SIR GAWAIN
AND THE
LADY OF LYS
Translated by
Jessie L. Weston.
Illustrated by
Morris M. Williams.
Published by
David Nutt at the
Sign of the Phoenix 1907
ARTHURIAN ROMANCES
Unrepresented in Malory's
"Morte d'Arthur"
_No. VII_
Sir Gawain and the
Lady of Lys
ARTHURIAN ROMANCES
UNREPRESENTED IN MALORY'S "MORTE D'ARTHUR"
I. SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT.
A Middle-English Romance retold in Modern Prose, with
Introduction and Notes, by Jessie L. Weston. With Designs by
M. M. Crawford. 1898. 2s. net.
II. TRISTAN AND ISEULT.
Rendered into English from the German of Gottfried of
Strassburg by Jessie L. Weston. With Designs by Caroline
Watts. Two vols. 1899. 4s. net.
III. GUINGAMOR, LANVAL, TYOLET, LE BISCLAVERET.
Four Lays rendered into English Prose from the French of
Marie de France and others by Jessie L. Weston. With Designs
by Caroline Watts. 1900. 2s. net.
IV. MORIEN.
Translated for the first time from the original Dutch by
Jessie L. Weston. With Frontispiece and Designed Title-Page
by Caroline Watts. 1901. 2s. net.
V. LE BEAUS DESCONNUS. CLIGÈS.
Two Old English Metrical Romances rendered into prose by
Jessie L. Weston. With Designs by Caroline M. Watts. 1902.
2s. net.
VI. SIR GAWAIN AT THE GRAIL CASTLE.
Three Versions from the Conte del Graal, Diu Crône, and the
Prose Lancelot, by Jessie L. Weston. 1903. 2s. net.
VII. SIR GAWAIN AND THE LADY OF LYS.
Translated for the first time from Wauchier de Denain's
section of the Conte del Graal by Jessie L. Weston. With
Designs by Morris M. Williams. 1907. 2s. net.
[Illustration: But the child spake no words, but looked up at
the glancing sword blades and laughed blithely.]
Contents
PAGE
Introduction ix
Sir Gawain and the Lady of Lys 1
Castle Orguellous 61
Notes 99
Introduction
The stories contained in the present volume of _Arthurian Romances_
are drawn from the same collection of tales as that from which the
first visit of Gawain to the Grail castle, in the preceding volume of
the series, is derived. Indeed, the stories follow in close sequence,
and a glance at the introductory lines of the Grail visit will show
that that adventure is placed immediately after the successful
termination of the expedition against Chastel Orguellous, which forms
the subject of this volume. These stories practically form three
separate tales, and are translated almost entirely from the same MS.
as that used for the Grail visit, the fine _Perceval_ codex B.N.
12576. With regard to the second adventure a few words of explanation
are necessary.
The relations of Gawain with the lady of Lys, recorded in all the
_Perceval_-Wauchier texts, are as a rule related twice over; in the
first instance in the section which, in my _Perceval_ studies, I have
called the _Brun de Branlant_ section, as it is devoted to Arthur's
expedition against that recalcitrant noble. Gawain's meeting with the
lady takes place, as he here explains, during the siege. Later on, on
the expedition against Chastel Orguellous, related in these pages,
Arthur and his knights come all unwittingly to the castle of the
lady's brother, Bran de Lis, and Gawain, realising the position,
relates the story of the first meeting.
Now in the best and fullest texts the two versions do not agree--they
are, in fact, incapable of being harmonised--and the curious point is
that this second version, related by Gawain himself, and included in a
collection of tales of which he is the hero, represents his conduct in
a distinctly less favourable light. In the _Studies_ above referred to
I have entered at length into the question, and have expressed my
opinion that this second form is really the older, and owes its
somewhat repellent character to the fact that it is a survival of a
very early, pre-chivalric stage of tradition. It is worthy of note
that the subsequent conduct of both brother and sister is precisely
the same in both versions; whether Gawain accepts favours freely
proffered, or takes them by force, Bran de Lis is neither more nor
less his enemy; whether she wins her heart's desire, or is the victim
of _force majeure_, his sister is equally Gawain's devoted _amie_. But
for purposes of translation the versions do not stand on an equal
footing; and, these volumes being intended for the general public, I
have preferred to follow the later and, undoubtedly, more sympathetic
form.
