Then Sir Percival spoke first, and said, ‘Sir knight, hold thy hand a while, for we have fought over long for a simple matter and quarrel. And therefore I require thee, tell me thy name, for I was never or this time thus matched.’
‘So God me help,’ said that knight, ‘and never or this time was there never knight that wounded me so sore as thou hast done, and yet have I fought in many battles. And now shalt thou wit that I am a knight of the Table Round, and my name is Sir Ector de Maris, brother unto the good knight Sir Lancelot du Lake.’
‘Alas,’ said Sir Percival, ‘and my name is Sir Percival de Gales, which hath made my quest to seek Sir Lancelot; and now I am sure that I shall never finish my quest, for ye have slain me with your hands.’
‘It is not so,’ said Sir Ector, ‘for I am slain by your hands, and may not live. And therefore I require you,’ said Sir Ector unto Sir Percival, ‘ride ye here fast by to a priory and bring me a priest that I may receive my Saviour, for I may not live. And when ye come to the court of King Arthur, tell not my brother Sir Lancelot how that ye slew me, for then he will be your mortal enemy. But ye may say that I was slain in my quest as I sought him.’
‘Alas,’ said Sir Percival, ‘ye say that thing that never will be, for I am so faint for bleeding that I may uneath stand. How should I then take my horse?’
Then they made both great dole out of measure.
‘This will not avail,’ said Sir Percival, and then he kneeled down and made his prayer devoutly unto Almighty Jesu; for he was one of the best knights of the world at that time, in whom the very faith stood most in. Right so there came by the holy vessel, the Sangrail, with all manner of sweetness and savour; but they could not see readily who bore the vessel. But Sir Percival had a glimmering of the vessel and of the maiden that bore it, for he was a perfect maiden. And forthwith they were as whole of hide and limb as ever they were in their life. Then they gave thankings to God with great mildness.
‘Ah, Jesu,’ said Sir Percival, ‘what may this mean, that we be thus healed, and right now we were at the point of dying?’
‘I wot full well,’ said Sir Ector, ‘what it is. It is a holy vessel that is borne by a maiden, and therein is a part of the holy blood of Our Lord Jesu Christ. But it may not be seen,’ said Sir Ector, ‘but if it be by a perfect man.’
‘So God me help,’ said Sir Percival, ‘I saw a damosel, as me thought, all in white, with a vessel in both her hands, and forthwith I was whole.’
So then they took their horses and their harness, and mended it as well as they might that was broken; and so they mounted up and rode talking together. And there Sir Ector de Maris told Sir Percival how he had sought his brother Sir Lancelot long, and never could hear witting* of him; ‘In many hard adventures have I been in this quest.’
And so either told other of their great adventures.
Of Sir Lancelot, that suffered and endured many sharpshowers*,*
[XII.I]
And now leave we off a while of Sir Ector and of Sir Percival, and speak we of Sir Lancelot that suffered and endured many sharp showers, that ever ran wild wood* from place to place, and lived by fruit and such as he might get, and drank water two years; and other clothing had he but little but in his shirt and his breeches.
And thus as Sir Lancelot wandered here and there, he came into a fair meadow where he found a pavilion; and thereby upon a tree there hung a white shield, and two swords hung thereby, and two spears leaned thereby to a tree. And when Sir Lancelot saw the swords, anon he leapt to the one sword and clutched that sword in his hand and drew it out; and then he lashed at the shield that all the meadow rang of the dints, that he gave such a noise as ten knights had fought together. Then came forth a dwarf and leapt unto Sir Lancelot, and would have had the sword out of his hand. And then Sir Lancelot took him by the both shoulders and threw him unto the ground, that he fell upon his neck and had nigh broken it; and therewith the dwarf cried help.
Then there came forth a likely knight, and well apparelled in scarlet furred with minever;* and anon as he saw Sir Lancelot, he deemed that he should be out of his wit. And then he said with fair speech, ‘Good man, lay down that sword, for as me seemeth thou hadst more need of a sleep and of warm clothes than to wield that sword.’
‘As for that,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘come not too nigh, for and thou do, wit thou well I will slay thee.’
