to the palace, and
was received there with rejoicing. Pwyll, also, the chief of Dyved,
came to the orchard with a hundred knights, as Rhiannon had commanded
him. And Pwyll was clad in coarse and ragged garments, and wore large,
clumsy old shoes upon his feet. And when he knew that the carousal
after the meat had begun, he went toward the hall; and when he came
into the hall he saluted Gawl, the son of Clud, and his company, both
men and women. "Heaven prosper thee," said Gawl, "and friendly
greeting be unto thee!" "Lord," said he, "may Heaven reward thee! I
have an errand unto thee." "Welcome be thine errand, and if thou ask
of me that which is right, thou shalt have it gladly." "It is
fitting," answered he; "I crave but from want, and the boon I ask is
to have this small bag that thou seest filled with meat." "A request
within reason is this," said he, "and gladly shalt thou have it. Bring
him food." A great number of attendants arose and began to fill the
bag; but for all they put into it, it was no fuller than at first. "My
soul," said Gawl, "will thy bag ever be full?" "It will not, I declare
to Heaven," said he, "for all that may be put into it, unless one
possessed of lands, and domains, and treasure, shall arise and tread
down with both his feet the food that is within the bag, and shall
say, 'Enough has been put therein.'" Then said Rhiannon unto Gawl, the
son of Clud, "Rise up quickly." "I will willingly arise," said he. So
he rose up, and put his two feet into the bag. And Pwyll turned up the
sides of the bag, so that Gawl was over his head in it. And he shut it
up quickly, and slipped a knot upon the thongs, and blew his horn. And
thereupon, behold, his knights came down upon the palace. They seized
all the host that had come with Gawl, and cast them into his own
prison, and Pwyll threw off his rags, and his old shoes, and his
tattered array. As they came in, every one of Pwyll's knights struck a
blow upon the bag, and asked, "What is here?" "A badger," said they.
And in this manner they played, each of them striking the bag, either
with his foot or with a staff. And then was the game of Badger in the
Bag first played.

"Lord," said the man in the bag, "if thou wouldst but hear me, I merit
not to be slain in a bag." Said Heveydd, "Lord, he speaks truth; it
were fitting that thou listen to him, for he deserves not this."
"Verily," said Pwyll, "I will do thy counsel concerning him." "Behold,
this is my counsel then," said Rhiannon. "Thou art now in a position
in which it behooves thee to satisfy suitors and minstrels. Let him
give unto them in thy stead, and take a pledge from him that he will
never seek to revenge that which has been done to him. And this will
be punishment enough." "I will do this gladly," said the man in the
bag. "And gladly will I accept it," said Pwyll, "since it is the
counsel of Heveydd and Rhiannon. Seek thyself sureties." "We will be
for him," said Heveydd, "until his men be free to answer for him." And
upon this he was let out of the bag, and his liegemen were liberated.
"Verily, lord," said Gawl, "I am greatly hurt, and I have many
bruises. With thy leave, I will go forth. I will leave nobles in my
stead to answer for me in all that thou shalt require." "Willingly,"
said Pwyll, "mayest thou do thus." So Gawl went to his own
possessions.

And the hall was set in order for Pwyll and the men of his host, and
for them also of the palace, and they went to the tables and sat
down. And as they had sat that time twelvemonth, so sat they that
night. They ate and feasted, and spent the night in mirth and
tranquillity.

Next morning at break of day, "My lord," said Rhiannon, "arise and
begin to give thy gifts unto the minstrels. Refuse no one to-day that
may claim thy bounty." "Thus shall it be gladly," said Pwyll, "both
to-day and every day while the feast shall last." So Pwyll arose, and
he caused silence to be proclaimed, and desired all the suitors and
minstrels to show and to point out what gifts they desired.

And this being done, the feast went on, and he denied no one while it
lasted. And when the feast was ended, Pwyll said unto Heveydd, "My
lord, with thy permission, I will set out for Dyved to-morrow."
"Certainly," said Heveydd; "may Heaven prosper thee! Fix also a time
when Rhiannon shall follow thee." "By Heaven," said Pwyll, "we will go
hence together." "Willest thou this, lord?" said Heveydd. "Yes, lord,"
answered Pwyll.

And the next day they set forward toward Dyved, and journeyed to the
palace of Narberth, where a feast was made ready for them. And there
came to them great numbers of the chief men and the most noble ladies
of the land, and of these there were none to whom Rhiannon did not
give some rich gift, either a bracelet, or a ring, or a precious
stone. And they ruled the land prosperously that year and the next.




HOW MANAWYDDAN CAUGHT A THIEF

By Lady Charlotte Guest


Pwyll and Rhiannon had a son, whom they named Pryderi. And when he was
grown up, Pwyll, his father, died. And Pryderi married Kieva, the
daughter of Gwynn Gloy.

