And as he rode, at times he was troubled, thinking on the scorn

with which the fair Angharad had treated him, and reproaching

himself bitterly for having broken his vow of silence. So he

journeyed many days, and at length, one morn, dismounting by a

little woodland stream, he stood lost in thought, heedless of his

surroundings. Now, as it chanced, Arthur and a company of his

knights were encamped hard by; for, returning from an expedition,

the King had been told of Peredur and how he had taken upon him the

Queen's quarrel, and forthwith had ridden out in search of him.

When the King espied Sir Peredur standing near the brook, he said

to the knights about him: "Know ye yonder knight?" "I know him

not," said Sir Kay, "but I will soon learn his name." So he rode

up to Sir Peredur and spoke to him, demanding his name. When

Peredur answered not, though questioned more than once, Sir Kay in

anger, struck him with the butt-end of his spear. On the instant,

Sir Peredur caught him with his lance under the jaw, and, though

himself unmounted, hurled Kay from the saddle. Then when Kay

returned not, Sir Owain mounted his horse and rode forth to learn

what had happened, and by the brook he found Sir Kay sore hurt, and

Peredur ready mounted to encounter any who sought a quarrel. But at

once Sir Owain recognised Sir Peredur and rejoiced to see him; and

when he found Sir Peredur would speak no word, being himself an

honourable knight, he thought no evil, but urged him to ride back

with him to Arthur's camp. And Sir Peredur, still speaking never a

word, went with Sir Owain, and all respected his silence save Kay,

who was long healing of the injuries he had received, and whose

angry words none heeded. So they returned to Caerleon and soon,

through the city, were noised the noble deeds of Sir Peredur, each

new-comer bringing some fresh story of his prowess. Then when

Angharad learnt how true and famous was the knight whom she had

lightly esteemed, she was sore ashamed; and seeing him ever

foremost in the tournament and courteous to all in deed, though

speaking not a word; she thought that never had there been so noble

a knight, or one so worthy of a lady's love. Thus in the winning of

her favour, Sir Peredur was released from his vow, and his marriage

was celebrated with much pomp before the King and Queen. Long and

happily he lived, famed through all Britain as one of the most

valiant and faithful knights of King Arthur's Round Table.

BOOK VIII

THE HOLY GRAIL

CHAPTER XXIII

THE COMING OF SIR GALAHAD

Many times had the Feast of Pentecost come round, and many were the

knights that Arthur had made since first he founded the Order of

the Round Table; yet no knight had appeared who dared claim the

seat named by Merlin the Siege Perilous. At last, one vigil of the

great feast, a lady came to Arthur's court at Camelot and asked Sir

Launcelot to ride with her into the forest hard by, for a purpose

not then to be revealed. Launcelot consenting, they rode together

until they came to a nunnery hidden deep in the forest; and there

the lady bade Launcelot dismount, and led him into a great and

stately room. Presently there entered twelve nuns and with them a

youth, the fairest that Launcelot had ever seen. "Sir," said the

nuns, "we have brought up this child in our midst, and now that he

is grown to manhood, we pray you make him knight, for of none

worthier could he receive the honour." "Is this thy own desire?"

asked Launcelot of the young squire; and when he said that so it

was, Launcelot promised to make him knight after the great festival

had been celebrated in the church next day.

So on the morrow, after they had worshipped, Launcelot knighted

Galahad--for that was the youth's name--and asked him if he would

ride at once with him to the King's court; but the young knight

excusing himself, Sir Launcelot rode back alone to Camelot, where

all rejoiced that he was returned in time to keep the feast with

the whole Order of the Round Table.

Now, according to his custom, King Arthur was waiting for some

marvel to befall before he and his knights sat down to the banquet.

Presently a squire entered the hall and said: "Sir King, a great

wonder has appeared. There floats on the river a mighty stone, as

it were a block of red marble, and it is thrust through by a sword,

the hilt of which is set thick with precious stones." On hearing

this, the King and all his knights went forth to view the stone

and found it as the squire had said; moreover, looking closer, they

read these words: "None shall draw me hence, but only he by whose

side I must hang; and he shall be the best knight in all the

world." Immediately, all bade Launcelot draw forth the sword, but

he refused, saying that the sword was not for him. Then, at the

King's command, Sir Gawain made the attempt and failed, as did Sir

Percivale after him. So the knights knew the adventure was not for

them, and returning to the hall, took their places about the Round

Table.

No sooner were they seated than an aged man, clothed all in white,

entered the hall, followed by a young knight in red armour, by

whose side hung an empty scabbard. The old man approached King

Arthur and bowing low before him, said: "Sir, I bring you a young

knight of the house and lineage of Joseph of Arimathea, and through

him shall great glory be won for all the land of Britain." Greatly

did King Arthur rejoice to hear this, and welcomed the two right

royally. Then when the young knight had saluted the King, the old

man led him to the Siege Perilous and drew off its silken cover;

and all the knights were amazed, for they saw that where had been

engraved the words, "The Siege Perilous," was written now in

shining gold: "This is the Siege of the noble prince, Sir Galahad."

Straightway the young man seated himself there where none other had

ever sat without danger to his life; and all who saw it said, one

to another: "Surely this is he that shall achieve the Holy Grail."

Now the Holy Grail was the blessed dish from which Our Lord had

eaten the Last Supper, and it had been brought to the land of

Britain by Joseph of Arimathea; but because of men's sinfulness, it

had been withdrawn from human sight, only that, from time to time,

it appeared to the pure in heart.

When all had partaken of the royal banquet, King Arthur bade Sir

Galahad come with him to the river's brink; and showing him the

floating stone with the sword thrust through it, told him how his

knights had failed to draw forth the sword. "Sir," said Galahad,

"it is no marvel that they failed, for the adventure was meant for

me, as my empty scabbard shows." So saying, lightly he drew the

sword from the heart of the stone, and lightly he slid it into the

scabbard at his side. While all yet wondered at this adventure of

the sword, there came riding to them a lady on a white palfrey who,

saluting King Arthur, said: "Sir King, Nacien the hermit sends thee

word that this day shall great honour be shown to thee and all

thine house; for the Holy Grail shall appear in thy hall, and thou

and all thy fellowship shall be fed therefrom." And to Launcelot

she said: "Sir Knight, thou hast ever been the best knight of all

the world; but another has come to whom thou must yield

precedence." Then Launcelot answered humbly: "I know well I was

never the best." "Ay, of a truth thou wast and art still, of sinful

men," said she, and rode away before any could question her

further.

So, that evening, when all were gathered about the Round Table,

each knight in his own siege, suddenly there was heard a crash of

thunder, so mighty that the hall trembled, and there flashed into

the hall a sun-beam, brighter far than any that had ever before

been seen; and then, draped all in white samite, there glided

through the air what none might see, yet what all knew to be the

Holy Grail. And all the air was filled with sweet odours, and on

every one was shed a light in which he looked fairer and nobler

than ever before. So they sat in an amazed silence, till presently

King Arthur rose and gave thanks to God for the grace given to him

and to his court. Then up sprang Sir Gawain and made his avow to

follow for a year and a day the Quest of the Holy Grail, if

perchance he might be granted the vision of it. Immediately other

of the knights followed his example, binding themselves to the

Quest of the Holy Grail until, in all, one hundred and fifty had

vowed themselves to the adventure.

Then was King Arthur grieved, for he foresaw the ruin of his noble

Order. And turning to Sir Gawain, he said: "Nephew ye have done

ill, for through you I am bereft of the noblest company of knights

that ever brought honour to any realm in Christendom. Well I know

that never again shall all of you gather in this hall, and it

grieves me to lose men I have loved as my life and through whom I

have won peace and righteousness for all my realm." So the King

mourned and his knights with him, but their oaths they could not

recall.

CHAPTER XXIV

HOW SIR GALAHAD WON THE RED-CROSS SHIELD

Great woe was there in Camelot next day when, after worship in the

Cathedral, the knights who had vowed themselves to the Quest of the

Holy Grail got to horse and rode away. A goodly company it was that

passed through the streets, the townfolk weeping to see them go;

Sir Launcelot du Lac and his kin, Sir Galahad of whom all expected

great deeds, Sir Bors and Sir Percivale, and many another scarcely

less famed than they. So they rode together that day to the Castle

of Vagon, where they were entertained right hospitably, and the

next day they separated, each to ride his own way and see what

adventures should befall him.

So it came to pass that, after four days' ride, Sir Galahad reached

an abbey. Now Sir Galahad was still clothed in red armour as when

he came to the King's court, and by his side hung the wondrous

sword; but he was without a shield. They of the abbey received him

right heartily, as also did the brave King Bagdemagus, Knight of

the Round Table, who was resting there. When they had greeted each

other, Sir Galahad asked King Bagdemagus what adventure had brought

him there. "Sir," said Bagdemagus, "I was told that in this abbey

was preserved a wondrous shield which none but the best knight in

the world might bear without grievous harm to himself. And though I

know well that there are better knights than I, to-morrow I purpose

to make the attempt. But, I pray you, bide at this monastery awhile

until you hear from me; and if I fail, do ye take the adventure

upon you." "So be it," said Sir Galahad.

The next day, at their request, Sir Galahad and King Bagdemagus

were led into the church by a monk and shown where, behind the

altar, hung the wondrous shield, whiter than snow save for the

blood-red cross in its midst. Then the monk warned them of the

danger to any who, being unworthy, should dare to bear the shield.

But King Bagdemagus made answer: "I know well that I am not the

best knight in the world, yet will I try if I may bear it." So he

hung it about his neck, and, bidding farewell, rode away with his

squire.

