by Michael Foss
‘Alas sir,’ she cried, ‘I cannot go on, for my arm is out of joint.’
So they rested there for the night. King Pellinore made a cover of bushes and pulled off his armour, and lay down with the lady beside him. They were near unto sleep when, a little before midnight, they heard the trotting of horses. ‘Listen,’ whispered Pellinore, with his finger to the lips of the lady. Quietly he put his hand to his sword and waited.
Out of the dark came two knights riding from north and south. Without seeing Pellinore and the lady, they drew together and saluted.
‘What tidings at Camelot?’ asked one.
‘By my head, I have been to the court of King Arthur and have seen there such a fellowship as may never be broken. Well-nigh all the world is gathered with Arthur, and with him is the flower of chivalry. I ride north to warn our chieftains of this fellowship.’
‘As for me,’ said the other, ‘I have the remedy. There is one of us at Camelot who has made himself right close to Arthur, and I am taking him a deadly potion to poison the king. Our chieftains may lie easy. It shall be done.’
‘But beware of Merlin,’ warned the other, ‘for he knows all things by the devil’s craft.’ And so they parted, each on his way, well satisfied.
When the morning came and the lady was somewhat eased of her pain, Pellinore rode on whistling, content that he knew the plot against King Arthur. But this contented mood did not last long. In a while he came to the place where he had left the lady with her wounded knight. About him he saw the remains of bodies, mauled and eaten by lions or wild beasts, so that only the head of the lady was to be seen whole. Then King Pellinore wept, because he had abandoned those unlucky folk in the heat of his quest. He gave the remains of the knight worthy burial, and charged a hermit to pray for the man’s soul. Then, to show his own fault, he tenderly took up the head of the lady and rode on towards Camelot, casting his eye often to the long yellow hair and the fair dead face of the lady.
When King Pellinore approached the court of Arthur, the king and the queen were right glad to see him coming. But when they saw the head of the lady and heard of his adventure, they gave him stern and sorrowful looks. And Merlin set on him fiercely, saying, ‘Truly, you have reason to repent. That dead lady is your own daughter, begotten on the Lady of the Rule, and her name was Elaine. Since you would not stay and help her, you shall see your best friend fail you in your time of greatest distress. That God has ordained for you.’
‘So be it,’ said King Pellinore in all sadness, ‘but God may yet forestall my destiny.’
Then King Arthur called to him the knights of his Round Table, and among them were Gawain and Tor and King Pellinore.
‘Sir knights,’ he said, ‘by your quests you have learnt the lesson of our fellowship, and thus stand worthy to be one of us.’ And to those that were not rich, he established them, and gave them lands.
And then, by holy oath, King Arthur charged them never to do outrageous wrong nor murder, and always to flee treason; also, to be not cruel, but to give mercy to all that asked, upon pain of banishment from Arthur’s court; and always to help all maidens and gentlewomen, upon pain of death. Also, no knight may fight for greed or for a wrongful cause.
And this was the oath that all knights of the Round Table swore every year at the high feast of Pentecost.
King Pellinore had brought to Arthur’s court the lady called Nimue, who was one of the maidens of the lake, and she stole the heart of Merlin. He was besotted with her. Because of her, he fell into a dotage and would let her have no rest. And she was kind to him and was always by his side, till she had learnt from him everything that she desired.
At this time Merlin spoke much with King Arthur. ‘My task is done,’ he told the king. ‘I have strengthened your arm and made your foot sure. Now, for all my craft, I shall not last long, but shall be put in the earth quick.’ Then he warned the king of many things that would befall. In particular, Arthur must guard well his sword and scabbard, for a woman he trusted was likely to steal them from him.
‘See how you shall miss me,’ Merlin said to the king. ‘When I am gone, you would give all your lands to have me with you again.’
‘Since you know your future,’ replied the king, ‘prepare for it. By your craft, turn aside this misadventure.’
‘Nay, it cannot be,’ said Merlin. And so he left the king.
