‘By my head,’ said King Arthur, ‘nephew, I believe you. And therefore now tell me what is your best counsel.’
‘Sir,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘my counsel is to blow unto lodging;* for and he be Sir Lancelot du Lake, and my brother Sir Gareth with him, with the help of that good young knight Sir Lavain, trust me truly it will be no boot to strive with them but if we should fall ten or twelve upon one knight—and that were no worship, but shame.’
‘Ye say truth,’ said the King. ‘It were shame for us, so many as we be, to set upon them any more. For wit ye well,’ said King Arthur, ‘they be three good knights, and namely* that knight with the sleeve of gold.’
And anon they blew unto lodging. But forthwith King Arthur let send unto the four kings and to the mighty duke, and prayed them that the knight with the sleeve of gold depart not from them, but that the King may speak with him. Then forthwith King Arthur alit and unarmed him, and took a little hackney and rode after Sir Lancelot, for ever he had espy upon him. And so he found him among the four kings and the duke; and there the King prayed them all unto supper, and they said they would with good will. And when they were unarmed, King Arthur knew Sir Lancelot, Sir Gareth, and Sir Lavain.
‘Ah, Sir Lancelot,’ said King Arthur, ‘this day ye have heated me and my knights.’
And so they yode unto King Arthur’s lodging all together, and there was a great feast and great revel. And the prize was given unto Sir Lancelot, for by heralds they named him that he had smitten down fifty knights, and Sir Gareth five and thirty knights, and Sir Lavain four and twenty. Then Sir Lancelot told the King and the Queen how the lady huntress shot him in the forest of Windsor, in the buttock, with a broad arrow, and how the wound was that time six inches deep and alike long.
Also King Arthur blamed Sir Gareth because he left his fellowship and held with Sir Lancelot.
‘My lord,’ said Sir Gareth, ‘he made me knight, and when I saw him so hard bestead, me thought it was my worship to help him. For I saw him do so much deeds of arms, and so many noble knights against him, that when I understood that he was Sir Lancelot du Lake I shamed to see so many good knights against him alone.’
‘Now truly,’ said King Arthur unto Sir Gareth, ‘ye say well, and worshipfully have ye done, and to yourself great worship. And all the days of my life,’ said King Arthur unto Sir Gareth, ‘wit you well I shall love you and trust you the more better. For ever it is,’ said King Arthur, ‘a worshipful knight’s deed to help and succour another worshipful knight when he seeth him in danger; for ever a worshipful man will be loath to see a worshipful man shamed. And he that is of no worship and meddleth with cowardice, never shall he show gentleness nor no manner of goodness where he seeth a man in danger, for then will a coward never show mercy. And always a good man will do ever to another man as he would be done to himself.’
So then there were made great feasts unto kings and dukes, and revel, game, and play, and all manner of noblesse was used. And he that was courteous, true, and faithful to his friend was that time cherished.
[25]
And thus it passed on from Candlemas until after Easter, that the month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom and to burgeon. For like as trees and herbs burgeoneth and and flourisheth in May, in like wise every lusty heart that is any manner of lover springeth, burgeoneth, buddeth, and flourisheth in lusty deeds. For it giveth unto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May, in some thing to constrain him to some manner of thing more in that month than in any other month, for diverse causes: for then all herbs and trees reneweth a man and woman, and in like wise lovers calleth to their mind old gentleness and old service, and many kind deeds that were forgotten by negligence.
For like as winter rasure* doth alway erase and deface green summer, so fareth it by unstable love in man and woman. For in many persons there is no stability; for we may see all day, for a little blast of winter’s rasure, anon we shall deface and lay apart true love for little or nought, that cost much thing. This is no wisdom nor no stability, but it is feebleness of nature and great disworship, whosoever useth this.
Therefore, like as May month flowereth and flourisheth in every man’s garden, so in like wise let every man of worship flourish his heart in this world, first unto God, and next unto the joy of them that he promised his faith unto. For there was never worshipful man nor worshipful woman, but they loved one better than another; and worship in arms may never be foiled. But first reserve the honour to God, and secondly thy quarrel must come of thy lady. And such love I call virtuous love.