And when the knight of the pavilion saw that, he started backward into his pavilion. And then the dwarf armed him lightly; and so the knight thought by force and might to have taken the sword from Sir Lancelot. And so he came stepping upon him; and when Sir Lancelot saw him come so armed with his sword in his hand, then Sir Lancelot flew to him with such a might and smote him upon the helm such a buffet, that the stroke troubled his brain, and therewith the sword broke in three. And the knight fell to the earth and seemed as he had been dead, the blood bursting out of his mouth, nose, and ears. And then Sir Lancelot ran into the pavilion, and rushed even into the warm bed, and there was a lady that lay in that bed. And anon she got her smock and ran out of the pavilion; and when she saw her lord lie at the ground like to be dead, then she cried and wept as she had been mad. And so with her noise the knight awaked out of his swoon, and looked up weakly with his eyes; and then he asked where was that mad man which had given him such a buffet, ‘For such a one had I never of man’s hand.’
‘Sir,’ said the dwarf, ‘it is not your worship to hurt him, for he is a man out of his wit; and doubt ye not he hath been a man of great worship, and for some heartly sorrow that he hath taken he is fallen mad. And me seemeth,’ said the dwarf, ‘that he resembleth much unto Sir Lancelot, for him I saw at the tournament of Lonazep.’
‘Jesu defend,’ said that knight, ‘that ever that noble knight Sir Lancelot should be in such a plight! But whatsoever he be,’ said that knight, ‘no harm will I do him.’
And this knight’s name was Sir Bliant, the which said unto the dwarf, ‘Go thou fast on horseback unto my brother, Sir Selivant, which is in the Castle Blank,* and tell him of my adventure, and bid him bring with him a horse litter; and then will we bear this knight unto my castle.’
[2]
So the dwarf rode fast, and he came again and brought Sir Selivant with him, and six men with a horse litter; and so they took up the feather bed with Sir Lancelot, and so carried all away with them unto the Castle Blank, and he never awaked till he was within the castle. And then they bound his hands and his feet, and gave him good meats and good drinks, and brought him again to his strength and his fairness; but in his wit they could not bring him, nor to know himself. And thus was Sir Lancelot there more than a year and a half, honestly arrayed and fair faren* withal.
Then upon a day this lord of that castle, Sir Bliant, took his arms, on horseback with a spear to seek adventures. And as he rode in a forest there met him two knights adventurous: the one was Sir Breunis sans Pité, and his brother, Sir Bartelot. And these two ran both at once on Sir Bliant and broke their spears upon his body. And then they drew out their swords and made great battle, and fought long together. But at the last Sir Bliant was sore wounded and felt himself faint, and anon he fled on horseback toward his castle. And as they came hurling under the castle, there was Sir Lancelot at a window and saw how two knights laid upon Sir Bliant with their swords. And when Sir Lancelot saw that, yet as wood as he was, he was sorry for his lord Sir Bliant. And then in a brade* Sir Lancelot broke his chains off his legs and off his arms, and in the breaking he hurt his hands sore; and so Sir Lancelot ran out at a postern, and there he met with those two knights that chased Sir Bliant. And there he pulled down Sir Bartelot with his bare hands from his horse, and therewith he wrothe* out the sword out of his hand; and so he leapt unto Sir Breunis, and gave him such a buffet upon the head that he tumbled backward over his horse’s croup. And when Sir Bartelot saw his brother have such a buffet, he got a spear in his hand and would have run Sir Lancelot through; and that saw Sir Bliant, and struck off the hand of Si
r Bartelot. And then Sir Breunis and Sir Bartelot got their horses and fled away as fast as they might.
So when Sir Selivant came and saw what Sir Lancelot had done for his brother, then he thanked God, and so did his brother, that ever they did him any good. But when Sir Bliant saw that Sir Lancelot was hurt with the breaking of his irons, then was he heavy that ever he bound him.
‘I pray you, brother Sir Selivant, bind him no more, for he is happy* and gracious.’
Then they made great joy of Sir Lancelot; and so he abode there-after a half year and more.