Within a short while, Nimue, the Maiden of the Lake, departed from Arthur’s court, and Merlin went with her wheresoever she travelled. Often, he spirited her away privily by his subtle craft. But she was afraid and made him swear that he would put no enchantment on her, or he would never have his will of her. So he swore, and they went together over the sea to the land of Benwick, and saw many strange wonders, and returned again into Cornwall. Always, Merlin was plotting to have her maidenhead. She grew weary of him and would gladly have abandoned him, but she feared him as a devil’s son, and she could not be rid of him by any means.
After they came to Cornwall, Merlin showed Nimue an enchanted cavern that lay under a great stone. Nimue tempted Merlin to go under that stone, so that he might explain the marvel of it to her. Then she made the stone to fall when he was still inside, and he could never come out for all his craft. So she departed and left Merlin.
When Merlin was gone from him, King Arthur still had no other task but to make his realm peaceful and his people safe. It was weary work, with hard riding, much travel and sore pain. His enemies drew him into many jousts and battles, and ofttimes the earth was red with the blood of good knights. When these deeds were done, and his body was bruised with heavy strokes, Arthur was glad to rest and to take his ease with feasting and hunting.
Once, when the din of battle was somewhat past, Arthur was hunting with King Uriens, who was his sister’s husband, and with Sir Accolon of Gaul. They chased a great stag, driving it to the water, where the hounds grappled with it and tore at its throat. Then Arthur put an end to that stag, and blew on his horn that the hunt was done.
At the edge of the water, as the king was looking about the world, he saw a little glittering ship come to the sands, and its sails were all of silk. Arthur peered into the ship, but he saw no earthly creatures within. So he called to the two knights and they all went aboard. By then it was dark. Suddenly a hundred bright torches lit the ship, showing twelve maidens of great beauty who welcomed King Arthur on their knees. These maidens led the three knights to a chamber with many delights. The men marvelled that they had never seen such a supper and such entertainment in their lives. After supper, each one was led to a rich bed, and so they were laid easily in sheets of softest silk. ‘Do we dream?’ they wondered, and fell asleep.
On the morrow, when he awoke, King Uriens was in Camelot, abed in the arms of his wife, Morgan Le Fay. But King Arthur awoke in a dark prison, hearing about him the complaints of many woeful knights.
‘Who are you that make such a noise?’ said Arthur.
‘We, alas, are twenty knights, all prisoners. Some of us have lain here these seven years, and many men, formerly of our number, have died in this same prison.’
‘For what cause?’
‘We will tell you. The lord of this castle, Sir Damas, contends with his brother Sir Ontzlake for this estate. Ontzlake is well beloved, but Damas is evil, for he is without mercy and a coward. Sir Ontzlake would fight for this livelihood and land, body to body, as a true knight should. But Damas will not do it, unless he can find a knight to fight for him. But none will fight for Damas. So he waylays good knights, and imprisons them, till one should fight his cause. But none of us can fight and die for one so false and full of treason. So we are like to die here in prison, haggard with hunger and scarce able to stand.’
‘God deliver you,’ said Arthur. ‘It is hard, yet had I rather fight than die in prison. I will do battle, that I may be delivered and all these prisoners also.’
Thus was it agreed with Sir Damas. And when Arthur was prepared, well horsed and with arms keen and ready, a
maiden came to lead him to the lists.
‘Lady,’ said Arthur, ‘have I not seen you in the court of Arthur?’
‘Nay, sir,’ she replied, ‘I was never there.’ Yet she was false, for she was one of the maidens of Morgan le Fay.
Now, while King Arthur was making ready in prison, Sir Accolon awoke from deep sleep. He found that he was balanced on the very edge of a dark well from which water spouted in a silver pipe into a marble trough. Accolon was afraid. He feared the blackness of the hole before him, which seemed to pull him forwards. Quickly he made the sign of the cross, thinking himself betrayed by the maidens in the ship, who were surely devils, not women. Then a little ugly man, with a great mouth and flat nose, came to tell him that Queen Morgan le Fay, whom Accolon loved, would have him fight with a certain unknown knight at the hour of prime. And as a token of her care for Accolon, she sent him the sword Excalibur and its scabbard, which Arthur had given his sister Morgan to guard. With the sword, the little man gave this message from the queen: ‘Do battle to the uttermost, without mercy, as you have promised to the queen, in the privacy of your love.’
