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

by Malory, Thomas

  ‘Now put me into that barge,’ said the King.

  And so he did softly; and there received him three ladies with great mourning. And so they set them down, and in one of their laps King Arthur laid his head. And then the queen said, ‘Ah, my dear brother, why have ye tarried so long from me? Alas, this wound on your head hath caught over-much cold.’

  And anon they rowed from the land, and Sir Bedivere beheld all those ladies go from him. Then Sir Bedivere cried and said, ‘Ah, my lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now ye go from me and leave me here alone among mine enemies?’

  ‘Comfort thyself,’ said the King, ‘and do as well as thou mayest, for in me is no trust for to trust in. For I will into the vale of Avilion to heal me of my grievous wound; and if thou hear never more of me, pray for my soul.’*

  [6]

  But ever the queen and ladies wept and shrieked, that it was pity to hear. And as soon as Sir Bedivere had lost the sight of the barge, he wept and wailed, and so took the forest and went all that night. And in the morning he was ware betwixt two holts hoar,* of a chapel and a hermitage. Then was Sir Bedivere fain, and thither he went; and when he came into the chapel, he saw where lay a hermit grovelling on all fours, fast there by a tomb was new graven. When the hermit saw Sir Bedivere he knew him well, for he was but little before Bishop of Canterbury, that Sir Mordred flemed.*

  ‘Sir,’ said Sir Bedivere, ‘what man is there here interred that ye pray so fast for?’

  ‘Fair son,’ said the hermit, ‘I wot not verily, but by deeming.* But this same night at midnight, here came a number of ladies, and brought here a dead corpse, and prayed me to inter him; and here they offered a hundred tapers, and they gave me a thousand bezants.’*

  ‘Alas,’ said Sir Bedivere, ‘that was my lord King Arthur, which lieth here graven* in this chapel.’

  Then Sir Bedivere swooned; and when he awoke he prayed the hermit that he might abide with him still, there to live with fasting and prayers. ‘For from hence will I never go,’ said Sir Bedivere, ‘by my will, but all the days of my life here to pray for my lord Arthur.’

  ‘Sir, ye are welcome to me,’ said the hermit, ‘for I know you better than ye ween that I do: for ye are Sir Bedivere the bold, and the full noble duke Sir Lucan the Butler was your brother.’

  Then Sir Bedivere told the hermit all as ye have heard before. And so he beleft* with the hermit that was beforehand Bishop of Canterbury, and there Sir Bedivere put upon him poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and in prayers.

  Thus of Arthur I find no more written in books that be authorized, nor more of the very certainty of his death heard I never read, but thus was he led away in a ship wherein were three queens; that one was King Arthur’s sister, Queen Morgan le Fay, the other was the Queen of Northgales, and the third was the Queen of the Waste Lands. Also there was Dame Nenive, the chief lady of the lake, which had wedded Pelleas the good knight, and this lady had done much for King Arthur. And this Dame Nenive would never suffer Sir Pelleas to be in no place where he should be in danger of his life, and so he lived to the uttermost of his days with her in great rest.

  Now more of the death of King Arthur could I never find, but that these ladies brought him to his grave; and such one was interred there which the hermit bore witness, that sometime was Bishop of Canterbury. But yet the hermit knew not in certain that he was verily the body of King Arthur; for this tale Sir Bedivere, a knight of the Table Round, made it to be written.

  [7]

  Yet some men say in many parts of England that King Arthur is not dead, but had by the will of Our Lord Jesu into another place; and men say that he shall come again, and he shall win the Holy Cross.* Yet I will not say that it shall be so; but rather I would say, here in this world he changed his life. But many men say that there is written upon the tomb this:

  Hie iacet Arthurus, rex quondam rexque futurus.*

  And thus leave I here Sir Bedivere with the hermit, that dwelled that time in a chapel beside Glastonbury, and there was his hermitage. And so they lived in prayers and fastings and great abstinence.

  And when Queen Guenivere understood that King Arthur was dead and all the noble knights, Sir Mordred, and all the remnant, then she stole away with five ladies with her, and so she went to Amesbury;* and there she let* make herself a nun, and wore white clothes and black, and great penance she took upon her as ever did sinful woman in this land. And never creature could make her merry; but ever she lived in fasting, prayers, and alms-deeds, that all manner of people marvelled how virtuously she was changed.