[3]
And so on a morn, Sir Lancelot was ware where came a great boar with many hounds after him. But the boar was so big there might no hounds tarry him; and the hunters came after, blowing their horns, both upon horseback and some upon foot. And then Sir Lancelot was ware where one alit and tied his horse to a tree and leaned his spear against the tree. So there came Sir Lancelot and found the horse, and a good sword tied to the saddle bow; and anon Sir Lancelot leapt into the saddle and got that spear in his hand, and then he rode fast after the boar. And anon he was ware where he set his arse to a rock fast by a hermitage. And then Sir Lancelot ran at the boar with his spear and all to-shivered his spear; and therewith the boar turned him lightly, and rove out the lungs and the heart of the horse, that Sir Lancelot fell to the earth. And or ever he might get from his horse, the boar smote him on the brawn of the thigh up unto the hough bone. And then Sir Lancelot was wroth, and up he got upon his feet, and took his sword and smote off the boar’s head at one stroke. And therewith came out the hermit, and saw him have such a wound; anon he bemoaned him, and would have had him home unto his hermitage. But when Sir Lancelot heard him speak, he was so wroth with his wound that he ran upon the hermit to have slain him. Then the hermit ran away; and when Sir Lancelot might not overget* him, he threw his sword after him, for he might no further for bleeding. Then the hermit turned again and asked Sir Lancelot how he was hurt.
‘Ah, my fellow,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘this boar hath bitten me sore.’
‘Then come ye with me,’ said the hermit, ‘and I shall heal you.’
‘Go thy way,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘and deal not with me.’
Then the hermit ran his way, and there he met with a goodly knight.
‘Sir,’ said the hermit, ‘here is fast by my place the goodliest man that ever I saw, and he is sore wounded with a boar, and yet he hath slain the boar. But well I wot,’ said the good man, ‘and he be not helped, he shall die of that wound, and that were great pity.’
Then that knight at the desire of the hermit got a cart, and therein he put the boar and Sir Lancelot; for he was so feeble that they might right easily deal with him. And so Sir Lancelot was brought unto the hermitage, and there the hermit healed him of his wound. But the hermit might not find him his sustenance,* and so he impaired and waxed feeble both of body and of his wit; for default of sustenance he waxed more wooder than he was aforetime.
And then upon a day Sir Lancelot ran his way into the forest; and by adventure he came to the city of Corbin, where Dame Elaine was, that bore Galahad, Sir Lancelot’s son. And so when he was entered into the town he ran through the town to the castle; and then all the young men of that city ran after Sir Lancelot, and there they threw turfs at him and gave him many sad strokes. And ever as Sir Lancelot might reach any of them, he threw them so that they would never come in his hands no more, for of some he broke the legs and arms, and so he fled into the castle; and then came out knights and squires and rescued Sir Lancelot. When they beheld him and looked upon his person, they thought they saw never so goodly a man, and when they saw so many wounds upon him, they deemed that he had been a man of worship. And then they ordained him clothes to his body, and straw and litter under the gate of the castle to lie in; and so every day they would throw him meat and set him drink. But there was but few that would bring him meat to his hands.
[4]
So it befell that King Pelles had a nephew whose name was Castor; and so he desired of the king to be made knight, and at his own request the king made him knight at the feast of Candlemas. And when Sir Castor was made knight, that same day he gave many gowns. And then Sir Castor sent for the fool, which was Sir Lancelot; and when he was come before Sir Castor, he gave Sir Lancelot a robe of scarlet and all that longed unto him. And when Sir Lancelot was so arrayed like a knight, he was the seemliest man in all the court, and none so well made.
So when he saw his time he went into the garden, and there he laid him down by a well and slept. And so at after noon Dame Elaine and her maidens came into the garden to sport them; and as they roamed up and down one of Dame Elaine’s maidens espied where lay a goodly man by the well sleeping.
‘Peace,’ said Dame Elaine, ‘and say no word, but show me that man where he lieth.’
So anon she brought Dame Elaine where he lay. And when that she beheld him, anon she fell in remembrance of him and knew him verily for Sir Lancelot; and therewith she fell on weeping so heartily that she sank even to the earth. And when she had thus wept a great while, then she arose and called her maidens and said she was sick. And so she yode out of the garden as straight to her father as she could, and there she took him by herself apart; and then she said, ‘Ah, my dear father, now have I need of your help, and but if that ye help me now, farewell my good days for ever.’
‘What is that, daughter?’ said King Pelles.
