Bagdemagus, 'which no man may bear about his neck, but he is injured or
slain within three days. Yet to-morrow I will adventure to win it.'
In the morning, therefore, after they had heard mass, King Bagdemagus
asked the abbot to show him where was the shield. Then was he led to
the high altar in the church, and behind it was hung a shield which
glowed with shining whiteness, and in the middle thereof was a red
cross which seemed to quiver as if it were living.
'Sir,' said the abbot, 'this shield ought not to hang about any
knight's neck unless he be one of the three best knights of the world,
and I counsel you to beware.'
'No matter,' said King Bagdemagus, 'I will essay it, for though I am
not Sir Lancelot, yet I am a good knight enough.'
This he said in his pride, and took the shield and put the strap about
his neck, and bade good-bye to the other twain, and so went forth with
his squire.
They had not ridden but two miles or more, when at the opening to a
wood Sir Bagdemagus saw a knight in white armour on a horse, riding up
and down as if to do battle with any that should venture to go into the
forest drive.
When the white knight saw him he called out:
'Who art thou? Thou bearest the shield of a knight peerless, but not
the armour.'
'Who am I?' replied King Bagdemagus scornfully. 'I am he that shall
give a good account of myself with thee.'
With that he levelled his lance and ran furiously upon the knight. But
the other stood still, and when the spear-head was nigh his shield, he
lightly turned it aside, and as Sir Bagdemagus swept by, the knight,
with a quick fierce stroke of his sword, smote him so hard that the
blade bit through the mail even to the shoulder-bone; whereby Sir
Bagdemagus fell to the ground in a swoon.
The white knight called the squire to him and said:
'Bear ye this shield to the young knight, Sir Galahad, who is at the
white abbey. Greet him from me, and say that it is for him to wear this
shield, and none other. And tell him that I shall meet him erelong, if
God wills, and that we shall fare together to that which is appointed
for us.'
The squire did as he was bidden, and told Sir Galahad of the white
knight's words. Sir Galahad asked him what was the device upon the
shield of the white knight, and he answered, 'A red heart.' Then said
the young knight, 'It shall be even as he saith.'
Sir Galahad mounted his horse and rode alone, ever northward, for he
knew that the Holy Graal was hidden in a castle somewhere in the north
among the warring barons. Many days he rode without adventure, until on
a day he came to an old and venerable wood, dark and thick and close,
where the moss hung like thick beards from the hoary branches.
There, in a laund or glade in the midmost part of the forest, he found
an old and white dame, kneeling before a green cross beside the path,
weeping piteously as she prayed and beat her breast.
'What ails ye, lady?' asked Sir Galahad.
'Ah, good knight,' said the old dame, and as she rose it was well seen
she was of gentle birth, I weep for that I have lived to see the day
when sons of mine shall slay each the other. I have three sons, and all
are of the worshipful company of the Round Table. But two are wasteful
livers, and have taken from me all that whereby I lived; and ever hath
my youngest boy, Sir Hewlin, withstood their evil ways. Wherefore they
hated him. And yesterday did Sir Nulloth and Sir Dew, my elder sons,
return, and did quarrel with my dear lad Hewlin. And now I fear they go
about to slay him. Oh, if that they kill him, who is the prop and
comfort of my old age, I shall surely die.'
'Sad it is, lady,' said Sir Galahad, and mournful was his mind, 'to
think that in this dear land of Britain there should be knights that
are given to such thoughts of evil as to slay their own kin. Lead me to
them, I pray ye.'
He set the dame upon his saddle before him, and she led the way through
the forest. When they had gone but a mile she started, and stopped the
horse, and then they heard the sound of clashing steel. Sadly did that
poor lady shriek and cry:
'Ah! they slay him now! My dear son! My dear boy!'
Swiftly Sir Galahad made his horse to leap forward, and in a little
while they came upon a great meadow, where two knights on foot were
together fighting another single knight with swords. Forthwith Sir
Galahad cried with a loud and a stern voice, 'Hold, put up your swords,
ye evil brothers, that would slay each other!'
All turned at the cry. Then, seeing his mother, the young knight Sir
Hewlin threw down his sword. And leaping from Sir Galahad's horse the
reverend lady tottered to her youngest son and threw herself upon his
breast, and he clasped his mother in his arms.
