The Adventures of Sir Lancelot the Great

by Gerald Morris

  "And where is the lady—Lady Elaine?" Sir Lancelot asked.

  "We made her leave while the doctor treated your ... um, your wound," Sir Lavaine explained.

  "That was thoughtful of you," Sir Lancelot said faintly.

  "She'll be back soon, though," Sir Lavaine said. "She feels awful about this. It was an accident, you know."

  "I'm sure it was," Sir Lancelot murmured.

  "I mean, it couldn't have been on purpose," Sir Lavaine went on. "Elaine couldn't have hit your—hit such a target at that distance for any price. To tell the truth, you'd have been safer if she had been aiming at you."

  "That's not true!" declared a female voice from behind Sir Lancelot. "And even if it were, it's very unhandsome of you to say so, Lavaine."

  "I'm only speaking truth, Elaine. The day you learn to—"

  "As if you could do better!"

  "Please don't argue," interrupted Sir Lancelot wearily. "It gives me a pain in the—it makes my wound hurt."

  "I know just how you feel," Lady Elaine said, walking up to the head of the bed. "Sir Lavaine has given me that same pain for years. But truly, Sir Knight, I must tell you how sorry I—oh, my!" She broke off, staring at Sir Lancelot. "Well!" she said. "Aren't you a handsome fellow! I must say, if I had to shoot a knight, at least I bagged a good one!"

  "Elaine!" said Sir Lavaine reproachfully. "You don't sound sorry at all! Don't you realize what you've done? I'm sure that this knight here was on his way to the great tournament at Camelot, and now thanks to you he'll have to miss it!"

  "Piffle!" Lady Elaine said with a snort. "Why should a little scratch like that keep him from a tournament?"

  "Because he won't be able to ride a horse, that's why! No knight could joust with such a handicap!"

  "What's that?" asked Sir Lancelot suddenly. "Did you say handicap?"

  "I certainly did. Don't you think that a wound in the—a wound like yours would be a handicap? Why, Sir Lancelot himself couldn't win a tournament in your condition! By the way, sir. What is your name?"

  Sir Lancelot smiled. "John. My name is Sir John," he said.

  Except for having to carry a pillow everywhere with him to sit on, Sir Lancelot had a lovely vacation at the Castle of Shalott, where he was cared for attentively by Lady Elaine and enjoyed long talks with Sir Bernard and also with the young Sir Lavaine, who lived nearby and rode over nearly every day.

  After a week, just two days before the king's tournament, Sir Lancelot revealed his plan. "Sir Bernard," he asked his host. "Do you have any old armor lying about that I could borrow?"

  "Whatever for?" asked Sir Bernard.

  "I'd like to wear it in the tournament at Camelot."

  "What? With a great, gaping wound in your—"

  "I'm feeling much better, actually."

  "How will you ride a horse?"

  "I thought I would use a pillow."

  Sir Bernard gawked at him. "A tournament knight with a pillow on his saddle? You'll look ridiculous!"

  "That's why I don't want to wear my own armor," Sir Lancelot said promptly. "I'll be in disguise, so that if I end up looking silly, no one will know me."

  Sir Bernard still tried to talk him out of his plan, and so did Sir Lavaine when he heard of it. "You're mad!" Sir Lavaine said. "I won't let you go!"

  "How will you stop me?" Sir Lancelot asked.

  "I ... I don't know, but ... Well, I won't let you go alone, anyway. Someone has to carry you off to a doctor when you faint. I'm coming too."

  Only Lady Elaine approved of Sir Lancelot's idea. "I told you it was just a little scratch, Mister Smarty-Armor," she said to Sir Lavaine. "I think Sir John will be fine. In fact, I believe it so much that I'm going to give him my sleeve to wear as a token in the tournament."

  Sir Lancelot started to say that he never wore ladies' tokens, but then he realized this would give him away. The only knight who had that rule was Sir Lancelot. In fact, if he did wear Lady Elaine's token, it would add to his disguise. "I would be honored to wear your token," Sir Lancelot said graciously, but to tell the truth he wasn't happy about it.

  Neither, Sir Lancelot saw too late, was Sir Lavaine.