  Now leave we the Queen in Amesbury, a nun in white clothes and black, and there she was abbess and ruler as reason would. And now turn we from her, and speak we of Sir Lancelot du Lake.

  [8]

  When he heard in his country that Sir Mordred was crowned king in England, and made war against King Arthur, his own father, and would let him to land in his own land; also it was told him how Sir Mordred had laid a siege about the Tower of London, because the Queen would not wed him—then was Sir Lancelot wroth out of measure, and said to his kinsmen,

  ‘Alas, that double traitor Sir Mordred, now me repenteth that ever he escaped my hands, for much shame hath he done unto my lord Arthur. For I feel by this doleful letter that Sir Gawain sent me, on whose soul Jesu have mercy, that my lord Arthur is full hard bestead. Alas,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘that ever I should live to hear of that most noble king that made me knight thus to be overset with his subject in his own realm! And this doleful letter that my lord Sir Gawain hath sent me before his death, praying me to see his tomb, wit you well his doleful words shall never go from my heart, for he was a full noble knight as ever was born. And in an unhappy hour was I born that ever I should have that mishap to slay first Sir Gawain, Sir Gaheris the good knight, and my own friend Sir Gareth that was a full noble knight. Now, alas, I may say I am unhappy that ever I should do thus, and yet, alas, might I never have hap to slay that traitor, Sir Mordred.’

  ‘Now leave your complaints,’ said Sir Bors, ‘and first revenge you of the death of Sir Gawain, on whose soul Jesu have mercy, and it will be well done that ye see his tomb. And secondly, that ye revenge my lord Arthur and my lady Queen Guenivere.’

  ‘I thank you,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘for ever ye will my worship.’

  Then they made them ready in all haste that might be, with ships and galleys, with him and his host to pass into England. And so at the last he came to Dover; and there he landed with seven kings, and the number was hideous to behold.

  Then Sir Lancelot spered* of men of Dover where was the King become. And anon the people told him how he was slain and Sir Mordred too, with a hundred thousand that died upon a day; and how Sir Mordred gave King Arthur the first battle there at his landing, and there was Sir Gawain slain; and upon the morn Sir Mordred fought with the King on Barham Down, and there the King put Sir Mordred to the worse.

  ‘Alas,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘this is the heaviest tidings that ever came to my heart. Now, fair sirs,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘show me the tomb of Sir Gawain.’

  And anon he was brought into the castle of Dover, and so they showed him the tomb. Then Sir Lancelot kneeled down by the tomb and wept, and prayed heartily for his soul. And that night he let make a dole* for all that would come of the town or of the country: they had as much flesh and fish and wine and ale, and every man and woman he dealt twelve pence, come whoso would. Thus with his own hand dealt he this money, in a mourning gown; and ever he wept heartily, and prayed the people to pray for the soul of Sir Gawain. And on the morn all the priests and clerks that might be gotten in the country and in the town were there, and sang Masses of requiem. And there offered first Sir Lancelot, and he offered a hundred pounds; and then the seven kings offered, and each of them offered forty pounds. Also there was a thousand knights, and each of them offered a pound; and the offering dured from the morn to night. And Sir Lancelot lay two nights upon his tomb in prayers and in doleful weeping.

/>   Then on the third day, Sir Lancelot called the kings, dukes, and earls, with the barons and all his noble knights, and said thus: ‘My fair lords, I thank you all of your coming into this country with me. But wit you well, all we are come too late, and that shall repent me while I live; but against death may no man rebel. But sithen it is so,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘I will myself ride and seek my lady, Queen Guenivere; for as I hear say she hath had great pain and much disease,* and I hear say that she is fled into the west. And therefore ye all shall abide me here, and but if I come again within these fifteen days, take your ships and your fellowship and depart into your country, for I will do as I say you.’

  [9]

  Then came Sir Bors and said, ‘My lord Sir Lancelot, what think ye for to do now for to ride in this realm? Wit you well ye shall find few friends.’

  ‘Be as be may as for that,’ said Sir Lancelot. ‘Keep you still here, for I will forth on my journey, and no man nor child shall go with me.’

