‘That shall I never,’ seyde Bagdemagus, ‘tyll men speke of me ryght grete worship, and that I be worthy to be a knyght of the Rounde Table.’
And so he rode forth, and there by the way he founde a braunche of holy herbe that was the signe of the Sancgreall, and no knyght founde no suche tokyns but he were a good lyver and a man of prouesse.
So as sir Bagdemagus rode to se many adventures, so hit happed hym to come to the roche thereas the Lady of the Lake had put Merlyon undir the stone, and there he herde hym make a grete dole; wherefore sir Bagdemagus wolde have holpyn him, and wente unto the grete stone, and hit was so hevy that an hondred men myght nat lyffte hit up. Whan Merlyon wyste that he was there, he bade hym leve his laboure, for all was in vayne: for he myght never be holpyn but by her that put hym there.
And so Bagdemagus departed and dud many adventures and preved aftir a full good knyght, and come ayen to the courte and was made knyght of the Rounde Table. So on the morne there befelle new tydyngis and many othir adventures.
V. ARTHUR AND ACCOLON
[6] Than hit befelle that Arthure and many of his knyghtes rode on huntynge into a grete foreste. And hit happed kynge Arthure and kynge Uryence and sir Accalon of Gawle folowed a grete harte; for they three were well horsed, and so they chaced so faste that within a whyle they three were more than ten myle from her felyshep. And at the laste they chaced so sore that they slewe hir horsis undirnethe them, and the horses were so fre that they felle downe dede. Than were all three on foote and ever they saw the harte before them passynge wery and inboced.
‘What shall we do?’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘we ar harde bestadde.’
‘Lette us go on foote,’ seyde kynge Uryence, ‘tyll we may mete with somme lodgyng.’
Than were they ware of the harte that lay on a grete watir banke, and a brachette bytyng on his throte; and me othir houndis come aftir. Than kynge Arthure blewe the pryce and dyght the harte.
Than the kynge loked aboute the worlde and sawe before hym in a grete water a lytyll shippe all apparayled with sylke downe to the watir. And the shippe cam ryght unto them and landed on the sandis. Than Arthure wente to the banke and loked in and saw none erthely creature therein.
‘Sirs,’ seyde the kynge, ‘com thens and let us se what is in this shippe.’
So at the laste they wente into the shippe all three, and founde hit rychely behanged with cloth of sylke. So by that tyme hit was durke nyght, there suddeynly was aboute them an hondred torchis sette uppon all the shyppe-bordis, and hit gaff grete lyght. And therewithall there come twelve fayre damesels and salued kynge Arthure on hir kneis, and called hym be his name and seyde he was ryght wellcom, and suche chere as they had he sholde have of the beste. Than the kynge thanked hem fayre. Therewythall they ledde the kynge and his felawys into a fayre chambir, and there was a clothe leyde richely beseyne of all that longed to a table, and there were they served of all wynes and metys that they coude thynke of. But of that the kynge had grete mervayle, for he never fared bettir in his lyff as for one souper.
And so whan they had souped at her leyser kyng Arthure was lad into a chambir, a rycher besene chambir sawe he never none; and so was kynge Uryence served and lad into such anothir chambir; and sir Accolon was lad into the thirde chambir passyng rychely and well besayne. And so were they leyde in their beddis easyly, and anone they felle on slepe and slepte merveylously sore all the nyght.
And on the morne kynge Uryence was in Camelot abedde in his wyves armys, Morgan le Fay. And whan he woke he had grete mervayle how he com there, for on the evyn before he was two dayes jurney frome Camelot.
And whan kyng Arthure awoke he founde hymself in a durke preson, heryng aboute hym many complayntes of wofull knyghtes.
[7] ‘What ar ye that so complayne?’ seyde kyng Arthure.
‘We bene here twenty knyghtes presoners, and som of us hath lay ne here eyght yere, and som more and somme lesse.’
‘For what cause?’ seyde Arthure.
‘We shall tell you,’ seyde the knyghtes.
‘This lorde of this castell his name is sir Damas, and he is the falsyst knyght that lyvyth, and full of treson, and a very cowarde as ony lyvyth. And he hath a yonger brothir, a good knyght of prouesse, and his name is sir Oughtlake. And this traytoure Damas, the elder brother, woll geff hym no parte of his londis but as sir Outlake kepyth thorow prouesse of his hondis. And so he kepith frome hym a full fayre maner and a rych, and therein sir Outlake dwellyth worshypfully and is well beloved with all peple. And this sir Damas oure mayster is as evyll beloved, for he is withoute mercy, and he is a cowarde, and grete warre hath bene betwyxte them. But Outlake hath ever the bettir, and ever he proferyth sir Damas to fyght for the lyvelode, body for body, but he woll nat of hit, other ellys to fynde a knyght to fyght for hym. Unto that sir Damas hath grauntid to fynde a knyght, but he is so evyll beloved and hated that there is no knyght woll fyght for hym.