Now Manawyddan returned from the war in Ireland, and he found that his
cousin had seized all his possessions, and much grief and heaviness
came upon him. "Alas! woe is me!" he exclaimed; "there is none save
myself without a home and a resting-place." "Lord," said Pryderi, "be
not so sorrowful. Thy cousin is king of the Island of the Mighty, and
though he has done thee wrong, thou hast never been a claimant of land
or possessions." "Yea," answered he, "but although this man is my
cousin, it grieveth me to see any one in the place of my brother,
Bendigeid Vran; neither can I be happy in the same dwelling with him."
"Wilt thou follow the counsel of another?" said Pryderi. "I stand in
need of counsel," he answered, "and what may that counsel be?" "Seven
cantrevs belong unto me," said Pryderi, "wherein Rhiannon, my mother,
dwells. I will bestow her upon thee, and the seven cantrevs with her;
and though thou hadst no possessions but those cantrevs only, thou
couldst not have any fairer than they. Do thou and Rhiannon enjoy
them, and if thou desire any possessions thou wilt not despise these."
"I do not, chieftain," said he, "Heaven reward thee for the
friendship! I will go with thee to seek Rhiannon, and to look at thy
possessions." "Thou wilt do well," he answered; "and I believe that
thou didst never hear a lady discourse better than she, and when she
was in her prime, none was ever fairer. Even now her aspect is not
uncomely."

They set forth, and, however long the journey, they came at last to
Dyved; and a feast was prepared for them by Rhiannon and Kieva. Then
began Manawyddan and Rhiannon to sit and to talk together; and his
mind and his thoughts became warmed towards her, and he thought in his
heart he had never beheld any lady more fulfilled of grace and beauty
than she. "Pryderi," said he, "I will that it be as thou didst say."
"What saying was that?" asked Rhiannon. "Lady," said Pryderi, "I did
offer thee as a wife to Manawyddan." "By that will I gladly abide,"
said Rhiannon. "Right glad am I also," said Manawyddan; "may Heaven
reward him who hath shown unto me friendship so perfect as this!" And
before the feast was over she became his bride.

"Tarry ye here the rest of the feast, and I will go into England to
tender my homage unto Caswallawn, the son of Beli," said Pryderi.
"Lord," said Rhiannon, "Caswallawn is in Kent; thou mayest therefore
tarry at the feast, and wait until he shall be nearer." "We will
wait," he answered. So they finished the feast. And they began to make
the circuit of Dyved, and to hunt, and to take their pleasure. And as
they went through the country, they had never seen lands more pleasant
to live in, nor better hunting grounds, nor greater plenty of honey
and fish. And such was the friendship between these four, that they
would not be parted from each other by night nor by day.

In the midst of all this he went to Caswallawn at Oxford, and tendered
his homage; and honorable was his reception there, and highly was he
praised for offering his homage.

After his return Pryderi and Manawyddan began a feast at Narberth, for
it was the chief palace. When they had ended the first meal, while
those who served them ate, they arose and went to the Mound of
Narberth, and their retinue with them. As they sat there, behold a
peal of thunder, and, with the violence of the thunder-storm, lo!
there came a fall of mist, so thick that not one of them could see the
other. And after the mist it became light all around. When they looked
towards the place where they were wont to see the cattle and herds and
dwellings, they saw nothing now, neither house, nor beast, nor smoke,
nor fire, nor man, nor dwelling, but the buildings of the court empty
and uninhabited, without either man or beast within them.

"In the name of Heaven," said Manawyddan, "where are they of the
court, and all my host beside? Let us go and see."

So they came to the castle, and saw no man, and into the hall, and to
the sleeping-place, and there was none; and in the mead-cellar and in
the kitchen there was naught but desolation. Then they began to go
through the land, and all the possessions that they had; and they
visited the houses and dwellings, and found nothing but wild
beasts. And when they had consumed their feast and all their
provisions, they fed upon the prey they killed in hunting.

One morning Pryderi and Manawyddan ranged their dogs and went forth to
hunt. Some of the dogs ran before them, and came to a bush which was
near at hand; but as soon as they were come to the bush, they hastily
drew back, and returned to the men, their hair bristling up greatly.
"Let us go," said Pryderi, "and see what is in it." As they came near,
behold, a wild boar of a pure white color rose up from the bush. Then
the dogs, being set on by the men, rushed towards him; but he left the
bush, and fell back a little way from the men, and made a stand
against the dogs, until the men had come near. When the men came up he
fell back a second time, and betook him to flight. Then they pursued
the boar until they beheld a vast and lofty castle, all newly built,
in a place where they had never before seen either stone or building.
And the boar ran swiftly into the castle, the dogs after him. Then men
began to wonder at finding a castle in a place where they had never
before seen any building, and listened for the dogs. But they heard
not one of the dogs, nor aught concerning them.

"Lord," said Pryderi, "I will go into the castle to get tidings of the
dogs." "Truly," he replied, "if thou wouldst follow my counsel, thou
wouldst not enter therein. Whosoever has cast a spell over this land,
has caused this castle to be here." "Of a truth," answered Pryderi, "I
cannot thus give up my dogs," and to the castle he went.

When he came within the castle he found neither man nor beast, nor
boar, nor dogs, nor house, nor dwelling within it. In the centre of
the castle-floor he beheld a fountain with marble-work around it, and
on the margin of the fountain a golden bowl upon a marble slab, and
chains hanging from the air, to which he saw no end.