The two had not journeyed far before they saw a knight approach,

armed all in white mail and mounted upon a white horse. Immediately

he laid his spear in rest and, charging King Bagdemagus, pierced

him through the shoulder and bore him from his horse; and standing

over the wounded knight, he said: "Knight, thou hast shown great

folly, for none shall bear this shield save the peerless knight,

Sir Galahad." Then, taking the shield, he gave it to the squire and

said: "Bear this shield to the good Knight Galahad and greet him

well from me." "What is your name?" asked the squire, "That is not

for thee or any other to know." "One thing, I pray you," said the

squire; "why may this shield be borne by none but Sir Galahad

without danger?" "Because it belongs to him only," answered the

stranger knight, and vanished.

Then the squire took the shield and, setting King Bagdemagus on his

horse, bore him back to the abbey where he lay long, sick unto

death. To Galahad the squire gave the shield and told him all that

had befallen. So Galahad hung the shield about his neck and rode

the way that Bagdemagus had gone the day before; and presently he

met the White Knight, whom he greeted courteously, begging that he

would make known to him the marvels of the red-cross shield. "That

will I gladly," answered the White Knight. "Ye must know, Sir

Knight, that this shield was made and given by Joseph of Arimathea

to the good King Evelake of Sarras, that, in the might of the holy

symbol, he should overthrow the heathen who threatened his kingdom.

But afterwards, King Evelake followed Joseph to this land of

Britain where they taught the true faith unto the people who before

were heathen. Then when Joseph lay dying, he bade King Evelake set

the shield in the monastery where ye lay last night, and foretold

that none should wear it without loss until that day when it should

be taken by the knight, ninth and last in descent from him, who

should come to that place the fifteenth day after receiving the

degree of knighthood. Even so has it been with you, Sir Knight." So

saying, the unknown knight disappeared and Sir Galahad rode on his

way.

CHAPTER XXV

THE ADVENTURES OF SIR PERCIVALE

After he had left his fellows, Sir Percivale rode long through the

forest until, one evening, he reached a monastery where he sought

shelter for the night. The next morning, he went into the chapel to

hear mass and there he espied the body of an old, old man, laid on

a richly adorned couch. At first it seemed as if the aged man were

dead, but presently, raising himself in his bed, he took off his

crown, and, delivering it to the priest, bade him place it on the

altar. So when the service was concluded, Sir Percivale asked who

the aged king might be. Then he was told that it was none other

than King Evelake who accompanied Joseph of Arimathea to Britain.

And on a certain occasion, the King had approached the Holy Grail

nigher than was reverent and, for his impiety, God had punished him

with blindness. Thereupon he repented and, entreating God

earnestly, had obtained his petition that he should not die until

he had seen the spotless knight who should be descended from him in

the ninth degree. (This his desire was fulfilled later when Sir

Galahad came thither; after which, he died and was buried by the

good knight.)

The next day, Sir Percivale continued his journey and presently met

with twenty knights who bore on a bier the body of a dead knight.

When they espied Sir Percivale, they demanded of him who he was and

whence he came. So he told them, whereupon they all shouted, "Slay

him! slay him!" and setting upon him all at once, they killed his

horse and would have slain him but that the good knight, Sir

Galahad, passing that way by chance, came to his rescue and put his

assailants to flight. Then Galahad rode away as fast as he might,

for he would not be thanked, and Sir Percivale was left, horseless

and alone, in the forest.

So Sir Percivale continued his journey on foot as well as he might;

and ever the way became lonelier, until at last he came to the

shores of a vast sea. There Sir Percivale abode many days, without

food and desolate, doubting whether he should ever escape thence.

At last it chanced that, looking out to sea, Sir Percivale descried

a ship and, as it drew nearer, he saw how it was all hung with

satin and velvet. Presently, it reached the land and out of it

there stepped a lady of marvellous beauty, who asked him how he

came there; "For know," said she, "ye are like to die here by

hunger or mischance." "He whom I serve will protect me," said Sir

Percivale. "I know well whom ye desire most to see," said the lady.

"Ye would meet with the Red Knight who bears the red-cross shield."

"Ah! lady, I pray you tell me where I may find him," cried Sir

Percivale. "With a good will," said the damsel; "if ye will but

promise me your service when I shall ask for it, I will lead you to

the knight, for I met him of late in the forest." So Sir Percivale

promised gladly to serve her when she should need him. Then the

lady asked him how long he had fasted. "For three days," answered

Sir Percivale. Immediately she gave orders to her attendants

forthwith to pitch a tent and set out a table with all manner of

delicacies, and of these she invited Sir Percivale to partake. "I

pray you, fair lady," said Sir Percivale, "who are ye that show me

such kindness?" "Truly," said the lady, "I am but a hapless damsel,

driven forth from my inheritance by a great lord whom I have

chanced to displease. I implore you, Sir Knight, by your vows of

knighthood, to give me your aid." Sir Percivale promised her all

the aid he could give, and then she bade him lie down and sleep,

and herself took off his helmet, and unclasped his sword-belt. So

Sir Percivale slept, and when he waked, there was another feast

prepared, and he was given the rarest and the strongest wines that

ever he had tasted. Thus they made merry and, when the lady begged

Percivale to rest him there awhile, promising him all that ever he

could desire if he would vow himself to her service, almost he

forgot the quest to which he was vowed, and would have consented,

but that his eye fell upon his sword where it lay. Now in the

sword-hilt there was set a red cross and, seeing it, Percivale

called to mind his vow, and, thinking on it, he signed him with the

cross on his forehead. Instantly, the tent was overthrown and

vanished in thick smoke; and she who had appeared a lovely woman

disappeared from his sight in semblance of a fiend.

Then was Sir Percivale sore ashamed that almost he had yielded to

the temptings of the Evil One, and earnestly, he prayed that his

sin might be forgiven him. Thus he remained in prayer far into the

night, bewailing his weakness; and when the dawn appeared, a ship

drew nigh the land. Sir Percivale entered into it, but could find

no one there; so commending himself to God, he determined to remain

thereon, and was borne over the seas for many days, he knew not

whither.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE ADVENTURES OF SIR BORS

Among the knights vowed to the Quest of the Holy Grail was Sir

Bors, one of the kin of Sir Launcelot, a brave knight and pious. He

rode through the forest many a day, making his lodging most often

under a leafy tree, though once on his journey he stayed at a

castle, that he might do battle for its lady against a felon knight

who would have robbed and oppressed her.

So, on a day, as he rode through the forest, Sir Bors came to the

parting of two ways. While he was considering which he should

follow, he espied two knights driving before them a horse on which

was stretched, bound and naked, none other than Sir Bors' own

brother, Sir Lionel; and, from time to time, the two false knights

beat him with thorns so that his body was all smeared with blood,

but, so great was his heart, Sir Lionel uttered never a word. Then,

in great wrath, Sir Bors laid his lance in rest and would have

fought the felon knights to rescue his brother, but that, even as

he spurred his horse, there came a bitter cry from the other path

and, looking round, he saw a lady being dragged by a knight into

the darkest part of the forest where none might find and rescue

her. When she saw Sir Bors, she cried to him: "Help me! Sir Knight,

help me! I beseech you by your knighthood." Then Sir Bors was much

troubled, for he would not desert his brother; but bethinking him

that ever a woman must be more helpless than a man, he wheeled his

horse, rode upon her captor and beat him to the earth. The damsel

thanked him earnestly and told him how the knight was her own

cousin, who had that day carried her off by craft from her father's

castle. As they talked, there came up twelve knights who had been

seeking the lady everywhere; so to their care Sir Bors delivered

her, and rode with haste in the direction whither his brother had

been borne. On the way, he met with an old man, dressed as a

priest, who asked him what he sought. When Sir Bors had told him,

"Ah! Bors," said he, "I can give you tidings indeed. Your brother

is dead"; and parting the bushes, he showed him the body of a dead

man, to all seeming Sir Lionel's self. Then Sir Bors grieved

sorely, misdoubting almost whether he should not have rescued his

own brother rather than the lady; and at the last, he dug a grave

and buried the dead man; after which he rode sorrowfully on his

way.

When he had ridden many days, he met with a yeoman whom he asked if

there were any adventures in those parts. "Sir," said the man, "at

the castle; hard by, they hold a great tournament." Sir Bors

thanked him and rode along the way pointed out to him; and

presently, as he passed a hermitage, whom should he see sitting at

its door but his brother, Sir Lionel, whom he had believed dead.

Then in great joy, he leaped from his horse, and running to Lionel,

cried: "Fair brother, how came ye hither?" "Through no aid of

yours," said Sir Lionel angrily; "for ye left me bound and beaten,

to ride to the rescue of a maiden. Never was brother so dealt with

by brother before. Keep you from me as ye may!" When Sir Bors

understood that his brother would slay him, he knelt before him

entreating his pardon. Sir Lionel took no heed, but mounting his

horse and taking his lance, cried: "Keep you from me, traitor!

Fight, or die!" And Sir Bors moved not; for to him it seemed a sin

most horrible that brother should fight with brother. Then Sir

Lionel, in his rage, rode his horse at him, bore him to the ground

and trampled him under the horse's hoofs, till Bors lay beaten to

the earth in a swoon. Even so, Sir Lionel's anger was not stayed;

for, alighting, he drew his sword and would have smitten off his

brother's head, but that the holy hermit, hearing the noise of

conflict, ran out of the hermitage and threw himself upon Sir Bors.

"Gentle knight," he cried, "have mercy upon him and on thyself; for

of the sin of slaying thy brother, thou couldst never be quit."

"Sir Priest," said Lionel, "if ye leave him not, I shall slay you

too." "It were a lesser sin than to slay thy brother," answered the

hermit. "So be it," cried Lionel, and with one blow, struck off the

hermit's head. Then he would have worked his evil will upon his

brother too, but that, even as he was unlacing Sir Bors' helm to

cut off his head, there rode up the good knight Sir Colgrevance, a

fellow of the Round Table. When he saw the dead hermit and was

aware how Lionel sought the life of Bors, he was amazed, and

springing from his horse, ran to Lionel and dragged him back from

his brother. "Do ye think to hinder me?" said Sir Lionel. "Let

come who will, I will have his life." "Ye shall have to do with me

first," cried Colgrevance. Therewith, they took their swords, and,

setting their shields before them, rushed upon each other. Now Sir

Colgrevance was a good knight, but Sir Lionel was strong and his

anger added to his strength. So long they fought that Sir Bors had

time to recover from his swoon, and raising himself with pain on

his elbow, saw how the two fought for his life; and as it seemed,

Sir Lionel would prevail, for Sir Colgrevance grew weak and weary.