But nowadays men cannot love seven night but they must have all their desires. That love may not endure by reason; for where they be soon accorded and hasty, heat soon cooleth. And right so fareth the love nowadays, soon hot, soon cold—this is no stability. But the old love was not so; for men and women could love together seven years, and no lecherous lusts were betwixt them, and then was love truth and faithfulness. And so in like wise was used such love in King Arthur’s days. Wherefore I liken love nowadays unto summer and winter; for like as the one is cold and the other is hot, so fareth love nowadays. And therefore all ye that be lovers, call unto your remembrance the month of May, like as did Queen Guenivere; for whom I make here a little mention, that while she lived she was a true lover, and therefore she had a good end.
[XIX.I]
So it befell in the month of May, Queen Guenivere called unto her ten knights of the Table Round, and she gave them warning that early upon the morn she would ride on maying into woods and fields beside Westminster: ‘And I warn you that there be none of you but he be well horsed, and that ye all be clothed all in green, either in silk or in cloth; and I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every knight shall have a lady by him. And every knight shall have a squire and two yeomen, and I will that all be well horsed.’
So they made them ready in the freshest manner. And these were the names of the knights: Sir Kay le Seneschal, Sir Agravain, Sir Brandiles, Sir Sagramore le Desirous, Sir Dodinas le Savage, Sir Ozanna le Coeur Hardi, Sir Ladinas of the Forest Savage, Sir Persant of Inde, Sir Ironside that was called the Knight of the Red Launds, and Sir Pelleas the lover. And these ten knights made them ready in the freshest manner to ride with the Queen.
And so upon the morn or it were day, in a May morning, they took their horses with the Queen and rode on maying in woods and meadows as it pleased them, in great joy and delights; for the Queen had cast to have been again with King Arthur at the furthest by ten of the clock, and so was that time her purpose.
Then there was a knight which hight Sir Meliagaunt, and he was son unto King Bagdemagus; and this knight had that time a castle of the gift of King Arthur within seven miles of Westminster. And this knight Sir Meliagaunt loved passing well Queen Guenivere, and so had he done long and many years. And the book saith he had lain in wait for to steal away the Queen, but evermore he forbore for because of Sir Lancelot; for in no wise he would meddle with the Queen and Sir Lancelot were in her company, or else and he were nearhand.*
And that time was such a custom that the Queen rode never without a great fellowship of men of arms about her, and they were many good knights, and the most part were young men that would have worship; and they were called the Queen’s Knights. And never in no battle, tournament, nor jousts, they bore none of them no manner of knowledging of their own arms, but plain white shields, and thereby they were called the Queen’s Knights. And when it happed any of them to be of great worship by his noble deeds, then at the next feast of Pentecost, if there were any slain or dead—as there was no year that there failed but there were some dead—then was there chosen in his stead that was dead,* the most men of worship that were called the Queen’s Knights. And thus they came up first before they were renowned men of worship, both Sir Lancelot and all the remnant of them.
But this knight, Sir Meliagaunt, had espied the Queen well and her purpose, and how Sir Lancelot was not with her, and how she had no men of arms with her but the t
en noble knights all arrayed in green for maying. Then he purveyed him twenty men of arms and a hundred archers for to distress the Queen and her knights, for he thought that time was best season to take the Queen.
[2]
So as the Queen was out on maying with all her knights, which were bedashed* with herbs, mosses, and flowers in the freshest manner, right so there came out of a wood Sir Meliagaunt with eight score men, all harnessed as they should fight in a battle of arrest,* and bade the Queen and her knights abide, for maugre their heads they should abide.
‘Traitor knight,’ said Queen Guenivere, ‘what cast* thou to do? Wilt thou shame thyself? Bethink thee how thou art a king’s son and a knight of the Table Round, and thou thus to be about to dishonour the noble king that made thee knight!—thou shamest all knighthood and thyself and me. And I let thee wit thou shalt never shame me, for I had liever cut my own throat in twain rather than thou should dishonour me.’
‘As for all this language,’ said Sir Meliagaunt, ‘be as it be may, for wit you well, madam, I have loved you many a year, and never or now could I get you at such avail; and therefore I will take you as I find you.’