He was greatly pleased with the beauty of the gold, and with the rich
workmanship of the bowl; and he went up to the bowl, and laid hold of
it. And when he had taken hold of it, his hands stuck to the bowl,
and his feet to the slab on which the bowl was placed; and all his
joyousness forsook him, so that he could not utter a word. And thus he
stood.

Manawyddan waited for him till near the close of the day. Late in the
evening, being certain that he should have no tidings of Pryderi or
the dogs, he went back to the palace. As he entered, Rhiannon looked
at him. "Where," said she, "are thy companion and thy dogs?" "Behold,"
he answered, "the adventure that has befallen me." And he related it
all unto her. "An evil companion hast thou been," said Rhiannon, "and
a good companion hast thou lost." And with that word she went out, and
proceeded towards the castle, according to the direction which he gave
her. The gate of the castle she found open. She was nothing daunted,
and went in. As she went in, she perceived Pryderi laying hold of the
bowl, and she went towards him. "O my lord," said she, "what dost
thou here?" She took hold of the bowl with him; and as she did so her
hands also became fast to the bowl, and her feet to the slab, and she
was not able to utter a word. And with that, as it became night, lo!
there came thunder upon them, and a fall of mist; and thereupon the
castle vanished, and they with it.

When Kieva saw that there was no one in the palace but herself and
Manawyddan, she sorrowed so that she cared not whether she lived or
died. And Manawyddan saw this. "Thou art in the wrong," said he, "if
through fear of me thou grievest thus. I call Heaven to witness that
thou hast never seen friendship more pure than that which I will bear
thee, but it is not fitting for us to stay here; we have lost our
dogs, and cannot get food. Let us go into England; it is easiest for
us to find support there." "Gladly, lord," said she, "we will do so."
And they set forth together to England.

"Lord," said she, "what craft wilt thou follow? Take up one that is
seemly," "None other will I take," answered he, "but that of making
shoes." "Lord," said she, "such a craft becomes not a man so nobly
born as thou." "By that however will I abide," said he. "I know
nothing thereof," said Kieva. "But I know," answered Manawyddan, "and
I will teach thee to stitch. We will not attempt to dress the leather,
but we will buy it ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it."

So they went into England, and went as far as Hereford; and they
betook themselves to making shoes. He began by buying the best
cordwain that could be had in the town, and associated himself with
the best goldsmith in the town, and caused him to make clasps for the
shoes, and to gild the clasps; and he marked how it was done until he
learned the method. When they could be had from him, not a shoe nor
hose was bought of any of the cordwainers in the town. When the
cordwainers perceived that their gains were failing they came together
and took counsel, and agreed that they would slay them. And he had
warning thereof, and it was told him how the cordwainers had agreed
together to slay him.

"Lord," said Kieva, "wherefore should this be borne from these boors?"
"Nay," said he, "we will go back unto Dyved." So towards Dyved they
set forth.

Now Manawyddan, when he set out to return to Dyved, took with him a
burden of wheat. And he proceeded towards Narberth, and there he
dwelt. Never was he better pleased than when he saw Narberth again,
and the lands where he had been wont to hunt with Pryderi and with
Rhiannon. And he accustomed himself to fish, and to hunt the deer in
their covert. He began to prepare some ground, and he sowed a croft,
and a second, and a third. And no wheat in the world ever sprung up
better. The three crofts prospered with perfect growth, and no man
ever saw fairer wheat.

Thus passed the seasons of the year until the harvest came. And he
went to look at one of his crofts, and, behold, it was ripe. "I will
reap this to-morrow," said he. On the morrow, when he came there, he
found nothing but the bare straw. Every one of the ears of the wheat
was cut off from the stalk, and all the ears carried entirely
away. And at this he marvelled greatly.

Then he went to look at another croft, and, behold, that also was
ripe. "Verily," said he, "this will I reap to-morrow." And on the
morrow he came with the intent to reap it; and when he came there, he
found nothing but the bare straw.

 "O gracious Heaven!" he exclaimed. "I know that whosoever has begun
my ruin is completing it, and has also destroyed the country with me."

Then he went to look at the third croft; and when he came there, finer
wheat had there never been seen, and this also was ripe. "Evil betide
me," said he, "if I watch not here to-night. Whoever carried off the
other corn will come in like manner to take this, and I will know who
it is." And he told Kieva all that had befallen. "Verily," said she,
"what thinkest thou to do?" "I will watch the croft to-night," said
he. And he went to watch the croft.

At midnight he heard something stirring among the wheat; and he
looked, and behold, the mightiest host of mice in the world, which
could neither be numbered nor measured. He knew not what it was until
the mice had made their way into the croft, and each of them, climbing
up the straw and bending it down with its weight, had cut off one of
the ears of wheat and had carried it away, leaving there the stalk;
and he saw not a single straw there that had not a mouse to it. And
they all took their way, carrying the ears with them.

