‘Why should I not pass the water?’ said Sir Galahad.
So rode he away from them and met with a squire that said, ‘Knight, those knights in the castle defy you, and defend* you ye go no further till that they wit what ye would.’
‘Fair sir,’ said Sir Galahad, ‘I come for to destroy the wicked custom of this castle.’
‘Sir, and ye will abide by that ye shall have enough to do.’
‘Go ye now,’ said Sir Galahad, ‘and haste my needs.’
Then the squire entered into the castle; and anon after there came out of the castle seven knights, and all were brethren. And when they saw Sir Galahad they cried, ‘Knight, keep thee, for we assure you nothing but death.’
‘Why,’ said Sir Galahad, ‘will ye all have ado with me at once?’
‘Yea,’ said they, ‘thereto mayst thou trust.’
Then Galahad put forth his spear and smote the foremost to the earth, that nearhand he broke his neck. And therewith the other six smote him on his shield great strokes, that their spears broke. Then Sir Galahad drew out his sword, and set upon them so hard that it was marvel, and so through great force he made them to forsake the field. And Sir Galahad chased them till they entered into the castle, and so passed through the castle at another gate.
And anon there met Sir Galahad an old man clothed in religious clothing, and said, ‘Sir, have here the keys of this castle.’
Then Sir Galahad opened the gates, and saw so much people in the streets that he might not number them; and all they said, ‘Sir, ye be welcome, for long have we abided here our deliverance.’
Then came to him a gentlewoman and said, ‘Sir, these knights be fled, but they will come again this night, and here to begin again their evil custom.’
‘What will ye that I do?’ said Sir Galahad.
‘Sir,’ said the gentlewoman, ‘that ye send after all the knights hither that hold their lands of this castle, and make them all to swear for to use the customs that were used here of old time.’
‘I will well,’ said Sir Galahad.
And there she brought him a horn of ivory, bound with gold richly, and said, ‘Sir, blow this horn, which will be heard two miles about.’
When Sir Galahad had blown the horn he set him down upon a bed. Then came a priest to Galahad, and said, ‘Sir, it is past seven years ago that these seven brethren came into this castle, and harboured with the lord of this castle, that hight the Duke Lianour, and he was lord of all this country. And when they had espied the duke’s daughter, that was a full fair woman, then by their false covin* they made a bate* betwixt themselves; and the duke of his goodness would have parted them, and there they slew him and his eldest son. And then they took the maiden and the treasure of the castle, and so by great force they held all the knights of this country under great servage and truage.* So on a day the duke’s daughter said to them, “Ye have done great wrong to slay my father and my brother, and thus to hold our lands. Not for that,” she said, “ye shall not hold this castle many years, for by one knight ye shall all be overcome.” Thus she prophesied seven years ago. “Well,” said the seven knights, “sithen ye say so, there shall never lady nor knight pass this castle but they shall abide maugre their heads, or die therefore, till that knight be come by whom we shall lose this castle.” And therefore it is called the Maidens’ Castle, for they have devoured* many maidens.’
‘Now,’ said Sir Galahad, ‘is she here for whom this castle was lost?’
‘Nay, sir,’ said the priest, ‘she was dead within three nights after that she was thus forced; and sithen have they kept her younger sister, which endureth great pain, with more other ladies.’
By this were the knights of the country come, and then he made them to do homage and fealty to the duke’s daughter, and set them in great ease of heart. And in the morn there came one and told Sir Galahad how that Sir Gawain, Sir Gareth, and Sir Uwain had slain the seven brethren.
‘I suppose well,’* said Sir Galahad, and took his armour and his horse, and commended them unto God.
Here leaveth the tale of Sir Galahad, and speaketh of Sir Gawain.
Of Sir Gawain
[16]
Now saith the tale, after Sir Gawain departed, he rode many journeys both toward and forward;* and at the last he came to the abbey where Sir Galahad had the white shield, and there Sir Gawain learned the way to sue* after Sir Galahad.
‘Certes,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘I am not happy that I took not the way that he went, for and I may meet with him I will not depart from him lightly; for all marvellous adventures Sir Galahad achieveth.’