Nor is this to take an undue liberty with the text; we are but
following the example set by certain early copyists. Two MSS., B.N.
794 and British Museum Add. 36614, give the story on each occasion in
an identical form. Their text, however, is on the whole far less
detailed and interesting than that of B.N. 12576. I have therefore,
for the terms of Gawain's recital, and for that only, adopted the
version of 794; for the rest the stories are as close a rendering as
may be of the text of 12576.
The first story, _Kay and the Spit_, and the taking of _Chastel
Orguellous_, all part of one and the same expedition, possess a
special interest for us, in that we have in our English _Gawayne and
Golagros_ another version of the same tales. Sir Frederick Madden, in
his _Syr Gawayne_, drew attention to this, and gave a brief summary of
the French text. It seemed to me that the interest of the story
itself, and its connection with our vernacular literature, were
sufficient to warrant a full translation being placed at the disposal
of English readers. For indeed the interest of these stories is great,
and if I be not mistaken, their importance as yet scarcely realised.
Since the publication of the last volume of this series we have become
aware of certain facts, small in themselves, but weighty in their
connection and _ensemble_, which go to prove that there existed at an
early date a collection of poems dealing with the feats of Gawain and
his kin, which may be styled _The Geste of Syr Gawayne_, the
authorship of which was ascribed to a certain Bleheris. Of this
collection the story in vol. i., _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_;
the first visit of Sir Gawain to the Grail castle, in vol. vi.; and
the stories here given all formed part, while our English _Gawain_
poems are a late and fragmentary survival of the same collection.
Judging also from the appearance on the scene of Gawain's son,
Guinglain, and the numerous allusions in Wauchier's text to the length
and importance of the _grande conte_ of which these tales formed a
part, it seems most probable that the original collection included a
version of the adventures of the hero we know as _Sir Libeaus
Desconus_, whose feats will be found recorded in vol. v. of this
series. The English poem there modernised says that the hero was
_begotten by a forest side_, thus apparently identifying him with the
child of the picturesque adventure related in these pages. At the same
time the adventures summarised by Wauchier--for he gives but little
detail concerning Guinglain--do not agree with the English tradition.
At a considerably later point of the collection, however, we find the
young knight giving his name in terms which accord completely with our
poem; on meeting his father,
Sire, fait il, 'ie sui Giglain
Votre fis, qui le roi Artus
Mist nom Le Biax Desconeus.
Which may well refer to the tale we know.
This is not the place to enter into a discussion of the varying
tradition connected with Sir Guinglain; the point of interest is
rather the character of the stories with which we are immediately
dealing.
There can, I think, be little doubt that whoever was responsible for
the _Geste of Syr Gawayne_, and whether Bleheris, whose name is more
than once connected with it, composed, or merely arranged, the poems,
they represent a tradition of great poetical force and vitality. The
adventure with the sister of Bran de Lis is an admirable story,
picturesque, vivid, and full of human interest. Our _Syr Gawayne and
the Grene Knyghte_ is notoriously one of the finest of our Mediæval
poems. The visit of Sir Gawain to the Grail castle, related in our
last volume, yields in dramatic detail and picturesque directness of
narration to no other version of that mysterious story. We can well
understand that, in its original form, the collection must have been
one that appealed forcibly to the imagination of the hearers.
If any one will glance through these stories consecutively, he cannot
fail to realise that the character of the hero is the same
throughout. Gawain is unfailingly valiant, generous, and courteous,
even, as we see in our final story, to excess. We realise as we read
that, as Professor Maynadier, in his _Wife of Bath's Tale_, has well
pointed out, it is in truth Gawain and not Arthur who was the typical
English hero.