Sir Bors tried to get to his feet, but, so weak he was, he could

not stand; and Sir Colgrevance, seeing him stir, called on him to

come to his aid, for he was in mortal peril for his sake. But even

as he called, Sir Lionel cut him to the ground and, as one

possessed, rushed upon his brother to slay him. Sir Bors entreated

him for mercy, and when he would not, sorrowfully he took his

sword, saying: "Now, God forgive me, though I defend my life

against my brother."

Immediately there was heard a voice saying, "Flee, Bors, and touch

not thy brother"; and at the same time, a fiery cloud burned

between them, so that their shields glowed with the flame, and both

knights fell to the earth. But the voice came again, saying, "Bors,

leave thy brother and take thy way to the sea. There thou shalt

meet Sir Percivale." Then Sir Bors made ready to obey, and, turning

to Lionel, said: "Dear brother, I pray you forgive me for aught in

which I have wronged you." "I forgive you," said Lionel, for he was

too amazed and terrified to keep his anger.

So Sir Bors continued his journey, and at the last, coming to the

sea shore, he espied a ship, draped all with white samite, and

entering thereon, he saw Sir Percivale, and much they rejoiced them

in each other's company.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE ADVENTURES OF SIR LAUNCELOT

After Sir Launcelot had parted from his fellows at the Castle of

Vagon, he rode many days through the forest without adventure, till

he chanced upon a knight close by a little hermitage in the wood.

Immediately, as was the wont of errant knights, they prepared to

joust, and Launcelot, whom none before had overthrown, was borne

down, man and horse, by the stranger knight. Thereupon a nun, who

dwelt in the hermitage, cried: "God be with thee, best knight in

all this world," for she knew the victor for Sir Galahad. But

Galahad, not wishing to be known, rode swiftly away; and presently

Sir Launcelot got to horse again and rode slowly on his way, shamed

and doubting sorely in his heart whether this quest were meant for

him.

When night fell, he came to a great stone cross which stood at the

parting of the way and close by a little ruined chapel. So Sir

Launcelot, being minded to pass the night there, alighted, fastened

his horse to a tree and hung his shield on a bough. Then he drew

near to the little chapel, and wondered to see how, all ruinous

though it was, yet within was an altar hung with silk and a great

silver candlestick on it; but when he sought entrance, he could

find none and, much troubled in his mind, he returned to his horse

where he had left it, and unlacing his helm and ungirding his

sword, laid him down to rest.

Then it seemed to Sir Launcelot that, as he lay between sleeping

and waking, there passed him two white palfreys bearing a litter

wherein was a sick knight, who cried: "Sweet Lord, when shall I be

pardoned all my transgressions, and when shall the holy vessel come

to me, to cure me of my sickness?" And instantly it seemed that the

great candlestick came forth of itself from the chapel, floating

through the air before a table of silver on which was the Holy

Grail. Thereupon the sick knight raised himself, and on his bended

knees he approached so nigh that he kissed the holy vessel; and

immediately he cried: "I thank Thee, sweet Lord, that I am healed

of my sickness." And all the while Sir Launcelot, who saw this

wonder, felt himself held that he could not move. Then a squire

brought the stranger knight his weapons, in much joy that his lord

was cured. "Who think ye that this knight may be who remains

sleeping when the holy vessel is so near?" said the knight. "In

truth," said the squire, "he must be one that is held by the bond

of some great sin. I will take his helm and his sword, for here

have I brought you all your armour save only these two." So the

knight armed him from head to foot, and taking Sir Launcelot's

horse, rode away with his squire. On the instant, Sir Launcelot

awoke amazed, not knowing whether he had dreamed or not; but while

he wondered, there came a terrible voice, saying: "Launcelot, arise

and leave this holy place." In shame, Sir Launcelot turned to obey,

only to find horse and sword and shield alike vanished. Then,

indeed, he knew himself dishonoured. Weeping bitterly, he made the

best of his way on foot, until he came to a cell where a hermit was

saying prayer. Sir Launcelot knelt too, and, when all was ended,

called to the hermit, entreating him for counsel. "With good will,"

said the hermit. So Sir Launcelot made himself known and told the

hermit all, lamenting how his good fortune was turned to

wretchedness and his glory to shame; and truly, the hermit was

amazed that Sir Launcelot should be in such case. "Sir," said he,

"God has given you manhood and strength beyond all other knights;

the more are ye bounden to his service." "I have sinned," said Sir

Launcelot; "for in all these years of my knighthood, I have done

everything for the honour and glory of my lady and naught for my

Maker; and little thank have I given to God for all his benefits to

me." Then the holy man gave Sir Launcelot good counsel and made him

rest there that night; and the next day he gave him a horse, a

sword and a helmet, and bade him go forth and bear himself knightly

as the servant of God.

CHAPTER XXVIII

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SAW THE HOLY GRAIL

For many days after he had left the hermitage, Sir Launcelot rode

through the forest, but there came to him no such adventures as had

befallen him on other quests to the increase of his fame. At last,

one night-tide, he came to the shores of a great water and there he

lay down to sleep; but as he slept, a voice called on him:

"Launcelot, arise, put on thine armour and go on thy way until thou

comest to a ship. Into that thou shalt enter." Immediately, Sir

Launcelot started from his sleep to obey and, riding along the

shore, came presently to a ship beached on the strand; no sooner

had he entered it, than the ship was launched--how, he might not

know. So the ship sailed before the wind for many a day. No mortal

was on it, save only Sir Launcelot, yet were all his needs

supplied. Then, at last, the ship ran ashore at the foot of a great

castle; and it was midnight. Sir Launcelot waited not for the dawn,

but, his sword gripped in his hand, sprang ashore, and then, right

before him, he saw a postern where the gate stood open indeed, but

two grisly lions kept the way. And when Sir Launcelot would have

rushed upon the great beasts with his sword, it was struck from his

hand, and a voice said: "Ah! Launcelot, ever is thy trust in thy

might rather than thy Maker!" Sore ashamed, Sir Launcelot took his

sword and thrust it back into the sheath, and going forward, he

passed unhurt through the gateway, the lions that kept it falling

back from his path. So without more adventure, Launcelot entered

into the castle; and there he saw how every door stood open, save

only one, and that was fast barred, nor, with all his force, might

he open it. Presently from the chamber within came the sound of a

sweet voice in a holy chant, and then in his heart Launcelot knew

that he was come to the Holy Grail. So, kneeling humbly, he prayed

that to him might be shown some vision of that he sought. Forthwith

the door flew open and from the chamber blazed a light such as he

had never known before; but when he made to enter, a voice cried:

"Launcelot, forbear," and sorrowfully he withdrew. Then where he

knelt, far even from the threshold of the wondrous room, he saw a

silver table and, on it, covered with red samite, the Holy Grail.

At sight of that which he had sought so long, his joy became so

great that, unmindful of the warning, he advanced into the room and

drew nigh even to the Table itself. Then on the instant there burst

between him and it a blaze of light, and he fell to the ground.

There he lay, nor might he move nor utter any sound; only he was

aware of hands busy about him which bore him away from the chamber.

For four-and-twenty days, Sir Launcelot lay as in a trance. At the

end of that time, he came to himself, and found those about him

that had tended him in his swoon. These, when they had given him

fresh raiment, brought him to the aged King--Pelles was his

name--that owned that castle. The King entertained him right

royally, for he knew of the fame of Sir Launcelot; and long he

talked with him of his quest and of the other knights who followed

it, for he was of a great age and knew much of men. At the end of

four days, he spoke to Sir Launcelot, bidding him return to

Arthur's court; "For," said he, "your quest is ended here, and all

that ye shall see of the Holy Grail, ye have seen." So Launcelot

rode on his way, grieving for the sin that hindered him from the

perfect vision of the Holy Grail, but thanking God for that which

he had seen. So in time he came to Camelot, and told to Arthur all

that had befallen him.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE END OF THE QUEST

After he had rescued Sir Percivale from the twenty knights who

beset him, Sir Galahad rode on his way till night-fall, when he

sought shelter at a little hermitage. Thither there came in the

night a damsel who desired to speak with Sir Galahad; so he arose

and went to her, "Galahad," said she, "arm you and mount your horse

and follow me, for I am come to guide you in your quest." So they

rode together until they had come to the sea-shore, and there the

damsel showed Galahad a great ship into which he must enter. Then

she bade him farewell, and he, going on to the ship, found there

already the good knights Sir Bors and Sir Percivale, who made much

joy of the meeting. They abode in that ship until they had come to

the castle of King Pelles, who welcomed them right gladly. Then, as

they all sat at supper that night, suddenly the hall was filled

with a great light, and the holy vessel appeared in their midst,

covered all in white samite. While they all rejoiced, there came a

voice saying: "My Knights whom I have chosen, ye have seen the

holy vessel dimly. Continue your journey to the city of Sarras and

there the perfect Vision shall be yours."

Now in the city of Sarras had dwelt long time Joseph of Arimathea,

teaching its people the true faith, before ever he came into the

land of Britain; but when Sir Galahad and his fellows came there

after long voyage, they found it ruled by a heathen king named

Estorause, who cast them into a deep dungeon. There they were kept

a year, but at the end of that time, the tyrant died. Then the

great men of the land gathered together to consider who should be

their king; and, while they were in council, came a voice bidding

them take as their king the youngest of the three knights whom

Estorause had thrown into prison. So in fear and wonder they

hastened to the prison, and releasing the three knights, made

Galahad king as the voice had bidden them.

