Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory

by Thomas Malory

  And all was longe uppon two unhappy knyghtis whych were named sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred, that were brethirn unto sir Gawayne. For thys sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred had ever a prevy hate unto the quene, dame Gwenyver, and to sir Launcelot; and dayly and nyghtly they ever wacched uppon sir Launcelot.

  So hyt myssefortuned sir Gawayne and all hys brethirne were in kynge Arthurs chambir, and than sir Aggravayne seyde thus opynly, and nat in no counceyle, that manye knyghtis myght here:

  ‘I mervayle that we all be nat ashamed bothe to se and to know how sir Launcelot lyeth dayly and nyghtly by the quene. And all we know well that hit ys so, and hit ys shamefully suffird of us all that we shulde suffir so noble a kynge as kynge Arthur ys to be shamed.’ Than spake sir Gawayne and seyde, ‘Brothir, sir Aggravayne, I pray you and charge you, meve no such maters no more afore me, for wyte you well, I woll nat be of youre counceyle.’

  ‘So God me helpe,’ seyde sir Gaherys and sir Gareth, ‘we woll nat be knowyn of your dedis.’

  ‘Than woll I!’ seyde sir Mordred.

  ‘I lyve you well,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘for ever unto all unhappynes, sir, ye woll graunte. And I wolde that ye leffte all thys and make you nat so bysy, for I know,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘what woll falle of hit.’

  ‘Falle whatsumever falle may,’ seyde sir Aggravayne, ‘I woll disclose hit to the kynge!’

  ‘Nat be my counceyle,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘for, and there aryse warre and wrake betwyxtte sir Launcelot and us, wyte you well, brothir, there woll many kynges and grete lordis holde with sir Launcelot. Also, brothir, sir Aggravayne,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘ye muste remembir how oftyntymes sir Launcelot hath rescowed the kynge and the quene; and the beste of us all had bene full colde at the harte-roote had nat sir Launcelot bene bettir than we, and that hathe he preved hymselff full ofte. And as for my parte,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘I woll never be ayenste sir Launcelot for one dayes dede, that was whan he rescowed me frome kynge Carados of the Dolerous Towre and slew hym and saved my lyff. Also, brother, sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred, in lyke wyse sir Launcelot rescowed you bothe and three score and two frome sir Tarquyne. And therefore, brothir, methynkis suche noble dedis and kyndnes shulde be remembirde.’

  ‘Do ye as ye lyste,’ seyde sir Aggrav ayne, ‘for I woll layne hit no lenger.’

  So wyth thes wordis cam in sir Arthur.

  ‘Now, brothir,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘stynte youre stryff.’

  ‘That woll I nat,’ seyde sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred.

  ‘Well, woll ye so?’ seyde sir Gawayne. ‘Than God spede you, for I woll nat here of youre talis, nothir be of your counceile.’

  ‘No more woll I,’ seyde sir Gaherys.

  ‘Nother I,’ seyde sir Gareth, ‘for I shall never say evyll by that man that made me knyght.’

  And therewythall they three departed makynge grete dole.

  ‘Alas!’ seyde sir Gawayne and sir Gareth, ‘now ys thys realme holy destroyed and myscheved, and the noble felyshyp of the Rounde Table shall be disparbeled.’

  So they departed, and than kynge Arthure asked them what noyse [2] they made.

  ‘My lorde,’ seyde sir Aggravayne, ‘I shall telle you, for I may kepe hit no lenger. Here ys I and my brothir sir Mordred brake unto my brothir sir Gawayne, sir Gaherys and to sir Gareth; for thys ys all, to make hit shorte: we know all that sir Launcelot holdith youre quene, and hath done longe, and we be your syster sunnes, we may suffir hit no lenger. And all we wote that ye shulde be above sir Launcelot, and ye ar the kynge that made hym knyght, and therefore we woll preve hit that he is a traytoure to youre person.’

  ‘Gyff hit be so,’ seyde the kynge, ‘wyte you well, he ys non othir. But I wolde be lothe to begyn such a thynge but I myght have prevys of hit, for sir Launcelot ys an hardy knyght, and all ye know that he ys the beste knyght amonge us all, and but if he be takyn with the dede he woll fyght with hym that bryngith up the noyse, and I know no knyght that ys able to macch hym. Therefore, and hit be sothe as ye say, I wolde that he were takyn with the dede.’

  For, as the Freynshe booke seyth, the kynge was full lothe that such a noyse shulde be uppon sir Launcelot and his quene; for the kynge had a demyng of hit, but he wold nat here thereoff, for sir Launcelot had done so much for hym and for the quene so many tymes that wyte you well the kynge loved hym passyngly well.

