by Michael Foss
By this time Sir Persant had come into the field well armed. He thought that Beaumains looked a worthy knight, by his clear face and his large and heavy limbs. So the two knights fought, as men of honour will do. The fight was long and hard, with many grievous blows given and taken. But after two hours Beaumains prevailed over Sir Persant and made him yield, and at the plea of the maiden granted him mercy. When he had recovered somewhat, Persant thanked Beaumains for his courtesy, and he took him and the maiden to the pavilion in the meadow, where they drank wine and ate spices, and rested awhile. Then, in the evening, they supped again and went cheerfully to bed.
Now, when Beaumains was abed, Sir Persant called his daughter of eighteen years, a mere girl and a beauty, and charged her upon his blessing to go to the knight’s bed. ‘Lie down with him,’ said her father, ‘take him in your arms and kiss him, and make the night sweet for him.’
The girl did what her father said. Quietly she undressed and laid herself down by Beaumains’ side. This made him awake with a start. He drew back suddenly, catching the covering, and demanded to know who she was.
‘I am Sir Persant’s daughter,’ she said, ‘come here by my father’s wish.’
‘Are you maid or wife?’ said he.
‘Sir, I am a clean maid.’
‘God forbid that I should defile you. Fair maid, arise at once from this bed, or I will.’ Then he kissed her but a single time, gently, and so she departed to her father.
‘Truly, whoever he be,’ said Sir Persant, ‘doubtless he comes from noble blood.’
On the morn, as Beaumains and the maiden made ready to leave, Sir Persant asked where they were going.
This knight with me,’ replied the maiden, ‘goes to the siege that keeps my sister pent up in the Castle Dangerous.’
‘Ha,’ said Persant. ‘That is the work of the Red Knight of the Red Glade, a most perilous fighter and a man without mercy. God save you from that knight, for he has the strength of seven men. But he does great wrong to the lady. But are you not Lynet, her sister?’
‘Indeed, sir, I am Lynet, sister to Dame Lyonesse.’
Then Sir Persant told them of the dangers that lay ahead, and sent them riding from his gate with warnings and a blessing. Fearful for the fate of her sister, Lynet ordered a misshapen little man to hurry before them to carry the news of their coming to the castle. When Lyonesse heard what sort of doughty knight was coming to help her, she was right glad and had prepared for him good food and drink. Then the little dwarf took to a certain hermitage two gallons of wine in silver flagons, two large loaves of bread, with fat baked venison and dainty fowls beside, all so that Beaumains might refresh himself and grow strong, for Lyonesse knew well that the knight he must meet cared for nothing but murder.
The dwarf led Beaumains and the maiden to the hermitage, and then departed. As he went back to the castle, a stern knight in red armour on a tall courser stopped him. He knew at once that this was the Knight of the Red Glade, a most perilous man.
‘Sir,’ the little man replied to the knight’s questioning, ‘my lady’s sister, Lynet, has been at the court of King Arthur and has brought a champion with her.’
The Red Knight laughed. ‘Her trouble is for nothing,’ he boasted. ‘Had she brought Sir Lancelot, Sir Tristram, Sir Lamorak or Sir Gawain, I would think myself good enough for them all. But who is this worthy? Is he one of the four I have mentioned?’
‘No, none of those, but still a king’s son.’
‘His name, then?’
‘I will not tell you. But Sir Kay, the steward, scorned him with the name of Beaumains.’
‘Well, I care not,’ said the Red Knight with contempt. ‘Whoever he is, I shall soon deliver him to a shameful death.’
That night Beaumains lay at the hermitage, praying in God’s name for right action and good conscience. Upon the morn, he and Lynet heard Mass and broke their fast. Then they took horse and rode not far to a plain before a large castle. In the distance they saw much smoke and heard a great noise of siege. As they came near, they saw upon the trees armed knights hanged by the neck, with swords in their scabbards and gilt spurs upon their heels.
‘What means this?’ said Beaumains.
‘Fair sir,’ replied Lynet, ‘do not lose your courage at this sight. All these poor knights came hither to rescue my sister Lyonesse. But the Red Knight of the Red Glade killed them in this shameful manner, without mercy. And he will do so to you, unless you better him.’