Is it too much to ask of the students of Malory, fascinated by the
noble style in which he has clothed and disguised the real poverty of
his _réchauffée_, that they should for a short time lay him aside, and
turning back to the true Arthurian legend, learn at last to do justice
to one of the most gracious and picturesque figures in literature--a
figure to which gross injustice has been done--that, rejecting
Malory's libel, they do tardy justice to our own insular hero--for not
the most fanatical partisan of the Continental school has ever
ventured to claim him--to the true Sir Gawain? Then, perhaps, we may
have a demand for his real story, and it may be possible once more to
rejoice the hearts of our English folk with a restored and modern
rendering of the _Geste of Syr Gawayne_, even as Bleheris told it well
nigh a thousand years ago. If that day ever come neither author nor
hero will need any apology on the part of the translator!
Paris, _February 1907_.
Sir Gawain and the Lady of Lys
Hearken to me and ye shall hear how the good King Arthur and his
knights went forth to the wood for archery, and how at vesper-tide
they gat them homeward right joyfully.
The knights rode gaily ahead, holding converse the one with the other,
and behind them came the king, on a tall and prancing steed. He ware
no robe of state, but a short coat, which became him right well.
Behind all his men he rode, pensive and frowning, as one lost in
thought. And as he thus lagged behind Sir Gawain looked back, and saw
the king riding alone and pensive, and he bade his comrades draw rein
and wait for their lord. And as the king came anigh he drew his steed
beside him, and stretched out his hand, laughing, and laid hold on the
bridle, and said, "Sire, tell us, for the love of God, of what ye may
now be thinking? Sire, your thoughts should be of naught but good,
for there is no prince in this world equal to ye in valour or in
honour, therefore should ye be very joyful!"
The king made answer courteously, "Fair nephew, an I may be joyful I
will tell ye truly that whereon I thought. There is no king living on
earth who hath had such good and such great service from his men as I;
it seemeth to me now right and fitting that I should give to them that
which they have deserved for the toil they have suffered for me,
whereby I be come to such high estate. Fair nephew, I bethought me
that my riches would avail little if through sloth I failed to reward
the good service of these my knights, who have made me everywhere to
be obeyed and honoured. Now without delay will I tell ye that I am
minded to hold, at Pentecost, a far greater court than is my wont, and
to give to each and all such gifts as shall be well pleasing to them,
so that each may be glad and joyful, and ever hereafter of good will
towards me."
Swiftly, and before all the others, Sir Gawain made answer, "Fair
Sire, blessed be the thought into which ye have fallen, for 'tis so
fair and so good that neither kaiser nor king nor count might think a
better."
And the king asked, "Nephew, tell me straightway where do ye counsel
that this my court be held?"
"Sire, at Carnarvon; there let all your knighthood assemble, for there
is not in all your kingdom a fairer place, nor nobler halls, and it
lieth in the marches of Wales, and of the land of Britain."
The king and all his company rode back joyfully, and that selfsame
night did the king Arthur give command that all the knights and all
the barons throughout the land should be summoned by letter to come to
him at Pentecost.
That great knighthood came thither, that famous knighthood came
thither, even so have I heard, and assembled for this court at
Carnarvon.
Ah God! from what far-off lands did they come. Thither were come the
men of Ireland, and of Scotland, of Iceland, of Wales, and of Galvoie
(a land where many a man goeth astray). From Logres they came, and
from Escavalon; men of Norway, Bretons, Danes, and they of Orcanie.
Never was so great a knighthood assembled at any court as that which
the good king Arthur summoned to him.
The day of the Holy Feast, when he had worn his crown at the high
procession, knights and barons conducted him with joy to his palace;
and therewith Kay, the seneschal, bade them sound the trumpets and
bring water. First the king washed, and thereafter sat down aloft, on
the high daïs, so that all who sat there at meat might see him. Four
hundred knights, save three, sat themselves down at the Round Table;
at the second were seated the thirty peers. Crowded were the ranks of
the other knights who were seated throughout the hall, as was fitting,
on daïs, and at tables on the ground. Then quickly Kay the seneschal
bare the first meat, and the service was made throughout the hall, in
joyful wise, as befitted such high festivity.
