Lancelot and the Lord of the Distant Isles

by Patricia Terry

  What Lancelot felt to be his mission meant that once a problem had been solved, he had to move on. Now he had a home to which he could always return, and he would, of course, think of Joyous Guard with pride and affection. But his truest, unspoken, allegiance was to the queen; and for her he was prepared to wander through the world, seeking deeds that would bring him glory in her honor. He had placed Joyous Guard in the hands of his seneschal and set out one day in search of new adventures. He was alone, having determinedly rejected the assistance of a squire.

  He had ridden for weeks, ambling alongside streams, galloping across pasturelands, toiling up wooded hills – all without any encounter that might serve his purpose. He found no victims of injustice, no fiercely armed foe, above all no hint of an enchantment; there seemed to be nothing to test his prowess. Late one afternoon, with some discouragement and with the dulled attention that fatigue can bring, Lancelot had entered a pine forest. It was growing dark, but the path seemed clear enough. Thinking he saw a light in the distance – perhaps a house where he could find shelter – he urged his horse to a gallop. That rash move came to a brutal halt! A rope had been strung between two trees. His horse pitched forward, and the last thing Lancelot heard was a sound of mocking laughter, as he landed on a heap of stones, senseless.

  It was only shortly after daybreak that a team of foresters happened upon the White Knight’s battered but sleeping body. They woke him gently and did their best to answer his questions. Thieves had been abroad of late, trapping the unwary and carrying off their goods. Lancelot was fortunate: he was still alive and still had his armor, though his shield and arms, like his horse, were gone. The foresters explained that the forest was part of the lands held by the Lady of Malehaut, who would surely receive the injured knight and provide well for his care. Lancelot, in pain, murmured his thanks, and the good men carried him cautiously to the lady’s castle.

  The chatelaine was rightly appreciated for her readiness to help. After a quick, wordless examination of the wounded stranger, she gladly accepted him as both patient and guest. It was plain that the knight was a young man of some consequence, even if he was unusually hesitant to speak of anything but gratitude. Although his face had been bruised, he was extraordinarily handsome, a fact that the still-youthful widow did not fail to notice.

  The short time he was in her care sufficed for him, whether he desired it or not, to occupy a significant place in her heart. As the knight’s condition improved, conversation became easier, without, however, revealing anything of his background. Blaye, the Lady of Malehaut, had not been able to learn his name, although she tried very hard to do so. She could find no way of countering the young man’s adamant refusal to identify himself, and eventually realized she would need to seek the information elsewhere.

  When Lancelot heard news of the battle, which was on the lips of everyone in Malehaut, he appealed to Blaye to judge him sufficiently recovered to join the fighting. He assured her that he would return to her care at night, if he was physically able to do so. She agreed, and, the next morning, gave him a horse and a red shield; he wore his own armor, now cleaned and burnished, with breaks repaired and dents smoothed out.

  That day, as King Arthur’s battalions crossed the river, one after the other, Galehaut’s men rushed to meet them, and the sharp points of spears took many a life. There was good fighting on both sides, but King Arthur’s men showed greater valor, in part because they were out-numbered two to one, but more especially because they were inspired by the extraordinary prowess of a knight they could identify only by his red shield. He fought with exemplary vigor and daring, as if driven to prove himself at any cost. When darkness brought the battle to an end, they looked for that knight, knowing that he alone had stood between them and defeat, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Despite the day’s success, Arthur began to fear that he would lose to Galehaut. He had recently experienced strange, disquieting dreams in which the hair of his head and beard dropped out or his fingers fell off. This predicted, according to the wise men whom he had quickly consulted, that his power would soon fail and his glorious kingdom not last much longer. They said he was losing the love of his people because he was ungenerous and uncaring. They accused him of failing in his duty to God, and failing also in his obligations to his allies, as witness the death of King Ban. After all, had Ban not repeatedly sought his help, only to be rebuffed by Arthur’s silence? No good could come of such disloyalty. It was not surprising, then, that Arthur felt keenly threatened in his conflict with Galehaut.