Then spoke all the ten noble knights at once and said, ‘Sir Meliagaunt, wit thou well thou art about to jeopardy thy worship to dishonour, and also ye cast to jeopardy your persons, howbeit we be unarmed and ye have us at a great advantage, for it seemeth by you that ye have laid watch upon us. But rather than ye should put the Queen to a shame and us all, we had as lief to depart from our lives; for and we other ways did, we were shamed for ever.’
Then said Sir Meliagaunt, ‘Dress you as well ye can, and keep the Queen!’
Then the ten knights of the Round Table drew their swords, and these others let run at them with their spears; and the ten knights manly abode them, and smote away their spears that no spear did them no harm. Then they lashed together with swords, and anon Sir Kay, Sir Sagramore, Sir Agravain, Sir Dodinas, Sir Ladinas, and Sir Ozanna were smitten to the earth with grimly wounds. Then Sir Brandiles and Sir Persant, Sir Ironside and Sir Pelleas fought long, and they were sore wounded; for these ten knights, or ever they were laid to the ground, slew forty men of the boldest and the best of them.
So when the Queen saw her knights thus dolefully wounded, and needs must be slain at the last, then for pity and sorrow she cried and said, ‘Sir Meliagaunt, slay not my noble knights, and I will go with thee upon this covenant, that thou save them and suffer them no more to be hurt; with this,* that they be led with me wheresoever thou leadest me. For I will rather slay myself than I will go with thee, unless that these noble knights may be in my presence.’
‘Madam,’ said Sir Meliagaunt, ‘for your sake they shall be led with you into my own castle, with that ye will be ruled, and ride with me.’
Then the Queen prayed the four knights to leave their fighting, and she and they would not part.
‘Madam,’ said Sir Pelleas, ‘we will do as ye do, for as for me I take no force of my life nor death.’
For as the French book saith, Sir Pelleas gave such buffets there that no armour might hold* him.
[3]
Then by the Queen’s commandment they left battle and dressed the wounded knights on horseback, some sitting and some overthwart their horses, that it was pity to behold. And then Sir Meliagaunt charged the Queen and all her knights that none of her fellowship should depart from her; for full sore he dreaded Sir Lancelot du Lake, lest he should have any knowledging. And all this espied the Queen, and privily she called unto her a child of her chamber which was swiftly horsed, of a great advantage.*
‘Now go thou,’ said she, ‘when thou seest thy time, and bear this ring unto Sir Lancelot du Lake, and pray him as he loveth me that he will see me and rescue me, if ever he will have joy of me. And spare not thy horse,’ said the Queen, ‘neither for water nor for land.’
So this child espied his time, and lightly he took his horse with spurs and departed as fast as he might. And when Sir Meliagaunt saw him so flee, he understood that it was by the Queen’s commandment for to warn Sir Lancelot. Then they that were best horsed chased him and shot at him, but from them all the child went deliverly.
And then Sir Meliagaunt said unto the Queen, ‘Madam, ye are about to betray me, but I shall ordain for Sir Lancelot that he shall not come lightly at you.’
And then he rode with her and all the fellowship in all the haste that they might. And so by the way Sir Meliagaunt laid in ambush of the best archers that he had thirty to await upon Sir Lancelot, charging them that if they saw such a manner of knight come by the way upon a white horse, ‘that in any wise ye slay his horse, but in no manner have ye ado with him bodily, for he is over hard to be overcome.’
So this was done, and they were come to his castle. But in no wise the Queen would never let none of the ten knights and her ladies out of her sight, but always they were in her presence. For the book saith, Sir Meliagaunt durst make no masteries* for dread of Sir Lancelot, insomuch he deemed that he had warning.
So when the child was departed from the fellowship of Sir Meliagaunt, within a while he came to Westminster, and anon he found Sir Lancelot. And when he had told his message and delivered him the Queen’s ring, ‘Alas,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘now am I shamed for ever, unless that I may rescue that noble lady from dishonour.’
Then eagerly he asked his arms; and ever the child told Sir Lancelot how the ten knights fought marvellously, and how Sir Pelleas, Sir Ironside, Sir Brandiles, and Sir Persant of Inde fought strongly, but namely* Sir Pelleas, there might no harness hold him; and how they all fought till they were laid to the earth; and how the Queen made appointment* for to save their lives and to go with Sir Meliagaunt.