Now as the king ate, he looked towards the Round Table, even as one
who would take knowledge of all, and by hap his eye fell on the seat
of a knight good and true, which was void and lacking its rightful
lord. Then so great a pity and tenderness took him that the tears rose
from his heart to his eyes, and thence welled forth, and he sighed a
great and piteous sigh when he remembered him of that knight. He took
a knife which Yones held (nephew was he to king Ydier, and carved
before Arthur), and, frowning and thoughtful, smote the blade through
the bread which lay on the board. Then he rested his head on the one
hand, even as one whose thoughts are troubled by anger or grief, and
unheeding, ran the palm of the other adown the sharp knife, so that he
was somewhat wounded. At sight of the blood he bethought himself, and
left hold of the knife and taking the napkin, wrapped it swiftly
around his hand, so that they who ate in the hall below might not see.
And with that he fell once more into thought and bowed down his head,
and as he mused the tears came again to his eyes.
When Sir Gawain beheld this he marvelled much, and therein was he
right, for to all who were in the hall it seemed but folly. Then he
rose up straightway, and passed between the ranks till that he came
before the daïs, and saw that the king was again lost in thought. He
hasted not to speak till that he saw him raise his head, but so soon
as he lifted up his face Sir Gawain spake right courteously; "Sire,
Sire, 'tis neither right nor fitting that ye should have such wrath or
displeasure as should make ye thus moody in the sight of so many high
and noble barons as ye may see here around ye; rather should their
solace and their company please and rejoice ye."
"Gawain, will ye that I tell ye whence came the thought which has made
me thus sad and silent?"
"Yea, Sire, that do I pray of ye."
"Fair nephew, know of a truth that I will tell ye willingly, in the
hearing of all these good knights. My thoughts were of ye, and of many
another whom I see here, of the wickedness of which ye are full, and
of the envy and the treason long time hid, and now made manifest."
With that the king held his peace, and said no more.
Sir Gawain grew crimson with anger and shame, and throughout the
palace all held their peace, for much they marvelled that the king
spake thus evilly to his nephew, calling him in the hearing of all a
traitor proven, and all were wroth therefor. Then he to whom the ill
words were said answered as best he might, "Sire, that was an ugly
word; for your honour bethink ye of what ye have said in the hearing
of all who be here within."
"Gawain," answered the king, "'tis no empty word, thus of a truth do I
repeat it, and Ywain may well take heed and know that I thought of him
but now, when I sat silent and pensive, here within have I not one
single comrade whom I do not accuse of treason and too great felony!"
With that I know not how many sprang to their feet, and a great
clamour filled the hall. "Lords," cried Tor fis Ares, "I conjure ye by
the oath which ye and I alike sware to king Arthur that ye restrain
yourselves, and act as is befitting; he accuses ye all of
treason--these be right evil tidings!" In like wise also spake Sir
Ywain. "Ah God," quoth Sir Gawain, "with what joy was all this great
court summoned and assembled, and in what grief shall it be broken
up!"
The king heard, and, sighing, spake, "Gawain, I have spoken but the
truth!"
"Fair Sire, for the love of God, and for honesty, tell us after what
manner and in what fashion we be felon and traitorous?"
Quoth the king, "An ye will I will tell ye; now hearken. Ye know of a
truth that aforetime there reigned in this land a folk who built
castles and cities, strong towers and fortresses, and the great
Chastel Orguellous did they fortify against us. When we heard tell
thereof ye, my knights, delayed not to go thither, not with my will!
There did I lose so many of my folk that the thought thereof yet
grieveth my heart; the greater part were slain, but some among them
were made captive. They took one of my companions, three years long
have they held him in prison, and thereof have I great grief at heart.