But the two evil brothers laughed scornfully at Sir Galahad.
'Who art thou, thou knight in red?' they cried. 'Thinkest thou to
frighten us with thy big words?'
Quickly they mounted their horses and ran upon Sir Galahad together.
But the lance of one he received upon his shield, and the weapon
snapped in twain; and that of the other he thrust aside and, as the
knight thundered by, he brought down his sword, with so fierce and
wrathful a stroke, that the head of the knight flew from his shoulders.
Seeing this, the other, who was Sir Nulloth, made haste to throw
himself from his horse, and came and kneeled before Sir Galahad,
praying mercy.
'I know who ye are,' he said. 'You are Sir Galahad, the stainless
knight, who shall prevail in all thy deeds, and whom no weapon may
wound until ye have fulfilled your high destiny. And I will do
faithfully any behest ye may lay upon me.'
'I will then,' said Sir Galahad sternly, 'that thou makest peace with
thy mother and thy brother here instantly; that thou seekest naught of
them till thy dying day, which shall not be far from thee; and that
thou goest this day and place thyself in the service of Sir Bedevere,
or Sir Uriens upon the coasts, and help to thrust forth the hateful
pagan from the land.'
The knight swore to do all this, and after he had made his peace with
his kindred, he set forth to do Sir Galahad's bidding. And it was as
the stainless knight had foretold, for in seven days Sir Nulloth had
found death, bravely fighting the pagan pirates.
Sir Galahad went forward, sore of heart to think that such evil was in
the land and in men's minds, that any could be found to wish the death
of a brother and to care naught for the sorrow of an old mother.
Thus for many months Sir Galahad rode about the land, seeking out the
knights who, with their bands of soldiers, fought to wrest from each
other land and castles. And ever he strove to make peace between them,
and to show them how, while they fought with each other, Christian
against Christian, the pagan hordes were let unhindered into the land,
ravening, burning, and slaying.
Some of the battling knights did forsake their evil ways, and went to
Sir Bedevere and Sir Uriens, with whom they strove to push back the
fierce pagans into their long black ships. But many others, so lost to
honour and knightliness were they, performed not their promises, and
continued to fight each with the other.
So fierce, indeed, was the fighting through all that land, that the
peasants forsook the fields and hid themselves; and the pagans from the
northern wilderness came over the walls and wandered, killing and
burning and robbing. And thus in many parts the crops were not sown or
reaped, the wheat stood unharvested and wild, and the grass and weeds
grew tall on the very hearths of the poor peasants and husbandmen.
The heart of Sir Galahad grew sick, seeing the evil which was come into
the land, and he feared that soon the Holy Graal would be taken from
the island of Britain, and that then ruin would stalk throughout the
length and breadth of the realm.
Once, at the dawning, Sir Galahad looked from the door of a little
hermitage where he had passed the night, and was aware of a great
company of men coming over the moor. They were all horsed, and were
going towards the sea, which was on the right hand, where steep and
fearful cliffs fell sheer to the thundering surf beneath. And in their
midst he saw they held captive a full noble knight, who seemed wounded,
and whose armour was all broken and cracked, as if he had fought
valiantly before he had been overcome. Him they were going to hurl
headlong down the cliffs.
Sir Galahad began to arm himself full hastily to meet them. But as he
dressed his armour he was aware of a knight coming swiftly from a
little wood that lay towards the sea-edge. Then was the heart of Sir
Galahad exceeding joyful when he saw that the knight was all in white
armour, and that on his shield was the device of a heart; for he knew
that this was Sir Perceval.
Sir Perceval spurred towards the band of knights, and in a loud voice
called on them to release their captive.
'Who art thou?' they cried.
'I am a knight of the Pendragon of these islands, King Arthur,'
answered Perceval, 'and thy captive is my friend, Sir Bors of
Brittany.'
'Ha! ha!' the others laughed, and spurred furiously towards him. 'Slay
him!' they shouted. 'We own no Arthur here. We are our own lords.'
With spears in rest, seven of the knights thundered against Sir
Perceval. But by this time Sir Galahad was upon his horse, and, making
no outcry, he spurred upon the others.
Three knights he dashed to the ground with one lance-thrust; but then
the spear broke. Therewith he drew his sword, and smote in the thick of
them so furiously on the left and on the right that they could not
abide him, but fled from about Sir Bors, who, wresting a sword from one
of them, rode after the seven that were fighting Sir Perceval.