‘Alas,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘that most noble lady, that she should be so destroyed! I had liever’, said Sir Lancelot, ‘than all France, that I had been there well armed.’
So when Sir Lancelot was armed and upon his horse, he prayed the child of the Queen’s chamber to warn Sir Lavain how suddenly he was departed, and for what cause. ‘And pray him as he loveth me, that he will hie him after me; and that he stint not until he come to the castle where Sir Meliagaunt abideth, for there’, said Sir Lancelot, ‘he shall hear of me, and I be a man living.’
[4]
Then Sir Lancelot rode as fast as he might; and the book saith he took the water at Westminster Bridge, and made his horse swim over the Thames unto Lambeth. And so within a while he came to the same place there as the ten noble knights fought with Sir Meliagaunt; and then Sir Lancelot followed the track until that he came to a wood, and there was a strait way. And there the thirty archers bade Sir Lancelot turn again and follow no longer that track.
‘What commandment have ye,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘to cause me that am a knight of the Round Table to leave my right way?’
‘This way shalt thou leave, or else thou shalt go it on thy foot; for wit thou well thy horse shall be slain.’
‘That is little mastery,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘to slay my horse; but as for myself, when my horse is slain, I give right nought of you,* not and ye were five hundred more.’
So then they shot Sir Lancelot’s horse, and smote him with many arrows. And then Sir Lancelot avoided his horse and went on foot; but there were so many ditches and hedges betwixt them and him that he might not meddle* with none of them.
‘Alas, for shame,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘that ever one knight should betray another knight. But it is an old-said saw, “A good man is never in danger but when he is in the danger of a coward.” ’*
Then Sir Lancelot walked on a while, and was sore encumbered of his armour, his shield, and his spear; wit you well, he was full sore annoyed,* and full loath he was for to leave anything that longed unto him, for he dreaded sore the treason of Sir Meliagaunt. Then by fortune there came a chariot* that came thither to fetch wood.
‘Say me, carter,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘what shall I give thee to suffer me to leap into thy chariot, and that thou wilt bring me un
to a castle within these two miles?’
‘Thou shalt not enter into this chariot,’ said the carter, ‘for I am sent for to fetch wood.’
‘Unto whom?’ said Sir Lancelot.
‘Unto my lord, Sir Meliagaunt,’ said the carter.
‘And with him would I speak,’ said Sir Lancelot.
‘Thou shalt not go with me,’ said the carter.
Then Sir Lancelot leapt to him, and gave him backward with his gauntlet a rearmain* that he fell to the earth stark dead. Then the other carter, his fellow, was afraid, and weened to have gone the same way; and then he said, ‘Fair lord, save my life, and I shall bring you where ye will.’
‘Then I charge thee,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘that thou drive me and this chariot unto Sir Meliagaunt’s gate.’
‘Then leap ye up into the chariot,’ said the carter, ‘and ye shall be there anon.’
So the carter drove on a great gallop, and Sir Lancelot’s horse followed the chariot with more than forty arrows in him.
And more than an hour and a half Dame Guenivere was awaiting* in a bay window; then one of her ladies espied an armed knight standing in a chariot.
‘Ah, see, madam,’ said the lady, ‘where rides in a chariot a goodly armed knight, and we suppose he rideth unto hanging.’*
‘Where?’ said the Queen.
Then she espied by his shield that it was Sir Lancelot; and then was she ware where came his horse after that chariot, and ever he trod his guts and his paunch under his feet.
‘Alas,’ said the Queen, ‘now I may prove and see that well is that creature that hath a trusty friend. Ah,’ said Queen Guenivere, ‘I see well that ye were hard bestead when ye ride in a chariot.’ And then she rebuked that lady that likened Sir Lancelot to ride in a chariot to hanging. ‘For sooth, it was foul mouthed,’ said the Queen, ‘and evil likened, so for to liken the most noble knight of the world unto such a shameful death. Ah, Jesu defend him and keep him,’ said the Queen, ‘from all mischievous end.’
Le Morte Darthur: The Winchester Manuscript (Oxford World's Classics) Page 57