In wrath and anger did he rush upon the mice, but he could no more
come up with them than if they had been gnats or birds of the air,
except one only, which, though it was but sluggish, went so fast that
a man on foot could scarce overtake it. After this one he went, and
he caught it and put it in his glove, and tied up the opening of the
glove with a string, and kept it with him, and returned to the
palace. Then he came to the hall where Kieva was, and he lighted a
fire, and hung the glove by the string upon a peg. "What hast thou
there, lord?" said Kieva. "A thief," said he, "that I found robbing
me." "What kind of a thief may it be, lord, that thou couldst put into
thy glove?" said she. Then he told her how the mice came to the last
of the fields in his sight. "And one of them was less nimble than the
rest, and is now in my glove; to-morrow I will hang it." "My lord,"
said she, "this is marvellous; but yet it would be unseemly for a man
of dignity like thee to be hanging such a reptile as this." "Woe
betide me," said he, "if I would not hang them all, could I catch
them, and such as I have I will hang." "Verily, lord," said she,
"there is no reason that I should succor this reptile, except to
prevent discredit unto thee. Do therefore, lord, as thou wilt."

Then he went to the Mound of Narberth, taking the mouse with him. He
set up two forks on the highest part of the mound, and while he was
doing this he saw a scholar coming towards him, in old and tattered
garments. It was seven years since he had seen in that place either
man or beast, except those four persons who had remained together
until two of them were lost.

"My lord," said the scholar, "good day to thee." "Heaven prosper
thee, and my greeting be unto thee! And whence dost thou come,
scholar?" asked he. "I come, lord, from singing in England; and
wherefore dost thou inquire?" "Because for the last seven years,"
answered he, "I have seen no man here save four secluded persons, and
thyself this moment." "Truly, lord," said he, "I go through this land
unto mine own. And what work art thou upon, lord?" "I am hanging a
thief that I caught robbing me," said he. "What manner of thief is
that?" asked the scholar. "I see a creature in thy hand like unto a
mouse, and ill does it become a man of rank equal to thine to touch a
reptile such as this. Let it go forth free." "I will not let it go
free, by Heaven," said he; "I caught it robbing me, and the doom of a
thief will I inflict upon it, and I will hang it." "Lord," said he,
"rather than see a man of rank equal to thine at such a work as this,
I would give thee a pound, which I have received as alms, to let the
reptile go forth free." "I will not let it go free," said he, "neither
will I sell it." "As thou wilt, lord," he answered; "I care naught."
And the scholar went his way.

As he was placing the cross-beam upon the two forks, behold, a priest
came towards him, upon a horse covered with trappings. "Good day to
thee, lord," said he. "Heaven prosper thee!" said Manawyddan; "thy
blessing." "The blessing of Heaven be upon thee! And what, lord, art
Thou doing?" "I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me," said
he. "What manner of thief, lord?" asked he. "A creature," he
answered, "in the form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and I am
inflicting upon it the doom of a thief." "Lord," said he, "rather than
see thee touch this reptile, I would purchase its freedom." "By my
confession to Heaven, neither will I sell it nor set it free." "It is
true, lord, that it is worth nothing to buy; but rather than see thee
defile thyself by touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee
three pounds to let it go." "I will not, by Heaven," said he, "take
any price for it. As it ought, so shall it be hanged." And the priest
went his way.

Then he noosed the string around the mouse's neck, and as he was about
to draw it up, behold, he saw a bishop's retinue, with his
sumpter-horses and his attendants. The bishop himself came towards
him, and he stayed his work. "Lord bishop," said he, "thy blessing."
"Heaven's blessing be unto thee!" said he. "What work art thou upon?"
"Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me," said he. "Is not that a
mouse that I see in thy hand?" "Yes," answered he, "and she has
robbed me." "Ay," said he, "since I have come at the doom of this
reptile, I will ransom it of thee. I will give thee seven pounds for
it, and that rather than see a man of rank equal to thine destroying
so vile a reptile as this. Let it loose, and thou shalt have the
money." "I declare to Heaven that I will not let it loose." "If thou
wilt not loose it for this, I will give thee four and twenty pounds of
ready money to set it free." "I will not set it free, by Heaven, for
as much again," said he. "If thou wilt not set it free for this, I
will give thee all the horses that thou seest in this plain, and the
seven loads of baggage, and the seven horses that they are upon." "By
Heaven, I will not," he replied. "Since for this thou wilt not set it
free, do so at what price soever thou wilt." "I will that Rhiannon and
Pryderi be free," said he. "That thou shalt have," he answered. "Not
yet will I loose the mouse, by Heaven." "What then wouldst thou?"
"That the charm and the illusion be removed from the seven cantrevs of
Dyved." "This shalt thou have also; set therefore the mouse free." "I
will not set it free, by Heaven," said he, "till I know who the mouse
may be." "She is my wife." "Wherefore came she to me?" "To despoil
thee," he answered. "I am Lloyd, the son of Kilwed, and I cast the
charm over the seven cantrevs of Dyved. And it was to avenge Gawl,
the son of Clud, from the friendship I had towards him, that I cast
the charm. And upon Pryderi did I avenge Gawl, the son of Clud, for
the game of Badger in the Bag, that Pwyll, the son of Auwyn, played
upon him. And when it was known that thou wast come to dwell in the
land, my household came and besought me to transform them into mice,
that they might destroy thy corn. They went the first and the second
night, and destroyed thy two crops. The third night my wife came unto
me, and the ladies of the court, and besought me to transform
them. And I transformed them. Now my wife was not in her usual health,
for had she been in her usual health thou wouldst not have been able
to overtake her; but since this has taken place, and she has been
caught, I will restore to thee Pryderi and Rhiannon, and I will take
the charm and illusion from off Dyved. Set her therefore free." "I
will not set her free yet." "What wilt thou more?" he asked. "I will
that there be no more charm upon the seven cantrevs of Dyved, and that
none shall be put upon it henceforth; moreover, that vengeance be
never taken for this, either upon Pryderi or Rhiannon, or upon me."
"All this shalt thou have. And truly thou hast done wisely in asking
this. Upon thy head would have lit all this trouble." "Yea," said he,
"for fear thereof was it that I required this." "Set now my wife at
liberty." "I will not," said he, "until I see Pryderi and Rhiannon
with me free." "Behold, here they come," he answered.