‘And whan Damas saw this, that there was never a knyght wolde fyght for hym, he hath dayly layne a wayte wyth many a knyght with hym and takyn all the knyghtes in this countray to se and aspye hir aventures: he hath takyn hem by force and brought hem to his preson. And so toke he us severally, as we rode on oure adventures, and many good knyghtes hath deyde in this preson for hunger, to the numbir of eyghtene knyghtes. And yf ony of us all that here is or hath bene wolde have foughtyn with his brother Outlake he wolde have delyverde us; but for because this Damas ys so false and so full of treson we wolde never fyght for hym to dye for hit, and we be so megir for hungir that unnethe we may stonde on oure fete.’
‘God delyver you for his grete mercy!’
Anone withall come a damesel unto Arthure and asked hym, ‘What chere?’
‘I cannot say,’ seyde Arthure.
‘Sir,’ seyde she, ‘and ye woll fyght for my lorde ye shall be delyverde oute of preson, and ellys ye ascape never with the lyff.’
‘Now,’ seyde Arthure, ‘that is harde. Yet had I lever fyght with a knyght than to dey in preson. Wyth this,’ seyde Arthure, ‘I may be delyverde and all thes presoners, I woll do the batayle.’
‘Yes,’ seyde the damesell.
‘Than I am redy,’ seyde Arthure, ‘and I had horse and armoure.’
‘Ye shall lak none,’ seyde the damesell.
‘Mesemethe, damesell, I shold have sene you in the courte of Arthure.’
‘Nay,’ seyde the damesell, ‘I cam never there. I am the lordis doughter of this castell.’
Yet was she false, for she was one of the damesels of Morgan le Fay.
Anone she wente unto sir Damas and tolde hym how he wolde do batayle for hym, and so he sente for Arthure. And whan he com he was well coloured and well made of his lymmes, that all knyghtes that sawe hym seyde hit were pité that suche a knyght sholde dey in preson. So sir Damas and he were agreed that he sholde fyght for hym uppon this covenaunte, that all the othir knyghtes sholde be delyverde. And unto that was sir Damas sworne unto Arthur and also he to do the batayle to the uttermoste. And with that all the twenty knyghtes were brought oute of the durke preson into the halle and delyverde, and so they all abode to se the batayle.
Now turne we unto Accalon of Gaule, that whan he awoke he [8] founde hymself by a depe welles syde within half a foote, in grete perell of deth. And there com oute of that fountayne a pype of sylver, and oute of that pype ran water all on hyghe in a stone of marbil. Whan sir Accolon sawe this he blyssed hym and seyde, ‘Jesu, save my lorde kynge Arthure and kynge Uryence, for thes damysels in this shippe hath betrayed us. They were fendis and no women. And if I may ascape this mysadventure I shall distroye them, all that I may fynde of thes false damysels that faryth thus with theire inchauntementes.’
And ryght with that there com a dwarf with a grete mowthe and a flatte nose, and salewed sir Accalon and tolde hym how he cam fromme quene Morgan le Fay.
‘And she gretys yow well and byddyth you be of stronge herte, for ye shall fyght to-mome wyth a knyght at the houre of pryme. And therefore she hath sent the Excalebir, Art
hurs swerde, and the scawberde, and she byddyth you as ye love her that ye do that batayle to the uttirmoste withoute ony mercy, lyke as ye promysed hir whan ye spoke laste togedir in prevyté. And what damesell that bryngyth her the kynges hede whyche ye shall fyght withall, she woll make hir a quene.’
‘Now I undirstonde you,’ seyde Accalon. ‘I shall holde that I have promysed her, now I have the swerde. Sir, whan sawe ye my lady Morgan le Fay?’
‘Ryght late,’ seyde the dwarff.
Than Accalon toke hym in his armys and sayde, ‘Recommaunde me unto my lady the quene and telle hir all shall be done that I promysed hir, and ellis I woll dye for hit. Now I suppose,’ seyde Accalon, ‘she hath made all this crauftis and enchauntemente for this batayle.’
‘Sir, ye may well beleve hit,’ seyde the dwarff.
Ryght so there come a knyght and a lady wyth six squyers, and salewed Accalon and prayde hym to aryse and com and reste hym at his maner. And so Accalon mounted uppon a voyde horse and wente with the knyght unto a fayre maner by a pryory, and there he had passyng good chere.