‘Sir,’ said one of the monks, ‘he will not of your fellowship.’
‘Why so?’ said Sir Gawain.
‘Sir,’ said he, ‘for ye be wicked and sinful, and he is full blessed.’
So right as they thus talked there came in riding Sir Gareth, and then they made great joy either of other. And on the morn they heard Mass, and so departed. And by the way they met with Sir Uwain le Avoutres; and there Sir Uwain told Sir Gawain how he had met with no adventures sith he departed from the court.
‘Nor yet we,’ said Sir Gawain.
And so either promised other of those three knights not to part while they were in that quest but if sudden fortune caused it. So they departed and rode by fortune till that they came by the Castle of Maidens; and there the seven brethren espied the three knights, and said, ‘Sithen we be flemed* by one knight from this castle, we shall destroy all the knights of King Arthur’s that we may overcome, for the love of Sir Galahad.’
And therewith the seven knights set upon them three knights; and by fortune Sir Gawain slew one of the brethren, and each one of his fellows overthrew another, and so slew all the remnant. And then they took the way under the castle, and there they lost the way that Sir Galahad rode. And there each of them departed from other.
And Sir Gawain rode till he came to a hermitage, and there he found the good man saying his evensong of Our Lady; and there Sir Gawain asked harbour for charity, and the good man granted him gladly. Then the good man asked him what he was.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I am a knight of King Arthur’s that am in the quest of the Sangrail, and my name is Sir Gawain.’
‘Sir,’ said the good man, ‘I would wit how it standeth betwixt God and you.’
‘Sir,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘I will with a good will show you my life if it please you.’* There he told the hermit how ‘a monk of an abbey called me wicked knight’.
‘He might well say it,’ said the hermit, ‘for when ye were first made knight ye should have taken you to knightly deeds and virtuous living; and ye have done the contrary, for ye have lived mischievously many winters. And Sir Galahad is a maid and sinned never, and that is the cause he shall achieve where he goeth what ye nor none such shall never attain, nor none in your fellowship, for ye have used the most untruest life that ever I heard knight live. For certes, had ye not been so wicked as ye are, never had the seven brethren been slain by you and your two fellows; for Sir Galahad himself alone beat them all seven the day before, but his living is such that he shall slay no man lightly.
‘Also I may say you that the Castle of Maidens betokeneth the good souls that were in prison before the Incarnation of Our Lord Jesu Christ.* And the seven knights betoken the seven deadly sins that reigned that time in the world. And I may liken the good knight Galahad unto the son of the High Father, that alit within a maiden, and bought all the souls out of thrall: so did Sir Galahad deliver all the maidens out of the woeful castle. Now, Sir Gawain,’ said the good man, ‘thou must do penance for thy sin.’
‘Sir, what penance shall I do?’
‘Such as I will give thee,’ said the good man.
‘Nay,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘I may do no penance; for we knights adventurous many times suffer great woe and pain.’
‘Well,’ said the good man, and then he held his peace.
And on the morn, then Sir Gawain departed from the hermit and betaught* hi
m unto God. And by adventure he met with Sir Agloval and Sir Griflet, two knights of the Round Table; and so they three rode four days without finding of any adventure. And at the fifth day they parted, and each held as befell them by adventure.
Here leaveth the tale of Sir Gawain and his fellows.
Of Sir Lancelot
[17]
So when Sir Galahad was departed from the Castle of Maidens he rode till he came to a waste forest, and there he met with Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival; but they knew him not, for he was new disguised.* Right so his father, Sir Lancelot, dressed his spear and broke it upon Sir Galahad, and Sir Galahad smote him so again that he bore down horse and man. And then he drew his sword and dressed him unto Sir Percival, and smote him so on the helm that it rove to the coif of steel;* and had not the sword swerved Sir Percival had been slain. And with the stroke he fell out of his saddle.
So this jousts was done before the hermitage where a recluse dwelled. And when she saw Sir Galahad ride, she said, ‘God be with thee, best knight of the world! Ah, certes,’ said she all aloud, that Sir Lancelot and Percival might hear, ‘and yonder two knights had known thee as well as I do, they would not have encountered with thee.’