‘Now Jesu defend me,’ said Beaumains, ‘from such a villainous death. I would rather be slain in a manly way, in plain battle.’
‘Then trust him not,’ she warned, ‘for in him is no courtesy.’
They rode towards the castle and saw that it was double-ditched, with full warlike walls. On the far side the sea beat upon the battlements. In a field before the castle the Red Knight had hung the horn of challenge, a huge horn of elephant bone hung in a sycamore tree.
‘I pray you,’ Lynet said, ‘blow not that horn till high noon, when his strength will decline. It is now about prime, and his strength is increasing to the equal of seven men.’
‘For shame, fair maiden,’ Beaumains chided her, ‘were he the strongest knight that ever was, I would not avoid him at his most mighty. I will win honourably, or die like a knight in the field.’
Then he spurred his horse straight to the sycamore and blew such a blast on the horn that all the siege army and all the castle rang with the sound. Knights leapt distraught from tents and pavilions, and the embrasures of the castle walls were suddenly filled with eyes. But the Red Knight of the Red Glade listened and went calmly to arms. Two barons set his spurs upon his heels, and all was blood red, his armour, spear and shield. An earl buckled his helm and brought him to his red steed. So he rode to a little valley under the castle walls where all might behold the battle. And among the onlookers was Dame Lyonesse. As Beaumains cast his eyes towards the skies, he saw her in the window. She made curtsey to him below, and held out her hands.
With that, the Red Knight called to Beaumains, ‘Sir knight, leave your looking and behold me. I warn you well, she is my lady. For her, I have done many strong battles. Have you not reason to beware of yonder knights that hang upon the trees? Now it shall be your turn, so make ready.’
Then they put their spears in their rests and came together like roaring lions. They hit each other so hard that the breastplates of the horses split and the surcingles burst. The riders tumbled down with reins and bridles tangled in their hands. Then the two knights sprang to their feet with sword and shield, and fought past noon and did not stint till both stood wagging and tottering, panting, blowing and bleeding. Once more they set to, and grappled and grovelled on the earth with little advantage either way till evensong, when they agreed to rest. So they sat down on two molehills in that valley, and each unlaced his helm and let the cool wind play about his weary head.
When his helm was off, Beaumains looked again to the window and there he saw the Lady Lyonesse making him such a glad and welcoming face that his heart rose high. Sternly he turned to the Red Knight, saying, ‘Now sir, let us cease sporting. Let us do battle to the uttermost.’
‘Yea, you have said it,’ replied the other. So again they hurled their sore bodies at each other. This time Beaumains fought with such fury that soon he had the Red Knight on the ground, with a foot on his neck and his helm torn off. Then the Red Knight yielded and begged for mercy. But Beaumains thought on the knights in the trees, with their poor necks stretched, and he was not minded to be merciful. There was then a great wail from the field, and many earls and barons prayed on their knees for the Red Knight’s life, that he might amend himself for his misdeeds, which were in the past and yet could not be undone.
Mercy, our Saviour knows, is above all a quality of knighthood. So Beaumains granted life to the Red Knight, on condition that he go to the court of King Arthur and yield himself up, and do homage and fealty for his lands. Also, he must make his peace with Sir L
ancelot, with whom he had an old quarrel about a woman.
Then the maiden Lynet tenderly unarmed Beaumains. She staunched his wounds and bathed the gashes of his flesh. For ten days he rested in a little tent, hardly stirring for soreness. After this time he was well, and ready to go to the castle.
After Beaumains was rested and made whole again, he dressed himself in fine clothes and rode to the castle. But he found the gate closed against him. He saw the unfriendly faces of many armed men, pulling up the drawbridge and letting down the portcullis. Marvelling at this, he looked towards the high window. Then he heard the voice of Dame Lyonesse saying, ‘Go on your way, Sir Beaumains, for as yet you shall not have wholly my love. Therefore go and labour in worthiness this twelvemonth, and then you shall hear new tidings.’
‘Ah, fair lady,’ he said in great surprise, ‘what is this? I am sure I have bought your love with a part of the best blood in my body.’