Here within do I see no better knight; he was beyond measure valiant,
fair of face and form, and very wise was he in counsel. But now, when
all this great lordship was set down here to meat, I beheld that
knight's seat void and lacking its lord, and for sorrow and grief was
my heart heavy and troubled when I saw him not in his place in your
ranks; it lacked but little that I were distraught. Therefore, my
lords, do I arraign ye all of treason; Giflet fis Do is he named that
good and gentle knight, three whole years have gone by since he was
imprisoned in that tower, and ye be all traitors who have left your
comrade three years and have not sought for or freed him! Yea, and I
who have blamed ye, I be even more the traitor in that I ever ware
crown, or made joy, or held high feast before I knew if he might be
restored to me, or where he now may be, whether dead or living! Now on
this have I set my heart,--by the faith I owe to that Heavenly Lord
who hath bestowed on me earthly honour, and kingdom, and lands, that
for no hap that may befall me will I delay to set forth in search of
him, be it in never so distant a land. For verily I tell ye all that
the king who loseth so good a knight by wrongful deed or by sloth, he
hath right neither to lands nor to honour, nor should he live a day
longer, an he deliver not that knight who for his honour suffered toil
and was made captive. In the ears of ye all do I make a vow that I
will lie not more than one night in any place till that I know whether
he be dead, or may be freed."
Then all cried with one voice, "Shame upon him, Sire, who will not
plead guilty to this treason, for ye speak with right and reason; by
overmuch sloth have we delayed to ride forth and seek him far hence,
even at the Chastel Orguellous."
"Lords," quoth the king, "I tell ye here and at once that I shall set
forth to-morrow, but by the faith that I owe to Saint Germain I must
needs proceed with wisdom, for here is force of no avail."
"True, fair Sire," answered Sir Gawain. "Know for sooth that the roads
'twixt here and the Chastel Orguellous be passing hard and difficult;
'tis a good fifteen days ere ye be come thither; longer days have ye
never ridden! 'Tis best that one tell ye the truth! And when ye be
come thither, fair Sire, then shall ye have each day battle, as I know
right well, one knight against the other, a hundred against a hundred,
that shall ye find truly. Now take good counsel for the journey, what
folk ye may best take with ye."
"Lords," said the king, "now let us to meat, and afterward will I see
by aid of your counsel whom I take with me, and whom I leave to guard
my land and my folk."
With that all in the palace, great and small, ate as quickly as might
be; and so soon as the king saw that 'twas time and place to speak he
bade remove the cloths, which they did without delay. Thereafter they
brought water, and bare round the wine in cups of fine gold. Then, it
seemeth me, there sprang to their feet at once more than three
thousand knights, who cried the king mercy, and prayed that he would
take them with him on this adventure, for right willingly would they
go.
"Lords," quoth the king, "they whom my barons elect, those will I
take, and the others shall remain to keep my kingdom in peace."
Then first, before all others, spake king Urien, a very wise knight
was he. "My Lord king, ye have no need to take with ye too great a
force; take with ye rather a few, but good, men, so to my thinking
will ye more swiftly free Giflet, our good comrade, from his prison.
Take with ye the best of your knights, 'twill be for your greater
honour, and your foes will be the more speedily vanquished; knight
against knight must ye fight there, and I think me that such of their
men shall there be worsted that they shall that same day yield ye
Giflet the good and valiant knight. Have no doubt for the when or how,
but bid them make ready. I can but praise the folk who shall go with
ye."
Then quoth the king, "What say ye, Lords? I await your counsel!"
King Ydier spake. "Sire, none of us should give ye praise, or speak
other than the best he knoweth. Shamed be he who should give ye
counsel wherein ye may find no honour. I know full well that the more
part of your folk would gladly go with ye, but if ye take them, Sire,
'twill not be for your honour, but believe king Urien, for he hath
given good counsel so I tell ye of a truth."
"Certes," saith Sir Gawain, "he would be false and foolish who should
give other rede!" And all said, "Let it be as the king will; let him
take those whom he please, and leave the others in the land."
"Ye have said well," said the king; "now go ye to your lodging, and
prepare to depart, and I will cause to be made ready a pennon of silk
for each of those whom I shall lead with me." As he said, so it was
done, and all betook them to their lodging.
The king forthwith sent the pennons, and bade them without fail be
armed and ahorse at dawn.
What more shall I tell ye? At sunrise were all the knights armed, even
as the king commanded, all they who had received the pennons came
together ahorse before the hall.