Thus Sir Galahad became King of the famous city of Sarras, in far

Babylon. He had reigned a year when, one morning early, he and the

other two knights, his fellows, went into the chapel, and there

they saw, kneeling in prayer, an aged man, robed as a bishop, and

round him hovered many angels. The knights fell on their knees in

awe and reverence, whereupon he that seemed a bishop turned to them

and said: "I am Joseph of Arimathea, and I am come to show you the

perfect Vision of the Holy Grail." On the instant there appeared

before them, without veil or cover, the holy vessel, in a radiance

of light such as almost blinded them. Sir Bors and Sir Percivale,

when at length they were recovered from the brightness of that

glory, looked up to find that the holy Joseph and the wondrous

vessel had passed from their sight. Then they went to Sir Galahad

where he still knelt as in prayer, and behold, he was dead; for it

had been with him even as he had prayed; in the moment when he had

seen the vision, his soul had gone back to God.

So the two knights buried him in that far city, themselves mourning

and all the people with them. And immediately after, Sir Percivale

put off his arms and took the habit of a monk, living a devout and

holy life until, a year and two months later, he also died and was

buried near Sir Galahad. Then Sir Bors armed him, and bidding

farewell to the city, sailed away until, after many weeks, he came

again to the land of Britain. There he took horse, and stayed not

till he had come to Camelot. Great was the rejoicing of Arthur and

all his knights when Sir Bors was once more among them. When he had

told all the adventures which had befallen him and the good

knights, his companions, all who heard were filled with amaze. But

the King, he caused the wisest clerks in the land to write in great

hooks this Quest of the Holy Grail, that the fame of it should

endure unto all time.

BOOK IX

THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT

CHAPTER XXX

THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT

At last, the Quest of the Holy Grail was ended, and by ones and

twos the knights came back to Camelot, though many who had set out

so boldly were never seen again about the Round Table.

Great was the joy of King Arthur when Sir Launcelot and Sir Bors

returned, for, so long had they been away, that almost he had

feared that they had perished. In their honour there was high

festival for many days in London, where Arthur then had his court;

and the King made proclamation of a great tournament that he would

hold at Camelot, when he and the King of Northgalis would keep the

lists against all comers.

So, one fair morning of spring, King Arthur made ready to ride to

Camelot and all his knights with him, save Launcelot, who excused

himself, saying that an old wound hindered him from riding. But

when the King, sore vexed, had departed, the Queen rebuked Sir

Launcelot, and bade him go and prove his great prowess as of old.

"Madam," said Sir Launcelot, "in this, as in all else, I obey you;

at your bidding I go, but know that in this tournament I shall

adventure me in other wise than ever before."

The next day, at dawn, Sir Launcelot mounted his horse, and, riding

forth unattended, journeyed all that day till, as evening fell, he

reached the little town of Astolat, and there, at the castle,

sought lodgement for that night. The old Lord of Astolat was glad

at his coming, judging him at once to be a noble knight, though he

knew him not, for it was Sir Launcelot's will to remain unknown.

So they went to supper, Sir Launcelot and the old lord, his son,

Sir Lavaine, and his daughter Elaine, whom they of the place called

the Fair Maid of Astolat. As they sat at meat, the Baron asked Sir

Launcelot if he rode to the tournament. "Yea," answered Launcelot;

"and right glad should I be if, of your courtesy, ye would lend me

a shield without device." "Right willingly," said his host; "ye

shall have my son, Sir Tirre's shield. He was but lately made

knight and was hurt in his first encounter, so his shield is bare

enough. If ye will take with you my young son, Sir Lavaine, he will

be glad to ride in the company of so noble a knight and will do you

such service as he may." "I shall be glad indeed of his

fellowship," answered Sir Launcelot courteously.

Now it seemed to the fair Elaine that never had she beheld so noble

a knight as this stranger; and seeing that he was as gentle and

courteous as he was strong, she said to him: "Fair Knight, will ye

wear my favour at this tournament? For never have I found knight

yet to wear my crimson sleeve, and sure am I that none other could

ever win it such honour." "Maiden," said Sir Launcelot, "right

gladly would I serve you in aught; but it has never been my custom

to wear lady's favour." "Then shall it serve the better for

disguise," answered Elaine. Sir Launcelot pondered her words, and

at last he said: "Fair maiden, I will do for you what I have done

for none, and will wear your favour." So with great glee, she

brought it him, a crimson velvet sleeve embroidered with great

pearls, and fastened it in his helmet. Then Sir Launcelot begged

her to keep for him his own shield until after the tournament, when

he would come for it again and tell them his name.

The next morn, Sir Launcelot took his departure with Sir Lavaine

and, by evening, they were come to Camelot. Forthwith Sir Lavaine

led Sir Launcelot to the house of a worthy burgher, where he might

stay in privacy, undiscovered by those of his acquaintance. Then,

when at dawn the trumpets blew, they mounted their horses and rode

to a little wood hard by the lists, and there they abode some

while; for Sir Launcelot would take no part until he had seen which

side was the stronger. So they saw how King Arthur sat high on a

throne to overlook the combat, while the King of Northgalis and all

the fellowship of the Round Table held the lists against their

opponents led by King Anguish of Ireland and the King of Scots.

Then it soon appeared that the two Kings with all their company

could do but little against the Knights of the Round Table, and

were sore pressed to maintain their ground. Seeing this, Sir

Launcelot said to Sir Lavaine: "Sir Knight, will ye give me your

aid if I go to the rescue of the weaker side? For it seems to me

they may not much longer hold their own unaided." "Sir," answered

Lavaine, "I will gladly follow you and do what I may." So the two

laid their lances in rest and charged into the thickest of the

fight and, with one spear, Sir Launcelot bore four knights from the

saddle. Lavaine, too, did nobly, for he unhorsed the bold Sir

Bedivere and Sir Lucan the Butler. Then with their swords they

smote lustily on the left hand and on the right, and those whom

they had come to aid rallying to them, they drove the Knights of

the Round Table back a space. So the fight raged furiously,

Launcelot ever being in the thickest of the press and performing

such deeds of valour that all marvelled to see him, and would fain

know who was the Knight of the Crimson Sleeve. But the knights of

Arthur's court felt shame of their discomfiture, and, in especial,

those of Launcelot's kin were wroth that one should appear who

seemed mightier even than Launcelot's self. So they called to each

other and, making a rally, directed all their force against the

stranger knight who had so turned the fortunes of the day. With

lances in rest, Sir Lionel, Sir Bors, and Sir Ector, bore down

together upon Sir Launcelot, and Sir Bors' spear pierced Sir

Launcelot and brought him to the earth, leaving the spear head

broken off in his side. This Sir Lavaine saw, and immediately, with

all his might, he rode upon the King of Scots, unhorsed him and

took his horse to Sir Launcelot. Now Sir Launcelot felt as if he

had got his death-wound, but such was his spirit that he was

resolved to do some great deed while yet his strength remained. So,

with Lavaine's aid, he got upon the horse, took a spear and, laying

it in rest, bore down, one after the other, Sir Bors, Sir Lionel,

and Sir Ector. Next he flung him into the thickest of the fight,

and before the trumpets sounded the signal to cease, he had

unhorsed thirty good knights.

Then the Kings of Scotland and Ireland came to Sir Launcelot and

said: "Sir Knight, we thank you for the service done us this day.

And now, we pray you, come with us to receive the prize which is

rightly yours; for never have we seen such deeds as ye have done

this day." "My fair lords," answered Sir Launcelot, "for aught that

I have accomplished, I am like to pay dearly; I beseech you, suffer

me to depart." With these words, he rode away full gallop, followed

by Sir Lavaine; and when he had come to a little wood, he called

Lavaine to him, saying: "Gentle Knight, I entreat you, draw forth

this spear head, for it nigh slayeth me." "Oh! my dear lord," said

Lavaine, "I fear sore to draw it forth lest ye die." "If ye love

me, draw it out," answered Launcelot. So Lavaine did as he was

bidden, and, with a deathly groan, Sir Launcelot fell in a swoon to

the ground. When he was a little recovered, he begged Lavaine to

help him to his horse and lead him to a hermitage hard by where

dwelt a hermit who, in bygone days, had been known to Launcelot for

a good knight and true. So with pain and difficulty they journeyed

to the hermitage, Lavaine oft fearing that Sir Launcelot would die.

And when the hermit saw Sir Launcelot, all pale and besmeared with

blood, he scarce knew him for the bold Sir Launcelot du Lac; but he

bore him within and dressed his wound and bade him be of good

cheer, for he should recover. So there Sir Launcelot abode many

weeks and Sir Lavaine with him; for Lavaine would not leave him,

such love had he for the good knight he had taken for his lord.

Now when it was known that the victorious knight had departed from

the field sore wounded, Sir Gawain vowed to go in search of him. So

it chanced that, in his wanderings, he came to Astolat, and there

he had a hearty welcome of the Lord of Astolat, who asked him for

news of the tournament. Then Sir Gawain related how two stranger

knights, bearing white shields, had won great glory, and in

especial one, who wore in his helm a crimson sleeve, had surpassed

all others in knightly prowess. At these words, the fair Elaine

cried aloud with delight. "Maiden," said Gawain, "know ye this

knight?" "Not his name," she replied; "but full sure was I that he

was a noble knight when I prayed him to wear my favour." Then she

showed Gawain the shield which she had kept wrapped in rich

broideries, and immediately Sir Gawain knew it for Launcelot's.

"Alas!" cried he, "without doubt it was Launcelot himself that we

wounded to the death. Sir Bors will never recover the woe of it."

Then, on the morrow, Sir Gawain rode to London to tell the court

how the stranger knight and Launcelot were one; but the Fair Maid

of Astolat rose betimes, and having obtained leave of her father,

set out to search for Sir Launcelot and her brother Lavaine. After

many journeyings, she came, one day, upon Lavaine exercising his

horse in a field, and by him she was taken to Sir Launcelot. Then,

indeed, her heart was filled with grief when she saw the good

knight to whom she had given her crimson sleeve thus laid low; so

she abode in the hermitage, waiting upon Sir Launcelot and doing

all within her power to lessen his pain.

