Le Morte Darthur: The Winchester Manuscript (Oxford World's Classics)

by Malory, Thomas

  When Sir Bors saw that he must fight with his brother or else to die, he wist not what to do; so his heart counselled him not thereto, inasmuch as Sir Lionel was his elder brother, wherefore he ought to bear him reverence. Yet kneeled he down again before Sir Lionel’s horse’s feet and said, ‘Fair sweet brother, have mercy upon me and slay me not, and have in remembrance the great love which ought to be between us two.’

  So whatsoever Sir Bors said to Sir Lionel he recked not, for the fiend had brought him in such a will that he should slay him. So when Sir Lionel saw he would do none other, nor would not rise to give him battle, he rushed over him so that he smote Sir Bors with his horse’s feet upward to the earth, and hurt him so sore that he swooned for distress which he felt in himself to have died without confession. So when Sir Lionel saw this, he alit off his horse to have smitten off his head; and so he took him by the helm and would have rent it from his head.

  [15]

  Therewith came the hermit running unto him, which was a good man and of great age, and well had heard all the words. He leapt between them, and so fell down upon Sir Bors, and said unto Sir Lionel, ‘Ah gentle knight, have mercy upon me and upon thy brother! For if thou slay him thou shalt be dead of that sin; and that were great sorrow, for he is one of the worthiest knights of the world and of best conditions.’

  ‘So God me help, sir priest, but if ye flee from him I shall slay you, and he shall never the sooner be quit.’*

  ‘Certes,’ said the good man, ‘I had liever ye slay me than him, for as for my death shall not be great harm, not half so much as will be for his.’

  ‘Well,’ said Sir Lionel, ‘I am agreed,’ and set his hand to his sword and smote him so hard that his head yode off backward. And not for that he recovered him not of his evil will, but took his brother by the helm and unlaced it to have smitten off his head, and had slain him had not a fellow of his of the Round Table come, whose name was called Sir Colgrevance, that came thither as Our Lord’s will would; and when he saw the good man slain he marvelled much what it might be. And then he beheld Sir Lionel that would have slain his brother, Sir Bors, which he loved right well. Then started he down and took Sir Lionel by the shoulders and drew him strongly aback from Sir Bors, and said to Sir Lionel, ‘Will ye slay your brother, one the worthiest knight of the world? That should no good man suffer.’

  ‘Why so?’ said Sir Lionel, ‘will ye let* me thereof? For if ye entermete* thereof, I shall slay you too, and him thereafter.’

  ‘Why,’ said Sir Colgrevance, ‘is this sooth that ye will slay him?’

  ‘Yea, slay him will I, whoso say the contrary, for he hath done so much against me that he hath well deserved it;’ and so ran upon him, and would have smitten off the head.

  And so Sir Colgrevance ran betwixt them, and said, ‘And ye be so hardy to do so more, we two shall meddle* together.’

  So when Sir Lionel understood his words, he took his shield before him, and asked him what that he was.

  ‘Sir, my name is Sir Colgrevance, one of his fellows.’

  Then Sir Lionel defied him, and so he started upon him and gave him a great stroke through the helm. Then he drew his sword, for he was a passing good knight, and defended him right manfully. And so long dured there the battle that Sir Bors sat up all anguishly and beheld Sir Colgrevance, the good knight that fought with his brother for his quarrel. Thereof he was full heavy, and thought if Sir Colgrevance slew his brother he should never have joy; also, and if his brother slew Sir Colgrevance, ‘the same shame should ever be mine.’

  Then would he have risen to have parted them, but he had not so much might to stand on foot. And so he abode so long that Sir Colgrevance was overthrown, for this Sir Lionel was of great chivalry and passing hardy; for he had pierced the hauberk and the helm so sore that he abode but death, for he had lost much blood that it was marvel that he might stand upright. Then beheld he Sir Bors which sat dressing* upward himself, and said, ‘Ah, Sir Bors, why come ye not to rescue me out of peril of death, wherein I have put me to succour you which were right now nigh death?’

  ‘Certes,’ said Sir Lionel, ‘that shall not avail you, for none of you shall be other’s warrant, but ye shall die both of my hand.’

