Palomides, and would have borne him down but that Sir Tristram was
aware of his coming, and so lightly stepping aside, he grasped the arm
of the rider and pulled him from his horse. The two dashed against
each other on foot and with their swords battled so well that kings
and queens and knights and their ladies stood and beheld them. But
finally the Unknown smote his foe three mighty blows so that he fell
upon the earth groveling. Then did they all truly wonder at his skill
for Sir Palomides was thought by many to be the most skillful knight
in Britain.
A knight now brought horse for Sir Tristram, for now, all knew that it
must be he. So too was horse brought for Sir Palomides. Great was the
latter's ire and he came at Sir Tristram again. Full force, he bore
his lance at the other. And so anew they fought. Yet Sir Tristram was
the better of the two and soon with great strength he got Sir
Palomides by the neck with both hands and so pulled him clean out of
his saddle. Then in the presence of them all, and well they marveled
at his deed, he rode ten paces carrying the other in this manner and
let him fall as he might.
Sir Tristram turned now again and saw King Arthur with naked sword
ready for him. The former halted not, but rode straight at the King
with his lance. But as he came, the King by wondrous blow sent his
weapon flying and for a moment Sir Tristram was stunned. And as he sat
there upon his horse the King rained blows upon him and yet did the
latter draw forth his sword and assail the King so hard that he need
must give ground. Then were these two divided by the great throng. But
Sir Tristram, lion hearted, rode here and there and battled with all
who would. And of the knights who opposed him he was victor of eleven.
And all present marveled at him, at his strength and at his great
deeds.
Yet had he not met Sir Launcelot, who elsewhere was meeting with all
who would strive with him. Not many, however, would joust with him for
he was known as the very bravest and most skillful. So as he sat there
all at ease, there came the great acclaim for the Knight of the Black
Shield. Nor did Sir Launcelot know him to be Sir Tristram. But he got
his great lance and rushed toward the cry. When he saw this strange
knight he called to him, "Knight of the Black Shield, prepare for me."
And then came such jousting as had never been seen. For each knight
bowed low his head and came at the other like the wind. When they met
it was very like thunder. Flashed lance on shields and armor so that
sparks flew. And each would not give to the other one step but by
great skill with shield did avoid the best of each other's blows.
Then did Sir Tristram's lance break in two, and Sir Launcelot, through
further ill fortune, wounded Sir Tristram in his left side. But
notwithstanding, the wounded knight brought forth his sword and rushed
daringly at the other with a force that Sir Launcelot could not
withstand, and gave him a fearful blow. Low in his saddle sagged Sir
Launcelot, exceeding weak for many moments. Now Sir Tristram left him
so and rode into the forest. And after him followed Gouvernail, his
servant.
Sore wounded was Sir Tristram yet made he light of it. Sir Launcelot
on his part recovered soon and turned back to the tourney, and
thereafter did wondrous deeds and stood off many knights, together and
singly.
Now again was the day done and the tournament, too. And to Sir
Launcelot was given full honor as victor of the field. But naught
would Sir Launcelot have of this. He rode forthwith to his King.
"Sire, it is not I but this knight with the Black Shield who has shown
most marvelous skill of all. And so I will not have these prizes for
they do not belong to me."
"Well spoken, Sir Launcelot and like thy true self," replied the King.
"So since this knight is gone, will you go forth with us within the
fortnight in search for him. And unless we are in great error we shall
find this Knight of the Black Shield no more, no less, than Sir
Tristram."
CHAPTER NINE
The Kitchen Boy
Among all those who came to the court of King Arthur at this Pentecost
seeking hospitality, were two strangers in especial, who because of
being meanly garbed and of a seeming awkwardness brought forth the
mockery and jest of Sir Kay the Seneschal. Nor did Sir Kay mean harm
thereby, for he was knight who held no villainy. Yet was his tongue
overly sharp and too oft disposed to sting and mock.
Too, the manner of their coming was strange. One was a youth of
handsome mien. Despite his ill garb, he seemed of right good worship.
Him, our young page Allan found fallen in a swoon, very weak and near
unto death, asprawl on the green about a mile from the castle.
Thinking that the man was but a villain, he would fain have called one
of the men-at-arms to give him aid, but that something drew him to
closer view. And then the boy felt certain that this was no villain
born for his face bespoke gentle breeding. So he himself hastened for
water and by much use of it the man soon opened his eyes and found
himself. So he studied the lad as he helped him to greater ease but
either through his great weakness or no desire he did not speak.