After many weeks, by the good care of the hermit and the fair

Elaine, Sir Launcelot was so far recovered that he might bear the

weight of his armour and mount his horse again. Then, one morn,

they left the hermitage and rode all three, the Fair Maid, Sir

Launcelot, and Sir Lavaine, to the castle of Astolat, where there

was much joy of their coming. After brief sojourn, Sir Launcelot

desired to ride to court, for he knew there would be much sorrow

among his kinsmen for his long absence. But when he would take his

departure, Elaine cried aloud: "Ah! my lord, suffer me to go with

you, for I may not bear to lose you." "Fair child," answered Sir

Launcelot gently, "that may not be. But in the days to come, when

ye shall love and wed some good knight, for your sake I will bestow

upon him broad lands and great riches; and at all times will I hold

me ready to serve you as a true knight may." Thus spoke Sir

Launcelot, but the fair Elaine answered never a word.

So Sir Launcelot rode to London where the whole court was glad of

his coming; but from the day of his departure, the Fair Maid

drooped and pined until, when ten days were passed, she felt that

her end was at hand. So she sent for her father and two brothers,

to whom she said gently: "Dear father and brethren, I must now

leave you." Bitterly they wept, but she comforted them all she

might, and presently desired of her father a boon. "Ye shall have

what ye will," said the old lord; for he hoped that she might yet

recover. Then first she required her brother, Sir Tirre, to write a

letter, word for word as she said it; and when it was written, she

turned to her father and said: "Kind father, I desire that, when I

am dead, I may be arrayed in my fairest raiment, and placed on a

bier; and let the bier be set within a barge, with one to steer it

until I be come to London. Then, perchance, Sir Launcelot will come

and look upon me with kindness." So she died, and all was done as

she desired; for they set her, looking as fair as a lily, in a

barge all hung with black, and an old dumb man went with her as

helmsman.

Slowly the barge floated down the river until it had come to

Westminster; and as it passed under the palace walls, it chanced

that King Arthur and Queen Guenevere looked forth from a window.

Marvelling much at the strange sight, together they went forth to

the quay, followed by many of the knights. Then the King espied the

letter clasped in the dead maiden's hand, and drew it forth gently

and broke the seal. And thus the letter ran: "Most noble Knight,

Sir Launcelot, I, that men called the Fair Maid of Astolat, am come

hither to crave burial at thy hands for the sake of the unrequited

love I gave thee. As thou art peerless knight, pray for my soul."

Then the King bade fetch Sir Launcelot, and when he was come, he

showed him the letter. And Sir Launcelot, gazing on the dead

maiden, was filled with sorrow. "My lord Arthur," he said, "for the

death of this dear child I shall grieve my life long. Gentle she

was and loving, and much was I beholden to her; but what she

desired I could not give." "Yet her request now thou wilt grant, I

know," said the King; "for ever thou art kind and courteous to

all." "It is my desire," answered Sir Launcelot.

So the Maid of Astolat was buried in the presence of the King and

Queen and of the fellowship of the Round Table, and of many a

gentle lady who wept, that time, the fair child's fate. Over her

grave was raised a tomb of white marble, and on it was sculptured

the shield of Sir Launcelot; for, when he had heard her whole

story, it was the King's will that she that in life had guarded the

shield of his noblest knight, should keep it also in death.

BOOK X

QUEEN GUENEVERE

CHAPTER XXXI

HOW MORDRED PLOTTED AGAINST SIR LAUNCELOT

Before Merlin passed from the world of men, imprisoned in the great

stone by the evil arts of Vivien, he had uttered many marvellous

prophecies, and one that boded ill to King Arthur; for he foretold

that, in the days to come, a son of Arthur's sister should stir up

bitter war against the King, and at last a great battle should be

fought in the West, when many a brave knight should find his doom.

Now, among the nephews of Arthur, was one most dishonourable; his

name was Mordred. No knightly deed had he ever done, and he hated

to hear the good report of others because he himself was a coward

and envious. But of all the Round Table there was none that Mordred

hated more than Sir Launcelot du Lac, whom all true knights held in

most honour; and not the less did Mordred hate Launcelot that he

was the knight whom Queen Guenevere had in most esteem. So, at

last, his jealous rage passing all bounds, he spoke evil of the

Queen and of Launcelot, saying that they were traitors to the King.

Now Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth, Mordred's brothers, refused to give

ear to these slanders, holding that Sir Launcelot, in his knightly

service of the Queen, did honour to King Arthur also; but by

ill-fortune another brother, Sir Agravaine, had ill-will to the

Queen, and professed to believe Mordred's evil tales. So the two

went to King Arthur with their ill stories.

Now when Arthur had heard them, he was wroth; for never would he

lightly believe evil of any, and Sir Launcelot was the knight whom

he loved above all others. Sternly then he bade them begone and

come no more to him with unproven tales against any, and, least of

all, against Sir Launcelot and their lady, the Queen.

The two departed, but in their hearts was hatred against Launcelot

and the Queen, more bitter than ever for the rebuke they had

called down upon themselves; and they resolved, from that time

forth, diligently to watch if, perchance, they might find aught to

turn to evil account against Sir Launcelot.

Not long after, it seemed to them that the occasion had come. For

King Arthur having ridden forth to hunt far from Carlisle, where he

then held court, the Queen sent for Sir Launcelot to speak with him

in her bower. Then Agravaine and Mordred got together twelve

knights, friends of Sir Gawain, their brother, and persuaded them

to come with them for they should do the King a service. So with

the twelve knights they watched and waited in a little room until

they saw Sir Launcelot, all unarmed, pass into the Queen's chamber;

and when the door was closed upon him, they came forth, and Sir

Agravaine and Sir Mordred thundered on the door, crying so that all

the court might hear: "Thou traitor, Sir Launcelot, come forth from

the Queen's chamber. Come forth, for thy treason against the King

is known to all!"

Then Sir Launcelot and the Queen were amazed and filled with shame

that such a clamour should be raised where the Queen was. While

they waited and listened in dismay, Sir Mordred and Sir Agravaine

took up the cry again, the twelve knights echoing it: "Traitor

Launcelot, come forth and meet thy doom; for thy last hour is

come." Then Sir Launcelot, wroth more for the Queen than for

himself, exclaimed: "This shameful cry will kill me; better death

than such dishonour. Lady, as I have ever been your true knight,

since the day when my lord, King Arthur, knighted me, pray for me

if now I meet my death." Then he went to the door and cried to

those without: "Fair lords, cease this outcry. I will open the

door, and then ye shall do with me as ye will." With the word, he

set open the door, but only by so much that one knight could enter

at a time. So a certain Sir Colgrevance of Gore, a knight of great

stature, pushed into the room and thrust at Sir Launcelot with all

his might; but Sir Launcelot, with the arm round which he had

wrapped his cloak, turned aside the sword and, with his bare hand,

dealt Colgrevance such a blow on the helmet that he fell grovelling

to the earth. Then Sir Launcelot thrust to and barred the door, and

stripping the fallen knight of his armour, armed himself in haste

with the aid of the Queen and her ladies.

All this while, Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred continued their

outcry; so when he was armed, Sir Launcelot called to them to cease

their vile cries and the next day he would meet any or all of them

in arms and knightly disprove their vile slander. Now there was not

one among those knights who dared meet Sir Launcelot in the open

field, so they were resolved to slay him while they had the

advantage over him. When Sir Launcelot understood their evil

purpose, he set wide the door and rushed upon them. At the first

blow he slew Sir Agravaine, and soon eleven other knights lay cold

on the earth beside him. Only Mordred escaped, for he fled with all

his might; but, even so, he was sore wounded.

Then Sir Launcelot spoke to the Queen. "Madam," said he, "here may

I no longer stay, for many a foe have I made me this night. And

when I am gone, I know not what evil may be spoken of you for this

night's work. I pray you, then, suffer me to lead you to a place of

safety." "Ye shall run no more risk for my sake," said the Queen;

"only go hence in haste before more harm befall you. But as for me,

here I abide. I will flee for no traitor's outcry."

So Sir Launcelot, seeing that at that time there was naught he

might do for Queen Guenevere, withdrew with all his kin to a little

distance from Carlisle, and awaited what should befall.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE TRIAL OF THE QUEEN

When Mordred escaped Sir Launcelot, he got to horse, all wounded as

he was, and never drew rein till he had found King Arthur, to whom

he told all that had happened.

Then great was the King's grief. Despite all that Mordred could

say, he was slow to doubt Sir Launcelot, whom he loved, but his

mind was filled with forebodings; for many a knight had been slain,

and well he knew that their kin would seek vengeance on Sir

Launcelot, and the noble fellowship of the Round Table be utterly

destroyed by their feuds.

All too soon, it proved even as the King had feared. Many were

found to hold with Sir Mordred; some because they were kin to the

knights that had been slain, some from envy of the honour and

worship of the noble Sir Launcelot; and among them even were those

who dared to raise their voice against the Queen herself, calling

for judgment upon her as leagued with a traitor against the King,

and as having caused the death of so many good knights. Now in

those days the law was that if any one were accused of treason by

witnesses, or taken in the act, that one should die the death by

burning, be it man or woman, knight or churl. So then the murmurs

grew to a loud clamour that the law should have its course, and

that King Arthur should pass sentence on the Queen. Then was the

King's woe doubled; "For," said he, "I sit as King to be a rightful

judge and keep all the law; wherefore I may not do battle for my

own Queen, and now there is none other to help her." So a decree

was issued that Queen Guenevere should be burnt at the stake

outside the walls of Carlisle.