And thereupon behold Pryderi and Rhiannon. He rose up to meet them,
and greeted them, and sat down beside them. "Ah, chieftain, set now my
wife at liberty," said the bishop. "Hast thou not received all thou
didst ask?" "I will release her, gladly," said he. And thereupon he
set her free.

Then he struck her with a magic wand, and she was changed back into a
young woman, the fairest ever seen.

"Look round upon thy land," said he, "and thou wilt see it all tilled
and peopled as it was in its best estate." And he rose up and looked
forth. And when he looked he saw all the lands tilled, and full of
herds and dwellings.




THE STORY OF LLUDD LLEVELYS

By Lady Charlotte Guest


Beli the Great, the son of Manogan, had three sons, Lludd and
Caswallawn and Nynyaw; and according to the story he had a fourth son
called Llevelys. And after the death of Beli, the kingdom of the
island of Britain fell into the hands of Lludd his eldest son; and
Lludd ruled prosperously, and rebuilt the city of London, and
encompassed it about with numberless towers. And after that he bade
the citizens build houses therein, such as no houses in the kingdom
could equal. And moreover he was a mighty warrior, and generous and
liberal in giving meat and drink to all that sought them. And though
he had many castles and cities, this one loved he more than any. And
he dwelt therein most part of the year, and therefore was it called
Caer Lludd, and at last Caer London.

And after the stranger race came there, it was called London, or
Lwndrys.

Lludd loved Llevelys best of all his brothers, because he was a wise
and a discreet man. Having heard that the King of France had died,
leaving no heir except a daughter, and that he had left all his
possessions in her hands, he came to Lludd his brother, to beseech his
counsel and aid. And that not so much for his own welfare, as to seek
to add to the glory and honour and dignity of his kindred, if he might
go to France to woo the maiden for his wife. And forthwith his brother
conferred with him, and this counsel was pleasing unto him.

So he prepared ships and filled them with armed knights, and set forth
towards France. And as soon as they had landed, they sent messengers
to show the nobles of France the cause of the embassy. And by the
joint counsel of the nobles of France and of the princes, the maiden
was given to Llevelys, and the crown of the kingdom with her. And
thenceforth he ruled the land discreetly and wisely and happily, as
long as his life lasted.

After a space of time had passed, three plagues fell upon the island
of Britain, such as none in the islands had ever seen the like. The
first was a certain race that came, and was called the Coranians; and
so great was their knowledge that there was no discourse upon the face
of the island however low it might be spoken, but what, if the wind
met it, it was known to them. And through this they could not be
injured.

The second plague was a shriek which came on every May eve, over every
hearth in the island of Britain. And this went through people's
hearts, and so scared them that men lost their hue and their strength,
and the women their children, and the young men and the maidens lost
their senses, and all the animals and the waters were left barren.

The third plague was, that however much of provisions and food might
be prepared in the king's courts, were there even so much as a year's
provisions of meats and drink, none of it could ever be found, except
what was consumed in the first night. And two of these plagues, no
one ever knew their cause; therefore was there better hope of being
freed from the first than from the second and third.

And thereupon King Lludd felt great sorrow and care, because that he
knew not how he might be freed from these plagues. And he called to
him all the nobles of his kingdom, and asked counsel of them what they
should do against these afflictions. And by the common counsel of the
nobles, Lludd the son of Beli went to Llevelys his brother, King of
France, for he was a man great of counsel and wisdom, to seek his
advice.

And they made ready a fleet, and that in secret and in silence, lest
that race should know the cause of their errand, or any besides the
king and his counsellors. And when they were made ready they went into
their ships, Lludd and those whom he chose with him. And they began to
cleave the seas towards France.

And when these tidings came to Llevelys, seeing that he knew not the
cause of his brother's ships, he came on the other side to meet him,
and with him was a fleet vast of size. And when Lludd saw this, he
left all the ships out upon the sea except one only; and in that one
he came to meet his brother, and he likewise with a single ship came
to meet him. And when they were come together, each put his arms
about the other's neck, and they welcomed each other with brotherly
love.

