Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory

by Thomas Malory

  That is trouthe,’ seyde kyng Arthur.

  But Merlyon warned the kyng covertly that Gwenyver was nat holsom for hym to take to wyff. For he warned hym that Launcelot scholde love hir, and sche hym agayne, and so he turned his tale to the aventures of the Sankegreal.

  Then Merlion desyred of the kyng for to have men with hym that scholde enquere of Gwenyver, and so the kyng graunted hym.

  And so Merlyon wente forthe unto kyng Lodegean of Camylerde, and tolde hym of the desire of the kyng that he wolde have unto his wyff Gwenyver, his doughter.

  ‘That is to me,’ seyde kyng Lodegreauns, ‘the beste tydynges that ever I herde, that so worthy a kyng of prouesse and noblesse wol wedde my dough ter. And as for my londis, I wolde geff hit hym yf I wyste hyt myght please hym, but he hath londis inow, he nedith none. But I shall sende hym a gyffte that shall please hym muche more, for I shall gyff hym the Table Rounde which Uther, hys fadir, gaff me. And whan hit ys fulle complete there ys an hondred knyghtes and fyfty. And as for an hondred good knyghtes, I have myselff, but I wante fyfty, for so many hathe be slayne in my dayes.’

  And so kyng Lodgreaunce delyverd hys doughtir Gwenyver unto Merlion, and the Table Rounde with the hondred knyghtes; and so they rode freysshly with grete royalté, what by watir and by londe, tyll that they com nyghe unto London.

  [2] Whan kynge Arthure herde of the commynge of quene Gwenyver and the hondred knyghtes with the Table Rounde, than kynge Arthure made grete joy for hir commyng and that ryche presente, and seyde opynly, ‘Thys fayre lady ys passyngly Wellcome to me, for I have loved hir longe, and therefore there ys nothynge so leeff to me. And thes knyghtes with the Table Rownde pleasith me more than ryght grete rychesse.’

  And in all haste the kynge lete ordayne for the maryage and the coronacion in the moste hono rablyst wyse that cowude be devised.

  ‘Now, Merlion,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘go thou and aspye me in all thys londe fyfty knyghtes which bene of moste prouesse and worship.’

  So within shorte tyme Merlion had founde such knyghtes that sholde fulfylle twenty and eyght knyghtes, but no me wolde he fynde. Than the Bysshop of Caunturbiry was fette, and he blyssed the segis with grete royalté and devocion, and there sette the eyght and twenty knyghtes in her segis. And whan thys was done Merlion seyde, ‘Fayre sirres, ye muste all aryse and com to kynge Arthure for to do hym omage; he woll the better be in wylle to maynteyne you.’

  And so they arose and dud their omage. And whan they were gone Merlion founde in every sege lettirs of golde that tolde the knyghtes namys that had sitten there, but two segis were voyde. And so anone com in yonge Gawayne and asked the kynge a gyffte. ‘Aske,’ seyde the kynge, ‘and I shall graunte you.’

  ‘Sir, I aske that ye shall make me knyght that same day that ye shall wedde dame Gwenyver.’

  ‘I woll do hit with a goode wylle,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘and do unto you all the worship that I may, for I muste be reson ye ar my nevew, my sistirs son.’

  Forthwithall there com a poore man into the courte and brought

  with hym a fayre yonge man of eyghtene yere of ayge, rydynge uppon a lene mare. And the poore man asked all men that he mette, ‘Where shall I fynde kynge Arthure?’

  ‘Yondir he ys,’ seyde the knyghtes.

  ‘Wolt thou onythynge with hym?’

  ‘Ye,’ seyde the poore man, ‘therefore I cam hydir.’ And as sone as he com before the kynge he salewed hym and seyde, ‘Kynge Arthure, the floure of all kyngis, I beseche Jesu save the! Sir, hit was tolde me that as thys tyme of youre maryaige ye wolde gyff ony man the gyffte that he wolde aske you excepte hit were unresonable.’