So valiantly and hardily did the three knights lay about them that in a
little while their enemies had fled, leaving more than half their
number slain.
Then did the three knights make great cheer and welcome of each other,
and told each their adventures, and promised that now they were
together they would never more part till death should summon them.
So, together, they fared thereafter many months, doing noble deeds, and
seeking earnestly to bring men's hearts to turn to friendship and
union, so that, united, the lords of the northern lands should turn
upon the pagans and destroy them utterly.
It befell that, on a morn, they came to a castle on a great cliff that
was in the marches of Scotland; and they heard a horn sound in that
castle and much shouting. On the walls thereof were men of a savage
aspect, peering and looking down at them. And those men had fair hair,
with steel helms which had great horns or wings upon them. On their
tall bodies were leather jerkins, with gold chains and many ornaments.
Then Sir Galahad and his friends were aware that on the topmost
pinnacle of the castle was a banner, floating and flapping in the
morning wind. Black was that banner, and in the midmost part thereof
was a golden raven, with beaks open as if it croaked, and its wings
were wide thrown, as if it flew over a field of slain men.
They knew that this was a horde of pagans who had wrested this castle
from its rightful lord, and that full fierce would be the battle.
Then from a hole or cave beneath a tree near by came a maiden, richly
dressed, but sad and pitiable of face and thin of form, as if from long
pining.
'Fair lords,' said she, 'for God His love turn again if ye may, or else
here ye will come unto your death.'
'Nay,' said Sir Galahad, 'we will not turn again, for He shall help us
in whose service we be entered in. Who are ye, fair damsel, in such
painful guise?'
'Fair lords, I am Issyllt,' said the maiden, and the tears filled her
eyes. 'My father is Earl Hernox, the lord of this castle. And whether
he be dead by torture at the hands of his hateful enemies and these
fiends, or whether he be still alive against a time when they have more
leisure to torture him, I know not. But three nights ago came certain
knights with a horde of these evil pagans, and stormed this castle, and
for all my dear father's valiant deeds, and the prowess of my three
dear brothers, they overcame our people, and my three brothers I saw
slain before my eyes. When they rushed upon my father, my nurse dragged
me away, and we fled hither. But I cannot go away, not knowing whether
my father is dead. And if he be dead I care not whether the pagan
fiends catch and slay me.'
'Fair maiden,' said Sir Galahad, 'be of good heart, for your father may
yet be delivered unto you.'
'Ha, fair lord, I know not how that may be,' said the maiden. Then,
glancing at the castle, she saw the portcullis yawn, and some ten
knights rush forth, with pagans besides on foot. Whereat she clasped
her hands in terror.
'Now God be with ye, fair lords,' she cried. 'You have my prayers, and
may Heaven grant ye victory. But dread is on me for your deaths, brave
knights.'
Full wrathful were the three good knights to hear the girl's sad tale,
and hard was their rage to hear that Christian knights had leagued
themselves with the heathen Saxons so as to get their aid in a private
quarrel with the Earl Hernox. Therefore, very joyously did Galahad and
Perceval leap forward, lances in rest, against the traitorous knights
that rushed towards them from the castle.
Marvellous indeed was it to see the deeds of those three stainless
knights that day; for when their lances were broken, they drew their
swords, and their wrath, their fierceness and their valour, none could
withstand.
While Sir Bors smote with deadly blows the pagans that swarmed about
him, Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval dealt death among the traitorous
knights, so that not one was left alive. And seeing this, the
fair-haired fierce pagans lost heart. Turning, they wished to flee into
the castle and pull down the portcullis.
But swiftly on their heels dashed the three brave knights, and the
pagans, never stopping, heard the hoofs of their horses thunder over
the drawbridge close behind them. The horde of Saxons took flight into
the hall, and there they stood and got breath. But the knights, leaping
from their horses, rushed in on foot, and back to back they met the
onslaught of the yelling heathens.
Very fierce was the anger in the hearts of the three knights, so that
they stayed not their hands even when the pirates gave way and fled
from the dreadful place of slaughter. But the knights pursued them
wheresoever they tried to hide, and hither and thither about the castle
they ran, and in and out the chambers, up and down the stairs, until
for very weariness they had perforce to cease.