  So it was no boot to strive,* but he departed and rode westerly, and there he sought seven or eight days; and at the last he came to a nunnery. And anon Queen Guenivere was ware of Sir Lancelot as she walked in the cloister; and anon as she saw him there she swooned thrice, that all ladies and gentlewomen had work enough to hold the Queen from the earth.

  So when she might speak, she called her ladies and gentlewomen to her, and then she said thus: ‘Ye marvel, fair ladies, why I make this fare. Truly,’ she said, ‘it is for the sight of yonder knight that yonder standeth; wherefore I pray you call him hither to me.’

  Then Sir Lancelot was brought before her; then the Queen said to all those ladies, ‘Through this same man and me hath all this war been wrought, and the death of the most noblest knights of the world; for through our love that we have loved together is my most noble lord slain. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, wit thou well I am set in such a plight to get my soul health; and yet I trust through God’s grace and through His Passion of His wounds wide, that after my death I may have a sight of the blessed face of Christ Jesu, and at Doomsday to sit on His right side;* for as sinful as ever I was, now are saints in heaven. And therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require thee and beseech thee heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me no more in the visage. And I command thee, on God’s behalf, that thou forsake my company; and to thy kingdom look thou turn again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. For as well as I have loved thee heretofore, my heart will not serve now to see thee, for through thee and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed. And therefore go thou to thy realm, and there take ye a wife and live with her with joy and bliss. And I pray thee heartily to pray for me to the everlasting Lord that I may amend my misliving.’

  ‘Now, my sweet madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘would ye that I should turn again unto my country, and there to wed a lady? Nay, madam, wit you well, that shall I never do, for I shall never be so false unto you of that I have promised. But the self* destiny that ye have taken you to, I will take me to, for the pleasure of Jesu; and ever for you I cast me* specially to pray.’

  ‘Ah, Sir Lancelot, if ye will do so and hold thy promise! But I may never believe you,’ said the Queen, ‘but that ye will turn to the world again.’

  [10]

  ‘Well, madam,’ said he, ‘ye say as it pleaseth you, for yet wist ye me never false of my promise. And God defend but I should forsake the world as ye have done, for in the quest of the Sangrail I had that time forsaken the vanities of the world had not your love been. And if I had done so at that time with my heart, will, and thought, I had passed all the knights that ever were in the Sangrail except Sir Galahad,* my son. And therefore, lady, sithen ye have taken you to perfection, I must needs take me to perfection, of right. For I take record of God, in you I have had mine earthly joy; and if I had found you now so disposed, I had cast me to have had you into mine own realm. But sithen I find you thus disposed, I ensure you faithfully, I will ever take me to penance and pray while my life lasteth, if that I may find any hermit, either grey or white,* that will receive me. Wherefore, madam, I pray you kiss me, and never no more.’

  ‘Nay,’ said the Queen, ‘that shall I never do, but abstain you from such works.’ And they departed; but there was never so hard a hearted man but he would have wept to see the dolour that they made, for there was lamentation as they had been stung with spears. And many times they swooned, and the ladies bore the Queen to her chamber. And Sir Lancelot awoke, and went and took his horse, and rode all that day and all night in a forest, weeping.

  And at last he was ware of a hermitage and a chapel stood betwixt two cliffs; and then he heard a little bell ring to Mass, and thither he rode and alit and tied his horse to the gate, and heard Mass, and he that sang Mass was the Bishop of Canterbury. Both the bishop and Sir Bedivere knew Sir Lancelot, and they spoke together after Mass; but when Sir Bedivere had told his tale all whole, Sir Lancelot’s heart almost brast for sorrow. And Sir Lancelot threw his arms abroad and said, ‘Alas, who may trust this world?’

  And then he kneeled down on his knee, and prayed the bishop to shrive him and assoil* him; and then he besought the bishop that he might be his brother.* Then the bishop said, ‘I will gladly,’ and there he put a habit upon Sir Lancelot. And there he served God day and night with prayers and fastings.

  Thus the great host abode at Dover. And then Sir Lionel took fifteen lords with him, and rode to London to seek Sir Lancelot; and there Sir Lionel was slain, and many of his lords. Then Sir Bors de Ganis made the great host for to go home again; and Sir Bors, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Blamor, Sir Bleoberis, with more other of Sir Lancelot’s kin, took on them to ride all England overthwart and endlong to seek Sir Lancelot.