"Stranger," said Allan to the man, "if there is aught that I can do
for you or if I can help you in any way I give you offer of service.
Mayhap of the many knights who are here, there is one whose aid you
may justly claim."
The stranger held answer for many moments, then he spoke.
"There are those here, lad, whose service I may well accept for they
hold ties of blood to me. But I would not. Rather, if your patience
will bear with me, I would fain have your help so that I can appear in
the presence of the King this day. For so it is ordained and by
appearing there I shall find some part of my row accomplished. On this
holy day, I have boon to ask from your King."
"So shall I and right gladly lead you there. Good sir, my name is
Allan. I am page to Sir Percival, and I would bespeak your name."
"I beg of thee, Allan, think not that I am churlish and yet must I
withhold my name. For it is part of the vow I have made. Nor,
forsooth, am I therefore the less grateful."
"No offense take I, friend. So when you feel disposed I shall guide
your steps for audience with our good King."
The stranger, weak and spent, leaning mightily on his young friend
made his way to the great hall. And as we have recounted, though all
were struck by oddness and meanness of the stranger's clothes, yet
only Sir Kay made point to taunt him. Yet did he make no answer to
these taunts but waited with a great meekness for his turn before the
King. And that he should wait with such meekness was strange for he
seemed to be a high born knight.
There were many who sought audience with the King and it was long
before the stranger's turn came. Weak he still was, but he made no
complaint, and when others would crowd before him so that they could
speak the sooner to King Arthur, he did not chide them but permitted
it. At last Sir Launcelot came forward, for he had observed this and
made each of them find the place which was first theirs, so that the
stranger's turn came as it should. Weak though he was he walked with a
great firmness to the dais, and none there saw his poor clothes for
the fineness of him. The King turned to him and he nodded kindly.
"Speak, friend. In what way can we be of service to thee?"
"Sire," said the stranger, "I come to ask of thee three boons. One I
ask this day and on this day one year I shall come before you and
crave your favor for the other two."
"If the boon you ask, stranger, is aught we can grant, we shall do so
cheerfully, for on this day we heed all prayers."
"I ask very little, sire. This and no more do I wish--that you give
me food and drink for one year and that on this day a year hence I
shall make my other two prayers."
"It is indeed little you ask. Food and drink we refuse none. It is
here. Yet while your petition might well beseem a knave, thou seemeth
of right good worship, a likely youth, too, none fairer, and we would
fain your prayer had been for horse and armor. Yet may you have your
wish. Sir Kay," and the King turned to his Seneschal, "see you to it
that this stranger finds his wish satisfied."
So the King turned to others present, for of those who sought audience
there were many. And so forgot all of the fair youth for many a day.
Sir Kay laughed mockingly at the unknown.
"Of a truth this is villain born. For only such would ask for food and
drink of the King. So therefore he shall find place in our kitchen. He
shall help there, he shall have fat broth to satisfy himself and in a
year no hog shall be fatter. And we shall know him as the Kitchen
Boy."
"Sir Kay," frowned Sir Launcelot, "I pray you cease your mocking. It
is not seemly. This stranger, whosoever he may be, has right to make
whatsoever request he wishes."
"Nay, Sir Launcelot, of a truth, as he is, so has he asked."
"Yet I like not your mocking," said Sir Launcelot as he looked
frowningly at Sir Kay, while next to him stood Sir Gawaine and Sir
Percival, neither of whom could scarce contain himself.
"It is well, we know you, Sir Kay. Or, by our guardian saints we would
make you answer for your bitter tongue. But that we know it belies a
heart of kindness we would long since have found quarrel with you." So
spoke Sir Percival and Sir Gawaine nodded in assent.
"Stay not any quarrel for any seeming knowledge of me, kind friends,"
frowned back Sir Kay.
But the two knights moved away. Sir Kay was of great shame. And so to
cover it he turned to the stranger in great fury. "Come then to your
kennel, dog," he said.
Out flashed the sword of Sir Gawaine. Yet did Sir Launcelot withhold
him.
"Sir, I beg you to do me honor of feasting with us this day?"
"I thank you Sir Launcelot. Yet must I go with Sir Kay and do his
bidding. There do be knights well worth their places at the Round
Table. And I note right well that they set high example to those who
are still but lads and who are to become knights in good time. So to
you all I give my thanks."