When Sir Galahad heard her say so, he was adread to be known, and therewith he smote his horse with his spurs and rode a great pace from them. Then perceived they both that he was Sir Galahad, and up they got on their horses and rode fast after him; but within a while he was out of their sight. And then they turned again with heavy cheer, and said, ‘Let us spere* some tidings’, said Percival, ‘at yonder recluse.’
‘Do as ye list,’ said Sir Lancelot.
When Sir Percival came to the recluse she knew him well enough, and Sir Lancelot both. But Sir Lancelot rode overthwart and endlong a wild forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him. And at the last he came to a stony cross which departed two ways in waste land; and by the cross was a stone that was of marble, but it was so dark that Sir Lancelot might not wit what it was. Then Sir Lancelot looked beside him and saw an old chapel, and there he weened to have found people; and anon Sir Lancelot fastened his horse to a tree, and there he did off his shield and hung it upon a tree. And then he went to the chapel door, and found it waste and broken. And within he found a fair altar, full richly arrayed with cloth of clean silk, and there stood a clean fair candlestick which bore six great candles therein, and the candlestick was of silver. And when Sir Lancelot saw this light he had great will for to enter into the chapel, but he could find no place where he might enter. Then was he passing heavy and dismayed, and returned again and came to his horse, and did off his saddle and bridle and let him pasture him; and unlaced his helm and ungirt his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield before the cross.
[18]
And so he fell asleep; and half waking and half sleeping, he saw coming by him two palfreys all fair and white, which bore a litter, and therein lying a sick knight; and when he was nigh the cross he there abode still. All this Sir Lancelot saw and beheld it, for he slept not verily; and he heard him say, ‘Ah, sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me wherethrough I shall be healed? For I have endured thus long for little trespass.’*
A full great while thus complained the knight, and always Sir Lancelot heard it. So with that Sir Lancelot saw the candlestick with the six tapers come before the cross, and he saw nobody that brought it. Also there came a table of silver, and the holy vessel of the Sangrail, which Sir Lancelot had seen beforetime in King Pecheur’s house.* And therewith the sick knight sat him up and held up both his hands, and said, ‘Fair sweet Lord, which is here within this holy vessel, take heed unto me that I may be whole of this malady.’
And therewith on his hands and on his knees he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed it, and anon he was whole. And then he said, ‘Lord God, I thank Thee, for I am healed of this sickness.’
So when the holy vessel had been there a great while, it went unto the chapel with the chandelier and the light, so that Sir Lancelot wist not where it was become. For he was overtaken with sin, that he had no power to rise against* the holy vessel; wherefore after that many men said him shame, but he took repentance after that.
Then the sick knight dressed him up and kissed the cross. Anon his squire brought him his arms, and asked his lord how he did.
‘Certes,’ said he, ‘I thank God, right well: through the holy vessel I am healed. But I have marvel of this sleeping knight, that he had no power to awake when this holy vessel was brought hither.’
‘I dare well say,’ said the squire, ‘that he dwelleth in some deadly sin whereof he was never confessed.’
‘By my faith,’ said the knight, ‘whatsoever he be, he is unhappy; for as I deem he is of the fellowship of the Round Table which is entered in the quest of the Sangrail.’
‘Sir,’ said the squire, ‘here I have brought you all your arms save your helm and your sword; and therefore, by my assent, now may ye take this knight’s helm and his sword.’
And so he did; and when he was clean armed he took there Sir Lancelot’s horse, for he was better than his, and so departed they from the cross.
[19]
Then anon Sir Lancelot woke and sat him up, and bethought him what he had seen there, and whether it were dreams or not. Right so heard he a voice that said, ‘Sir Lancelot, more harder than is the stone, and more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and barer than is the leaf of the fig tree! Therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee from these holy places.’
And when Sir Lancelot heard this, he was passing heavy and wist not what to do; and so departed sore weeping, and cursed the time that he was born, for then he deemed never to have worship more. For those words went to his heart, till that he knew wherefore he was called so.