  The next morning, Galehaut told his assembled army that he considered it dishonorable to fight against such weak forces. He sent his cousin Malaguin, the King of the Hundred Knights, and Cleolas, the First Defeated King, to Arthur, who received them with great honor. “My lord,” said the King of the Hundred Knights, “we are liege men of Galehaut, Lord of the Distant Isles. He has sent us to say he had not expected that the most powerful king in the world would come here with so inadequate an army. Since fighting you in these circumstances would not enhance his honor, he offers you a truce. You shall have a whole year to prepare, at the end of which time Galehaut will nevertheless take your kingdom. And he will do so with the help of that Red Knight of yours who won the day.”

  King Arthur accepted this offer with what dignity he could, expressing confidence in his own eventual victory, but in his heart he was more troubled than before, particularly by Galehaut’s threat that he would have the Red Knight on his side.

  He went to stay at Carduel in Wales, where he hoped to rally as much support as he could. He often fell into long hours of brooding, fearful of the future, and wondering in particular how he could make sure the Red Knight would support him in the war with Galehaut. He drew confidence from his nephew’s improvement – the threat of death had passed – but even when his wounds had healed, it seemed clear that Gawain would prove no substitute for the unidentified knight. Arthur asked him to organize a search. Forty knights – Sir Yvain, Kay the Seneschal, Sir Gawain himself, as well as his brothers and other valiant members of the king’s household – would go out in quest of the Red Knight, taking all the time they needed until the end of the truce.

  No one imagined that the White Knight who had conquered Dolorous Guard, and whose name and parentage were still unknown, had evolved into the Red Knight they were seeking. He had gone from the battlefield back to Malehaut, in greater need of convalescence than before.

  He had come in very quietly during the night, and the servants who were waiting for him removed his armor. He was so badly hurt, so exhausted, that he wanted only to sleep and would take nothing to eat. Word came to the chatelaine that the battle had been won by a knight of extraordinary prowess, whose shield was red. Suspecting it had been her mysterious guest, she went to look at his horse, who was standing before his full manger with wounds all over him. The knight’s armor, too, gave proof of heroic encounters – it seemed astonishing that he was still alive! The lady was even more surprised when she saw the knight himself, sound asleep, covered with a blanket except for his face and arms, which were swollen, bruised, and encrusted with blood. Only the greatest of warriors, she thought, could have endured so much. It seemed to her that a great love must have inspired him.

  Blaye went to Carduel, where the king and queen welcomed her warmly. She was one of the noblest ladies in the realm, and had often sent Arthur reinforcements when he needed them. Knowing that she seldom left her lands, the king asked why she had done so now.

  “Ah, my lord,” she replied, “an envious neighbor has voiced against my dear late father’s sister accusations that are unjust and cannot be left unanswered. She is in need of a champion to defend her rights, and it was my hope that it could be the knight who fought so valiantly on your behalf a little while ago – the one you call the Red Knight.”

  The king told her that forty of his men were even then searching for that very knight, and no one had any idea where he was. “In that case,” said the la
dy, “one of my own knights will have to do.” But she smiled to herself, since now she was certain that her guest was indeed the mysterious hero.

  She returned home quickly, eager to see again the knight who could inspire so many others to distinguish themselves in combat. She was proud to have him under her roof, and she was charmed by the secret of it all. Though still ignorant of his identity and his motives, she was satisfied that others knew even less.

  During her absence, the Lady of Malehaut’s doctor had visited the knight at her request. He had done what he could to speed the healing of the young man’s wounds, but insisted that rest, at least until the chatelaine returned, was absolutely necessary. At that time, even though he was still weak from loss of blood, the Red Knight insisted on leaving. Blaye had to allow it, but she made him promise to come back before the second battle with the Lord of the Distant Isles. Lancelot gave his word, adding that he was at her service if ever she had need of him.

