‘Sir,’ seyde sir Trystrames, ‘for the good lordeshyp ye shewed unto me in Irelonde and for my lady youre doughtirs sake, La Beale Isode, I woll take the batayle for you uppon this conducion, that ye shall graunte me two thynges: one is that ye shall swere unto me that ye ar in the ryght and that ye were never consentynge to the knyghtis deth. Sir,’ than seyde sir Trystramys, ‘whan I have done this batayle, yf God gyff me grace to spede, that ye shall gyff me a rewarde what thynge resonable that I woll aske you.’
‘So God me helpe,’ seyde the kynge, ‘ye shall have whatsomever ye woll.’
‘Ye sey well,’ seyde sir Trystramys, ‘now make your answere that [22] your champyon is redy, for I shall dye in your quarell rathir than to be recreaunte.’
‘I have no doute of you,’ seyde the kynge, ‘that and ye sholde have ado with sir Launcelot de Lake.’
‘As for sir Launcelot, he is called the noblyst of the worlde of knyghtes, and wete you well that the knyghtes of hys bloode ar noble men and drede shame. And as for sir Bleoberys, brother unto sir Blamour, I have done batayle wyth hym; therefore, uppon my hede, hit is no shame to calle hym a good knyght.’
‘Sir, hit is noysed,’ seyde the kynge, ‘that sir Blamour is the hardyer knyght.’
‘As for that, lat hym be! He shall nat be refused and he were the beste knyght that beryth shylde or spere.’
So kynge Agwysh departed unto kyng Carados and the kynges that were that tyme as juges, and tolde them how that he had founde his champyon redy. Than by the commaundementes of the kynges sir Blamour de Ganys and sir Trystramys de Lyones were sente fore to hyre their charge, and whan they were com before the juges there were many kynges and knyghtes that behylde sir Trystrames and muche speche they had of hym, because he slew sir Marhalte the good knyght and because he forjusted sir Palomydes the good knyght.
So whan they had takyn their charge they withdrew hem to make hem redy to do batayle. Than seyde sir Bleoberys to his brother sir Blamoure, ‘Fayre dere brother,’ seyde he, ‘remembir of what kynne we be com of, and what a man is sir Launcelot de Lake, nother farther ne nere but brethyrne chyldirne. And there was never none of oure kynne that ever was shamed in batayle, but rathir, brothir, suffir deth than to be shamed!’
‘Brothir,’ seyde sir Blamour, ‘have ye no doute of me, for I shall never shame none of my bloode. Howbeit I am sure that yondir knyght ys called a passynge good knyght as of his tyme as ony in the worlde, yett shall I never yelde me nother sey the lothe worde. Well may he happyn to smyte me downe with his grete myght of chevalry, but rather shall he sle me than I shall yelde me recreaunte.’
‘God spede you well,’ seyde sir Bleoberys, ‘for ye shall fynde hym the myghtyest knyght that ever ye had ado withall: I knowe hym, for I have had ado with hym.’
‘God me spede!’ seyde sir Blamour.
And therewith he toke his horse at the one ende of the lystes, and sir Trystramys at the othir ende of the lystes, and so they feautred their sperys and com togedyrs as hit had be thundir, and there sir Trystrames thorow grete myght smote doune sir Blamour and his horse to the erthe.
Than anone sir Blamour avoyded his horse and pulled oute his swerde and toke his shylde before hym and bade sir Trystrames alyght, ‘for thoughe my horse hath fayled, I truste to God the erthe woll nat fayle me!’
And than sir Trystrames alyght and dressed hym unto batayle, and there they laysshed togedir strongely, rasynge, foynynge and daysshynge many sad strokes, that the kynges and knyghtes had grete wondir that they myght stonde, for they evir fought lyke woode men. There was never seyne of two knyghtes that fought more ferselyer, for sir Blamour was so hasty he wolde have no reste, that all men wondirde that they had brethe to stonde on their feete, that all the place was bloodé that they fought in. And at the laste sir Trystramys smote sir Blamour suche a buffette uppon the helme that he there synked downe uppon his syde, and sir Trystramys stood stylle and behylde hym.