Forthwith, King Arthur sent for his nephew, Sir Gawain, and said to

him: "Fair nephew, I give it in charge to you to see that all is

done as has been decreed." But Sir Gawain answered boldly: "Sir

King, never will I be present to see my lady the Queen die. It is

of ill counsel that ye have consented to her death." Then the King

bade Gawain send his two young brothers, Sir Gareth and Sir

Gaheris, to receive his commands, and these he desired to attend

the Queen to the place of execution. So Gareth made answer for

both: "My Lord the King, we owe you obedience in all things, but

know that it is sore against our wills that we obey you in this;

nor will we appear in arms in the place where that noble lady shall

die"; then sorrowfully they mounted their horses, and rode to

Carlisle.

When the day appointed had come, the Queen was led forth to a place

without the walls of Carlisle, and there she was bound to the stake

to be burnt to death. Loud were her ladies' lamentations, and many

a lord was found to weep at that grievous sight of a Queen brought

so low; yet was there none who dared come forward as her champion,

lest he should be suspected of treason. As for Gareth and Gaheris,

they could not bear the sight and stood with their faces covered in

their mantles. Then, just as the torch was to be applied to the

faggots, there was a sound as of many horses galloping, and the

next instant a band of knights rushed upon the astonished throng,

their leader cutting down all who crossed his path until he had

reached the Queen, whom he lifted to his saddle and bore from the

press. Then all men knew that it was Sir Launcelot, come knightly

to rescue the Queen, and in their hearts they rejoiced. So with

little hindrance they rode away, Sir Launcelot and all his kin with

the Queen in their midst, till they came to the castle of the

Joyous Garde where they held the Queen in safety and all reverence.

But of that day came a kingdom's ruin, for among the slain were

Gawain's brothers, Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris. Now Sir Launcelot

loved Sir Gareth as if he had been his own younger brother, and

himself had knighted him; but, in the press, he struck at him and

killed him, not seeing that he was unarmed and weaponless; and in

like wise, Sir Gaheris met his death. So when word was brought to

King Arthur of what had passed, Sir Gawain asked straightway how

his brothers had fared. "Both are slain," said the messenger.

"Alas! my dear brothers!" cried Sir Gawain; "how came they by their

death?" "They were both slain by Sir Launcelot." "That will I never

believe," cried Sir Gawain; "for my brother, Sir Gareth, had such

love for Sir Launcelot that there was naught Sir Launcelot could

ask him that he would not do." But the man said again: "He is

slain, and by Sir Launcelot."

Then, from sheer grief, Sir Gawain fell swooning to the ground.

When he was recovered, he said: "My Lord and uncle, is it even as

this man says, that Sir Launcelot has slain my brother Sir Gareth?"

"Alas!" said the King, "Launcelot rode upon him in the press and

slew him, not seeing who he was or that he was unarmed." "Then,"

cried Gawain fiercely, "here I make my avow. Never, while my life

lasts, will I leave Sir Launcelot in peace until he has rendered me

account for the slaying of my brother." From that day forth, Sir

Gawain would not suffer the King to rest until he had gathered all

his host and marched against the Joyous Garde. Thus began the war

which broke up the fellowship of the Round Table.

CHAPTER XXXIII

HOW SIR GAWAIN DEFIED SIR LAUNCELOT

Now it came to the ears of the Pope in Rome that King Arthur was

besieging Sir Launcelot in his castle of the Joyous Garde, and it

grieved him that there should be strife between two such goodly

knights, the like of whom was not to be found in Christendom. So he

called to him the Bishop of Rochester, and bade him carry word to

Britain, both to Arthur and to Sir Launcelot, that they should be

reconciled, the one to the other, and that King Arthur should

receive again Queen Guenevere.

Forthwith Sir Launcelot desired of King Arthur assurance of liberty

and reverence for the Queen, as also safe conduct for himself and

his knights, that he might bring Dame Guenevere, with due honour,

to the King at Carlisle; and thereto the King pledged his word.

So Launcelot set forth with the Queen, and behind them rode a

hundred knights arrayed in green velvet, the housings of the horses

of the same all studded with precious stones; thus they passed

through the city of Carlisle, openly, in the sight of all, and

there were many who rejoiced that the Queen was come again and Sir

Launcelot with her, though they of Gawain's party scowled upon him.

When they were come into the great hall where Arthur sat, with Sir

Gawain and other great lords about him, Sir Launcelot led

Guenevere to the throne and both knelt before the King; then,

rising, Sir Launcelot lifted the Queen to her feet, and thus he

spoke to King Arthur, boldly and well before the whole court: "My

lord, Sir Arthur, I bring you here your Queen, than whom no truer

nor nobler lady ever lived; and here stand I, Sir Launcelot du Lac,

ready to do battle with any that dare gainsay it"; and with these

words Sir Launcelot turned and looked upon the lords and knights

present in their places, but none would challenge him in that

cause, not even Sir Gawain, for he had ever affirmed that Dame

Guenevere was a true and honourable lady.

Then Sir Launcelot spoke again: "Now, my Lord Arthur, in my own

defence it behoves me to say that never in aught have I been false

to you. That I slew certain knights is true; but I hold me

guiltless, seeing that they brought death upon themselves. For no

sooner had I gone to the Queen's bower, as she had commanded me,

than they beset the door, with shameful outcry, that all the court

might hear, calling me traitor and felon knight." "And rightly they

called you," cried Sir Gawain fiercely. "My lord, Sir Gawain,"

answered Sir Launcelot, "in their quarrel they proved not

themselves right, else had not I, alone, encountered fourteen

knights and come forth unscathed."

Then said King Arthur: "Sir Launcelot, I have ever loved you above

all other knights, and trusted you to the uttermost; but ill have

ye done by me and mine." "My lord," said Launcelot, "that I slew

Sir Gareth I shall mourn as long as life lasts. As soon would I

have slain my own nephew, Sir Bors, as have harmed Sir Gareth

wittingly; for I myself made him knight, and loved him as my

brother." "Liar and traitor," cried Sir Gawain, "ye slew him,

defenceless and unarmed." "It is full plain, Sir Gawain," said

Launcelot, "that never again shall I have your love; and yet there

has been old kindness between us, and once ye thanked me that I

saved your life." "It shall not avail you now," said Sir Gawain;

"traitor ye are, both to the King and to me. Know that, while life

lasts, never will I rest until I have avenged my brother Sir

Gareth's death upon you." "Fair nephew," said the King, "cease your

brawling. Sir Launcelot has come under surety of my word that none

shall do him harm. Elsewhere, and at another time, fasten a quarrel

upon him, if quarrel ye must." "I care not," cried Sir Gawain

fiercely. "The proud traitor trusts so in his own strength that he

thinks none dare meet him. But here I defy him and swear that, be

it in open combat or by stealth, I shall have his life. And know,

mine uncle and King, if I shall not have your aid, I and mine will

leave you for ever, and, if need be, fight even against you."

"Peace," said the King; and to Sir Launcelot: "We give you fifteen

days in which to leave this kingdom." Then Sir Launcelot sighed

heavily and said: "Full well I see that no sorrow of mine for what

is past availeth me." Then he went to the Queen where she sat, and

said: "Madam, the time is come when I must leave this fair realm

that I have loved. Think well of me, I pray you, and send for me

if ever there be aught in which a true knight may serve lady."

Therewith he turned him about and, without greeting to any, passed

through the hall, and with his faithful knights rode to the Joyous

Garde, though ever thereafter, in memory of that sad day, he called

it the Dolorous Garde.

There he called about him his friends and kinsmen, saying: "Fair

Knights, I must now pass into my own lands." Then they all, with

one voice, cried that they would go with him. So he thanked them,

promising them all fair estates and great honour when they were

come to his kingdom; for all France belonged to Sir Launcelot. Yet

was he loth to leave the land where he had followed so many

glorious adventures, and sore he mourned to part in anger from King

Arthur. "My mind misgives me," said Sir Launcelot, "but that

trouble shall come of Sir Mordred, for he is envious and a

mischief-maker, and it grieves me that never more I may serve Sir

Arthur and his realm."

So Sir Launcelot sorrowed; but his kinsmen were wroth for the

dishonour done him, and making haste to depart, by the fifteenth

day they were all embarked to sail overseas to France.

CHAPTER XXXIV

HOW KING ARTHUR AND SIR GAWAIN WENT TO FRANCE

From the day when Sir Launcelot brought the Queen to Carlisle,

never would Gawain suffer the King to be at rest; but always he

desired him to call his army together that they might go to attack

Sir Launcelot in his own land.

Now King Arthur was loth to war against Sir Launcelot; and seeing

this, Sir Gawain upbraided him bitterly. "I see well it is naught

to you that my brother, Sir Gareth, died fulfilling your behest.

Little ye care if all your knights be slain, if only the traitor

Launcelot escape. Since, then, ye will not do me justice nor avenge

your own nephew, I and my fellows will take the traitor when and

how we may. He trusts in his own might that none can encounter with

him; let see if we may not entrap him."

Thus urged, King Arthur called his army together and bade collect a

great fleet; for rather would he fight openly with Sir Launcelot

than that Sir Gawain should bring such dishonour upon himself as to

slay a noble knight treacherously. So with a great host, the King

passed overseas to France, leaving Sir Mordred to rule Britain in

his stead.

When Launcelot heard that King Arthur and Sir Gawain were coming

against him, he withdrew into the strong castle of Benwick; for

unwilling indeed was he to fight with the King, or to do an injury

to Sir Gareth's brother. The army passed through the land, laying

it waste, and presently encamped about the castle, laying close

siege to it; but so thick were the walls, and so watchful the

garrison, that in no way could they prevail against it.