  During the truce, King Arthur, mindful of his distressing dreams, tried hard to follow the advice of his wise men. He bent every effort to win back the affection of his people, traveling to all the cities of his realm, settling complaints of injustice, attentive to the troubles of those less fortunate than others. Wherever he went, he invited the local knights to splendid feasts, treating them with great courtesy and doing them honor in every way he could. He gave precious gifts to everyone, rare luxuries to the great lords, more practical things to the needy, sometimes even the horse that he himself was riding. The queen, for her part, was unstinting in her kindness toward the women and girls of the kingdom. Little by little, such generosity turned the apathy of Arthur’s subjects to love. By the end of the year, a multitude of knights were ready to fight for the king’s honor, understanding now how much they had at stake in his victory.

  Arthur was reassured by this, and also by the forty knights’ return from their quest a few weeks before the end of the truce. His pleasure was more than offset, however, by their failure to find any trace of the Red Knight, for now he would have to confront Galehaut without the unknown champion. But he succeeded in hiding his disappointment – indeed his distress – from Sir Gawain and the others, lest he dishearten or offend them. They set out right away for the second, and crucial, encounter with Arthur’s great challenger.

  BOOK FOUR: THE BLACK KNIGHT

  WHEN LANCELOT LEFT MALEHAUT, the Red Knight disappeared forever. Carrying only a plain shield with no identifying insignia, the Lord of Joyous Guard set out for his own domain, there to enjoy the pleasures of rulership and to recover the rest of his strength. But Lancelot could not be idle for long. Soon he was riding over the countryside in search of little adventures to occupy his time before the tremendous challenge that lay ahead. No incident along the way, however, could distract him from the thought of the conflict looming between King Arthur and the man intent on capturing his realm. It called to Lancelot with the promise of new renown and significant service to the queen. He nevertheless resolved to be very sure he was needed before entering the field. He returned to Malehaut in good time for the battle.

  By the appointed day, the Lord of the Distant Isles had assembled twice as many men as before. The iron nets could no longer encircle their camp. Two thousand of Arthur’s men did battle with three thousand of Galehaut’s, and it seemed that the smaller battalions had the advantage. But Galehaut, seeing this, sent so many into the field that despite extraordinary efforts, Arthur’s knights realized there was no hope they could ultimately prevail. Sir Gawain, as before, performed wondrous feats of arms, his example giving courage to those around him, but for every two of Arthur’s men there were three of Galehaut’s. Then, when Gawain’s horse was killed under him and he himself was terribly wounded, Arthur sent in all the knights he had left. Sir Yvain, leading the reinforcements, knocked the First Defeated King off his horse and helped Gawain to remount. In the very grip of death, Gawain fought on. When darkness stopped the battle, he was found still on horseback, but bleeding from mouth and nose, unable to speak. He was carried to Arthur’s tent, where he collapsed, unconscious. Everyone believed that this time he would surely die. The king and queen despaired, and the doctors dared not reveal their true opinion. There was consternation throughout Arthur’s camp; knights wept and said that no nobler man could ever perish.

  The dire news soon reached Malehaut. It was far worse than Lancelot had expected, and he reproached himself for not having joined the battle at the start. “How could I not have thought that something like this might happen?” he lamented. “I should have been there! If Sir Gawain dies, the kingdom will never recover from the loss.”

  He ran to tell Blaye that he must leave immediately, and was angered to hear that the new armor she had promised him was not yet ready. “When you offered to equip me, you said there would be no delay! I must be ready to fight if summoned to do so. It may already be too late!”

  “Perhaps you would care,” she said, seizing her opportunity, “to tell me who you are. If I at least knew your name, I could feel better disposed toward you.”

  The knight stared at her with wet eyes and offered no answer. She went on, “No name – and all your readiness to show your valor in the field, if summoned. What can I suspect but that some uncommon love drives you on?”