So whan sir Blamour myght speke he seyde thus:
‘Sir Trystrames de Lyones, I requyre the, as thou art a noble knyght and the beste knyght that ever I founde, that thou wolt sle me oute, for I wolde nat lyve to be made lorde of all the erthe; for I had lever dye here with worshyp than lyve here with shame. And nedis, sir Trystrames, thou muste sle me, other ellys thou shalt never wynne the fylde, for I woll never sey the lothe worde. And therefore, yf thou dare sle me, sle me, I requyre the!’
Whan sir Trystrames herde hym sey so knyghtly, in his herte he wyste nat what to do with hym. Remembryng hym of bothe partyes, of what bloode he was commyn of, and for sir Launcelottis sake, he wolde be loth to sle hym; and in the other party, in no wyse he myght nat chose but to make hym sey the lothe worde, othir ellys to sle hym.
Than sir Trystrames sterte abacke and wente to the kynges that were juges, and there he kneled downe tofore them and besought them of their worshyppis, and for kynge Arthurs love and for sir Launcellottis sake, that they wolde take this mater in their hondis.
‘For, my fayre lordys,’ seyde sir Trystrames, ‘hit were shame and pyté that this noble knyght that yondir lyeth sholde be slayne, for ye hyre well, shamed woll he nat be. And I pray to God that he never be slayne nother shamed for me. And as for the kynge whom I fyght fore, I shall requyre hym, as I am hys trew champyon and trew knyght in this fylde, that he woll have mercy uppon this knyght.’
‘So God me helpe,’ seyde kyng Angwyshe, ‘I woll for your sake, sir Trystrames, be ruled as ye woll have me, and I woll hartely pray the kynges that be here juges to take hit in there hondys.’
Than the kynges that were juges called sir Bleoberys to them and asked his advyce.
‘My lordys,’ seyde sir Bleoberys, ‘thoughe my brother be beatyn and have the worse thorow myght of armys in his body, I dare sey, though sir Trystrames hath beatyn his body, he hath nat beatyn his harte, and thanke God he is nat shamed this day; and rathir than he be shamed I requyre you,’ seyde sir Bleoberys, ‘lat sir Trystrames sle hym oute.’
‘Hit shall nat be!’ seyde the kynges, ‘for his parte his adversary, both the kynge and the champyon, have pyté on sir Blamoure his knyghthode.’
‘My lordys,’ seyde sir Bleoberys, ‘I woll ryght as ye woll.’
Than the kynges called the kynge of Irelonde and founde hym goodly and tretable, and than by all their advyces sir Trystrames and sir Bleoberys toke up sir Blamoure, and the two bretherne were made accorded wyth kynge Angwyshe and kyssed togydir and made frendys for ever.
And than sir Blamoure and sir Trystrames kyssed togedirs, and there they made their othis that they wolde never none of them two brethirne fyght wyth sir Trystrames, and sir Trystramys made them the same othe. And for that jantyll batayle all the bloode of sir Launcelott loved sir Trystrames for ever.
Than kynge Angwyshe and sir Trystrames toke their leve, and so he sayled into Irelonde wyth grete nobles and joy. So whan they were in Irelonde the kynge lete make hit knowyn thorowoute all the londe how and in what maner sir Trystrames had done for hym. Than the quene and all that there were made the moste of hym that they myght. But the joy that La Beale Isode made of sir Trystrames there myght no tunge telle, for of all men erthely she loved hym moste.
Than uppon a day kynge Angwyshe asked sir Trystrames why he asked nat his bone. Than seyde sir Trystrames, ‘Now hit is tyme. Sir, this is all that I woll desyre, that ye woll gyff La Beale Isode, youre doughter, nat for myself, but for myne uncle, kyng Marke, that shall have her to wyff, for so have I promysed hym.’