After that Lludd had shown his brother the cause of his errand,
Llevelys said that he himself knew the cause of the coming to those
lands. And they took counsel together to discourse on the matter
otherwise than thus, in order that the wind might not catch their
words, nor the Coranians know what they might say. Then Llevelys
caused a long horn to be made of brass, and through this horn they
discoursed. But whatsoever words they spoke through this horn, one to
the other, neither of them could hear any other but harsh and hostile
words. And when Llevelys saw this and that there was a demon
thwarting them and disturbing through this horn, he caused wine to be
put therein to wash it. And through the virtue of the wine the demon
was driven out of the horn. And when their discourse was unobstructed,
Llevelys told his brother that he would give him some insects whereof
he should keep some to breed, lest by chance the like affliction might
come a second time. And other of these insects he should take and
bruise in water. And he assured him that he would have power to
destroy the race of Coranians. That is to say, that when he came home
to his kingdom he should call together all the people both of his own
race and of the race of the Coranians for a conference, as though with
the intent of making peace between them; and that when they were all
together, he should take this charmed water, and cast it over all
alike. And he assured him that the water would poison the race of the
Coranians, but that it would not slay or harm those of his own race.

"And the second plague," said he, "that is in thy dominion, behold it
is a dragon. And another dragon of foreign race is fighting with it,
and striving to overcome it. And therefore does your dragon make a
fearful outcry. And on this wise mayest thou come to know this. After
thou hast returned home, cause the island to be measured in its length
and breadth, and in the place where thou dost find the exact central
point, there cause a pit to be dug, and cause a cauldron full of the
best mead that can be made to be put in the pit with a covering of
satin over the face of the cauldron. And then in thine own person do
thou remain there watching, and thou wilt see the dragons fighting in
the form of terrific animals. And at length they will take the form of
dragons in the air. And last of all, after wearying themselves with
fierce and furious fighting, they will fall in the form of two pigs
upon the covering, and they will sink in and the covering with them,
and they will draw it down to the very bottom of the cauldron. And
they will drink up the whole of the mead; and after that they will
sleep. Thereupon do thou immediately fold the covering round them, and
bury them in a kistvaen, in the strongest place thou hast in thy
dominions, and hide them in the earth. And as long as they shall bide
in that strong place, no plague shall come to the island of Britain
from elsewhere.

"The cause of the third plague," said he, "is a mighty man of magic,
who takes thy meat and thy drink and thy stores. And he through
illusions and charms causes every one to sleep. Therefore it is
needful for thee in thy own person to watch thy food and thy
provisions. And lest he should overcome thee with sleep, be there a
cauldron of cold water by thy side, and when thou art oppressed with
sleep, plunge into the cauldron."

Then Lludd returned back into his land. And immediately he summoned to
him the whole of his own race and of the Coranians. And as Llevelys
had taught him, he bruised the insects in water, the which he cast
over them altogether, and forthwith it destroyed the whole tribe of
the Coranians, without hurt to any of the Britons.

And some time after this Lludd caused the island to be measured in its
length and breadth. And in Oxford he found the central point, and in
that place he caused the earth to be dug, and in that pit a cauldron
to be set, full of the best mead that could be made, and a covering of
satin over the face of it. And he himself watched that night. And
while he was there, he beheld the dragons fighting. And when they were
weary they fell, and came down upon the top of the satin, and drew it
with them to the bottom of the cauldron. And when they had drunk the
mead, they slept. And in their sleep, Lludd folded the covering around
them, and in the securest place he had in Snowdon, he hid them in a
kistvaen. Now after that this spot was called Dinas Emreis, but before
that, Dinas Ffaraon. And thus the fierce outcry ceased in his
dominions.

And when this was ended, King Lludd caused an exceeding great banquet
to be prepared. And when it was ready, he placed a vessel of cold
water by his side and he in his own proper person watched it. And as
he abode thus clad with arms, about the third watch of the night, lo!
he heard many surpassing fascinations and various songs. And
drowsiness urged him to sleep. Upon this, lest he should be hindered
from his purpose and be overcome by sleep, he went often into the
water. And at last, behold! a man of vast size, clad in strong, heavy
armour, came in, bearing a hamper. And, as he was wont, he put all the
food and provisions of meat and drink into the hamper and proceeded to
go with it forth. And nothing was ever more wonderful to Lludd than
that the hamper should hold so much.

And thereupon King Lludd went after him and spoke unto him thus:
"Stop, stop," said he; "though thou hast done many insults and much
spoil erewhile, thou shalt not do so any more unless thy skill in arms
and thy prowess be greater than mine."

Then he instantly put down the hamper on the floor, and awaited
him. And a fierce encounter was between them, so that the glittering
fire flew out from their arms. And at the last Lludd grappled with
him, and fate bestowed the victory on Lludd. And he threw the plague
to the earth. And after he had overcome him by strength and might, he
besought his mercy. "How can I grant thee mercy," said the king,
"after all the many injuries and wrongs thou hast done me?" "All the
losses that ever I have caused thee," said he, "I will make thee
atonement for, equal to what I have taken. And I will never do the
like from this time forth. But thy faithful vassal will I be." And the
king accepted this from him.

And thus Lludd freed the island of Britain from the three plagues. And
from thenceforth until the end of his life, in prosperous peace did
Lludd the son of Beli rule the island of Britain. And this tale is
called the Story of Lludd and Llevelys. And thus it ends.




