And than sir Gareth rode here and there and smote on the ryght honde and on the lyffte honde, that all folkys myght well aspye where that he rode. And by fortune he mette with his brother, sir Gawayne; and there he put hym to the wors, for he put of his helme. And so he served fyve or six knyghtes of the Rounde Table, that all men seyde he put hym in moste payne and beste he dud his dever.
For whan sir Trystrams behylde hym how he fyrste justed and aftir fought so welle with a swerde, than he rode unto sir Ironsyde and to sir Persaunte of Inde, and asked hem be their fayth what maner a knyght yondir knyght is that semyth in so many dyvers coloures. Truly mesemyth,’ seyde sir Trystrams, ‘that he puttyth hymself in grete payne, for he never sesyth.’
‘Wote nat ye what he is?’ seyde Ironsyde.
‘No,’ seyde sir Trystrams.
Than shall ye knowe that this is he that lovyth the lady of the castell, and she hym agayne. And this is he that wanne me whan I beseged the lady of this castell; and this is he that wanne sir Persaunte of Inde and his three brethirne.’
‘What is his name?’ seyde sir Trystrams, ‘and of what bloode is he com?’
‘Sir, he was called in the courte of kynge Arthure Bewmaynes, but his ryght name is sir Gareth of Orkeney, brother unto sir Gawayne.’
‘By my hede,’ seyde sir Trystrams, ‘he is a good knyght and a bygge man of armys: and yf he be yonge, he shall preve a full noble knyght.’
‘Sir, he is but a chylde,’ he seyde, ‘and of sir Launcelot he was made knyght.’
‘Therefore is he muche the bettir,’ seyde sir Trystrams.
And than sir Trystrams, sir Ironsyde, and sir Persaunte and his bretheme rode togydyrs for to helpe sir Gareth. And than there was many sadde strokis, and than sir Gareth rode oute on the tone syde to amende his helme.
Than seyde his dwarff, ‘Take me your rynge, that ye lose hit nat whyle that ye drynke.’ And so whan he had drunkyn he gate on hys helme, and egirly toke his horse and rode into the felde, and leffte his rynge with his dwarff: for the dwarf was glad the rynge was frome hym, for than he wyste well he sholde be knowyn.
And whan sir Gareth was in the felde, all folkys sawe hym well and playnly that he was in yealow colowres. And there he raced of helmys and pulled downe knyghtes, that kynge Arthure had mervayle what knyght he was. For the kynge sawe by his horse that hit was the same knyght, ‘but byfore he was in so many coloures, and now he is but in one coloure, and that is yolowe.’
‘Now goo,’ seyde kynge Arthure unto dyvers herowdys, and bede hem, ‘Ryde aboute hym, and aspye yf ye can se what maner of knyght he is; for I have spered of many knyghtes this day that is uppon his party, and all sey that they knowe hym nought.’
But at the laste an herrowde rode nyghe sir Gareth as he coude, and there he sawe wryten aboute his helme in golde, seyynge: ‘This helme is sir Garethis of Orkeney.’ Than the heroude cryed as he were woode, and many herowdys with hym: ‘This is sir Gareth of Orkenay in the yealow armys!’
Thereby all the kynges and knyghtes of kynge Arthurs party behelde and awayted; and than they presed all knyghtes to beholde hym, and ever the herrowdys cryed and seyde: ‘This is sir Gareth, kynge Lottys son of Orkeney!’
And whan sir Gareth aspyed that he was discoverde, than he dowbled his strokys and smote downe there sir Sagramoure and his brother sir Gawayne.
‘A, brother,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘I wente ye wolde have smyttyn me.’
So whan he herde hym sey so, he thrange here and there, and so with grete payne he gate oute of the pres, and there he mette with his dwarff.
‘A, boy!’ seyde sir Gareth, ‘thou haste begyled me fowle this day of my rynge. Geff hit me faste, that I may hyde my body withall!’
And so he toke hit hym; and than they all wyst not where he was becom.
And sir Gawayne had in maner aspyed where sir Gareth rode, and than he rode aftir with all his myght. That aspyed sir Gareth and rode wyghtly into the foreste. For all that sir Gawayne coude do, he wyste nat where he was becom.
And whan sir Gareth wyste that sir Gawayne was paste, he asked the dwarff of beste counsayle.
‘Sir,’ seyde the dwarff, ‘mesemyth hit were beste, now that ye ar ascaped frome spyynge, that ye sende my lady, dame Lyones of the castell, hir rynge.’
‘Hit is well avysed,’ seyde sir Gareth. ‘Now have hit here and bere hit her, and sey that I recommaunde me unto hir good grace; and sey hir I woll com whan I may, and pray hir to be trewe and faythfull to me as I woll be to hir.’