‘Recommend me to my lady queen,’ replied Accolon. ‘It shall be done as I have promised, or else I shall die. But tell me, has she prepared an enchantment for this battle?’
‘You may well believe it,’ said the little man.
Thereupon Accolon set out, attended by six squires whom Queen Morgan had sent to lead him to the house of Sir Ontzlake. It was devised that Accolon should be the champion of his host against Sir Damas, for Ontzlake was wounded in both thighs and unable to fight. Thus both Damas and Ontzlake had their champions ready. In the morning, after Mass, at about the prime hour, the two champions rode out in proud array to do battle. As Arthur was riding to the field from one side, a maiden came from Morgan le Fay to hand him a sword that looked like Excalibur, and its scabbard also, saying, ‘Your sister sends you your sword, for the great love she holds you.’
And King Arthur gave thanks in his heart, for he knew not that the sword was counterfeit and brittle.
Then the two knights went eagerly to fight, and gave each other many great blows. But Arthur’s sword did not bite like Accolon’s, which hurt Arthur sorely on every stroke. His blood ran from him fast, and he began to dread death. It was a marvel he stood on his feet, but he was so full of knighthood that nobly he endured his wounds. All the people were sorry for him. He wished for some pause and rest, but Sir Accolon called him always to battle, saying, ‘Fight, as a champion should’. Then, in sudden rage, Arthur smote Accolon so mightily on the helm that the blade of his sword snapped.
‘Knight,’ cried Accolon in triumph, ‘now you are overcome. You are weaponless and have lost much blood. Yield, for I am loath to slay you.’
‘I may not,’ replied Arthur, ‘for I have promised to do battle to the uttermost. It is better to die in honour than live in shame. Yet you shall be shamed if you slay me weaponless.’
‘Now keep you from me,’ cried Accolon, ‘for you are but a dead man.’
In the field, close by where the knights fought, there was a maiden of the lake who had come there for love of Arthur. She knew how Morgan le Fay had tricked the king of his sword and how the queen wished for his death. As Accolon raised the sword to give the fatal stroke, the maiden, by enchantment, caused Excalibur to fall from his hand. Arthur snatched up the sword and knew at once that it was his Excalibur, saying to it with reproach, ‘You have been from me all too long, and much damage have you done me.’
Then, with his last strength, he rushed on his opponent and struck him to the earth. He pulled off the helm and gave Accolon such a blow that the blood started from his ears and mouth.
‘Tell me,’ cried Arthur, ‘who you are, or I shall slay you.’
‘Sir knight, I am of the court of Arthur. I am Accolon of Gaul.’
At this reply, Arthur remembered him and was dismayed. ‘Who gave you this sword?’ he asked.
After a long silence, Accolon spoke. ‘Woe comes from this sword, for by it I have gotten my death.’ And he told Arthur how Morgan le Fay, King Uriens’ wife, had given it to him.
‘O Accolon,’ replied the king, ‘know now that I am King Arthur.’
‘Fair sweet lord, have mercy on me, for I knew you not.’
‘You shall have mercy. Though you are a traitor, I blame you the less. My sister Morgan le Fay, by her craft, made you consent to her false lusts. Against her, doubt not that I shall be avenged.’
Then Sir Accolon cried aloud to all the knights gathered there, saying, ‘O lords, this noble knight whom I have fought with is the most worshipful man in the world. It is himself, King Arthur, our liege lord, that by a misadventure I might have slain.’
When they heard this, all the people fell on their knees and cried for mercy. And Arthur granted them mercy. But he did not forgive Sir Damas, who had been the cause whereby a king and his own knight errant had done great damage to each other. He took from Damas his lands, and gave them to his brother Ontzlake. And he bade Damas to ride only on a palfrey, for a battle courser did not become a man of such meagre spirit. Then both Arthur and Accolon were weary with pain and loss of blood, so they went haltingly to the quiet of an abbey. The good nuns of that place bound their wounds and fetched leeches to cure them. King Arthur came slowly to better health, but Sir Accolon had bled too much and died within four days.