Then followed the stranger after Sir Kay while the three knights and
Allan watched him go and marveled at his meekness.
CHAPTER TEN
Pentecost
And so in turn came the second stranger before King Arthur. Poorly
clothed, too, yet had his coat once been rich cloth of gold. Now it
sat most crookedly upon him and was cut in many places so that it but
barely hung upon his shoulders.
"Sire," said the stranger, "you are known everywhere as the noblest
King in the world. And for that reason I come to you to be made
knight."
"Knights, good friend," replied the King, "are not so easily made.
Such knights as we do appoint must first prove their worth. We know
thee not, stranger, and know not the meaning of thy strange garb. For
truly, thou art a strange sight."
"I am Breunor le Noire and soon you will know that I am of good kin.
This coat I wear is token of vow made for vengeance. So, I found it on
my slain father and I seek his slayer. This day, oh King, I go forth
content, if you make promise that should I perform knightly deed you
will dub me knight of yours."
"Go thou forth, then. We doubt not that thou wilt prove thy true valor
and be worthy of knighthood. Yet proof must be there."
On this selfsame day, Breunor le Noire departed.
Next morn, the King together with Sir Launcelot, Sir Percival, Sir
Gawaine, Sir Pellimore, Sir Gilbert, Sir Neil and Sir Dagonet, indeed
a right goodly party, prepared to depart. Nor did they purpose to
return until they met with Sir Tristram, for King Arthur was of great
desire to have this good knight as one of the Round Table.
Now as these, the flower of King Arthur's court, were waiting for Sir
Dagonet who was to be with them and who had delayed, Sir Launcelot saw
Allan the boy watching them from the side. Saw too, the great wish in
the lad's eyes. Nor did Allan see himself observed for Sir Launcelot
was not then with the others.
A thought came to this fine spirited knight and it brought great and
smiling good humor to his lips. He rode to Sir Percival's side and the
two whispered for many moments. Then did the two speak to the King and
he laughed, but did not turn to gaze at the boy. Sir Gawaine now
joined in the whispering. Then did all four laugh with great
merriment. So Sir Pellimore and the other knights inquired the cause
for the merriment and, being told, laughed too. Kindly was the
laughter, strong men these who could yet be gentle. Sir Launcelot now
turned and rode hard at the boy.
"And wherefore, lad," and dark was his frown and greatly wroth he
seemed, "do you stand here watching? Rude staring yours and no fit
homage to pay your betters. Perchance, we may all be displeased, the
King, Sir Percival, and all of us."
Now the lad's eyes clouded. To have displeased these knights, the
greatest men in all the world, for so he thought them. Then and there
he wished he could die. Woe had the knight's words brought to him.
"Indeed, and I meant no disrespect, Sir Launcelot. Indeed--" and said
no more for he knew he would weep if he spoke further. So he saw not
the dancing laughter in the knight's eye, nor the wide grins on the
faces of the others.
"Yet we must punish thee, lad. So then prepare you to accompany us.
Get your horse at once. Nor will we listen to any prayer you may make
for not going because of your youth."
Agape, Allan turned to look at him. For he knew he could not have
heard aright. But now, as he looked, he saw that Sir Launcelot was
laughing and then as he turned wondering, he saw his own lord and the
King and the other knights watching him with great glee.
"You mean then, that I--I--may go with all of you!"
And then so that there would be no chance of its being otherwise, he
rushed in mad haste to get his horse. Joy was the wings which made his
feet fly. He came back in quick time, a bit uncertain, riding forward
slowly, diffidently, and stopped a little way from them, awaiting
word. Then did Sir Launcelot ride to him and place kindly arm about
the youth and bring him among them all.
Now Sir Dagonet was with them and they rode forth.
With the equipage came the hounds, for the first day of their journey
was to be given over to hunting. There came also the master of the
hounds who was to return with them at the close of the hunt.
None other than the great Launcelot rode with Allan and none sat
straighter and more at ease in his saddle than the boy as they passed
the Queen, the Lady Olande, her two daughters and many other ladies of
the realm. Nor did the boy see any other than the minx Yosalinde. But
she--she did not seem to find him among the knights, yet he wondered
how she could help but see him. He would have liked to call to her,
"See, here am I among all these brave knights." Instead he rode past
very erect. If she would not see him, what matter, since, he was
there, one of the company.