‘Alas!’ seyde the kynge, ‘I had lever than all the londe that I have that ye wolde have wedded hir yourself.’
‘Sir, and I dud so, I were shamed for ever in this worlde and false to my promyse. Therefore,’ seyde sir Trystrames, ‘I requyre you, holde your promyse that ye promysed me, for this is my desyre: that ye woll gyff me La Beale Isode to go with me into Cornwayle for to be wedded unto kynge Marke, myne uncle.’
‘As for that,’ kynge Angwysshe seyde, ‘ye shall have her with you to do with hir what hit pleas
e you, that is for to sey, if that ye lyste to wedde hir yourselff, that is me leveste; and yf ye woll gyff hir unto kyng Marke your uncle, that is in your choyse.’
So, to make shorte conclusyon, La Beale Isode was made redy to go with sir Trystrames. And dame Brangwayne wente with hir for hir chyff jantyllwoman with many other: the quene, Isodes modir, gaff dame Brangwayne unto hir to be hir jantyllwoman.
And also she and Governayle had a drynke of the quene, and she charged them that where kynge Marke sholde wedde, that same day they sholde gyff them that drynke that kynge Marke sholde drynke to La Beale Isode. ‘And than,’ seyde the quene, ‘ayther shall love other dayes of their lyff.’
So this drynke was gyvyn unto dame Brangwayne and unto Governayle. So sir Trystrames toke the see, and La Beale Isode. And whan they were in their caban, hit happed so they were thyrsty. And than they saw a lytyll flakette of golde stonde by them, and hit semed by the coloure and the taste that hit was noble wyne. So sir Trystrames toke the flaket in his honde and seyde, ‘Madame Isode, here is a draught of good wyne that dame Brangwayne, your maydyn, and Governayle, my servaunte, hath kepte for hemselff.’
Than they lowghe and made good chere and eyther dranke to other frely, and they thought never drynke that ever they dranke so swete nother so good to them. But by that drynke was in their bodyes they loved aythir other so well that never hir love departed, for well nother for woo. And thus hit happed fyrst, the love betwyxte sir Trystrames and La Beale Isode, the whyche love never departed dayes of their lyff.
So than they sayled tyll that by fortune they com nye a castell that hyght Plewre, and there they aryved for to repose them, wenynge to them to have had good herborow.
But anone as sir Trystrames was within the castell they were takyn presoners, for the custom of that castell was suche that who that rode by that castell and brought ony lady wyth hym he muste nedys fyght with the lorde that hyght Brewnour. And yf hit so were that Brewnor wan the fylde, than sholde the knyght straunger and his lady be put to deth, what that ever they were. And yf hit were so that the straunge knyght wan the fylde of sir Brewnor, than sholde he dye and hys lady bothe. So this custom was used many wyntyrs, wherefore hit was called the Castell Plewre, that is to sey ‘the wepynge castell’.
Thus as sir Trystrames and La Beale Isode were in preson, hit happynd a knyghte and a lady com unto them where they were to chere them. Than seyde sir Trystrames unto the knyght and to the lady, ‘What is the cause the lorde of this castell holdyth us in preson? For hit was never the custom of placis of worshyp that ever I cam in, whan a knyght and a lady asked herborow, and they to receyve them, and aftir to dystres them that be his gestys.’
‘Sir,’ seyde the knyght, ‘this is the olde custom of this castell, that whan a knyght commyth here he muste nedis fyght with oure lorde, and he that is the wayker muste lose his hede. And whan that is done, if his lady that he bryngyth be fowler than is oure lordys wyff, she muste lose hir hede. And yf she be fayrer preved than is oure lady, than shall the lady of this castell lose her hede.’