Meanwhile, Morgan le Fay thought that her brother Arthur was dead. This was the chance she had wished for, when she might kill her husband Uriens. And she would have done it, taking a naked sword to his chamber as he slept, had not her son, Sir Uwain, come suddenly and caught her by the arm.
‘What act is this, mother?’ said Uwain. ‘Yet I can hardly call you mother, but it seems an earthly devil gave me birth.’
Then Queen Morgan was ashamed, and promised never more to do the devil’s work. On this covenant, her son forgave her. As she passed from the chamber with a face of shame, she met a messenger who told her of Arthur’s safety and Accolon’s death. Her heart swelled with sorrow till it well-nigh burst at the death of her lover. But she kept grief from her countenance and suffered in secret. She called for her fastest horse and fled from the court, and rode to the abbey where Arthur lay.
‘Hush,’ she said to the nuns, ‘do not wake him. A man so badly hurt must needs rest.’ So when the nuns went away, she looked to steal Excalibur again from Arthur. But he kept it, even in sleep, in his right hand. She dared not wake him, but took the scabbard only and departed.
When King Arthur awoke, he was angry at the loss of his scabbard. He bade Sir Ontzlake saddle horses, and the two of them together rode after Morgan le Fay. Soon they had a sight of her, but she heard them following. Putting spurs to her horse, she galloped to a lake and threw the scabbard far into the water, saying, ‘Whatever may become of me, my brother shall not have this’. The queen watched the scabbard sink, weighed down with gold and jewels, and then rode on to a valley of rocks where, by the touch of enchantment, she turned herself and all her guards into great marble stones. Thus Arthur passed them by, and Morgan and her knights took again their own forms.
Unable to find Morgan le Fay, Arthur returned to Camelot. Then was King Arthur wonderfully angry and said to King Uriens, ‘My sister, your wife, betrays me, and your family must be of her counsel. You I will hold excused, for Sir Accolon confessed to me that he was the lover of your wife, and that she would have destroyed you too. But your son, Sir Uwain, I hold suspect. Let him go from my court.’
At this, Sir Gawain rose up in heat, saying, ‘If you banish my cousin-german, you banish me also.’ And so the two departed.
After the two knights had been together for many a day, they went their different ways. Sir Uwain rode to the west and Sir Gawain to the north. As he travelled at ease into the forest of adventure, taking whatever fortune might come to him, Gawain entered a large glade. As he came from shade into soft light, he heard the sound of weeping and the clash of arms. He saw at a
distance, beside a cross set in the ground, a most comely knight, armed only with a spear, making battle against ten men. This knight was crying with a great wailing, but he smote down his ten enemies one by one, both man and horse. Yet when the ten were on foot and rushed at him, the knight stood stone still and suffered them to pull him off his horse. They bound him hand and foot and tied him under the horse’s belly, and so led him away.
‘O Jesu, this is a doleful sight,’ said Gawain to one who stood and watched. ‘What knight is this that suffers such indignities?’
Then Gawain learnt that the name of the knight was Sir Pelleas. He was a most worthy man who had proved himself at a great joust to be the best knight for prowess, and had won thereby a fine sword and a circlet of gold. This circlet he gave to the fairest, who was Ettard, a great lady in that country. But she was so haughty and proud that she scorned him. She would never love him, she said, though he should die for her. So he wandered after her, wherever she would go. And thus he came to this land and lodged at a priory, where every week she sent knights to fight him. He fought, but always suffered himself to be bound and taken away, so that he might see his love. But Ettard used him most shamefully, sometimes making her knights bind him under the horse’s belly and other times tying him to the horse’s tail.
It was a great sorrow to Gawain that knighthood should be so abused and a worthy man made to suffer. On the morrow, he went to speak with Sir Pelleas, for he was minded to help. ‘Do as I shall devise,’ he told Pelleas. ‘Change horses and armour with me. Then I shall go to the castle of your love and tell her I have slain you, offering your armour as proof. Thus I shall gain her thanks, and work her heart towards you. Ofttimes remembrance makes affection where there was none before.’
Sir Gawain promised true faith to Pelleas, then changed harness and horses and rode to the pavilion of the lady, set in the summer field before the castle gate. But when Ettard saw at a distance the armour of the rider, she fled to the castle battlements.