Then, of a sudden, she smiled straight at him. So that for him was the
full glory of the world. And we doubt not, for that smile he would
have fought the bravest knight in all the world and found man's
strength therein.
Now the company found itself in the woods and many hours journey away.
So they rode hard for they liked not to tarry on the road.
Long after midday, King Arthur and his men spread out for the hunt.
The forest in which they now found themselves held game and wild
animals in plenty. Soon thereafter did the hounds give tongue for they
had found the scent. No mean prey had they found though, for the
quarry gave them a long race. Close behind the hounds came King Arthur
and almost as close, Sir Percival and Sir Launcelot.
Now, at last, the stag, a noble animal with wondrous horns, lithe body
and beautifully shaped limbs was at bay. Straight and true, at its
throat, flew the leader of the pack, and sank its teeth deep into it,
while above the King blew loud and long the death note of the chase.
No need for other hounds nor for weapons of the men.
Dark had stolen over the forest when the men with huge appetites came
to sup. Juicy venison steak was there, so was the wild duck and the
pheasant in plenty. To the full they ate as did the few men at arms
that were with them.
Yet none stayed awake long thereafter. It had been an arduous day.
Allan alone was wide-awake; his eyes would not close. And he knew of a
certainty that he was the most fortunate lad in all the world. When he
should become a man, he would be--well, he was not certain whether he
would be like unto the King, Sir Percival or Sir Launcelot. Yes, he
did know, he would be like them all. Now there came mixed thoughts of
a maid who waved her hand and smiled at him. And he felt of a
precious ring upon his finger.
So now his eyes closed; he found himself seeking the Holy Grail. And
during all of the night dreamed that he had found it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Allan Meets a Stranger
The noble cortege, after the first day's hunt, continued on its
journey.
It had reached Leek, in Stafford on the morn of the fifth day ere word
came of Sir Tristram. Here, was heard from some, Sir Tristram was then
on way to Scotland, and from still others, that he was bound for
Kinkenadon in Wales.
"By my faith," spoke Sir Gawaine, "there are none that are more ready
to testify to Sir Tristram's greatness and ability, too. Yet still,
have I many doubts as to his being both on way to Scotland and to
Wales as well."
"If it were left to me," said Sir Dagonet, "I would hie me to Ireland.
A likely spot to find him, say I. For there are none who have said
that they know of the good knight's journey thitherward."
"We, for ourselves, think it best," the king interrupted, "to tarry
here this day. Our comrade, Pellimore, expresses great desire to have
us partake of his hospitality and we are fain, so to do. What say
you?"
"It were wisdom to do so, methinks," agreed Sir Percival. "Tomorrow
we may find here some further news of Sir Tristram's way."
"Aye, sir knights," added Sir Launcelot, "for we need must know
whether we continue our travel north or west from this point."
So all of them were housed within the castle walls. And Sir Pellimore
spread bounteous feast before his guests at midday for he held it high
honor to be host to such as these.
Now, as the repast had been completed, Allan grew restless. He was of
a mind to ride forth and so craved permission from Sir Percival who
gave ready consent.
Forth he went and rode for many an hour. And then, since the day had
great heat, he found himself turn drowsy. Thereupon finding a
pleasant, shaded spot, he quickly made a couch of cedar boughs and
soon was fast asleep.
It seemed to the boy he had slept but few moments when his eyes opened
wide with the certainty that other eyes were directed upon him. Nor
was this mere fancy nor dream. Near him sat a monk, and from under the
black hood the face that peered forth at him was gaunt, cadaverous,
with eyes that seemed to burn straight through the lad. But for the
eyes, this figure could well have been carven, so still and immovable
did it sit there and gaze at the youth. Nor did the monk speak far
many minutes even though he must have known that the boy was awake and
watching him.
The sun now hung low in the sky. Allan knew that he must have been
asleep for at least two hours. He knew, too, that he should rise and
return to the castle, since the hour was already late and his time
overspent. Yet did the monk's eyes hold him to the spot. Nor was the
thing that held him there fear; rather could it be described as the
feeling one has before a devout, sacred and holy presence. Despite the
holy man's unworthy aspect he inspired no fear in the lad.
"Allan, boy," and the lad wondered that the monk knew him by name,
"two things I know have been chief in your thoughts these days." Kindly
was the monk's tone. "What then are these two things?"