Than sir Damas sente unto his brothir Outelake and bade make hym redy be to-morne at the houre of pryme, and to be in the felde to fyght with a good knyght; for he had founden a knyght that was redy to do batayle at all poyntis. Whan this worde come to sir Outlake he was passyng hevy, for he was woundid a lytyll tofore thorow bothe his thyghes with a glayve, and he made grete dole; but as he was wounded he wolde a takyn the batayle an honde.
So hit happed at that tyme, by the meanys of Morgan le Fay, Accalon was with sir Oughtlake lodged. And whan he harde of that batayle and how Oughtlake was wounded he seyde that he wolde fyght for hym because that Morgan le Fay had sent hym Excaliber and the shethe for to fyght with the knyght on the morne. This was the cause sir Accalon toke the batayle uppon hym. Than sir Outelake was passyng glad and thanked sir Accalon with all his herte that he wolde do so muche for hym. And therewithal! sir Outlake sente unto his brother sir Damas that he hadde a knyght redy that sholde fyght with hym in the felde be the houre of pryme.
So on the morne sir Arthure was armed and well horsed, and asked sir Damas, ‘Whan shall we to the felde?’
‘Sir,’ seyde sir Damas, ye shall hyre masse.’
And so Arthure herde a masse, and whan masse was done there com a squyre on a grete hors and asked sir Damas if his knyght were redy, ‘for oure knyght is redy in the felde.’ Than sir Arthure mounted uppon horsebak. And there were all the knyghtes and comons of that contray, and so by all their advyces there was chosyn twelve good men of the contrey for to wayte uppon the two knyghtes.
And ryght as Arthure was on horsebak, there com a damesel fromme Morgan le Fay and brought unto sir Arthure a swerde lyke unto Excaliber and the scawberde, and seyde unto Arthure, ‘She sendis here youre swerde for grete love.’ And he thanke hir and wente hit had bene so; but she was falce, for the swerde and the scawberde was counterfete and brutyll and false.
Than they dressed hem on two partyes of the felde and lette their [9] horses ren so faste that aythir smote other in the myddis of the shelde, and their sperys helde, that bothe horse and man wente to the erthe, and than they stert up bothe and pulde oute their swerdis.
The meanewhyle that they were thus at the batayle com the Damesel of the Lake into the felde that put Merlyon undir the stone. And she com thidir for the love of kynge Arthur, for she knew how Morgan le Fay had ordayned for Arthur shold have bene slayne that day, and therefore she come to save his lyff.
And so they went egerly to the batayle and gaff many grete strokes. But allwayes Arthurs swerde bote nat lyke Accalons swerde, and for the moste party every stroke that Accalon gaff he wounded sir Arthure sore, that hit was mervayle he stood, and allwayes his blood felle frome hym faste. Whan Arthure behelde the grounde so sore bebledde he was dismayde. And than he demed treson, that his swerde was chonged, for his swerde bote nat steele as hit was wonte to do. Therefore he dred hym sore to be dede, for ever hym semyd that the swerde in Accalons honde was Excaliber, for at every stroke that Accalon stroke he drewe bloode on Arthure.
‘Now, knyght,’ seyde Accolon unto Arthure, ‘kepe the well frome me!’
But Arthure answered not agayne, but gaff hym such a buffette on the helme that he made hym to stowpe nyghe fallyng to the erthe. Than sir Accalon wythdrewe hym a lytyll, and com on wyth Excaliber on heyght, and smote sir Arthure suche a buffette that he fylle ny to the erthe. Than were they bothe wrothe oute of mesure and gaff many sore strokis.
But allwayes sir Arthure loste so muche bloode that hit was mervayle he stoode on his feete, but he was so full of knyghthode that he endured the payne. And sir Accolon loste nat a dele of blood; therefore he waxte passynge lyght, and sir Arthure was passynge fyeble and wente veryly to have dyed, but for all that he made countenaunce as he myght welle endure and helde Accolon as shorte as he myght. But Accolon was so bolde because of Excalyber that he wexed passyng hardy. But all men that behelde hem seyde they sawe nevir knyght fyght so well as Arthur ded, conciderynge the bloode that he had bled; but all that peple were sory that thes two brethirne wolde nat accorde.
So allwayes they fought togedir as fers knyghtes, and at the laste kynge Arthure withdrew hym a lytyll for to reste hym, and sir Accolon callyd hym to batayle and seyde, ‘Hit is no tyme for me to suffir the to reste,’ and therewith he come fersly uppon Arthure. But Arthur therewith was wroth for the bloode that he had loste, and smote Accolon on hyghe uppon the helme so myghtyly that he made hym nyghe falle to the erthe; and therewith Arthurs swerde braste at the crosse and felle on the grasse amonge the bloode, and the pomell and the sure handyls he helde in his honde. Whan kynge Arthure saw that, he was in grete feare to dye, but allwayes he helde up his shelde and loste no grounde nother batyd no chere.