  When Sir Bors heard that he said so much, he arose and put on his helm. And then he perceived first the hermit priest which was slain; then made he a marvellous sorrow upon him.

  [16]

  Then Sir Colgrevance cried often upon Sir Bors and said, ‘Why will ye let me die here for your sake? No force,* sir, if it please you that I shall die, the death shall please me the better; for to save a worthier man might I never receive the death.’

  With that word Sir Lionel smote off the helm from his head. And when Sir Colgrevance saw that he might not escape, then he said, ‘Fair sweet Jesu Christ, that I have misdone, have mercy upon my soul. For such sorrow that my heart suffereth for goodness and for alms-deed that I would have done here, be to me alliegement* of penance unto my soul’s health.’

  And so at these words Sir Lionel smote him so sore that he bore him dead to the earth. And when he had slain Sir Colgrevance he ran upon his brother as a fiendly man, and gave him such a stroke that he made him stoop. And he that was full of humility prayed him for God’s love to leave his battle, ‘For if it befell, fair brother, that I slay you or ye me, we both shall die for that sin.’

  ‘So God me help, I shall never have other mercy and I may have the better hand.’

  ‘Well,’ said Sir Bors, and drew his sword, all weeping, and said, ‘Fair brother, God knoweth my intent; for ye have done full evil this day to slay a holy priest which never trespassed. Also ye have slain a gentle knight, and one of our fellows. And well ye wot that I am not afraid of you greatly, but I dread the wrath of God; and this is an unkindly* war, therefore God show His miracle upon us both. And God have mercy upon me, though I defend my life against my brother.’

  [17]

  And so with that Sir Bors lifted up his hand and would have smitten his brother. And with that he heard a voice which said, ‘Flee, Sir Bors, and touch him not, or else thou shalt slay him.’

  Right so alit a cloud betwixt them in likeness of a fair and a marvellous flame, that both their two shields burnt. Then were they sore afraid and fell both to the earth, and lay there a great while in a swoon. And when they came to themselves, Sir Bors saw that his brother had no harm; then he held up both his hands, for he dreaded lest God had taken vengeance upon him. So with that he heard a voice that said, ‘Sir Bors, go hence, and bear thy fellowship no longer with thy brother; but take thy way anon right to the sea, for Sir Percival abideth thee there.’

  Then he said to his brother, ‘For God’s love, fair sweet brother, forgive me my trespass.’

  Then he answered and said, ‘God forgive you, and I do gladly.’

  So Sir Bors departed from him and rode the next way to the sea.

  And at the last by fortune he came to an abbey which was nigh the sea, and that night he rested him there. And as he slept, there came a voice and bade him go to the sea. Then he started up and made a sign of the cross, and took him to his harness and made ready his horse; and at a broken wall he rode out, and by fortune he came to the sea. And upon the sea strand he found a ship that was covered all with white samite. Then he alit and betook* him to Jesu Christ. And as soon as he was entered, the ship departed into the sea, and to his seeming it went fleeing; but it was soon dark, that he might know no man. Then he laid him down and slept till it was day.

  And when he was waked, he saw in the midst of the ship a knight lie all armed save his helm. And anon he was ware it was Sir Percival de Gales, and then he made of him right great joy; but Sir Percival was abashed of him and asked him what he was.

  ‘Ah, fair sir,’ said Sir Bors, ‘know ye me not?’

  ‘Certes,’ said he, ‘I marvel how ye came hither, but if Our Lord brought you hither Himself.’

  Then Sir Bors smiled and did off his helm; and anon Sir Percival knew him,
and either made great joy of other that it was marvel to hear. Then Sir Bors told him how he came into the ship, and by whose admonishment. And either told other of their temptations, as ye have heard beforehand.

  So went they driving in the sea, one while backward, another while forward, and each man comforted other, and ever they were in their prayers.

  Then said Sir Percival, ‘We lack nothing but Sir Galahad, the good knight.’

  Now turneth the tale unto Sir Galahad.