  ‘My lorde,’ seyde sir Aggravayne, ‘ye shall ryde to-morne anhuntyng, and doute ye nat, sir Launcelot woll nat go wyth you. And so whan hit drawith towarde nyght ye may sende the quene worde that ye woll ly oute all that nyght, and so may ye sende for your cookis. And than, uppon payne of deth, that nyght we shall take hym wyth the quene, and we shall brynge hym unto you, quycke or dede.’

  ‘I woll well,’ seyde the kynge. Than I counceyle you to take with you sure felyshyp.’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Aggravayne, ‘my brothir sir Mordred and I woll take wyth us twelve knyghtes of the Rounde Table.’

  ‘Beware,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘for I warne you, ye shall fynde hym wyght.’

  ‘Lat us deale!’ seyde sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred.

  So on the morne kynge Arthure rode an-huntyng and sente worde to the quene that he wolde be oute all that nyght. Than sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred gate to them twelve knyghtes and hyd hemselff in a chambir in the castell of Carlyle. And thes were their namys: sir Collgrevaunce, sir Mador de la Porte, sir Gyngalyne, sir Mellyot de Logris, sir Petipace of Wynshylsé, sir Galleron of Galoway, sir Melyon de la Mountayne, sir Ascomore, sir Gromoresom Erioure, sir Cursesalayne, sir Florence, and sir Lovell. So thes twelve knyghtes were with sir Mordred and sir Aggravayne, and all they were of Scotlonde, other ellis of sir Gawaynes kynne, othir well - wyllers to hys brothir.

  So whan the nyght cam sir Launcelot tolde sir Bors how he wolde go that nyght and speke wyth the quene.

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘ye shall nat go thys nyght be my counceyle.”Why?’ seyde sir Launcelot.

  ‘Sir, for I drede me ever of sir Aggravayne that waytith uppon you dayly to do you shame and us all. And never gaff my harte ayenste no goynge that ever ye wente to the quene so much as now, for I mystruste that the kynge ys oute thys nyght frome the quene bycause peradventure he hath layne som wacche for you and the quene. Therefore I drede me sore of som treson.’

  ‘Have ye no drede,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘for I shall go and com agayne and make no taryynge.’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘that me repentis, for I drede me sore that youre goyng thys nyght shall wratth us all.’

  ‘Fayre neveawe,’ seyd sir Launcelot, ‘I mervayle me much why ye say thus, sytthyn the quene hath sente for me. And wyte you well, I woll nat be so much a cowarde, but she shall undirstonde I woll se her good grace.’

  ‘God spede you well,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘and sende you sounde and sauff agayne!’

  So sir Launcelot departed and toke hys swerde undir hys arme, [3] and so he walked in hys mantell, that noble knyght, and put hymselff in grete jouparté. And so he past on tylle he cam to the quenys chambir, and so lyghtly he was had into the chambir.

  For, as the Freynshhe booke seyth, the quene and sir Launcelot were togydirs. And whether they were abed other at other maner of disportis, me lyste nat thereof make no mencion, for love that tyme was nat as love ys nowadayes.

  But thus as they were togydir there cam sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred wyth twelve knyghtes with them of the Rounde Table, and they seyde with grete cryyng and scaryng voyce, ‘Thou traytoure, sir Launcelot, now ar thou takyn!’

  And thus they cryed wyth a lowde voyce, that all the courte myght hyre hit. And thes fourtene knyghtes all were armed at all poyntis, as they shulde fyght in a batayle.

  ‘Alas!’ seyde quene Gwenyver, ‘now ar we myscheved bothe!”Madame,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘ys there here ony armour within you that myght cover my body wythall? And if there be ony, gyff hit me and I shall sone stynte their malice, by the grace of God!’

  ‘Now, truly,’ seyde the quyne, ‘I have none armo
ur nother helme, shylde, swerde, nother speare, wherefore I dred me sore oure longe love ys com to a myschyvus ende. For I here by their noyse there be many noble knyghtes, and well I wote they be surely armed, and ayenst them ye may make no resistence. Wherefore ye ar lyldy to be slayne, and than shall I be brente! For and ye myght ascape them,’ seyde the quene, ‘I wolde nat doute but that ye wolde rescowe me in what daunger that I ever stood in.’

  ‘Alas!’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘in all my lyff thus was I never bestad that I shulde be thus shamefully slayne, for lake of myne armour.’ But ever sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred cryed, ‘Traytour knyght, come oute of the quenys chambir! For wyte thou well thou arte besette so that thou shalt nat ascape.’

  ‘A, Jesu mercy!’ seyd sir Launcelot, ‘thys shamefull cry and noyse I may nat suffir, for better were deth at onys than thus to endure thys payne.’