‘In your garden I was to sport me, and there by the well I found Sir Lancelot du Lake sleeping.’
‘I may not believe it,’ said King Pelles.
‘Truly, sir, he is there,’ she said, ‘and me seemeth he should be yet distract out of his wit.’
‘Then hold you still,’ said the king, ‘and let me deal.’
Then the king called unto him such as he most trusted, a four persons, and Dame Elaine, his daughter, and Dame Brusen, her servant. And when they came to the well and beheld Sir Lancelot, anon Dame Brusen said to the king, ‘We must be wise how we deal with him, for this knight is out of his mind; and if we awake him rudely, what he will do we all know not. And therefore abide ye a while, and I shall throw an enchantment upon him that he shall not awake of an hour.’ And so she did. And then the king commanded that all people should avoid, that none should be in that way there as the king would come.
[5]
And so when this was done, these four men and these ladies laid hand on Sir Lancelot, and so they bore him into a tower and so into a chamber where was the holy vessel of the Sangrail, and before that holy vessel was Sir Lancelot laid. And there came an holy man and unbilled* that vessel, and so by miracle and by virtue of that holy vessel Sir Lancelot was healed and recovered. And as soon as he was awaked he groaned and sighed, and complained him sore of his woodness and strokes that he had had. And as soon as Sir Lancelot saw King Pelles and Dame Elaine, he waxed ashamed and said thus, ‘Ah, Lord Jesu, how I came hither? For God’s sake, my fair lord, let me wit how that I came hither.’
‘Sir,’ said Dame Elaine, ‘into this country ye came like a mazed* man, clean out of your wit. And here have ye been kept as a fool; and no creature here knew what ye were, until by fortune a maiden of mine brought me unto you where as ye lay sleeping by a well. And anon as I verily beheld you, then I told my father; and so were ye brought before this holy vessel, and by the virtue of it thus were ye healed.’
‘Ah, Jesu, mercy,’ said Sir Lancelot. ‘If this be sooth, how many be there that knoweth of my woodness?’
‘So God me help,’ said Dame Elaine, ‘no more but my father, and I, and Dame Brusen.’
‘Now for Christ’s love,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘keep it counsel,* and let no man know it in the world; for I am sore ashamed that I have been misfortuned, for I am banished the country of England.’
And so Sir Lancelot lay more than a fortnight or ever that he might stir for soreness. And then upon a day he said unto Dame Elaine these words: ‘Fair lady Elaine, for your sake I have had much care and anguis
h—it needeth not to rehearse it, ye know how. Notwithstanding I know well I have done foully to you when that I drew my sword to you to have slain you upon the morn after when that I had lain with you, and all was for the cause that ye and Dame Brusen made me for to lie by you maugre my head; and as ye say, Sir Galahad your son was begotten.’
‘That is truth,’ said Dame Elaine.
‘Then will ye for my sake,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘go unto your father and get me a place of him wherein I may dwell? For in the court of King Arthur may I never come.’
‘Sir,’ said Dame Elaine, ‘I will live and die with you, only for your sake; and if my life might not avail you and my death might avail you, wit you well I would die for your sake. And I will to my father, and I am right sure there is nothing that I can desire of him but I shall have it. And where ye be, my lord Sir Lancelot, doubt ye not but I will be with you, with all the service that I may do.’
So forthwith she went to her father and said, ‘Sir, my lord Sir Lancelot desireth to be here by you in some castle of yours.’
‘Well, daughter,’ said the king, ‘sithen it is his desire to abide in these marches he shall be in the castle of Bliant, and there shall ye be with him, and twenty of the fairest young ladies that be in this country, and they shall be all of the greatest blood in this country, and ye shall have twenty knights with you; for, daughter, I will that ye wit we all be honoured by the blood of Sir Lancelot.’
[6]
Then went Dame Elaine unto Sir Lancelot, and told him all how her father had devised.
Then came a knight which was called Sir Castor, that was nephew unto King Pelles, and he came unto Sir Lancelot and asked him what was his name.
‘Sir,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘my name is “Le Chevaler Malfait”—that is to say, “the knight that hath trespassed”.’
Le Morte Darthur: The Winchester Manuscript (Oxford World's Classics) Page 39