Now will I tell ye their names: there were Sir Gawain, king Ydier,
Guengasoains, Kay, and Lucains, the butler. The sixth was Tors. Then
Saigremors, and Mabonagrain, who was nephew unto king Urien. Eight
have I now named unto ye, counting the kinsman of king Urien. The
ninth was Lancelot du Lac; the tenth Ider, son of Nut; the Laid Hardi,
the eleventh; with Doon l'Aiglain have we twelve, all very courteous
knights. Galegantins the Galois, and the brave Carados Briefbras, who
was a right cheery comrade, made fourteen, and the fifteenth was the
good Taulas de Rogemont: so many were they, nor more, nor less.
All ready armed were they before the hall the while they awaited the
king, ere he came forth armed from his chamber. Then he mounted his
steed, and I tell ye that, to my knowledge, was never king so richly
armed afore, nor ever hereafter shall there be such. The queen bare
him company even to the entrance of the palace, then she turned her
back.
Then the king bade his companions march, and they began to move as
swiftly as might be on the highway, but so great a folk convoyed them
that hardly might they depart or go forth from the burg. And when the
king had ridden three miles he drew rein in the midst of a meadow, and
there he bade farewell to his folk, who, sad and sorrowful, gat them
back to the burg. And the king and his fifteen comrades rode on their
way; they passed even through the land of Britain, so I think me, and
hasted them much to ride quickly.
One day the king, fasting, came forth from a very great forest, on to
a heath of broom; the sun was hot, and burning, and the country over
large and waste. The king was so wearied by the heat, in that he rode
fasting, that he had much need of rest, could he but find a fitting
spot. By chance they found a great tree, where they drew bridle;
beneath was a spring, and for heat and for weariness they bared their
heads and their hands, and washed their faces and their mouths. I know
well that one and all had much need of food, but they had naught with
them, and all were sore vexed for the king, who suffered over much
from the fast.
Sir Gawain gazed into the plain, far below, 'neath the forest, and he
showed unto the seneschal a house of thatch, well fenced about; "Kay,"
quoth he, "methinks under that roof there must be folk!"
"'Tis true," said Kay; "I will go and see if I may find victual, and
ye shall await me here." With that he departed from them, and went
straightway to the house; within he found an old woman, but nothing of
what he sought; food was there none.
The crone spake and said, "Sir, so God help me, for twenty miles round
about are naught but waste lands, know that well, save only that the
king of Meliolant has built there below 'neath the trees a forest
lodge. He cometh thither ofttimes privately with his hounds. There,
Sir, will ye be well lodged, an ye find him; from that tree yonder may
ye see the house on the hill."
The seneschal straightway went even as the crone had said, and he saw
the dwelling, right well enclosed with orchards, vineyards and
meadows. Ponds were there, lands, and fish-tanks, all well fenced
about. In the midst was a tower; ye might ask no better, no defence
was lacking to it. Beholding it the seneschal stayed not, but passed
the roadway, and the gate, and the chief drawbridge, and thus came to
the foot of the tower. There did he dismount, but he found no living
soul of whom he might ask concerning the dwelling and who might be
within. Then he entered a hall, very high and long and wide. On a
great hearth he saw a goodly fire alight, but he found no man save a
dwarf, who was roasting a fat peacock ('twere hard to find a better!),
well larded, on a spit of apple-wood, which the dwarf knew right well
how to turn.
Kay came forward quickly, and the dwarf beheld him with evil
countenance. "Dwarf," quoth the seneschal, "tell me if there be any
here within save thyself?" But the wretch would not speak a word.
Kay would have slain him there and then, if he had not thought to be
shamed thereby, but he knew right well that twere too great villainy.
"Miserable hunchback," quoth he, "I see none here in this house save
thee and this peacock, which I will now have for my dinner; I will
share it as shall seem me good."
"By the King Who lieth not," quoth the dwarf, "ye shall neither eat
thereof yourself nor share it with others; I counsel you to quit this
hostel, or know ye well, and without doubt, that ye shall be right
shamefully thrust out!"
This vexed Kay mightily, and he sprang forward to smite him; with his
foot he thrust him against the pillar of the hearth so that the stone
thereof became bloody. The dwarf bled freely for the heat, and made
loud lament, for he feared lest he should be slain.