No thought had the boy of the oddness of the monk's words, nor of his
questions. Nor of the fact that the monk seemed to be there present.
Somehow, the whole of it took on some great purport. Allan stopped
not to wonder, which the two things the monk mentioned were uppermost
in his mind but straightway made reply.
"Strange monk, I think and dream of the Holy Grail. And think too of
Yosalinde, sister to my Lord Percival. And of naught else so much. But
pray you, holy father, who are you?
"Truth, lad. As to who I am or as to where I come, know you this. I
come to you from that same place as do all dreams.
"Aye lad. Dreaming and fancying shall ever be yours. These son, shall
bring you the visions of tomorrow and many another day.
"I have come to tell you this, lad. But two years or more and you
shall start in earnest on your search for the Grail. And whether you
find the same, I shall not and cannot say, for the finding depends on
you. The way shall be hard, youth of many dreams, though you will have
help and guidance, too. But the great inspiration for it all shall
come to you from the second of these, your two big thoughts.
"I sought you many a day, lad. Merlin has sounded the message for me
to all the knights of Britain. Once before, years ago, I came to find
the likely seeker for the Grail and thought that I had found him. Yet
did the crucible's test find some alloy and so I had need to come
again.
"Then," said Allan but barely comprehending, "you are none other than
Sir Joseph of Armathea."
"Lad, it matters not as to who and what I am. It is of you, we are now
concerned. Dear, dear, lad, they shall name you again and the name
which shall be yours shall ever after be symbolic with the very best
that manhood holds."
"Go your way, now. For I must speak with many more this day ere I
return. A knight comes but now, with whom I must hold counsel. And I
would fain speak to him, alone."
"True, father, I had best go. For Sir Percival will think me
thoughtless, if not worse. As to what you have said, I can do but that
best which is in me and ever seek to make that best better. And so, I
ask your blessing."
The boy knelt. The monk, lean, black cowled, eyes glowing with a light
that held the supernatural, placed hand upon the boy's head and gave
him blessing. So then the boy mounted horse and was away.
He rode hard for he held great anxiety to return quickly. And all the
time he rode he thought of the things the strange monk had told him,
Some of it, he did not altogether understand. That was because of his
youthfulness. It was to come back to him when many months had passed.
This however, he knew, he was destined to make search for the Holy
Grail. For so, the holy man had ordained.
Sir Percival, a bit anxious, was waiting for the lad when he returned.
"I went far and then fell asleep," Allan explained. "Nor did I awaken
until the sun hung low." He did not speak of the meeting with the
monk.
"It is well you are back, lad. For I was fast growing worried over the
lateness of your return. Turn in then. I wot not, but that food will
be found for you on which you can sup. Sir Launcelot went forth some
hours ago. I fancy he went in search of you, though he would not admit
this to be the purpose of his departure."
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Stranger and Sir Launcelot
Let us then turn to Sir Launcelot now making his way along the road
over which Allan had been seen to depart. Though the knight had
denied that he purposed to seek the lad, yet had his horse taken that
way. A growing fondness for the boy which he had not made too obvious,
for it was not his wont to show too easily his feelings. Display or
show of emotion ever embarrassed him. He had noted the long absence of
Allan and so had mounted his horse intent to all appearance on a short
canter.
Half way to where Allan had made his couch, the road over which he had
ridden branched right and left and some miles down came together
again. Now when Allan returned he took the road to his right having
ridden the other way earlier in the day. Sir Launcelot made for the
road to the right of him and so missed the boy returning.
He found himself at the place at which the boy had slept. He
dismounted to observe more closely. Then he beheld the holy man as he
stepped from the shadows.
"Good day to you, holy father," the knight greeted him.
"God's blessing stay with thee, son. I have been expecting thee."
"Nay, father, not me. Other knight, mayhap. For I knew not myself I
would be here."
"Yet did I know, Sir Launcelot. You came here to seek the youth Allan
and knew not that you came in obedience to greater will than your own.
And having come, you must, prithee, listen to the things that must be
told you."
"Launcelot," and the monk spoke sternly and yet with great sadness,
"as measured by men thou art the bravest knight in Christendom.
Chivalrous, strong, yet gentle and ever ready to succor the weak and
distressed. Your name shall be emblazoned as symbolic of chivalry."
The strange man paused for a time.