  So Sir Bors by fortune rode so long till he came to the same chapel where Sir Lancelot was; and so Sir Bors heard a little bell knell that rang to Mass, and there he alit and heard Mass. And when Mass was done, the bishop, Sir Lancelot, and Sir Bedivere came to Sir Bors; and when Sir Bors saw Sir Lancelot in that manner clothing, then he prayed the bishop that he might be in the same suit.* And so there was a habit put upon him, and there he lived in prayers and fasting. And within half a year, there was come Sir Galihud, Sir Galihodin, Sir Blamor, Sir Bleoberis, Sir Villiars, Sir Clarrus, and Sir Gahalantine. So all these seven noble knights there abode still; and when they saw Sir Lancelot had taken him to such perfection, they had no lust to depart, but took such a habit as he had.

  Thus they endured in great penance six years; and then Sir Lancelot took the habit of priesthood of the bishop, and a twelve-month he sang Mass. And there was none of these other knights but they read in books, and helped for to sing Mass, and rang bells, and did lowly all manner of service. And so their horses went where they would, for they took no regard of no worldly riches; for when they saw Sir Lancelot endure such penance in prayers and fastings, they took no force* what pain they endured, for to see the noblest knight of the world take such abstinence that he waxed full lean.

  And thus upon a night there came a vision to Sir Lancelot, and charged him, in remission of his sins, to haste him unto Amesbury: ‘And by then thou come there, thou shalt find Queen Guenivere dead. And therefore take thy fellows with thee and purvey them of a horse bier, and fetch thou the corpse of her, and bury her by her husband, the noble King Arthur.’ So this vision came to Sir Lancelot thrice in one night.

  [11]

  Then Sir Lancelot rose up or day, and told the hermit.

  ‘It were well done’, said the hermit, ‘that ye made you ready, and that ye disobey not the vision.’

  Then Sir Lancelot took his seven fellows with him, and on foot they yede from Glastonbury to Amesbury, the which is little more than thirty miles. And thither they came within two days, for they were weak and feeble to go. And when Sir Lancelot was come to Amesbury within the nunnery, Queen Guenivere died but half an hour before. And the ladies told Sir Lancelot that Queen Guenivere told them all or she passed, that Sir Lancelot had been priest near a t
welvemonth, ‘And hither he cometh as fast as he may to fetch my corpse; and beside my lord, King Arthur, he shall bury me.’ Wherefore the Queen said in hearing of them all, ‘I beseech Almighty God that I may never have power to see Sir Lancelot with my worldly eyes.’ ‘And thus,’ said all the ladies, ‘was ever her prayer these two days, till she was dead.’

  Then Sir Lancelot saw her visage, but he wept not greatly, but sighed. And so he did all the observance of the service himself, both the dirge,* and on the morn he sang Mass. And there was ordained a horse bier; and so with a hundred torches ever burning about the corpse of the Queen, and ever Sir Lancelot with his seven fellows went about the horse bier singing and reading many a holy orison, and frankincense upon the corpse incensed.

  Thus Sir Lancelot and his seven fellows went on foot from Ames-bury unto Glastonbury; and when they were come to the chapel and the hermitage, there she had a dirge with great devotion, and on the morn the hermit that sometime was Bishop of Canterbury sang the Mass of requiem with great devotion. And Sir Lancelot was the first that offered, and then all his eight fellows. And then she was wrapped in cered* cloth of Rennes, from the top to the toe, in thirtyfold; and after she was put in a web* of lead, and then in a coffin of marble. And when she was put in the earth, Sir Lancelot swooned and lay long still, while the hermit came and awaked him, and said, ‘Ye be to blame, for ye displease God with such manner of sorrow-making.’

  ‘Truly,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘I trust I do not displease God, for He knoweth my intent. For my sorrow was not, nor is not, for any rejoicing of sin, but my sorrow may never have end. For when I remember of her beauty and of her noblesse, that was both with her king and with her, so when I saw his corpse and her corpse so lie together, truly my heart would not serve to sustain my careful* body. Also when I remember me how by my fault, my orgule,* and my pride that they were both laid full low, that were peerless that ever was living of Christian people—wit you well,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘this remembered of their kindness and my unkindness sank so to my heart, that I might not sustain myself.’ So the French book maketh mention.