  ‘That ys trouthe,’ seyde the kynge, ‘such cryes I lette make, and that woll I holde, so hit appayre nat my realme nor myne astate.’

  ‘Ye say well and graciously,’ seyde the pore man. ‘Sir, I aske nothynge elis but that ye woll make my sonne knyght.’

  ‘Hit ys a grete thynge thou askyst off me,’ seyde the kynge. ‘What ys thy name?’ seyde the kynge to the poore man.

  ‘Sir, my name ys Aryes the cowherde.’

  ‘Whetnir commith thys of the other ells of thy sonne?’ seyde the kynge.

  ‘Nay, sir,’ seyd Aryes, ‘thys desyre commyth of my son and nat off me. For I shall telle you, I have thirtene sonnes, and all they woll falle to what laboure I putte them and woll be ryght glad to do laboure; but thys chylde woll nat laboure for nothynge that my wyff and I may do, but allwey he woll be shotynge, or castynge dartes, and glad for to se batayles and to beholde knyghtes. And allwayes day and nyght he desyrith of me to be made knyght.’

  ‘What ys thy name?’ seyde the kynge unto the yonge man.

  ‘Sir, my name ys Torre.’

  Than the kynge behelde hym faste and saw he was passyngly well vysaged and well made of hys yerys.

  ‘Well,’ seyde kynge Arthure unto Aryes the cowherde, ‘go fecche all thy sonnes before me that I may see them.’

  And so the pore man dud. And all were shapyn muche lyke the poore man, but Torre was nat lyke hym nother in shappe ne in countenaunce, for he was muche more than ony of them.

  ‘Now,’ seyde kynge Arthur unto the cowherde, ‘where ys the swerde he shall be made knyght withall?’

  ‘Hyt ys here,’ seyde Torre.

  ‘Take hit oute of the shethe,’ sayde the kynge, ‘and requyre me to make you knyght.’

  Than Torre alyght of hys mare and pulled oute hys swerde, knelynge and requyrynge the kynge to make hym knyght, and that he made hym knyght of the Table Rounde.

  ‘As for a knyght I woll make you,’ and therewith smote him in the necke with the swerde. ‘Be ye a good knyght, and so I pray to God ye may be, and if ye be of proues and worthynes ye shall be of the Table Rounde.’

  ‘Now, Merlion,’ seyde Arthure, ‘whethir thys Torre shall be a goode man?’

  ‘Yee, hardely, sir, he ought to be a good man for he ys com of good kynrede as ony on lyve, and of kynges bloode.’

  ‘How so, sir?’ seyd the kynge.

  ‘I shall telle you,’ seyde Merlion. Thys poore man Aryes the cowherde ys nat his fadir, for he ys no sybbe to hym; for kynge Pellynore ys hys fadir.’

  ‘I suppose nat,’ seyde the cowherde.

  ‘Well, fecch thy wyff before me,’ seyde Merlion, ‘and she shall nat sey nay.’

  Anone the wyff was fette forth, which was a fayre houswyff. And there she answerde Merlion full womanly, and there she tolde the kynge and Merlion that whan she was a mayde and wente to mylke hir kyne, ‘there mette with me a sterne knyght, and half be force he had my maydynhode. And at that tyme he begate my sonne Torre, and he toke awey fro me my grayhounde that I had that tyme with me, and seyde he wolde kepe the grayhounde for my love.’

  ‘A,’ seyde the cowherde, ‘I wente hit had nat be thus, but I may beleve hit well, for he had never no tacchys of me.’

  Sir Torre seyde unto Merlion, ‘Dishonoure nat my modir.’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde Merlion, ‘hit ys more for your worship than hurte, for youre fadir ys a good knyght and a kynge, and he may ryght well avaunce you and youre modir both, for ye were begotyn or evir she was wedded.’

  ‘That ys trouthe,’ seyde the wyff.