‘So God me helpe’, seyde sir Trystrames, ‘this is a foule custom and a shamfull custom. But one avauntage have I,’ seyde sir Trystrames, ‘I have a lady is fayre ynowe, and I doute nat for lacke of beauté she shall nat lose her hede. And rathir than I shall lose myne hede I woll fyght for hit on a fayre fylde. Sir knyght and your fayre lady, I pray you, tell your lorde that I woll be redy as to-morne, wyth my lady and myselff, to do batayle if hit be so I may have my horse and myne armoure.’
‘Sir,’ seyde the knyght, ‘I undirtake for youre desyre shall be spedde, and therefore take your reste and loke that ye be up betymes, and make you redy and your lady, for ye shall wante nothynge that you behovyth.’
And therewith he departed, and so on the morne betymys that same knyght com to sir Trystramys and fecched hym oute and his lady, and brought hym horse and armoure that was his owne, and bade hym make hym redy to the fylde, for all the astatis and comyns of that lordshyp were there redy to beholde that batayle and jugemente.
Than cam sir Brewnor, the lorde of the castell, with his lady in his honde muffeled, and asked sir Trystrames where was his lady, ‘for and thy lady be feyrar than myne, with thy swerde smyte of my ladyes hede, and yf my lady be fayrer than thyne, with my swerde I muste stryke of hir hede. And if I may wynne the, yette shall thy lady be myne, and thow shalt lese thy hede.’
‘Sir,’ seyde sir Trystrames, ‘this is a foule custom and an horryble, and rather than my lady sholde lose hir hede yett had I lever lose myne hede.’
‘Nay, nay!’ seyde sir Brewnor, ‘the ladyes shall be fyrste shewed togydir, and that one shall have hir jugemente.’
‘Nay, I wyll nat so,’ seyde sir Trystrames, ‘for here is none that woll gyff ryghtuous jugemente. But I doute nat,’ seyde sir Trystrames, ‘my lady is fayrer than youres, and that woll I make good with my hondys, and who that woll sey the contrary, I woll preve hit on his hede!’
And therewyth sir Trystrames shewed forth La Beale Isode and turned hir thryse aboute with his naked swerde in his honde. And so dud sir Brewnor the same wyse to his lady. But whan sir Brewnor behelde La Beale Isode hym thought he saw never a fayrer lady, and than he drad his ladyes hede sholde off. And so all the people that were there presente gaff jugement that La Beale Isode was the fayrer lady and the better made.
‘How now?’ seyde syr Trystrames. ‘Mesemyth hit were pyté that my lady sholde lose hir hede, but bycause thou and she of longe tyme have used this wycked custom and by you bothe hath many good knyghtes and fayre ladyes bene destroyed, for that cause hit were no losse to destroy you bothe.’
‘So God me helpe,’ seyde sir Brewnor, ‘for to sey the sothe, thy lady is fayrer than myne, and that me sore repentys, and so I hyre the people pryvyly sey, for of all women I sawe never none so fayre. And therefore, and thou wolt sle my lady, I doute nat I shall sle the and have thy lady.’
‘Well, thou shalt wyn her,’ seyde sir Trystrames, ‘as dere as ever knyght wanne lady. And bycause of thyne owne jugemente thou woldist have done to my lady if that she had bene fowler, and bycause of the evyll custom, gyff me thy lady,’ seyde syr Trystrames.
And therewithall sir Trystrames strode unto hym and toke his lady frome hym, and with an awke stroke he smote of hir hede clene.
[26] ‘Well, knyght,’ seyde sir Brewnor, now haste thou done me a grete dispyte. Now take thyne horse, and sytthen that I am ladyles, I woll wynne thy lady and I may.’
Than they toke their horsis and cam togydir as hit had bene thundir, and sir Trystrames smote sir Brewnor clene frome his horse. And lyghtly he rose up, and as sir Trystrames com agayne by hym he threste his horse thorowoute bothe shuldyrs, that his horse hurled here and there and felle dede to the grounde. And ever sir Brewnor ran aftir to have slayne sir Trystrames, but he was lyght and nymell and voyded his horse. Yett, or ever sir Trystrames myght dresse his shylde and his swerde, he gaff hym three or four strokys.