  Of Sir Galahad

  [XVII.I]

  Now saith the tale, when Sir Galahad had rescued Sir Percival from the twenty knights, he rode then into a waste forest wherein he did many journeys and found many adventures which he brought all to an end, whereof the tale maketh here no mention.

  Then he took his way to the sea. And on a day, as it befell, as he passed by a castle there was a wonder tournament; but they without had done so much that they within were put to the worse, and yet were they within good knights enough. So when Sir Galahad saw those within were at so great mischief that men slew them at the entry of the castle, then he thought to help them, and put a spear forth and smote the first that he flew to the earth, and the spear yode in pieces. Then he drew his sword and smote there as they were thickest; and so he did wonderful deeds of arms, that all they marvelled.

  And so it happened that Sir Gawain and Sir Ector de Maris were with the knights without. But then they espied the white shield with the red cross, and anon the one said to the other, ‘Yonder is the good knight Sir Galahad, the haut prince. Now forsooth me thinketh he shall be a great fool that shall meet with him to fight.’

  But at the last by adventure he came by Sir Gawain, and he smote him so sore that he cleft his helm and the coif of iron unto the head, that Sir Gawain fell to the earth; but the stroke was so great that it slanted down and cut the horse’s shoulder in two. So when Sir Ector saw Sir Gawain down, he drew him aside, and thought it no wisdom for to abide him; and also for natural love, because he was his uncle.

  Thus through his hardiness he beat aback all the knights without; and then they within came out and chased them all about. But when Sir Galahad saw there would none turn again, he stole away privily, and no man wist where he was become.

  ‘Now by my head,’ said Sir Gawain unto Sir Ector, ‘now are the wonders true that were said of Sir Lancelot, that the sword which stuck in the stone should give me such a buffet that I would not have it for the best castle in the world; and soothly now it is proved true, for never ere had I such a stroke of man’s hand.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Sir Ector, ‘me seemeth your quest is done; and mine is not done.’

  ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I shall seek no further.’

  Then was Sir Gawain borne into the castle, and unarmed him and laid him in a rich bed, and a leech was found to heal him. And Sir Ector would not depart from him till he was nigh whole.

  And so this good knight Sir Galahad rode so fast that he came that night to the Castle of Carbonek. And so it befell him that he was benighted, and came unto a hermitage. So the good man was fain when he saw he was a knight errant.

  So when they were at rest, there befell a gentlewoman came and knocked at the door and called Sir Galahad; and so the good man came to the door to wit what she would.

  Then she called the hermit, Sir Ulfin, and said, ‘I am a gentlewoman that would fain speak with the knight which is with you.’

  Then the good man awaked Sir Galahad and bade him arise, ‘and speak with a gentlewoman that seemeth she hath great need of you.’

  Then Sir Galahad went and asked her what she would.

  ‘Sir Galahad,’ said she, ‘I will that ye arm you, and light upon this horse and sue* me, for I shall show you within these three days the highest adventure that ever any knight saw.’

  So anon Sir Galahad armed him and took his horse, and commended the hermit to God; and so he bade the gentlewoman to ride, and he would follow there as she liked.

  [2]

  So she rode as fast as her palfrey might bear her till that she came to the sea, which was called Collibie. And by night they came unto a castle in a valley, enclosed with a running water, which had strong walls and high; and so she entered into the castle with Sir Galahad, and there had he great cheer, for the lady of that castle was the damosel’s lady. So was he unarmed.

  Then said the damosel, ‘Madam, shall we abide here all this day?’

  ‘Nay,’ said she, ‘but till he hath dined and slept a little.’

  And so he ate and slept a while; and this maid then called him and armed him by torchlight. And when the maiden was horsed and he both, the lady took Sir Galahad a fair shield and rich, and so they departed from the castle and rode till they came to the sea. And there they found the ship that Sir Bors and Sir Percival were in, which said on the shipboard,* ‘Sir Galahad, ye be welcome, for we have abided you long.’

  And when he heard them he asked them what they were.

  ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘leave your horse here, and I shall leave mine also;’ and took their saddles and their bridles with them, and made a cross on them, and so entered into the ship. And the two knights received them both with great joy, and each knew other. And so the wind arose and drove them through the sea into a marvellous place; and within a while it dawned. Then did Sir Galahad off his helm and his sword, and asked of his fellows from whence came that fair ship.

  ‘Truly,’ said they, ‘ye wot as well as we, but it come of God’s grace.’

  And then they told each to other of all their hard adventures, and of their great temptations.

  ‘Truly,’ said Galahad, ‘ye are much bound to God, for ye have escaped right great adventures. Certes, had not this gentlewoman been, I had not come hither at this time; for as for you two, I weened never to have found you in these strange countries.’

  ‘Ah, Sir Galahad,’ said Sir Bors, ‘if Sir Lancelot your father were here then were we well at ease, for then me seemed we failed nothing.’

  ‘That may not be,’ said Galahad, ‘but if it pleased Our Lord.’

  By then the ship had run from the land of Logris many miles. So by adventure it arrived up betwixt two rocks passing great and marvellous; but there they might not land, for there was a swallow* of the sea, save there was another ship, and upon it they might go without danger.

  ‘Now go we thither,’ said the gentlewoman, ‘and there shall we see adventures, for so is Our Lord’s will.’

  And when they came thither they found the ship rich enough, but they found neither man nor woman therein. But they found in the end of the ship two fair letters written, which said a dreadful word and a marvellous:

  ‘Thou man which shalt enter into this ship, beware that thou be in steadfast belief, for I am Faith. And therefore beware how thou enterest but if thou be steadfast, for and thou fail thereof I shall not help thee.’

  And then said the gentlewoman, ‘Sir Percival,’ said she, ‘wot ye what I am?’

  ‘Certes,’ said he, ‘nay; unto my witting I saw you never erst.’

  ‘Wit you well,’ said she, ‘I am thy sister, which was daughter unto King Pellinore, and therefore wit you well ye are the man that I most love. And if ye be not in perfect belief of Jesu Christ, enter not in no manner of wise; for then should ye perish in the ship, for he is so perfect he will suffer no sinner within him.’

  So when Sir Percival understood she was his very sister he was inwardly* glad, and said, ‘Fair sister, I shall enter in, for if I be a miscreature or an untrue knight there shall I perish.’

  [3]

  So in the meanwhile Sir Galahad blessed him,* and entered therein; and so next the gentlewoman, and then Sir Bors, and then Sir Percival. And when they were in, it was so marvellous fair and rich, and amidst the ship was a fair bed; and anon Sir Galahad went thereto, and found thereon a crown of silk. And at the feet was a sword, rich and fair, and it was drawn out of the sheath a foot and more. And the sword was of divers fashions; and the pommel was of stone, and there was in
it all manner of colours that any man might find, and each of the colours had divers virtues.* And the scales of the haft* were of two ribs of two divers beasts: the one was a serpent which is conversant in Caledonia* and is called the serpent of the fiend; and the bone of him is of such virtue that there is no hand that handleth him shall never be weary nor hurt. And the other bone is of a fish which is not right great and haunteth the flood of Euphrates, and that fish is called Ertanax; and the bones be of such manner of kind that who that handleth them shall have so much will that he shall never be weary, and he shall not think on joy nor sorrow that he hath had, but only that thing that he beholdeth before him. And as for this sword, there shall never man grip him—that is to say, the handles—but one; and he shall pass all other.

  ‘In the name of God,’ said Sir Percival, ‘I shall assay to handle it.’ So he set his hand to the sword, but he might not grip it. ‘By my faith,’ said he, ‘now have I failed.’

  Then Sir Bors set to his hand, and failed.

  Then Sir Galahad beheld the sword, and saw letters like blood that said, ‘Let see who dare draw me out of my sheath but if he be more hardier than any other; for who that draweth me out, wit you well he shall never be shamed of his body, nor wounded to the death.’

  ‘Par fay,’* said Sir Galahad, ‘I would draw this sword out of the sheath, but the offending is so great that I shall not set my hand thereto.’

  ‘Now, sirs,’ said the gentlewoman, ‘the drawing of this sword is warned* to all save only to you.’*