  ‘Hit ys the lesse gryfif unto me,’ seyde the cowherde.

  So on the morne kynge Pellynor com to the courte of kyng [4] Arthure. And he had grete joy of hym and tolde hym of sir Torre, how he was hys sonne, and how he had made hym knyght at the requeste of the cowherde. Whan kynge Pellynor behelde sir Torre he plesed hym muche. So the kynge made Gawayne knyght, but sir Torre was the firste he made at that feste.

  ‘What ys the cause,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘that there ys two placis voyde in the segis?’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde Merlion, ‘there shall no man sitte in the placis but they that shall be moste of worship. But in the Sege Perelous there shall nevir man sitte but-one, and yf there be ony so hardy to do hit he shall be destroyed, and he that shall sitte therein shall have no felowe.’ And therewith Merlyon toke kynge Pellinor by t
he honde, and in that one hande nexte the two segis and the Sege Perelous he seyde in opyn audiens, ‘Thys ys your place, for beste ar ye worthy to sitte thereinne of ony that here ys.’

  And thereat had sir Gawayne grete envy and tolde Gaherys hys brothir, ‘Yondir knyght ys putte to grete worship, whych grevith me sore, for he slewe oure fadir kynge Lott. Therefore I woll sle hym,’ seyde Gawayne, ‘with a swerde that was sette me that ys passynge trencheaunte.’

  ‘Ye shall nat so,’ seyde Gaheris, ‘at thys tyme, for as now I am but youre squyre, and whan I am made knyght I woll be avenged on hym; and therefore, brothir, hit ys beste to suffir tyll another tyme, that we may have hym oute of courte, for and we dud so we shall trouble thys hyghe feste.’

  ‘I woll well,’ seyde Gawayne.

  [5] Than was thys feste made redy, and the kynge was wedded at Camelot unto dame Gwenyvere in the chirche of Seynte Stephyns with grete solempnité. Than as every man was sette as hys degré asked, Merlion wente to all the knyghtes of the Round Table and bade hem sitte stylle, ‘that none of you remeve, for ye shall se a straunge and a mervailous adventure.’

  Ryght so as they sate there com rennynge inne a whyght herte into the hall, and a whyght brachet nexte hym, and thirty couple of blacke rennynge houndis com afftir with a grete cry. And the herte wente aboute the Rounde Table, and as he wente by the sydebourdis the brachet ever boote hym by the buttocke and pulde on a pece, wherethorow the herte lope a grete lepe and overthrew a knyght that sate at the syde-bourde. And therewith the knyght arose and toke up the brachet, and so wente forthe oute of the halle and toke hys horse and rode hys way with the brachett.

  Ryght so com in the lady on a whyght palferey and cryed alowde unto kynge Arthure and seyd, ‘Sir, suffir me nat to have thys despite, for the brachet ys myne that the knyght hath ladde away.’

  ‘I may nat do therewith,’ seyde the kynge.

  So with thys there com a knyght rydyng all armed on a grete horse, and toke the lady away with forse wyth hym, and ever she cryed and made grete dole. So whan she was gone the kynge was gladde, for she made such a noyse.

  ‘Nay,’ seyde Merlion, ‘ye may nat leve hit so, thys adventure, so lyghtly, for thes adventures muste be brought to an ende, other ellis hit woll be disworshyp to you and to youre feste.’

  ‘I woll,’ seyde the kynge, ‘that all be done by your advice.’ Than he lette calle sir Gawayne, for he muste brynge agayne the whyght herte.

  ‘Also, sir, ye muste lette call sir Torre, for he muste brynge agayne the brachette and the knyght, other ellis sle hym. Also lette calle kynge Pellynor, for he muste brynge agayne the lady and the knyght, other ellis sle hym, and thes three knyghtes shall do mervayles adventures or they com agayne.’