TALES FROM EARLY ENGLISH CHRONICLES


King Horn, in the version here given, is a fine old English story,
evidently very popular with the common people. Earlier versions were
probably familiar to the Norse in the tenth century, at which time
Dublin was the capital of a Norse kingdom. Suddenne was possibly the
Isle of Man.

There seems to be some historical basis for the story of Havelok,
since the seal of the city of Grimsby today represents Grim with
"Habloc," or Havelok, on his right hand, and Goldborough on his left.

The Fair Unknown is one of the King Arthur stories that is not
included in Sir Thomas Malory's Morte d'Arthur.




THE ADVENTURES OF KING HORN

Retold by F. J. H. Darton


Murray was King of Suddenne in the west country, a wise king whom all
his subjects honoured. Godhild was his queen, and no woman of that day
was lovelier than she. Their son was named Horn; and when Horn was
fifteen years old, the sun shone and the rain fell on no fairer boy.

Twelve squires, each one the son of a man of noble birth, were chosen
to be Horn's companions. Athulf was the best and truest of them, and
dearest to Horn's heart; and one Fikenhild was the basest among them.

It pleased King Murry, on a certain summer's day, to ride, as was his
wont, by the seashore, with only two comrades. Suddenly, as they rode,
they came upon a strange sight. There before them on the edge of the
waves lay fifteen ships beached, full of fierce Saracens; and many
other Saracens went busily to and fro upon the shore. "What seek you
here, pagan men?" cried Murry at that sight. "What wares do you bring
to this my land of Suddenne?" For he thought them to be merchants from
a far land,

"We are come to slay all your folk who believe in Christ," answered
one of them; "and that we do right soon. As for you, you go not hence
alive. "Thereat Murry was sorely troubled in heart. Nevertheless, he
made no sign of fear. He and his two companions, with bold mien, leapt
down from their horses, to fight more readily, and drew their swords,
and fell upon the pagans. Many a stout blow they dealt; many a Saracen
felt the strength of their arms: but for all their might and valour,
they were but three against a host. From every side the enemy fell
upon them unceasingly, and in a little time they lay there dead upon
the sand. Then the Saracens left their ships and spread over the whole
of Suddenne, slaying and burning and laying waste wheresoever they
came. None might live, were he stranger or friend or native of the
land, unless he forswore the Christian faith and became a pagan.

Of all women in those days Godhild the queen was saddest. Her kingdom
was lost, her husband cruelly slain, and all her days were filled with
grief. But worse befell her, for on a certain day the Saracens came
suddenly and took Horn prisoner and carried him away. Godhild escaped,
and in her dire distress fled alone to a distant cave, and there lay
hid, worshipping her God in secret, and praying that He would save her
son from harm.

Horn and his companions--for all his twelve squires had been captured
with him--seemed in sorry case. The savage pagans were for killing all
Christians. But their chief Emir wished to have no innocent blood on
his hands, and spoke out boldly. "We might well slay you, Horn," he
said; "you are young and fair and strong, and will grow yet
stronger. Perchance, if we spare you now, you will some day return and
be avenged upon us, when you have come to your full power. Yet we
ourselves will not put you to death; the guilt shall not be on us, but
on the sea. To the sea will we give you and your comrades; the sea
shall be your judge, to save or drown you as it will."

Weeping and wringing their hands, Horn and his comrades were led down
to the seashore. There a boat was made ready for them, with oars, but
no rudder or sail.

All their tears were vain: the Saracens forced them aboard, and turned
the little craft adrift into the wide ocean.

The boat drove fast and far through the water, and fear came down upon
those in it. Soon they were tossing haphazard upon the rushing waves,
now resting forlornly, now praying for help, now rowing wildly, as if
for their lives, if ever the violence of the sea abated for a
moment. All that afternoon, and through the long, dark night, they
voyaged in cold and terror, till in the morning, as the day dawned,
Horn looked up and saw land at a little distance. "Friends," said he,
"I have good tidings. Yonder I spy land; I hear the song of birds, and
see grass growing. Be merry once more; our ship has come into safety."

They took their oars and rowed lustily. Soon the keel touched the
shore, and they sprang out eagerly on to dry land, leaving the boat
empty. The waves drew the little craft gently back to themselves, and
it began to glide away into the great sea. "Go now from us, dear
boat," cried Horn lovingly to it, as he saw it drawn away; "farewell,
sail softly, and may no wave do you harm."

The boat floated slowly away, and Horn wept sorely at parting from
it. Then they all turned their faces inland, and left the sea behind
them, and set forth to seek whatsoever fortune might bring them.




HORN IS DUBBED KNIGHT

Retold by F.J.H. Darton


The country to which Horn and his comrades had come was called
Westerness: Aylmer the Good was king of it. But of that the wanderers
knew nought as yet.

They journeyed far over hill and dale, ignorant of the way, and seeing
no living man, until, as the day drew to an end? there met them Aylmer
the king himself. "Whence do you come, friends?" asked he. "Who are
you that are so fair and straight of body?"