‘Courteous knight,’ she replied, ‘do not be displeased. Your great trials and your good love shall not be lost. Therefore go and be of good comfort. A twelvemonth will soon be done. And trust me, I shall be true to you and never betray you.’
She went from the window. In sorrow Beaumains rode away from the castle, wandering he knew not whither, until it was dark night. At last he came to a broad water with a lodge nearby. He dismounted and gave his horse to the dwarf that waited on him. Then he laid his head on his shield and slept.
As soon as he was gone from the castle, Lyonesse summoned her brother Sir Gringamore. ‘Ride in haste after Sir Beaumains,’ she said, ‘and catch him while he sleeps. Then privily snatch up his dwarf and carry him away. The dwarf knows the right name and kindred of this knight called Beaumains, and till I also have that knowledge I shall never be merry in my heart.’
Sir Gringamore rode with whip and spur, and came upon the sleeping Beaumains in the middle of the night. He tied his horse to a thorn at some distance and very quietly he stalked up behind the dwarf, who was dozing as he watched. Then he tucked the little man under his arm and dashed away. But all the while the dwarf bawled lustily, waking Beaumains, who dressed with all speed and gave chase. He rode through marsh and field and dales. He looked for the shortest way in the dark, and many a time he and his horse plunged into mire and bog, head over heels, till a countryman going to market in the dawn pointed out the road to Gringamore’s castle.
Already Sir Gringamore and his sisters had met there, and the dwarf was in the chamber with them. Right easily he answered Dame Lyonesse, telling her that his master was in truth Sir Gareth, brother of Gawain and son of Orkney’s king.
As they sat talking thus, Sir Gareth, he who was also Beaumains, came roaring at the gate with his sword drawn, demanding the delivery of his dwarf, or else he would do great harm to all within. Proud Sir Gringamore would have withstood him. But Dame Lyonesse laid her hand on her brother’s sleeve, saying, ‘Let go his dwarf, for I would not have him angry. I owe him my service for what he has done for me, and I love him before all others. I would not have him know me as I was, but now beginning again as someone new.’
So Gringamore let go the dwarf who went at once, as became him, to take the reins of his master’s horse in the courtyard below.
‘Well, my little fellow,’ said Gareth, ‘what an adventure we have had for your sake.’ He put his hand on the rough, crooked head, and together they went in.
Then Dame Lyonesse came forth, dressed like a princess and as fair as the summer morn, and many tender looks passed between her and Gareth. That evening in the castle there was much mirth, with dancing and singing, and sweet music from the minstrel. The time fled away, and the more Sir Gareth beheld the lady, the more he loved her, so that he burnt beyond reason. When they went to supper, he could not eat for love.
Sir Gringamore was well pleased at the looks that passed between the lovers, for Gareth was of noble blood. ‘Stay with us as long as you like,’ he said. And Gareth agreed with a glad heart, for he most wished to be with this lady. He kissed her many times, and she promised to love him and to have none other all the days of her life. Then they plighted their troth, to love each other and never to fail while breath lasted. Now they burnt so hot they could not be content with seeing and talking, but were minded to satisfy their lusts in secret. So Lyonesse took Gareth aside in a corner and told him to sleep in the hall, and there she would come to his bed around midnight.
This secret was not so easily kept. They were both young and ardent, and not used to such trickery. When she knew what would happen, Lynet was a little displeased that her sister would not wait for the time of her marriage. For the honour of the lovers, she thought to cool their hot lusts. By enchantment, she ordained that they should not have their delight until they married.
After supper, when all were yawning and going to their beds, Gareth said plainly that he would go no further than the hall. Of all places, he said, that was most convenient for a knight errant to rest in. So a great couch was fetched and a feather bed put upon it, and Gareth lay down. At midnight Dame Lyonesse came to him, naked under a mantle tipped with ermine. She lay beside him and forthwith he folded her in his arms and began to kiss her for his very life.
Then there came into the hall an armed knight, in a shining halo of lights, who rushed at Gareth with a battle-ax in his hands. Gareth leapt from bed, caught up his sword and fended off the blow from the ax, which nonetheless slipped from the guard and opened a great wound in the thick of his thigh, cutting through veins and sinews. At once Gareth answered with a fierce swing of his sword and smote the head from the shoulders of the knight. But Sir Gareth was bleeding so fast that he fell to the bed and swooned.