  Than were they called all three as hit ys rehersed afore and every of them toke their charge and armed them surely. But sir Gawayne had the firste requeste, and therefore we woll begynne at hym, and so forthe to thes other.

  HERE BEGYNNITH THE FYRST BATAYLE THAT EVER SIR GAWAYNE DED AFTER HE WAS MADE KNYGHT.

  Syr Gawayne rode more than a pace and Gaheris his brothir rode [6] with hym in the stede of a squyre to do hym servyse. So as they rode they saw two knyghtes fyght on horseback passynge sore. So sir Gawayne and hys brothir rode betwyxte them and asked them for what cause they foughte. So one of the knyghtes seyde, ‘We fyght but for a symple mater, for we two be two brethirne and be begotyn of one man and of one woman.’

  ‘Alas!’ seyde sir Gawayne.

  ‘Sir,’ seyde the either brother, ‘there com a whyght herte thys way thys same day and many houndis chaced hym, and a whyght brachett was allwey nexte hym. And we undirstood hit was an adventure made for the hyghe feste of Arthure. And therefore I wolde have gone afftir to have wonne me worship, and here my yonger brothir seyde he wolde go aftir the harte for he was bygger knyght than I. And for thys cause we felle at debate, and so we thought to preff which of us was the bygger knyght.’

  ‘Forsoth thys ys a symple cause,’ seyde Gawayne, ‘for uncouth men ye sholde debate withall, and no brothir with brothir. Therefore do be my counceyle: other ellis I woll have ado with you bothe, other yelde you to me and that ye go unto kynge Arthure and yelde you unto hys grace.’

  ‘Sir knyght,’ seyde the two brethirne, ‘we are forfoughten and muche bloode have we loste thorow oure wylfulness, and therefore we wolde be loth to have ado with you.’

  ‘Than do as I woll have you do,’ seyde sir Gawayne.

  ‘We agré to fulfylle your wylle. But by whom shall we sey that we be thydir sente?’

  ‘Ye may sey, by the knyght that folowith the queste of the herte. Now what ys youre name?’ seyde Gawayne.

  ‘Sir, my name ys Sorluse of the Foreyste,’ seyde the elder.

  ‘And my name ys,’ seyde the yonger, ‘Bryan of the Foreyste.’

  And so they departed and wente to the kyngis courte, and sir Gawayne folowed hys queste.

  And as he folowed the herte by the cry of the howndis, evyn before hym there was a grete ryver; and the herte swam over. And as sir Gawayn wolde a folowed afftir there stood a knyght on the othir syde and seyde, ‘Sir knyght, com nat over aftir thys harte but if thou wolt juste with me.’

  ‘I woll nat i:ayle as for that,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘to folow the queste that I am inne.’

  And so made hys horse swymme over the watir. And anone they gate their glayves, and ran togydirs fulle harde, but Gawayne smote hym of hys horse and than he bade hym yelde hym.

  ‘Nay,’ seyde the knyght, ‘nat so, for thoughe ye have the better of me on horsebak, I pray the, valyaunte knyght, alyght on foote and macche we togidir with oure swerdis.’

  ‘What ys youre name?’ seyde sir Gawayne.

  ‘Sir, my name ys Alardyne of the Oute lies.’

  Than aythir dressed their shyldes and smote togydir, but sir Gawayne smote hym so harde thorow the helme that hit wente to the brayne and the knyght felle downe dede.

  ‘A,’ seyde Gaherys, ‘that was a myghty stroke of a yonge knyght.’ Than sir Gawayne and Gaherys folowed afftir rthe whyte herte, and lete slyppe at the herte thre couple of greyhoundes. And so they chace the herte into a castel, and in the chyef place of the castel they slew the hert.1 Ryght soo there came a knyght oute of a chambir with a swerde drawyn in hys honde and slew two of the grayhoundes evyn in the syght of sir Gawayne, and the remanente he chaced with hys swerde oute of the castell. And whan he com agayne he seyde, ‘A, my whyght herte, me repentis that thou arte dede, for my soveraigne lady gaff the to me, and evyll have I kepte the, and thy dethe shall be evyl bought and I lyve.’