Then when they beheld the great multitude of pagans they had slain,
they were sobered and sad, thinking themselves great sinners.
'Certes,' said Sir Bors, 'I ween that God willed that we should slay so
many, for they must have done great evil.'
'They are indeed foul pagans,' said Sir Galahad, 'and have done great
wrong and cruelty in their time to women and little children through
this fair land of Britain. But I doubt we have been mad this little
while to slay so many mothers' sons as these.'
Then from out a secret chamber came a priest, white with great age, and
with a countenance that shone marvellously bright; and when he saw how
many were slain in that hall, he was abashed. Sir Galahad put off his
helm, and the two knights with him, and all three kneeled down and
confessed the madness of their sin which had slain even those that
craved for quarter.
'Ye have done more than ye wist, brave knights,' said the priest, when
he had absolved them; 'for the evil knights that led these pagan
thieves had plotted to gain this castle because of the great and holy
treasures that are hidden here. And by a prophecy I know that ye are
the three good knights, peerless among all, who should achieve this
deed. Therefore, when ye have ordered these slain to be removed, and
when the hall shall be garnished and your harness shall be cleaned of
the signs of battle, ye shall see that which hath been ordained for
ye.'
When all had been done as they had commanded, and the place well
cleansed and fresh rushes laid along the floor, the three knights sat
on a bench, and the Earl Hernox and the maid Issyllt with them, and
there was much cheer and rejoicing between them all.
Then the old priest called the earl and his daughter from the room, and
left the three knights together. Suddenly, as they sat talking, the
doors were shut and the windows were darkened, and a great wind arose
with a sad sound, wailing and piping. Then the darkness suddenly went
away, and they saw a great light shining in the midmost part of the
hall, so bright and strong that hardly could their eyes suffer it. Soon
through the light they could see a table of silver, whereon was a wide
dish also of silver, marvellously and delicately wrought.
Then the doors opened and they saw angels entering; and two bare
candles of wax, and the third held a towel, and in the hand of the
fourth was a spear which bled marvellously from the point thereof.
Going to the table the angels set the candles and the towel upon it,
and the spear was placed beside the shining vessel.
Of a sudden the knights were aware that there sat one beside the table
who was marvellously old and white; and he was dressed in the habit of
a bishop, and his face was very winning, and a great brightness flowed
from it.
On the breast of his robe were words in the Latin tongue, which said,
'Lo, I am Joseph, the first bishop of Christendom, who did take our
Lord's body down from the cruel rood.'
The three marvelled greatly, for that bishop had been dead more than
four hundred years. Seeing their looks of perplexity, the bishop smiled
sweetly upon them, and said:
'Marvel not, O knights, for though I am now a spirit, I know thy
weakness, and have come to aid thee.'
Then the bishop took up the shining vessel from the table, and came to
Galahad; and the knight kneeled down and took of the food that was
within the holy dish. And after that the other two received it. Of
marvellous savour was the food, and like none that they had ever eaten
or thought of at any time before.
Then the bishop said to Galahad:
'Son, knowest thou what is this vessel I hold in my hands?'
'Nay, holy man, I know not,' replied Galahad.
'It is the holy vessel which men call the Sangreal, out of which our
Lord ate the lamb at the feast before He was betrayed to that death
upon the rood whereby He redeemed the world, if men would but choose
His gentle law.'
'It is what we have most desired to see, holy father,' said Sir
Galahad.
'And it is what, alas, no others in this realm shall ever see,' said
the bishop; and his countenance, which before had been sweet and
gentle, now saddened and was dark. 'For this night it shall depart from
this land of Logris, so that it shall never more be seen here.
'Alas,' cried Galahad and Perceval, 'that is great sorrow to hear. O
holy bishop and spirit, say not that it means that this land shall be
rent in ruin and given up to heathendom again?'
'It must be so,' said the bishop sadly. 'Christ is not served in
gentleness, nor is His law worshipped in this land, where men slay
their brothers, rob their kindred, and make treaties with the pagans.
And its knights are turned to evil livers, desiring mastery and proud
power. Therefore hath Christ sent me to disinherit this land of this
holy thing with which He hath honoured it since that time when I
brought it here four hundred and fifty-five winters ago.'
Hearing these words of doom, Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval wept full
piteously for the fate of their country. When they had mourned greatly,
they asked if there was no hope of turning the land from its evil ways.