  Chapter 6

  The Knight of the Pillow

  By the time Sir Lancelot, Sir Lavaine, and Lady Elaine arrived at Camelot, Sir Lancelot was more certain than ever that he should not have accepted Lady Elaine's token. Wearing a lady's token was often seen as a mark of love, which was why Sir Lancelot never wore them—he didn't want to give a lady a false impression—and even though he didn't think Lady Elaine loved him, wearing her token might give someone the wrong idea. Sir Lavaine, for instance, had been cold and distant to him ever since he had accepted Lady Elaine's offer. He had also been rather cool toward Lady Elaine, and Sir Lancelot was saddened to think he had come between the two friends.

  Once they arrived at the tournament, though, Sir Lancelot had little time to worry about such matters. The tournament was about to begin, and he and Sir Lavaine had to hurry to their places for the jousting.

  When Sir Lancelot appeared for his first joust and the crowds saw the cushion tied to his saddle, they all laughed and jeered, but as the day wore on and Sir Lancelot won every contest, their laughter was replaced with cheers. The jousting wasn't easy for Sir Lancelot, of course. His wound hurt more and more as the day went on, and he found himself leaning to his left, off balance, as he rode. Several times he was nearly unhorsed, but somehow he always prevailed.

  The crowd buzzed with speculation. Who was this knight? Sir Lancelot had given his name only as "The Unknown," but by the end of the first day all Camelot was talking about the "Knight of the Pillow." Lady Elaine, watching from the stands, cheered delightedly at every victory and in her excitement told the lady sitting beside her that the Knight of the Pillow was wearing her token. At once she was almost as celebrated as Sir Lancelot, which she rather enjoyed. As for Sir Lavaine, he did very well, too, though few noticed.

  Having arrived together, Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavaine had been assigned to share a tent, and at the end of the first day Sir Lancelot could hardly wait to collapse, exhausted, on his cot there. He was much weaker than he had thought. Sir Lavaine left him to rest and went out for an evening stroll, but he very soon returned, a stormy expression on his face.

  "Congratulations, Sir John," he said upon entering the tent.

  "On what?" asked Sir Lancelot.

  "On your upcoming marriage," replied Sir Lavaine.

  "My what?"

  "Don't you know? It's all over the camp that you love Elaine, the Lady of Shalott, and that the two of you are to be married after the tournament."

  Sir Lancelot gaped at him. "Who said such a thing?"

  "Everyone says such a thing, Sir John. I hope you'll both be very happy."

  "But Sir Lavaine," Sir Lancelot protested, "I don't really love—"

  "You aren't going to break Elaine's heart, are you?" snapped Sir Lavaine angrily.

  Sir Lancelot lapsed into silence. He knew how rumors could fly at court, and he was sure that this whole story had been built up from that silly token. Elaine didn't love him—he had an idea that she loved someone else—but what a muddle it all was!

  "Welcome, O knights!" called out King Arthur the next morning, the final day of the tournament. This day was to be a mock battle, in which all the best knights from the first day rode into a field and fought. The rules weren't difficult: the last knight still on his horse won. "So far," King Arthur continued, "the best knight has been the Knight of the Pillow, but today we will see if he shall prove the winner!" Then the king smiled. "But if what I hear is true, then you shall be a winner either way, O knight, for I hear that after the games the knight who wears that token is to marry the beautiful Lady of Shalott."

  The knights applauded, the ladies sighed, and Sir Lavaine gave a snort, but Sir Lancelot was watching Lady Elaine, whose eyes widened with dismay. Now Sir Lancelot knew he had been right; Lady Elaine had never said any such thing.


  Then the contest began, and Sir Lancelot had no time to think of anything but defending himself, for of course all the other knights were trying to unhorse the one who had won the first day. Again and again he narrowly escaped attacks, but he knew it couldn't last forever. He could feel himself weakening as the battle went on, and despite his pillow, his wound hurt awfully. He knew he had been foolish to enter the tournament.

  The end came at last. He was cornered at one side of the field by four knights, and he could hardly lift his weary arms. He braced himself for a blow, but just then a shout came across the field—"Hold on, Sir John! I'm coming!"—and then, with a pounding of hooves and a ringing battle cry, Sir Lavaine charged into Sir Lancelot's attackers.