  “My lady,” he said, restraining himself at every word, “you have been most generous to me, and I am forever in your debt. But it would shame me to bargain for what I need.”

  The chatelaine knew the value of patience. She simply replied that the fighting would not, in any case, resume for two more days. By that time his new armor, black, like his warhorse, would be ready. She herself would go directly to King Arthur’s camp, but she asked the knight not to leave her castle until it was time for the battle. Lancelot reluctantly agreed.

  The morning of the battle, the Lady of Malehaut was with the king and queen and Gawain, somewhat recovered but still not out of danger, in a wooden gallery overlooking the field. A knight in black armor appeared below, standing near the ford and leaning on his lance. Blaye knew him at once; Sir Gawain thought there was something about his stance that suggested the Red Knight. The lady proposed that the queen send a message, urging the knight to join the fighting, but Guenevere declined to do so. With the king at risk of losing his lands and honor, and her nephew badly wounded, she could not give any thought to the quite uncertain help of an unknown spectator. The Lady of Malehaut herself, and other ladies present, decided to send the knight their own message, saying that they all – even without the explicit assent of the queen – implored him to do his best for the love of them and for the king.

  A maiden rode off to speak to the knight, followed by a squire who carried two lances, a gift from Sir Gawain. The Black Knight thanked her courteously, asked the squire to follow him, and settled himself in his stirrups. Gawain, watching from the gallery, had the impression that he grew half a foot taller as he readied himself for combat. The knight looked up toward the spectators, turned and galloped into the field, racing past jousting knights and larger melees until a whole battalion was coming toward him. Then his lance struck an enemy knight such a blow that man and horse fell together to the ground.

  The Black Knight fought until his weapon was worn down to the grip. Then he quickly seized the first gift lance from the squire, and after that the second. His skill was so great that many stopped fighting to watch him in amazement, but when he had used all his lances he left the field and returned to the edge of the ford, where he stood once more gazing at the gallery. Sir Gawain said to the queen, “That is the greatest knight in all the world. You were wrong not to ask for his help – he must have thought you were too proud to do so. But he is our only hope.”

  The Lady of Malehaut added, “It’s clear he won’t do anything more for us!”

  The queen asked Gawain what he thought she should say.

  “Send your greetings to him, and ask him, of his grace, to defend the kingdom of Logres, and to accomplish such f
eats of arms as would deserve your gratitude. I myself will send him ten sharp, strong lances and three of my best horses.”

  When the Black Knight received this message, he replied, “Please say to my lady that everything shall be as she desires, and tell Sir Gawain I am grateful for his gift.”

  Then he rode into the fray, passing countless jousts and duels and melees until he came to the First Defeated King’s battalion with its two thousand knights. He charged right through them as fast as the horse could go, wielding his lance so perfectly that the ground behind him was littered with fallen men and horses. King Arthur’s knights watched in astonishment. Sir Kay the Seneschal, Sagremor the Unruly, Do’s son Girflet, Sir Yvain, Brandeliz, and Sir Gawain’s brother Gaheriet were awe-struck. Kay said, “My lords, you have just seen the most magnificent charge ever made by a knight. If we want to win honor today, we won’t let him fight all alone. I’d be glad of your company, but with or without it I won’t leave his side as long as there’s life left in me.”

  At that he spurred his horse, and the others instantly followed. The knight in black armor had stopped fighting just long enough to seize another lance, and was galloping back. The six knights rode up on either side of him, and all of them together struck blow after blow where the opposing forces were thickest. Arthur’s knights and Galehaut’s watched the Black Knight with equal wonder. They recalled the Red Knight of the year before and found the Black Knight even more remarkable. Soon he had used up all his lances, and one of Gawain’s horses fell dead beneath him. The squire brought another to where the knight was standing on the field, and he leapt onto its back and began to fight again, sword in hand. He seemed as fresh as if the battle had only just begun.