One day, there came to Sir Launcelot seven brethren, brave knights

of Wales, who had joined their fortunes to his, and said: "Sir

Launcelot, bid us sally forth against this host which has invaded

and laid waste your lands, and we will scatter it; for we are not

wont to cower behind walls." "Fair lords," answered Launcelot, "it

is grief to me to war on good Christian knights, and especially on

my lord, King Arthur. Have but patience and I will send to him and

see if, even now, there may not be a treaty of peace between us;

for better far is peace than war." So Sir Launcelot sought out a

damsel and, mounting her upon a palfrey, bade her ride to King

Arthur's camp and require of the King to cease warring on his

lands, proffering fair terms of peace. When the damsel came to the

camp, there met her Sir Lucan the Butler, "Fair damsel," said Sir

Lucan, "do ye come from Sir Launcelot?" "Yea, in good truth," said

the damsel; "and, I pray you, lead me to King Arthur." "Now, may ye

prosper in your errand," said Sir Lucan. "Our King loves Sir

Launcelot dearly and wishes him well; but Sir Gawain will not

suffer him to be reconciled to him." So when the damsel had come

before the King, she told him all her tale, and much she said of

Sir Launcelot's love and good-will to his lord the King, so that

the tears stood in Arthur's eyes. But Sir Gawain broke in roughly:

"My Lord and uncle, shall it be said of us that we came hither with

such a host to hie us home again, nothing done, to be the scoff of

all men?" "Nephew," said the King, "methinks Sir Launcelot offers

fair and generously. It were well if ye would accept his proffer.

Nevertheless, as the quarrel is yours, so shall the answer be."

"Then, damsel," said Sir Gawain, "say unto Sir Launcelot that the

time for peace is past. And tell him that I, Sir Gawain, swear by

the faith I owe to knighthood that never will I forego my revenge."

So the damsel returned to Sir Launcelot and told him all. Sir

Launcelot's heart was filled with grief nigh unto breaking; but his

knights were enraged and clamoured that he had endured too much of

insult and wrong, and that he should lead them forth to battle. Sir

Launcelot armed him sorrowfully, and presently the gates were set

open and he rode forth, he and all his company. But to all his

knights he had given commandment that none should seek King Arthur;

"For never," said he, "will I see the noble King, who made me

knight, either killed or shamed."

Fierce was the battle between those two hosts. On Launcelot's side,

Sir Bors and Sir Lavaine and many another did right well; while on

the other side, King Arthur bore him as the noble knight he was,

and Sir Gawain raged through the battle, seeking to come at Sir

Launcelot. Presently, Sir Bors encountered with King Arthur, and

unhorsed him. This Sir Launcelot saw and, coming to the King's

side, he alighted and, raising him from the ground, mounted him

upon his own horse. Then King Arthur, looking upon Launcelot,

cried: "Ah! Launcelot, Launcelot! That ever there should be war

between us two!" and tears stood in the King's eyes. "Ah! my Lord

Arthur," cried Sir Launcelot, "I pray you stay this war." As they

spoke thus, Sir Gawain came upon them, and, miscalling Sir

Launcelot traitor and coward, had almost ridden upon him before

Launcelot could provide him of another horse. Then the two hosts

drew back, each on its own side, to see the battle between Sir

Launcelot and Sir Gawain; for they wheeled their horses, and

departing far asunder, rushed again upon each other with the noise

of thunder, and each bore the other from his horse. Then they put

their shields before them and set on each other with their swords;

but while ever Sir Gawain smote fiercely, Sir Launcelot was content

only to ward off blows, because he would not, for Sir Gareth's

sake, do any harm to Sir Gawain. But the more Sir Launcelot forbore

him, the more furiously Sir Gawain struck, so that Sir Launcelot

had much ado to defend himself, and at the last smote Gawain on the

helm so mightily that he bore him to the ground. Then Sir

Launcelot stood back from Sir Gawain. But Gawain cried: "Why do ye

draw back, traitor knight? Slay me while ye may, for never will I

cease to be your enemy while my life lasts." "Sir," said Launcelot,

"I shall withstand you as I may; but never will I smite a fallen

knight." Then he spoke to King Arthur: "My Lord, I pray you, if but

for this day, draw off your men. And think upon our former love if

ye may; but, be ye friend or foe, God keep you." Thereupon Sir

Launcelot drew off with his men into his castle, and King Arthur

and his company to their tents. As for Sir Gawain, his squires bore

him to his tent where his wounds were dressed.

BOOK XI

THE MORTE D'ARTHUR

CHAPTER XXXV

MORDRED THE TRAITOR

So Sir Gawain lay healing of the grim wound which Sir Launcelot had

given him, and there was peace between the two armies, when there

came messengers from Britain bearing letters for King Arthur; and

more evil news than they brought might not well be, for they told

how Sir Mordred had usurped his uncle's realm. First, he had caused

it to be noised abroad that King Arthur was slain in battle with

Sir Launcelot, and, since there be many ever ready to believe any

idle rumour and eager for any change, it had been no hard task for

Sir Mordred to call the lords to a Parliament and persuade them to

make him king. But the Queen could not be brought to believe that

her lord was dead, so she took refuge in the Tower of London from

Sir Mordred's violence, nor was she to be induced to leave her

strong refuge for aught that Mordred could promise or threaten.

This was the news that came to Arthur as he lay encamped about Sir

Launcelot's castle of Benwick. Forthwith he bade his host make

ready to move, and when they had reached the coast, they embarked

and made sail to reach Britain with all possible speed.

Sir Mordred, on his part, had heard of their sailing, and hasted to

get together a great army. It was grievous to see how many a stout

knight held by Mordred, ay, even many whom Arthur himself had

raised to honour and fortune; for it is the nature of men to be

fickle. Thus it was that, when Arthur drew near to Dover, he found

Mordred with a mighty host, waiting to oppose his landing. Then

there was a great sea-fight, those of Mordred's party going out in

boats, great and small, to board King Arthur's ships and slay him

and his men or ever they should come to land. Right valiantly did

King Arthur bear him, as was his wont, and boldly his followers

fought in his cause, so that at last they drove off their enemies

and landed at Dover in spite of Mordred and his array. For that

time Mordred fled, and King Arthur bade those of his party bury the

slain and tend the wounded.

So as they passed from ship to ship, salving and binding the hurts

of the men, they came at last upon Sir Gawain, where he lay at the

bottom of a boat, wounded to the death, for he had received a great

blow on the wound that Sir Launcelot had given him. They bore him

to his tent, and his uncle, the King, came to him, sorrowing beyond

measure. "Methinks," said the King, "my joy on earth is done; for

never have I loved any men as I have loved you, my nephew, and Sir

Launcelot. Sir Launcelot I have lost, and now I see you on your

death-bed." "My King," said Sir Gawain, "my hour is come, and I

have got my death at Sir Launcelot's hand; for I am smitten on the

wound he gave me. And rightly am I served, for of my willfulness

and stubbornness comes this unhappy war. I pray you, my uncle,

raise me in your arms and let me write to Sir Launcelot before I

die."

Thus, then, Sir Gawain wrote: "To Sir Launcelot, the noblest of all

knights, I, Gawain, send greeting before I die. For I am smitten on

the wound ye gave me before your castle of Benwick in France, and I

bid all men bear witness that I sought my own death and that ye are

innocent of it. I pray you, by our friendship of old, come again

into Britain, and when ye look upon my tomb, pray for Gawain of

Orkney. Farewell."

So Sir Gawain died and was buried in the Chapel at Dover.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE BATTLE IN THE WEST

The day after the battle at Dover, King Arthur and his host pursued

Sir Mordred to Barham Down where again there was a great battle

fought, with much slaughter on both sides; but, in the end, Arthur

was victorious, and Mordred fled to Canterbury.

Now, by this time, many that Mordred had cheated by his lying

reports, had drawn unto King Arthur, to whom at heart they had ever

been loyal, knowing him for a true and noble king and hating

themselves for having been deceived by such a false usurper as Sir

Mordred. Then when he found that he was being deserted, Sir Mordred

withdrew to the far West, for there men knew less of what had

happened, and so he might still find some to believe in him and

support him; and being without conscience, he even called to his

aid the heathen hosts that his uncle, King Arthur, had driven from

the land, in the good years when Launcelot was of the Round Table.

King Arthur followed ever after; for in his heart was bitter anger

against the false nephew who had wrought woe upon him and all his

realm. At the last, when Mordred could flee no further, the two

hosts were drawn up near the shore of the great western sea; and it

was the Feast of the Holy Trinity.

That night, as King Arthur slept, he thought that Sir Gawain stood

before him, looking just as he did in life, and said to him: "My

uncle and my King, God in his great love has suffered me to come

unto you, to warn you that in no wise ye fight on the morrow; for

if ye do, ye shall be slain, and with you the most part of the

people on both sides. Make ye, therefore, treaty for a month, and

within that time, Sir Launcelot shall come to you with all his

knights, and ye shall overthrow the traitor and all that hold with

him." Therewith, Sir Gawain vanished. Immediately, the King awoke

and called to him the best and wisest of his knights, the two

brethren, Sir Lucan the Butler and Sir Bedivere, and others, to

whom he told his dream. Then all were agreed that, on any terms

whatsoever, a treaty should be made with Sir Mordred, even as Sir

Gawain had said; and, with the dawn, messengers went to the camp of

the enemy, to call Sir Mordred to a conference. So it was

determined that the meeting should take place in the sight of both

armies, in an open space between the two camps, and that King

Arthur and Mordred should each be accompanied by fourteen knights.

Little enough faith had either in the other, so when they set forth

to the meeting, they bade their hosts join battle if ever they saw

a sword drawn. Thus they went to the conference.

Now as they talked, it befell that an adder, coming out of a bush

hard by, stung a knight in the foot; and he, seeing the snake, drew

his sword to kill it and thought no harm thereby. But on the

instant that the sword flashed, the trumpets blared on both sides

and the two hosts rushed to battle. Never was there fought a fight

of such bitter enmity; for brother fought with brother, and comrade

with comrade, and fiercely they cut and thrust, with many a bitter

word between; while King Arthur himself, his heart hot within him,

rode through and through the battle, seeking the traitor Mordred.