‘Sir,’ seyde the dwarff, ‘hit shall be done as ye commaunde me.’
And so he rode his way and dud his erande unto the lady. Than seyde she, ‘Where is my knyght, sir Gareth?’
‘Madam, he bade me sey that he wolde nat be longe frome you.’
And so lyghtly the dwarff com agayne unto sir Gareth that wolde full fayne have had a lodgynge, for he had nede to be reposed.
And than fell there a thundir and a rayne, as hevyn and erthe sholde go togydir. And sir Gareth was nat a lytyll wery, for of all that day he had but lytyll reste, nother his horse nor he. So thus sir Gareth rode longe in that foreste untyll nyght cam; and ever hit lyghtend and thundirde as hit had bene wylde. At the laste by fortune he cam to a castell, and there he herde the waytis uppon the wallys. Than sir Gareth rode unto the barbycan of the castell, and [32] prayed the porter fayre to lette hym into the castell. The porter answerde ungoodly agayne and sayde, ‘Thou gettyste no lodgynge here.’
‘Fayre sir, sey not so, for I am a knyght of kynge Arthurs; and pray the lorde and the lady of this castell to gyff me herborow for the love of kynge Arthour.’
Than the porter wente unto the douches and tolde hir how there was a knyght of kynge Arthures wolde have herborow.
‘Latte hym in,’ seyde the douches, ‘for I woll se that knyght. And for kynge Arthurs love he shall nat be herborowles.’
Than she yode up into a towre over the gate with tourchis ilyght. Whan sir Gareth saw that lyght he cryed on hyghe:
‘Whethir thou be lorde or lady, gyaunte other champyon, I take no forse, so that I may have herborow as for this nyght: and yf hit be so that I muste nedis fyght, spare me nat to-morne whan I have rested me; for bothe I and myne horse be wery.’
‘Sir knyght,’ seyde the lady, ‘ye speke knyghtly and boldely; but wete you well the lorde of this castell lovyth nat kynge Arthure nother none of hys courte, for my lorde hath ever bene ayenste hym. And therefore thow were bettir nat to com within his castell; for and thou com in this nyght, thou muste com undir this fourme, that wheresomever thou mete hym, by fylde other by strete, thou muste yelde the to hym as presonere.’
‘Madam,’ seyde sir Gareth, ‘what is your lorde and what is his name?’
‘Sir, my lordys name is the deuke de la Rouse.’
‘Well, madam,’ seyde sir Gareth, ‘I shal promyse you in what place I mete youre lorde I shall yelde me unto hym and to his good grace, with that I undirstonde that he woll do me no shame. And yf I undirstonde that he woll, I woll relece myself and I can with my spere and my swerde.’
‘Ye say well,’ seyde the deuches.
Than she lette the drawbrygge downe; and so he rode into the halle and there he alyght, and the horse was ladde into the stable. And in the halle he unarmed hym and seyde, ‘Madam, I woll nat oute of this halle this nyght. And whan hit is daylyght, lat se who woll have ado with me; than he shall fynde me redy.’
Than was he sette unto souper and had many good dysshis. Than sir Gareth lyste well to ete, and full knyghtly he ete his mete and egirly. Also there was many a fayre lady by hym, and som seyd they nevir sawe a goodlyer man nothir so well of etynge. Than they made hym passynge good chere; and shortly, whan he had souped, his bedde was made there, and so he rested hym all nyght.
And in the morne he herde masse and brake hys faste, and toke his leve at the douches and at them all, and thanked hir goodly of hir lodgyng and of hir good chere. And than she asked hym his name.
‘Truly, madam,’ he seyde, ‘
my name is sir Gareth of Orkeney, and som men call me Bewmaynes.’
Than knew she well hit was the same knyght that faught for dame Lyonesse.
So sir Gareth departed and rode up unto a mountayne, and there mette hym a knyght, his name was sir Bendaleyne. And he seyde to sir Gareth, ‘Thou shalt nat passe this way, for other thou shalt juste with me othir ellys be my presonere.’
Than woll I juste,’ seyde sir Gareth. And so they lette their horsis ren, and there sir Gareth smote hym thorowoute the body, and sir Bendelayne rode forth to his castell there besyde, and there dyed.
So sir Gareth wolde have rested hym fayne. So hit happed hym to com to sir Bendalaynes castell. Than his knyghtys and servauntys aspyed that hit was he that had slayne there lorde. Than they armed twenty good men and com oute and assayled sir Gareth. And so he had no spere, but his swerde, and so he put his shylde afore hym, and there they brake ten sperys uppon hym. And they assayled hym passyngly sore, but ever sir Gareth defended hym as a knyght.