  Sir Lancelot watched with respect as Sir Lavaine unhorsed two knights with his first rush, then wheeled and took on the next knight with his sword at close quarters. Sir Lavaine was fighting brilliantly, but even so, four knights were too many. He brought down the third knight but was himself unhorsed by the fourth.

  Summoning his last ounce of strength, Sir Lancelot raised his lance and drove that fourth knight to the ground. Then he looked around and saw to his surprise that he was the only knight still on his horse.

  "You have won, O Knight of the Pillow," announced King Arthur. All the court had gathered at the royal pavilion to watch the king award the prize, a medallion of flashing gold, to the winner. To one side, Sir Lancelot saw Sir Lavaine and Lady Elaine standing together, whispering urgently. The king raised the medallion. "Step forward, O knight, and receive your prize."

  Sir Lancelot bowed but did not move. "I cannot, your highness."

  All the court, even Sir Lavaine and Lady Elaine, fell silent.

  "You cannot?" repeated the king.

  "No, Sire," said Sir Lancelot. "I was not the best knight here today. You all saw what happened. I was lost until another knight rescued me by defeating three knights single-handedly. Please, Sire, give the prize to Sir Lavaine."

  King Arthur smiled. "As you wish, O Knight of the Pillow."

  "And as for me," Sir Lancelot continued, "I will give Sir Lavaine another prize." With that, Sir Lancelot removed Lady Elaine's red token from his armor and took it to Sir Lavaine. "Now, Sir Lavaine," he said gravely, "you heard what King Arthur said this morning, that the knight who wears this token must marry the Lady of Shalott."

  "Oh!" said Lady Elaine, blushing. "But, I promise you, I never said—"

  "Thank you, O Knight of the Pillow," interrupted Sir Lavaine. "I should like that."

  "You would?" said Elaine, her eyes shining. "Oh! Well, if I must I must."

  King Arthur smiled at Sir Lancelot. "You are as gracious as you are brave, O knight. May I ask your true name?"

  Sir Lancelot nodded and removed his helmet. All the court gasped, "Sir Lancelot!"

  "Sir Lancelot?" whispered Lady Elaine.

  "Heavens!" exclaimed Sir Lavaine. "Do you see what this means, Elaine? It means that you shot England's greatest knight in the—"

  "But ... but ... but it was an accident!" she said. "You don't mind, do you, Sir Lancelot? "

  "Of course not," Sir Lancelot replied. "It was a fine adventure. Just promise me that when I come to visit you and your children in years to come that you'll leave your bow and arrows alone."

  And the Lady of Shalott promised.

  Chapter 7

  Sir Lancelot the Retired

  Sir Lancelot had been thinking about his future, and the more he thought, the gloomier he felt. What he'd been thinking was that being a knight in shining armor wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

  He knew that he was very good at what he did, and that he ought to be content, but he wasn't. Nothing ever seemed to turn out as it should. He had won great honor for his skill, but that had only made him a target for ambitious knights and scheming ladies. He had enjoyed winning tournaments, but his victories had only ruined the fun for everyone else. It had been pleasant to be a knight in disguise, but even that had caused problems, putting Sir Kay in danger and nearly ruining everything for Lady Elaine and Sir Lavaine. His problem, as he saw it, was that the thing that he did best was the very thing that kept making trouble for himself and his friends.

  At last Sir Lancelot made his decision. Going to King Arthur, he said, "Sire, I would like to retire from the Round Table and leave Camelot."

  The king stared. "Retire? Leave? But why, Lance?"

  "I am not happy, my king."

  "Not ... Look here, Lance, if this is about some lady you've fallen in love with, I could talk to her and—"

  "It's not that, Sire."

  King Arthur sighed. "Well, I didn't think so. After all, it seems as if all the ladies in the court would be glad to have you, judging from the way they follow you ... everywhere ... Oh, I think I see."

  Sir Lancelot nodded. "Yes, I would like to go where no one follows me."

  The king bowed his head sadly. "You must do what seems best to you, my friend. Go in peace, Lance."

