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.
THE ADVENTURES OF SIR BORS
Retold by Beatrice Clay
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 rather have rescued his own brother; and
at the last, he dug a grave and buried the dead man; then 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 Sir Lionel, for he was too amazed 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.
THE ADVENTURES OF SIR LAUNCELOT
Retold by Beatrice Clay
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 was 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 armor 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 dishonored. 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; and 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 honor 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.
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SAW THE HOLY GRAIL
Retold by Beatrice Clay
For many days after he bad 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 armor 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 hands, 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.
THE END OF THE QUEST
Retold by Beatrice Clay
After he had rescued Sir Percivale from the twenty knights who beset
him, Sir Galahad rode on his way till nightfall, 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 seashore, 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.
[Illustration: THERE CAME AN ARM AND A HAND ABOVE THE WATER. From
the painting by Walter Crane.]
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 books this
Quest of the Holy Grail, that the fame of it should endure unto all
time.
THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT
Retold by Beatrice Clay
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 honor 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 Nortgalis 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
lodgment 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 favor 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 honor." "Maiden," said Sir Launcelot, "right gladly would I
serve you in aught; but it has never been my custom to wear lady's
favor." "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 favor." 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.