So whan they sawe they myght nat overcom hym they rode frome [33] hym, and toke their counceyle to sle his horse. And so they cam in uppon sir Gareth, and so with hir sperys they slewe his horse, and than they assayled hym harde. But whan he was on foote there was none that he raught but he gaff hym such a buffette that he dud never recover. So he slew hem by one and one tyll they were but four; and there they fledde. And sir Gareth toke a good horse that was one of theires and rode his way. Than he rode a grete pace tyll that he cam to a castell, and there he herde muche mournyng of ladyes and jantyllwomen. So at the laste there cam by hym a payge. Than he asked of hym, ‘What noyse is this that I hyre within this castell?’
‘Sir knyght,’ seyde the payge, ‘here be within this castell thirty ladyes, and all they be wydowys. For here is a knyght that waytyth dayly uppon this castell, and he is callyd the Browne Knyght wythoute Pyté, and he is the perelust knyght that now lyvyth. And therefore, sir,’ seyde the payge, ‘I rede you fle.’
‘Nay,’ seyde sir Gareth, ‘I woll nat fle, though thou be aferde of hym.’
Than the payge saw where cam the Browne Knyght, and sayde,’Lo yondir he commyth!’
‘Lat me dele with hym,’ seyde sir Gareth. And whan aythir of othir had a syghte, they let theire horsis ren, and the Browne Knyght brake his spere, and sir Gareth smote hym thorow the body, that he overthrewe to the grounde sterke dede. So sir Gareth rode into the castell and prayde the ladyes that he myght repose hym.
‘Alas!’ seyde the ladyes, ‘ye may nat be lodged here.’
‘Yes, hardely, make hym good chere,’ seyde the payge, ‘for this knyght hath slayne your enemy.’
Than they all made hym good chere as lay in theire power. But wete you well they made hym good chere, for they myght none other do, for they were but poore.
And so on the morne he wente to masse and there he sawe the thirty ladyes knele and lay grovelynge uppon dyverse toumbis, makynge grete dole and sorow. Than sir Gareth knew well that in the tombis lay their lordys.
‘Fayre ladyes,’ seyde sir Gareth, ‘ye muste at the next feste be at the courte of kynge Arthure, and sey that I, sir Gareth, sente you thydir.’
‘Sir, we shall do your commaundemente,’ seyde the ladyes.
So he departed; and by fortune he cam to a mountayne, and there he founde a goodly knyght that bade hym, ‘Abyde, sir knyght, and juste with me!’
‘What ar ye?’ seyde sir Gareth.
‘My name is,’ he seyde, ‘called deuke de la Rowse.’
‘A, sir, ye ar the same knyght that I lodged onys within your castell, and there I made promyse unto youre lady that I sholde yelde me to you.’
‘A,’ seyde the deuke, ‘arte thou that proude knyght that profyrde to fyght with my knyghtes? Therefore make the redy, for I woll have ado wyth you.’
So they let their horsis renne, and there sir Gareth smote the deuke downe frome his horse: but the deuke lyghtly avoyded his horse and dressed his shylde and drew his swerde, and bade sir Gareth alyght and fyght with hym. So he dud alyght, and they dud grete batayle togedyrs more than an houre, and eythir hurte other full sore. But at the laste sir Gareth gate the deuke to the erthe, and wolde have slayne hym; and than he yelded hym.
‘Than muste ye go,’ seyde sir Gareth, ‘unto kynge Arthure, my lorde, at the next hyghe feste, and sey that I, sir Gareth, sente you thydir.’
‘We shall do this,’ seyde the deuke, ‘and I woll do you omage and feauté wyth an hondredsom of knyghtes with me, and all the dayes of my lyff to do you servyse where ye woll commaunde me.’
So the deuke departed, and sir Gareth stoode there alone. And as he stoode he sey an armed knyght on horsebak commynge towarde hym. Than sir Gareth mownted uppon horsebak, and so withoute ony wordis they ran togedir as thundir. And there that knyght hurte sir Gareth undir the syde with his spere, and than they alyght and drewe there swerdys and gaff grete strokys, that the bloode trayled downe to the grounde; and so they fought two owres.
So at the laste there com the damesell Lyonette that som men calle the damesell Savyage. And she com rydynge uppon an ambelynge mule, and there she cryed all on hygh:
‘Sir Gawayne! leve thy fyghtynge with thy brothir, sir Gareth!’ And whan he herde hir sey so, he threwe away his shylde and his swerde, and ran to sir Gareth and toke hym in his armys, and sytthen kneled downe and asked hym mercy.
‘What ar ye,’ seyde sir Gareth, ‘that ryght now were so stronge and so myghty, and now so sodeynly is yelde to me?’
‘A, sir Gareth, I am your brother, sir Gawayne, that for youre sake have had grete laboure and travayle.’