'There is none,' said the bishop sorrowfully. 'Have ye three not tried
manfully these last two years since ye have sought that which ye now
see? And all thy labours, thy battling, thy griefs, have they availed
aught? No, it is the will of God that in due time this land and this
people shall be put into the melting-pot. And when the season appointed
shall come, sorrow and death, rebellion and treachery shall stalk
through the land, and naught shall stand of its present kingdoms; the
pagans shall blot out the holy memory of God and Christ, and shall turn
the fanes of prayer into the lairs of wolves, and owls shall rest where
hymns of praise have been sung. And no wars of goodly knights may
hinder these things of dreadful doom. But I have this message for ye
two, Galahad and Perceval; that inasmuch as ye have seen this which you
craved to see, and have lived purely and unspotted from pride or evil,
thy souls shall go with me when I shall depart. But you, my son,' he
said, looking at Sir Bors, 'still find in your heart the love of kin,
and a longing for battle, and so you shall remain, to fight for Christ
while yet you are alive.'
Suddenly a fierce light came where they sat, so that Sir Bors kneeled
as one blinded for a time. When it had passed, he looked and saw where
Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval still kneeled, with their hands lifted as
if in prayer. But there was naught to see of the holy vessel or the
spear, nor was Joseph there.
Then, going to the two knights, he found that they were dead.
Sir Bors knew then that their souls had gone with Joseph and the holy
vessel, and had been borne to the heaven for which their pure and
humble hearts had yearned while yet they lived.
Then Sir Bors made great sorrow for his two fellows, and knew that
never more would he be as joyful or as careless as he had been. With
right heavy mood he craved of Earl Hernox to have a grave dug deep in
the living rock whereon the castle was builded. This the earl gladly
did, and very solemnly the two good knights were buried, and long did
Sir Bors mourn over the grave.
In a little while thereafter Sir Bors armed himself, and departed, and
after many adventures, rode southwards till he came to Camelot. And
there he told the king and such knights as there were, how the two
stainless knights had achieved the Holy Graal, and how their souls had
been taken up with the sacred vessel.
All the court mourned for the two knights, and the king commanded a
history to be written of what Sir Bors had told. It was so done, and
the book richly adorned with many coloured letters, was kept in the
great treasure-chest in the castle of Sarum.
Ever after Sir Bors was a silent man, for he could not forget the holy
and terrible sight he had seen. Of the doom which was coming in due
time upon the dear and fair land of Britain, as was prophesied by St.
Joseph, he told no man, but kept the words fast locked in his heart.
XI
OF THE PLOTS OF SIR MORDRED; AND HOW SIR LANCELOT SAVED THE QUEEN
After the quest of the Sangreal was completed, and all the knights that
were left alive had returned to the court of King Arthur, there was
great joy among the people, and the king and Queen Gwenevere were
passing glad of the remnant that had come home again.
Especially did the queen make much of Sir Lancelot and of Sir Bors his
cousin, for they were the two most noble and courteous knights of the
Round Table, and none thought of them but as men peerless and beyond
compare.
Sir Mordred, who was the king's nephew, was jealous of the two knights,
and went about privily among such knights as were his familiars, and
spoke sneering words concerning Sir Lancelot and the queen and Sir
Bors. Once Sir Mordred said such words in the hearing of his brother
Sir Gawaine; but that knight so heavily and wrathfully took him to
task, that Sir Mordred knew that Sir Gawaine envied not the two
knights, and could never be brought to think other than friendly
thoughts of them.
Therefore Sir Mordred hated the two knights more than ever. Of a slight
frame was Mordred, but tall, with dark hair, sallow face, and deep-set
grey eyes beside a thin long nose. Few loved him, for he was never
cheery nor very friendly, and ever seemed to sneer with his thin lips
and his cold wolfish eyes.
In a little while strange dark rumours began to go about the court, and
it was whispered that so proud had Sir Lancelot become of his fame and
prowess, that he harboured evil thoughts against the king, and that he
aimed to make a kingdom for himself out of the countries that lay about
his own lands of Joyous Gard in the northern marches.
Then fresh rumours went about, and these were the most evil of all. It
was said that he sought to slay the king, and wished to make Gwenevere
his own queen, and with her he would rule over all Britain.