All the people of the household came running at the noise and were much amazed at the sight. Sir Gringamore was sore angry at this dishonour to his guest. And Lyonesse made a great wail and tried to staunch the bleeding as best she might. But Lynet took up the severed head, anointed with a salve both it and the shoulders from which it came, and stuck them fast together. Then the knight rose up lightly and went on his way. Sir Gareth, recovered somewhat from his swoon, saw this and sadly said to Lynet, ‘Maiden, we rode together through the perilous passages. I never thought this would be part of your doing.’
‘My lord,’ she replied, ‘I will stand by all I have done. It was done for your honour, and for the honour of our house.’
The wound healed and after a time Gareth was near mended whole, and sang, gamed and had good cheer again. Then he and Lyonesse once more burnt hot in lust, and she covenanted that she would come to his bed as before. But again an armed knight came, with lights about him as if from twenty torches. Gareth was more ready this time, and fought the knight all about the hall with great anger and malice. He struck down the impertinent knight and lopped off his head, and hewed it into a hundred pieces, which he hurled from the window into the ditches of the castle. But this great effort burst open his old wound, so once more he fell faint from loss of blood.
The sorrow of Dame Lyonesse at this second blow was a grief to see, and she wept as if she would die. But Lynet came again and fetched all the gobbets of the head from the ditch outside. Then she anointed them and stuck them all fast as before, and the knight went on his way.
‘Well, Dame Lynet,’ said Gareth, bleeding upon the bed, ‘do I deserve this from you?’
‘Indeed, sir, and thus I save your honour, and the honour of us all.’
Now, while this happened in the castle of Gringamore, none at the court of King Arthur knew where the kitchen boy Beaumains had gone and how he fared. So when the knights defeated by Beaumains in his travels came to the court to do homage to Arthur, as Beaumains had commanded them, the king questioned them closely. But none could give him news.
‘Sir king,’ said the Red Knight of the Red Glade, ‘I tell you nothing, for it is full hard to find him. Such young knights errant as he, when they are about their adventures, stay in no place.’
Then the king sent a messenger to Dame Lyonesse
, who was still with Sir Gareth. But Gareth was not yet ready to be discovered. He let it be devised that a great tourney be commanded for the Assumption of Our Lady between the knights of Dame Lyonesse and the knights of the Round Table. He that proved himself the best for prowess would win the Lady Lyonesse and all her land.
Upon the appointed feast, King Arthur and his knights went to the castle of Lyonesse. And there in great state and majesty a tourney was held between the best knights in the world. Here Sir Gareth fought, still under disguise, and he was so large and young and big with power that he did wondrous and worthy acts of battle. All men marvelled at his force until Arthur in amazement sent a herald to spy upon this unknown knight under the yellow shield. When the herald drew close, edging up to Gareth from his blind side, he saw golden letters appear about the helm, saying: ‘This is Gareth of Orkney’.
Then Sir Gareth was discovered. His brother Sir Gawain rode to him, and then they embraced and wept a good while before they would speak. While they sat thus upon the ground, Dame Lynet spurred her mule and came quickly to King Arthur, who was but two miles hence, and told him the adventure that had come to pass. Right there, King Arthur ordained the setting of a camp, so that his beloved nephews might rest and recover. And nothing was wanting in that camp that house or country could provide, or gold and silver get.
‘How now, Lynet,’ said Arthur, ‘why stay you? Gallop apace to Dame Lyonesse, and bring her to her knight Sir Gareth.’
Thus summoned, she came. She was arrayed in robes of cloth of gold, and in that company of kings and queens at Arthur’s court she was not the least fair.
‘Look on this lady,’ said the king to his nephew Gareth. ‘Will you take her as paramour, or to have as your wife?’
‘My lord,’ he replied, ‘know well that I love her above all ladies living.’
‘What,’ said Arthur, ‘is the wind in that door? You cannot love so well but that I shall increase it. I would rather lose my crown than hurt your hearts. And now, fair Lady Lyonesse, what say you?’