Than sir Gareth unlaced hys helme, and kneled downe to hym and asked hym mercy. Than they arose bothe, and braced eythir othir in there armys, and wepte a grete whyle or they myght speke; and eythir of them gaff other the pryse of the batayle, and there were many kynde wordys betwene them.
‘Alas! my fayre brother,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘I ought of ryght to worshyp you, and ye were nat my brother, for ye have worshipte kynge Arthure and all his courte, for ye have sente me worshypfull knyghtes this twelve-monthe than fyve the beste of the Rounde Table hath done excepte sir Launcelot.’
Than cam the lady Savyaige, that was the lady Lyonet that rode with sir Gareth so long; and there she dud staunche sir Gareths woundis and sir Gawaynes.
‘Now what woll ye do?’ seyde the damesell Saveaige. ‘Mesemyth hit were beste that kynge Arthure had wetynge of you bothe: for your horsis ar so brused that they may not beare.’
‘Now, fayre damesell,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘I pray you ryde unto my lorde, myne unkle kynge Arthure, and tell hym what adventure is betydde me here; and I suppose he woll nat tary longe.’
Than she toke hir mule and lyghtly she rode to kynge Arthure, that was but two myle thens. And whan she had tolde hir tydynges to the kynge, the kynge bade, ‘Gete me a palefrey!’ And whan he was on horsebak he bade the lordys and ladyes com aftir and they wolde; and there was sadelyng and brydelyng of quenys and prynces horsis, and well was he that sonneste myght be redy.
So whan the kynge cam there, he saw sir Gawayne and sir Gareth sitt uppon a lytyll hyllys syde. Than the kynge avoyded his horse, and whan he cam nye to sir Gareth he wolde a spokyn and myght nat, and therewyth he sanke downe in a sowghe for gladnesse.
And so they sterte unto theire uncle and requyred hym of his good grace to be of good comforte. Wete you well the kynge made grete joy! And many a peteuous complaynte he made to sir Gareth, and ever he wepte as he had bene a chylde.
So with this com his modir, the quene of Orkeney, dame Morgawse, and whan she saw sir Gareth redyly in the vysage she myght nat wepe, but sodeynly felle downe in a sowne and lay there a grete whyle lyke as she had bene dede. And than sir Gareth recomforted hir in suche wyse that she recovirde and made good chere.
Than the kynge commaunded that all maner of knyghtes that were undir his obeysaunce sholde make their lodgynge ryght there, for the love of his two nevewys. And so hit was done, and all maner of purveyans
purveyde, that there lacked nothynge that myght be gotyn for golde nother sylver, nothir of wylde nor tame.
And than by the meanys of the damesell Saveaige sir Gawayne and sir Gareth were heled of their woundys; and there they suggeourned eyght dayes. Than seyde kynge Arthure unto the damesell Saveaige, ‘I mervayle that youre sistyr, dame Lyonesse, comyth nat hydir to me; and in especiall that she commyth nat to vysyte hir knyght, my nevewe, sir Gareth, that hath had so muche travayle for hir love.’
‘My lorde,’ seyde the damesell Lyonette, ‘ye muste of your good grace holde hir excused, for she knowyth nat that my lorde sir Gareth is here.’
‘Go ye than for hir,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘that we may be apoynted what is beste to done accordynge to the plesure of my nevewe.’
‘Sir,’ seyde the damesell, ‘hit shall be do.’
And so she rode unto hir sistir, and as lyghtly as she myght make hir redy she cam on the morne with hir brother, sir Gryngamour, and with hir fourty knyghtes. And so whan she was com she had all the chere that myght be done bothe of the kynge and of many other knyghtes and also quenys. And amonge all thes ladyes she was [35] named the fayryst and pyereles. Than whan sir Gareth mette with hir, there was many a goodly loke and goodly wordys, that all men of worshyp had joy to beholde them.
Than cam kynge Arthure and many othir kynges, and dame Gwenyvere and quene Morgawse, his modir; and there the kynge asked his nevew, sir Gareth, whether he wolde have this lady as peramour, other ellys to have hir to his wyff.
‘My lorde, wete you well that I love hir abovyn all ladyes lyvynge.’
‘Now, fayre lady,’ sayde kynge Arthure, ‘what sey ye?’
‘My moste noble kynge,’ seyde dame Lyonesse, ‘wete you well that my lorde, sir Gareth, ys to me more lever to have and welde as my husbonde than ony kyng other prynce that is crystyned; and if I may nat have hym, I promyse you I woll never have none. For, my lorde Arthure,’ seyde dame Lyonesse, ‘wete you well he is my fyrste love, and he shall be the laste; and yf ye woll suffir hym to have his wyll and fre choyse, I dare say he woll have me.’
Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory Page 31