Than sir Accolon began with wordis of treson and seyde, ‘Knyght, thou art overcom and mayste nat endure, and also thou art wepynles, and loste thou haste much of thy bloode, and I am full loth to sle the. Therefore yelde the to me recreaunte.’
‘Nay,’ seyde sir Arthur, ‘I may nat so, for I promysed by the feythe of my body to do this batayle to the uttermuste whyle my lyff lastith, and therefore I had levir to dye with honour than to lyve with shame. And if hit were possible for me to dye an hondred times, I had levir to dye so oufte than yelde me to the. For though I lak wepon, yett shall I lak no worshippe, and if thou sle me wepynles that shall be thy shame.’
‘Well,’ seyde Accolon, ‘as for that shame I woll nat spare. Now kepe the fro me, for thou art but a dede man!’ And therewith Accolon gaff hym such a stroke that he fell nyghe to the erthe, and wolde have had Arthure to have cryed hym mercy. But sir Arthure preced unto Accolon with his shelde and gaff hym wyth the pomell in his honde suche a buffette that he reled three strydes abake.
Whan the Damesell of the Lake behelde Arthure, how full of prouesse his body was, and the false treson that was wrought for hym to have had hym slayne, she had grete peté that so good a knyght and such a man of worship sholde so be destroyed. And at the nexte stroke sir Accolon stroke at hym suche a stroke that by the damesels inchauntemente the swerde Excaliber fell oute of Accalons honde to the erthe, and therewithal! sir Arthure lyghtly lepe to hit and gate hit in his honde, and forthwithall he knew hit that hit was his swerde Excalyber.
‘A,’ seyde Arthure, ‘thou haste bene frome me all to longe and muche damage hast thou done me!’
And therewith he aspyed the scawberde by his syde, and suddaynly he sterte to hym and pulled the scawberte frome hym and threw hit frome hym as fer as he myght throw hit.
‘A, sir knyght,’ seyde kynge Arthur, ‘this day haste thou done me grete damage wyth this swerde. Now ar ye com unto youre deth, for I shall nat warraunte you but ye shall be as well rewarded with this swerde or ever we departe as ye have rewarded me, for muche payne have ye made me to endure and much blood have y loste.’
And therewith sir Arthure raced on hym with all his myght and pulde hym to the erthe, and than raced of his helme and gaff hym suc
he a buffette on his hede that the bloode com oute at his erys, nose, and mowthe.
‘Now woll I sle the!’ seyde Arthure.
‘Sle me ye may well,’ seyde sir Accolon, ‘and hit please you, for ye ar the beste knyght that ever I founde, and I se well that God is with you. But for I promysed,’ seyde Accolon, ‘to do this batayle to the uttirmyst and never to be recreaunte while I leved, therefore shall I never yelde me with my mowthe, but God do with my body what He woll.’
Than sir Arthure remembirde hym and thought he scholde have sene this knyght.
‘Now telle me,’ seyde Arthure, or I woll sle the, of what contrey ye be and of what courte.’
‘Sir knyght,’ seyde sir Accolon, ‘I am of the ryall courte of kyng Arthure, and my name is Accolon of Gaule.’
Than was Arthure more dismayde than he was toforehonde, for than he remembirde hym of his sister Morgan le Fay and of the enchauntement of the shippe. ‘A, sir knyght, I pray you telle me who gaff you this swerde and by whom ye had hit.’
Than sir Accolon bethought hym and seyde, ‘Wo worthe this swerde! for by hit I have gotyn my dethe.’
‘Hit may well be,’ seyde the kynge.
‘Now, sir,’ seyde Accolon, ‘I woll tell you: this swerde hath bene in my kepynge the moste party of this twelve monthe, and Morgan le Fay, kyng Uryence wyff, sente hit me yestirday by a dwarfe to the entente to sle kynge Arthure, hir brothir; for ye shall undirstonde that kynge Arthur ys the man in the worlde that she hatyth moste, because he is moste of worship and of prouesse of ony of hir bloode. Also she lovyth me oute of mesure as paramour, and I hir agayne. And if she myght bryng hit aboute to sle Arthure by hir crauftis, she wolde sle hir husbonde kynge Uryence lyghtly. And than had she devysed to have me kynge in this londe and so to reigne, and she to be my quene. But that is now done,’ seyde Accolon, ‘for I am sure of my deth.’
‘Well,’ seyde kyng Arthure, ‘I fele by you ye wolde have bene kynge of this londe, yett hit had be grete damage to have destroyed your lorde,’ seyde Arthur.
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