Then Sir Lancelot went to the cross and found his helm, his sword, and his horse away. And then he called himself a very wretch and most unhappy of all knights; and there he said, ‘My sin and my wickedness have brought me unto great dishonour. For when I sought worldly adventures for worldly desires, I ever achieved them and had the better in every place, and never was I discomfited in no quarrel, were it right, were it wrong. And now I take upon me the adventures to seek of holy things, now I see and understand that my old sin hindereth me and shameth me, that I had no power to stir nor speak when the holy blood appeared before me.’
So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls sing; then somewhat he was comforted. But when Sir Lancelot missed his horse and his harness, then he wist well God was displeased with him. And so he departed from the cross on foot into a fair forest; and so by prime he came to a high hill, and found a hermitage and a hermit therein which was going unto Mass. And then Lancelot kneeled down and cried on Our Lord mercy for his wicked works. So when Mass was done, Sir Lancelot called him, and prayed him for saint charity for to hear his life.
‘With a good will,’ said the good man, and asked him whether he was of King Arthur’s, and of the fellowship of the Table Round.
‘Yea, forsooth; and my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake, that hath been right well said of. And now my good fortune is changed, for I am the most wretch of the world.’
The hermit beheld him, and had marvel why he was so abashed.
‘Sir,’ said the hermit, ‘ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath caused you to have more worldly worship than any knight that is now living. And for your presumption to take upon you in deadly sin for to be in His presence where His flesh and His blood was, which caused you ye might not see it with your worldly eyes: for He will not appear where such sinners be, but if it be unto their great hurt or unto their shame. And there is no knight now living that ought to yield God so great thanks as ye, for He hath given you beauty, bounty, seemliness, and great strength over all other knights. And therefore ye are the more beholden unto God than any other man, to love Him and dread Him, for your strength and your manhood will littl
e avail you and God be against you.’
[20]
Then Sir Lancelot wept with heavy heart and said, ‘Now I know well ye say me sooth.’
‘Sir,’ said the good man, ‘hide no old sin from me.’
‘Truly,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘that were me full loath to discover;* for this fourteen years I never discovered one thing that I have used, and that may I now wite* my shame and my disadventure.’
And then he told there the good man all his life, and how he had loved a queen* unmeasurably and out of measure long. ‘And all my great deeds of arms that I have done, for the most part was for the queen’s sake, and for her sake would I do battle were it right or wrong; and never did I battle all only for God’s sake, but for to win worship and to cause me the better to be beloved, and little or nought I thanked never God of it.’ Then Sir Lancelot said, ‘Sir, I pray you counsel me.’
‘Sir, I will counsel you,’ said the hermit. ‘Ye shall assure me by your knighthood that ye shall no more come in that queen’s fellowship as much as ye may forbear.’
And then Sir Lancelot promised him that he would not, by the faith of his body.
‘Sir, look that your heart and your mouth accord,’ said the good man, ‘and I shall assure you ye shall have the more worship than ever ye had.’
‘Holy father,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘I marvel of the voice that said to me marvellous words, as ye have heard beforehand.’
‘Have ye no marvel’, said the good man, ‘thereof, for it seemeth well God loveth you. For men may understand, a stone is hard of kind, and namely one more than another; and that is to understand by thee, Sir Lancelot, for thou wilt not leave thy sin for no goodness that God hath sent thee. Therefore thou art more harder than any stone, and wouldst never be made nesh neither by water nor by fire:* and that is the heat of the Holy Ghost may not enter in thee. Now take heed: in all the world men shall not find one knight to whom Our Lord hath given so much of grace as He hath lent thee, for He hath given thee fairness with seemliness; also He hath given thee wit, and discretion to know good from ill. He hath also given prowess and hardiness, and given thee to work so largely* that thou hast had the better all thy days of thy life wheresoever thou came. And now Our Lord would suffer thee no longer but that thou shalt know Him whether thou wilt or not. And why the voice called thee bitterer than the wood: for wheresoever much sin dwelleth, there may be but little sweetness, wherefore thou art likened to an old rotten tree.
Le Morte Darthur: The Winchester Manuscript (Oxford World's Classics) Page 43