  Than he toke the quene in hys armys and kyssed her and seyde, ‘Moste nobelest Crysten quene, I besech you, as ye have ben ever my speciall good lady, and I at all tymes your poure knyght and trew unto my power, and as I never fayled you in ryght nor in wronge sytthyn the firste day kynge Arthur made me knyght, that ye woll pray for my soule if that I be slayne. For well I am assured that sir Bors, my nevewe, and all the remenaunte of my kynne, with sir Lavayne and sir Urré, that they woll nat fayle you to rescow you from the fyer. And therfore, myne owne lady, recomforte yourselff, whatsomever com of me, that ye go with sir Bors, my nevew, and they all woll do you all the plesure that they may, and ye shall lyve lyke a quene uppon my londis.’

  ‘Nay, sir Launcelot, nay!’ seyde the quene. ‘Wyte thou well that I woll nat lyve longe aftir thy dayes. But and ye be slayne I woll take my dethe as mekely as ever ded marter take hys dethe for Jesu Crystes sake.’

  ‘Well, madame,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘syth hit ys so that the day ys com that oure love muste departe, wyte you well I shall selle my lyff as dere as I may. And a thousandfolde,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I am more hevyar for you than for myselff! And now I had levir than to be lorde of all Crystendom that I had sure armour uppon me, that men myght speke of my dedys or ever I were slayne.’

  ‘Truly,’ seyde the quene, ‘and hit myght please God, I wolde that they wolde take me and sle me and suffir you to ascape.’

  ‘That shall never be,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘God deffende me frome such a shame! But, Jesu Cryste, be Thou my shylde and myne armoure!’

  And therewith sir Launcelot wrapped hys mantel aboute hys arme well and surely; and by than they had getyn a grete fourme oute of the halle, and therewith they all russhed at the dore.

  ‘Now, fayre lordys,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘leve youre noyse and youre russhynge, and I shall sette opyn thys dore, and than may ye do with me what hit lykith you.’

  ‘Com of, than,’ seyde they all, ‘and do hit, for hit avaylyth the nat to stryve ayenste us all! And therefore lat us into thys chambir, and we shall save thy lyff untyll thou com to kynge Arthur.’

  Than sir Launcelot unbarred the dore, and with hys lyffte honde he hylde hit opyn a lytyll, that but one man myght com in at onys. And so there cam strydyng a good knyght, a much man and a large, and hys name was called sir Collgrevaunce of Goore. And he wyth a swerde streke at sir Launcelot myghtyly, and so he put asyde the streke, and gaff hym such a buffette uppon the helmet that he felle grovelyng dede wythin the chambir dore.

  Than sir Launcelot with grete myght drew the knyght within the chambir dore. And than sir Launcelot, wyth helpe of the quene and her ladyes, he was lyghtly armed in Collgrevaunce armoure. And ever stood sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred, cryyng, ‘Traytoure knyght! Come forthe oute of the quenys chambir!”Sires, leve youre noyse,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘for wyte you well, sir Aggravayne, ye shall nat preson me thys nyght! And therefore, and ye do be my counceyle, go ye all frome thys chambir dore and make you no suche cryyng and such maner of sclaundir as ye do. For I promyse you be my knyghthode, and ye woll departe and make no more noyse, I shall as to-morne appyere afore you all and before the kynge, and than lat hit be sene whych of you all, other ellis ye all, that woll depreve me of treson. And there shall I answere you, as a knyght shulde, that hydir I cam to the quene for no maner of male engyne, and that woll I preve and make hit good uppon you wyth my hondys.’

  ‘Fye uppon the, traytour,’ seyde sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred, ‘for we woll have the magré thyne hede and sle the, and we lyste! For we let the wyte we have the choyse of kynge Arthure to save the other sle the.’

  ‘A, sirres,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘ys there none other grace with you? Than kepe youreselff!’

  And than sir Launcelot sette all opyn the chambir dore, and myghtyly and knyghtly he strode in amonge them. And anone at the firste stroke he slew sir Aggravayne, and anone aftir twelve of hys felowys. Within a whyle he had layde them down colde to the erthe, for there was none of the twelve knyghtes myght stonde sir Launcelot one buffet. And also he wounded sir Mordred, and therewithall he fled with all hys myght. And than sir Launcelot returned agayne unto the quene and seyde, ‘Madame, now wyte you well, all oure trew love ys brought to an ende, for now wyll kyng Arthur ever be my foo. And therefore, madam, and hit lyke you that I may have you with me, I shall save you frome all maner adventures daungers.’

  ‘Sir, that ys nat beste,’ seyde the quene, ‘mesemyth, for now ye have don so much harme hit woll be beste that ye holde you styll with this. And if ye se that as to-morne they woll putte me unto dethe, than may ye rescowe me as ye thynke beste.’