  And anone he wente into hys chambir and armyd hym, and com oute fersely. And there he mette with sir Gawayne and he seyde,’Why have ye slayne my howndys? For they dyd but their kynde, and I wolde that ye had wrokyn youre angir uppon me rather than uppon a dome beste.’

  ‘Thou seyst trouth,’ seyde the knyght, ‘I have avenged me on thy howndys, and so I woll on the or thou go.’

  Than sir Gawayne alyght on foote and dressed hys shylde, and stroke togydirs myghtyly and clave their shyldis and stooned their helmys and brake their hawbirkes that their biode thirled downe to their feete. So at the last sir Gawayne smote so harde that the knyght felle to the erthe, and than he cryed mercy and yelded hym and besought hym as he was a jantyll knyght to save hys lyff.

  ‘Thou shalt dey,’ seyd sir Gawayne, ‘for sleynge of my howndis.’

  ‘I woll make amendys,’ seyde the knyght, ‘to my power.’

  But sir Gawayne wolde no mercy have, but unlaced hys helme to have strekyn of hys hede. Ryght so com hys lady oute of a chambir and felle over hym, and so he smote of hir hede by myssefortune.

  ‘Alas,’ seyde Gaherys, ‘that ys fowle and shamefully done, for that shame shall never frome you. Also ye sholde gyff mercy unto them that aske mercy, for a knyght withoute mercy ys withoute worship.’

  So sir Gawayne was sore astoned of the deth of this fayre lady, that he wyst nat what he dud, and seyde unto the knyght, ‘Aryse, I woll gyf
f the mercy.’

  ‘Nay, nay,’ seyd the knyght, ‘I take no forse of thy mercy now, for thou haste slayne with vilony my love and my lady that I loved beste of all erthly thynge.’

  ‘Me sore repentith hit,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘for I mente the stroke unto the. But now thou shalt go unto kynge Arthure and telle hym of thyne adventure and how thou arte overcom by the knyght that wente in the queste of the whyght harte.’

  ‘I take no force,’ seyde the knyght, ‘whether I lyve othir dey.’ But at the last, for feare of dethe, he swore to go unto kynge Arthure, and he made hym to bere the one grehownde before hym on hys horse and the other behynde hym.

  ‘What ys youre name,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘or we departe?’

  ‘My name ys,’ seyde the knyght, ‘Blamoure of the Maryse.’

  And so he departed towarde Camelot. And sir Gawayne wente [8] unto the castell and made hym redy to lye there all nyght and wolde have unarmed hym.

  ‘What woll ye do?’ seyde Gaherys, ‘Woll ye unarme you in thys contrey? Ye may thynke ye have many fooes in thys contrey.’

  He had no sunner seyde the worde but there com in four knyghtes well armed and assayled sir Gawayne harde, and seyde unto hym, ‘Thou new made knyght, thou haste shamed thy knyghthode, for a knyght withoute mercy ys dishonoured. Also thou haste slayne a fayre lady to thy grete shame unto the worldys ende, and doute the nat thou shalt have grete nede of mercy or thou departe frome us.’ And therewith one of hem smote sir Gawayne a grete stroke, that nygh he felle to the erthe. And Gaherys smote hym agayne sore. And so they were assayled on the one syde and on the othir, that sir Gawayne and Gaherys were in jouparté of their lyves. And one with a bowe, an archer, smote sir Gawayne thorow the arme, that hit greved hym wondirly sore.

  And as they sholde have bene slayne, there com four fayre ladyes and besought the knyghtes of grace for sir Gawayne. And goodly at the requeste of thes ladyes they gaff sir Gawayne and Gaherys their lyves and made them to yelde them as presoners. Than sir Gawayne and Gaherys made grete dole.