  Sir Kay understood, too, when Sir Lancelot told him. "I remember saying once that I wouldn't be you for anything," he said.

  "Yes," replied Sir Lancelot. "I'd like to put away my shining armor and stop being Sir Lancelot for a while."

  But Sir Kay only smiled. "You can put off the armor, anyway," he said, and then Sir Lancelot left Camelot.

  Sir Lancelot rode into a dense and pathless forest. Along the way, he came to a lake, and after removing his sword and shining armor, he threw them in. Two days later, he rode up to a rough cabin in a small clearing, where an old man sat on a three-legged stool. Sir Lancelot stared. "I didn't think anyone lived in this forest!" he exclaimed.

  The old man smiled. "And I didn't think anyone ever passed through this forest." He rose to his feet. "But I don't mind a visitor. My name is Brastias."

  Sir Lancelot nodded in greeting. "And I'm Sir ... er ... I'm Lancelot."

  Brastias said, "Lancelot? What an interesting name. I don't think I've ever heard that one before."

  Sir Lancelot smiled wider. "Really? How wonderful! You've lived here long?"

  "Twenty winters now, ever since I gave up being a knight."

  "You used to be a knight?"

  "Yes," replied Brastias. "But I didn't like it, so I came here to the deepest forest in the land, found a clearing, and built a cabin. I live a quiet life here, eating what the forest provides."

  Sir Lancelot sighed thoughtfully. "That sounds nice. But what do you do all day?"

  Brastias stroked his beard. "Well," he said, "I take naps every afternoon."

  Sir Lancelot's eyes gleamed. "Are there any other clearings hereabouts?"

  Chapter 8

  The Poisoned Pear

  While Sir Lancelot made a new life for himself, trouble came to Camelot. There was one knight at Camelot who did not love King Arthur. His name was Sir Mador de la Porte. Sir Mador's brother had been a recreant knight, one whom King Arthur had banished from England, and although Sir Mador smiled and outwardly made himself agreeable, all his inward thoughts were of revenge.

  Sir Mador had woven many plans, but he wanted his vengeance to be perfect. He had thought of ways to kill the king, but that was not enough for him. He didn't want the king to die; he wanted the king to suffer. Sir Mador decided to kill Queen Guinevere instead.

  So it happened that about a year after Sir Lancelot retired from the Round Table, Sir Mador took action. During the bustle of preparations for a feast, he managed to slip a poisoned pear into the bowl of fruit that Queen Guinevere always kept at her place. But that night the queen was not hungry and only picked at her food. She ate so little that a young knight named Sir Patrise, once he had finished his own meal, asked if she were feeling well. The queen smiled at him and said, "I am just not hungry this evening. But don't let me slow you down, Sir Patrise. Here, have a pear."

  That evening, Sir Patrise died, and all the knights and ladies of Camelot mourned—all except one. Sir Mador was delighted. This was even better than his original plan
. He went to work. First he recovered the core of the pear. Then, for two nights, he shut himself up, reading books of old laws. On the third day, Sir Mador presented himself to the king and queen in the throne room.

  "O King!" announced Sir Mador, "I bring you grave news. I have discovered that poor Sir Patrise's death was no accident. He was poisoned!"

  "Poisoned?" exclaimed King Arthur. "But, who—?"

  "The poison was in this pear," said Sir Mador, producing the core. "To discover the murderer, we must find who gave this to him to eat."

  Queen Guinevere gasped. "But ... but I gave Sir Patrise that pear!"

  Sir Mador drew himself up and declared sternly, "Then Queen Guinevere, I charge you with murder! And because no judge in England would dare rule against the queen, I claim my right as your accuser to call for a trial by combat!"

  All the court buzzed with astonishment, and a murmur went up. "A trial by combat!"

  Now, the trial by combat was an ancient custom in old England, almost forgotten in King Arthur's time. In this custom, when a person was accused of a crime, one knight took the side of the accused person and fought against the accuser to decide the case. The idea was that the truth would always prevail, but what generally happened was that the side that had the strongest knight prevailed.

  "But we haven't used the trial by combat in years," protested King Arthur.

  "It is still the law of the land, is it not? I will prove Queen Guinevere's guilt with my own sword!"