  ‘I woll well,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘for have ye no doute, whyle I am a man lyvyng I shall rescow you.’

  And than he kyste her, and ayther of hem gaff othir a rynge, and so the quene he leffte there and wente untyll hys lodgynge.

  [5] Whan sir Bors saw sir Launcelot he was never so glad of hys home-comynge.

  ‘Jesu mercy!’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘why be ye all armed? What meanyth thys?’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘aftir ye were departed frome us we all that ben of youre blood and youre well-wyllars were so adretched that som of us lepe oute of oure beddis naked, and som in their dremys caught naked swerdys in their hondis. And therefore,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘we demed there was som grete stryff on honde, and so we demed that we were betrapped with som treson; and therefore we made us thus redy, what nede that ever ye were in.’

  ‘My fayre nevew,’ seyde sir Launcelot unto sir Bors, ‘now shall ye wyte all that thys nyght I was more harde bestad than ever I was dayes of my lyff. And thanked be God, I am myselff ascaped their daungere.’ And so he tolde them all how and in what maner, as ye have harde toforehande. ‘And therefore, my felowys,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I pray you all that ye woll be of harte good, and helpe me in what nede that ever I stonde, for now ys warre comyn to us all.’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘all ys wellcom that God sendyth us, and as we have takyn much weale with you and much worshyp, we woll take the woo with you as we have takyn the weale.’

  And therefore they seyde, all the good knyghtes, ‘Loke ye take no discomforte! For there ys no bondys of knyghtes undir hevyn but we shall be able to greve them as muche as they us, and therefore discomforte nat youreselff by no maner. And we shall gadir togyder all that we love and that lovyth us, and what that ye woll have done shall be done. And therefore lat us take the we and the joy togydir.’

  ‘Grauntmercy,’ seyde sir Launcelot, of youre good comforte, for in my grete distresse, fayre nevew, ye comforte me gretely. But thys, my fayre nevew, I wolde that ye ded, in all haste that ye may, or hit ys far dayes paste: that ye woll loke in their lodgynge that ben lodged nyghe here aboute the kynge, whych woll holde with me and whych woll nat. For now I wolde know whych were my frendis fro my fooes.’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘I shall do my payne, and or hit be seven of the clok I shall wyte of such as ye have dout fore, who that woll holde with you.’

  Than sir Bors called unto hym sir Lyonel, sir Ector de Marys, sir Blamour de Ganys, sir Bleoberys de Ganys, sir Gaha
lantyne, sir Galyhodyn, sir Galyhud, sir Menaduke, sir Vyllyers the Valyaunte, syr Hebes le Renowne, sir Lavayne, sir Urré of Hungry, sir Neroveus, sir Plenoryus for thes two were knyghtes that sir Launcelot wan uppon a brydge, and therefore they wolde never be ayenst hym, and sir Harry le Fyz Lake, and sir Selyses of the Dolerous Towre, sir Mellyas de Lyle, and sir Bellangere le Bewse that was sir Alysaundir le Orphelyne sone; bycause hys modir was Alys la Beale Pelleryn, and she was kyn unto sir Launcelot, he hylde wyth hym. So cam sir Palomydes and sir Saphir, hys brothir; sir Clegis, sir Sadok, sir Dynas and sir Clarryus of Cleremount.

  So thes two-and-twenty knyghtes drew hem togydirs, and by than they were armed and on horsebak they promysed sir Launcelot to do what he wolde. Than there felle to them, what of Northe Walys and of Cornwayle, for sir Lamorakes sake and for sir Trystrames sake, to the numbir of a seven score knyghtes. Than spake sir Launcelot: Wyte you well, I have bene ever syns I cam to thys courte wellwylled unto my lorde Arthur and unto my lady quene Gwenyver unto my power. And thys nyght bycause my lady the quene sente for me to speke with her, I suppose hit was made by treson; howbehit I dare largely excuse her person, natwithstondynge I was there be a forecaste nerehonde slayne but as Jesu provyded for me.’

  And than that noble knyght sir Launcelot tolde hem how he was harde bestad in the quenys chambir, and how and in what maner he ascaped from them:

  ‘And therefore wyte you well, my fayre lordis, I am sure there nys but warre unto me and to myne. And for cause I have slayne thys nyght sir Aggravayne, sir Gawaynes brothir, and at the leste twelve of hys felowis, and for thys cause now am I sure of mortall warre. For thes knyghtes were sente by kynge Arthur to betray me, and therefore the kyng woll in thys hete and malice jouge the quene unto brennyng, and that may nat I suffir that she shulde be brente for my sake. For and I may be harde and suffirde and so takyn, I woll feyght for the quene, that she ys a trew lady untyll her lorde. But the kynge in hys hete, I drede, woll nat take me as I ought to be takyn.’