Horn spoke up for them all, for he was wisest and most skilled in the
use of courteous words. "We are from Suddenne, sire, of good lineage
and Christian faith. The pagans came to our land, and slew my father
and many others, and drove us from our homes. We thirteen whom you see
were set adrift in a boat, to be the sport of the sea; a day and a
night have we travelled without sail or rudder, and our boat brought
us to this land. We are in your hands, sire: slay us, or keep us
bound as prisoners; do with us as you will."

The good king was no ungentle boor: he spoke them fair and
graciously. "Tell me, child," he said, "what is your name? No harm
shall come to you at my hands, whosoever you he."

"Horn am I called, sire."

"Horn, child, you are well and truly named: your fame shall ring like
a horn over dale and hill. Now, Horn, come with me. You and your
comrades shall abide at my court."

They set out for the king's palace. When they were come thither,
Aylmer entrusted them to his steward, Athelbrus, whom he charged to
bring them up in knightly ways. They were added to Aylmer's household,
and taught all that squires of kings should know. But Horn was to come
to greater things than this. He learnt quickly, and became beloved by
every one; and most of all, Rimenhild, the king's daughter, loved him
from the day when she first set eyes on him. Her love for him grew
daily stronger and stronger, though she dared speak no word of it to
him, for she was a princess, and he only a squire rescued by chance
from the sea.

At length Rimenhild could hide her love no longer.

She sent for Athelbrus the steward, and bade him bring Horn to her
bower. But he, guessing her secret from her wild looks, was unwilling
to send Horn to her, fearing the king's displeasure; and he bade
Athulf, Horn's dearest companion, go to the princess instead, hoping
either that the princess would not know him from Horn (for she had as
yet spoken to neither of them, and they were much alike in face and
mien), or that by this plan she would see the folly of her desire.

Athulf came to Rimenhild's bower, and she did not know that he was not
Horn, and received him lovingly. But soon the trick was made plain,
for Athulf, as beseems a loyal heart, could not hear himself praised
above all other squires at Aylmer's court, and vowed that Horn was far
fairer and better than he. Then Rimenhild in a rage sent him from her,
and bade Athelbrus bring Horn to her without more ado. And thus at
last Horn came before the princess.

"King's daughter," said he with reverence and courtesy, "Athelbrus,
the steward, bade me come to you here. Say what you would have me do."

Rimenhild rose, answering nothing till she had taken him by the hand,
and made him sit by her, and embraced him lovingly. "Welcome, Horn,"
she said; "you are so fair that I cannot but love you. Take me to
wife; have pity on my love."

Horn knew not what to say. "Princess," he began at last, "I am
too lowly for such a wife as you. I am but a thrall [Footnote: A slave
or bondsman.] and a foundling, and owe all that I have to the king
your sire. There is no meet wedding between a thrall and the king's
daughter." At those words Rimenhild fell into a swoon; and Horn was
filled with pity and love at the sight, and took her in his arms, and
kissed her.

"Dear lady," he said, "be brave. Help me to win knighthood at the
hands of my lord the king; if I be dubbed knight my thraldom is ended,
and I am free to love you, as I do in my heart already." For Horn had
long loved the princess secretly, but dared not hope that she would
give him her love in turn.

Rimenhild came to her senses as he spoke. "Horn," she said, "it shall
be as you wish. Ere fourteen days have passed you shall be made a
knight."

Thereupon she sent for Athelbrus again, and bade him pray the king
Aylmer to dub Horn a knight; and, to be brief, Horn was speedily
knighted, and, asking the king's leave, himself knighted in turn his
twelve companions.

As soon as he was knighted, Rimenhild called him to her; and Athulf,
his dear comrade, went with him into her presence. "Sir Horn, my
knight," she said, "sit by me here. See, it is time to fulfil your
word. Take me for your wife."

"Nay, Rimenhild," answered Horn; "that may not be yet. It is not
enough that I am knighted. I must prove my knighthood, as all men do,
in combat with some other knight. I must do a deed of prowess in the
field for love of you: then if I win through with my life, I will
return and take you to wife."

"Be it so, Horn. Now take from me this carven ring of gold. On it is
wrought: 'Be true to Rimenhild.' Wear it always on your finger, for
my love's sake. The stone in it has such grace that never need you
fear any wound nor shrink from any combat, if you do but wear this
ring, and look steadfastly upon it, and think of me. And you, Athulf,
you too, when you have proven your knighthood, shall have such another
ring also. Sir Horn, may Heaven bless and keep you, and bring you safe
to me again."

With that Horn kissed her, and received her blessing, and went away to
prove his knighthood in brave feats of arms.




HORN THE KNIGHT ERRANT

Retold by F. J. H. Darton


When Horn had saddled his great black horse, and put on his armour, he
rode forth to adventure, singing gaily. Scarce had he gone a mile when
he spied by the seashore a ship, beached, and filled with heathen
Saracens. "What do you bring hither?" asked Horn. "Whence do you
come?" The pagans saw that he was but one man, and they were many, and
answered boldly, "We are come to win this land, and slay all its
folk."

At that Horn gripped his sword, and his blood ran hot. He sprang upon
the Saracen chief and smote him with all his strength, so that he
cleft the man's head from off his shoulders. Then he looked at the
ring which Rimenhild had given him; and immed

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/6323