So they fought all day, till at last the evening fell. Then Arthur,

looking around him, saw of his valiant knights but two left, Sir

Lucan and Sir Bedivere, and these sore wounded; and there, over

against him, by a great heap of the dead, stood Sir Mordred, the

cause of all this ruin. Thereupon the King, his heart nigh broken

with grief for the loss of his true knights, cried with a loud

voice: "Traitor! now is thy doom upon thee!" and with his spear

gripped in both hands, he rushed upon Sir Mordred and smote him

that the weapon stood out a fathom behind. And Sir Mordred knew

that he had his death-wound. With all the might that he had, he

thrust him up the spear to the haft and, with his sword, struck

King Arthur upon the head, that the steel pierced the helmet and

bit into the head; then he fell back, stark and dead.

Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere went to the King where he lay, swooning

from the blow, and bore him to a little chapel on the sea-shore. As

they laid him on the ground, Sir Lucan fell dead beside the King,

and Arthur, coming to himself, found but Sir Bedivere alive beside

him.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR

So King Arthur lay wounded to the death, grieving, not that his end

was come, but for the desolation of his kingdom and the loss of his

good knights. And looking upon the body of Sir Lucan, he sighed and

said: "Alas! true knight, dead for my sake! If I lived, I should

ever grieve for thy death, but now mine own end draws nigh." Then,

turning to Sir Bedivere, who stood sorrowing beside him, he said:

"Leave weeping now, for the time is short and much to do. Hereafter

shalt thou weep if thou wilt. But take now my sword Excalibur,

hasten to the water side, and fling it into the deep. Then, watch

what happens and bring me word thereof." "My Lord," said Sir

Bedivere, "your command shall be obeyed"; and taking the sword, he

departed. But as he went on his way, he looked on the sword, how

wondrously it was formed and the hilt all studded with precious

stones; and, as he looked, he called to mind the marvel by which it

had come into the King's keeping. For on a certain day, as Arthur

walked on the shore of a great lake, there had appeared above the

surface of the water a hand brandishing a sword. On the instant,

the King had leaped into a boat, and, rowing into the lake, had got

the sword and brought it back to land. Then he had seen how, on one

side the blade, was written, "Keep me," but on the other, "Throw me

away," and, sore perplexed, he had shown it to Merlin, the great

wizard, who said: "Keep it now. The time for casting away has not

yet come." Thinking on this, it seemed to Bedivere that no good,

but harm, must come of obeying the King's word; so hiding the sword

under a tree, he hastened back to the little chapel. Then said the

King: "What saw'st thou?" "Sir," answered Bedivere, "I saw naught

but the waves, heard naught but the wind." "That is untrue," said

King Arthur; "I charge thee, as thou art true knight, go again and

spare not to throw away the sword."

Sir Bedivere departed a second time, and his mind was to obey his

lord; but when he took the sword in his hand, he thought: "Sin it

is and shameful, to throw away so glorious a sword." Then, hiding

it again, he hastened back to the King, "What saw'st thou?" said

Sir Arthur. "Sir, I saw the water lap on the crags." Then spoke the

King in great wrath: "Traitor and unkind! Twice hast thou betrayed

me! Art dazzled by the splendour of the jewels, thou that, till

now, hast ever been dear and true to me? Go yet again, but if thou

fail me this time, I will arise and, with mine own hands, slay

thee."

Then Sir Bedivere left the King and, that time, he took the sword

quickly from the place where he had hidden it and, forbearing even

to look upon it, he twisted the belt about it and flung it with all

his force into the water. A wondrous sight he saw, for, as the

sword touched the water, a hand rose from out the deep, caught it,

brandished it thrice, and drew it beneath the surface.

Sir Bedivere hastened back to the King and told him what he had

seen. "It is well," said Arthur; "now, bear me to the water's edge;

and hasten, I pray thee, for I have tarried over-long and my wound

has taken cold." So Sir Bedivere raised the King on his back and

bore him tenderly to the lonely shore, where the lapping waves

floated many an empty helmet and the fitful moonlight fell on the

upturned faces of the dead. Scarce had they reached the shore when

there hove in sight a barge, and on its deck stood three tall

women, robed all in black and wearing crowns on their heads. "Place

me in the barge," said the King, and softly Sir Bedivere lifted the

King into it. And these three Queens wept sore over Arthur, and one

took his head in her lap and chafed his hands, crying: "Alas! my

brother, thou hast been over-long in coming and, I fear me, thy

wound has taken cold." Then the barge began to move slowly from the

land. When Sir Bedivere saw this, he lifted up his voice and cried

with a bitter cry: "Ah! my Lord Arthur, thou art taken from me! And

I, whither shall I go?" "Comfort thyself," said the King, "for in

me is no comfort more. I pass to the Valley of Avilion, to heal me

of my grievous wound. If thou seest me never again, pray for me."

So the barge floated away out of sight, and Sir Bedivere stood

straining his eyes after it till it had vanished utterly. Then he

turned him about and journeyed through the forest until, at

daybreak, he reached a hermitage. Entering it, he prayed the holy

hermit that he might abide with him, and there he spent the rest of

his life in prayer and holy exercise.

But of King Arthur is no more known. Some men, indeed, say that he

is not dead, but abides in the happy Valley of Avilion until such

time as his country's need is sorest, when he shall come again and

deliver it. Others say that, of a truth, he is dead, and that, in

the far West, his tomb may be seen, and written on it these words:

"Here lies Arthur, once King and King to be."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE DEATH OF SIR LAUNCELOT AND OF THE QUEEN

When news reached Sir Launcelot in his own land of the treason of

Mordred, he gathered his lords and knights together, and rested not

till he had come to Britain to aid King Arthur. He landed at Dover,

and there the evil tidings were told him, how the King had met his

death at the hands of his traitor nephew. Then was Sir Launcelot's

heart nigh broken for grief. "Alas!" he cried, "that I should live

to know my King overthrown by such a felon! What have I done that I

should have caused the deaths of the good knights, Sir Gareth, Sir

Gaheris, and Sir Gawain, and yet that such a villain should escape

my sword!" Then he desired to be led to Sir Gawain's tomb where he

remained long in prayer and in great lamentation; after which he

called to him his kinsmen and friends, and said to them: "My fair

lords, I thank you all most heartily that, of your courtesy, ye

came with me to this land. That we be come too late is a misfortune

that might not be avoided, though I shall mourn it my life long.

And now I will ride forth alone to find my lady the Queen in the

West, whither men say she has fled. Wait for me, I pray you, for

fifteen days, and then, if ye hear naught of me, return to your own

lands." So Sir Launcelot rode forth alone, nor would he suffer any

to follow him, despite their prayers and entreaties.

Thus he rode some seven or eight days until, at the last, he came

to a nunnery where he saw in the cloister many nuns waiting on a

fair lady; none other, indeed, than Queen Guenevere herself. And

she, looking up, saw Sir Launcelot, and at the sight, grew so pale

that her ladies feared for her; but she recovered, and bade them go

and bring Sir Launcelot to her presence. When he was come, she said

to him: "Sir Launcelot, glad am I to see thee once again that I may

bid thee farewell; for in this world shall we never meet again."

"Sweet Madam," answered Sir Launcelot, "I was minded, with your

leave, to bear you to my own country, where I doubt not but I

should guard you well and safely from your enemies." "Nay,

Launcelot," said the Queen, "that may not be; I am resolved never

to look upon the world again, but here to pass my life in prayer

and in such good works as I may. But thou, do thou get back to

thine own land and take a fair wife; and ye both shall ever have my

prayers." "Madam," replied Sir Launcelot, "ye know well that shall

never be. And since ye are resolved to lead a life of prayer, I,

too, will forsake the world if I can find hermit to share his cell

with me; for ever your will has been mine." Long and earnestly he

looked upon her as he might never gaze enough; then, getting to

horse, he rode slowly away.

Nor did they ever meet again in life. For Queen Guenevere abode in

the great nunnery of Almesbury where Sir Launcelot had found her,

and presently, for the holiness of her life, was made Abbess. But

Sir Launcelot, after he had left her, rode on his way till he came

to the cell where Sir Bedivere dwelt with the holy hermit; and when

Sir Bedivere had told him all that had befallen, of the great

battle in the West, and of the passing away of Arthur, Sir

Launcelot flung down his arms and implored the holy hermit to let

him remain there as the servant of God. So Sir Launcelot donned the

serge gown and abode in the hermitage as the priest of God.

Presently there came riding that way the good Sir Bors, Launcelot's

nephew; for, when Sir Launcelot returned not to Dover, Sir Bors and

many another knight went forth in search of him. There, then, Sir

Bors remained and, within a half-year, there joined themselves to

these three many who in former days had been fellows of the Round

Table; and the fame of their piety spread far and wide.

So six years passed and then, one night, Launcelot had a vision. It

seemed to him that one said to him: "Launcelot, arise and go in

haste to Almesbury. There shalt thou find Queen Guenevere dead, and

it shall be for thee to bury her." Sir Launcelot arose at once and,

calling his fellows to him, told them his dream. Immediately, with

all haste, they set forth towards Almesbury and, arriving there the

second day, found the Queen dead, as had been foretold in the

vision. So with the state and ceremony befitting a great Queen,

they buried her in the Abbey of Glastonbury, in that same church

where, some say, King Arthur's tomb is to be found. Launcelot it

was who performed the funeral rites and chanted the requiem; but

when all was done, he pined away, growing weaker daily. So at the

end of six weeks, he called to him his fellows, and bidding them

all farewell, desired that his dead body should be conveyed to the

Joyous Garde, there to be buried; for that in the church at

Glastonbury he was not worthy to lie. And that same night he died,

and was buried, as he had desired, in his own castle. So passed

from the world the bold Sir Launcelot du Lac, bravest, most

courteous, and most gentle of knights, whose peer the world has

never seen ever shall.

After Sir Launcelot's death, Sir Bors and the pious knights, his

companions, took their way to the Holy Land, and there they died in

battle against the Turk.

So ends the story of King Arthur and his noble fellowship of the

Round Table.