Than they russhed togydyrs lyke two borys, trasynge and traversynge myghtyly and wysely as two noble knyghtes, for this sir Brewnor was a proved knyght and had bene or than the deth of many good knyghtes. Soo thus they fought hurlynge here and there nyghe two owres, and aythir were wounded sore. Than at the laste sir Brewnor russhed uppon sir Trystrames and toke hym in his armys, for he trusted muche to his strengthe. Than was sir Trystrames called the strengyst knyght of the worlde, for he was called bygger than sir Launcelotte, but sir Launcelot was bettir brethid. So anone sir Trystrames threste sir Brewnor downe grovelyng, and than he unlaced his helme and strake of his hede.
And than all they that longed to the castell com to hym and dud hym homage and feauté, prayng hym that he wolde abyde stylle there a lytyll whyle to fordo that foule custom. So this sir Trystrames graunted thereto.
So the meanewhyle one of the knyghtes rode unto sir Galahalte the Haute Prynce whyche was sir Brewnors son, a noble knyght, and tolde hym what mysadventure his fadir had and his modir.
Than cam sir Galahalt
and the Kynge with the Hondred [27] Knyghtes with hym, and this sir Galahalte profyrde to fyght wyth sir Trystrames hande for hande. And so they made hem redy to go unto batayle on horsebacke wyth grete corrayge. So anone they mette togydyrs so hard that aythir bare othir adowne, horse and man, to the erthe. And whan they avoyded their horsis, as noble knyghtes they dressed their shyldis and drewe their swerdys wyth yre and rancoure, and they laysshed togydyr many sad strokys. And one whyle strykynge and another whyle foynynge, tracynge and traversynge as noble knyghtes.
Thus they fought longe, nerehonde halff a day, and aythir were sore wounded. So at the laste sir Trystrames wexed lyght and bygge, and doubled his strokys and drove sir Galahalt abacke on the tone syde and on the tothir, that he was nye myscheved, lyke to be slayne. So wyth that cam the Kynge wyth the Hondred Knyghtes, and all that felyshyp wente freyshly uppon sir Trystrames. But whan sir Trystramys saw them comynge uppon hym, than he wyste well he myght nat endure, so as a wyse knyght of warre he seyde unto sir Galahalt the Haute Prynce, ‘Syr, ye shew to me no kyndenesse for to suffir all your men to have ado wyth me, and ye seme a noble knyght of your hondys. Hit is grete shame to you!’
‘So God me helpe,’ seyde sir Galahalt, ‘there is none other way but thou muste yelde the to me other ellys to dye, sir Trystrames.’
‘Sir, as for that, I woll rather yelde me to you than dye, for hit is more for the myght of thy men than of thyne handys.’
And therewithall sir Trystrames toke his swerde by the poynte and put the pomell in his honde, and therewithall com the Kynge with the Hondred Knyghtes and harde began to assayle sir Trystrames.
‘Lat be,’ seyde sir Galahalt, ‘that ye be nat so hardy to towche hym, for I have gyfifyn this knyght his lyff.’
‘That ys your shame,’ seyde the kynge, ‘for he hath slayne youre fadir and your modir.’
‘As for that,’ seyde sir Galahalte, ‘I may nat wyght hym gretly, for my fadir had hym in preson and inforsed hym to do batayle with hym. And my fadir hadde suche a custom, that was a shamefull custom, that what knyght and lady com thydir to aske herberow, his lady must nedis dye but yf she were fayrer than my modir; and if my fadir overcom that knyght he muste nedis dye. For sothe, this was a shamefull custom and usage, a knyght, for his herborow askynge, to have suche herborage. And for this custom I wolde never draw aboute hym.’
Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory Page 36