Then on the left the seneschal heard a door shut-to sharply, and there
came forth a knight, tall and strong, and of proud countenance, and
very fair and goodly to look upon; he might not be above thirty years
old. He ware a vest of new samite, furred with ermine for warmth;
'twas not long, but wide, and of ample folds. Thus was he well clad
and cunningly shod; and I tell ye truly that he ware a fair girdle of
golden links; no treasury hath a richer. All uncovered he came forth,
in guise of a man greatly wroth, leading two greyhounds by a fair
leash of silk which he held in his hand. When he saw that his dwarf
bled, he spake, "Ye who be come all armed into this hall, wherefore
have ye slain this my servant?"
"A curse upon such a servant," quoth Kay, "from this day on, for in
all the world is there not one so evil, so small, or so misshapen!"
Then the knight answered, "By all the saints, but ye say ill, and I
challenge ye for it, fair sir."
Quoth the seneschal, "Many a goodly knight have I seen, to the full as
noble as ye may be, and ye be evil and vexatious, even if I have
smitten this servant who roasted here this peacock, to speak thus
concerning the matter."
The knight answered frankly, "Sir, ye speak not courteously, but for
God's sake I would ask ye a mere nothing, even that ye vouchsafe to
tell me your name."
Kay spake in great wrath, "I will tell ye willingly, so help me God I
have told it ere this to five hundred knights better than ye be; know
of a truth that my name is Kay."
"Certes, sir, I may well believe that ye speak truly; by your speech
alone may one quickly know ye. This lad refused ye the peacock; 'tis
not the custom of my house that meat be refused to any who may ask
for it; ye shall have your share of the peacock, and that right
swiftly, so God help me!" With that he seized the spit, and raised it
aloft, and with great strength and force smote Sir Kay therewith, so
that he well nigh slew him, and know that he smote him on the neck so
that he must needs fall, he had no foot so firm that it might keep him
upright. And as the peacock burst asunder, the hot blood thereof ran
between the links of his hauberk in such wise that Sir Kay bare the
mark thereof all the days of his life. Then the knight threw the
peacock to his two hounds, and spake, "Sir Kay, rise, that be your
share, ye shall have no more; now get out of my sight quickly, I am
over wroth when I behold ye!"
With that came quickly two sergeants, fully armed, and led the
seneschal forth from the hall. He mounted his steed, and turned him
back, passing the bridge and the plain, and came to where the king had
dismounted.
Then his comrades asked him, "Seneschal, have ye found nothing of that
which ye went to seek?"
"Not I, my lords; 'tis a right evil land here wherein to seek for
food; it behoveth us to ride far, for here may we find nor hostelry,
nor victual--so hath it been told to me."
Quoth Sir Gawain, laughing, "Certes, he with whom ye spake lives by
meat, even as we; without meat might he not dwell in this great and
well wooded land."
"By my faith, no," answered Kay, "but I tell ye truly, 'tis so proud a
vassal that for naught that we may say will he give us shelter."
The king said, "Then is he right discourteous, and I counsel that we
send Gawain to him. Fair nephew, go, and we will wait ye here."
Sir Gawain mounted forthwith. What more shall I tell ye save that he
came straight to the dwelling, and when the knight saw him he made
marvellous joy of him, and asked his name, and he answered that men
called him Gawain, and straightway the knight knew him.
Then he told him his errand, saying, "The king is not far distant, and
would fain lodge with ye." This was well pleasing to the knight, and
he said, "Fair Sir, go, bring the king hither."
Then Sir Gawain rode swiftly back, and brought Arthur with him to the
hostel; but ere they might enter all the waters were set free and the
fountains 'gan to play. For joy and in honour of the king the knight
had assembled all his folk, and received him with very great honour,
and led him into the tower. The hounds were yet there, devouring the
flesh of the peacock. The king looked at Taulas, and quoth, "Body of
Saint Thomas, these two hounds have fared better than we to-day!" The
knight heard, and laughed to himself. Kay saw that, but said naught.
From thence they passed into the hall, and when they had disarmed the
meat was made ready, the knight bade bring white napkins, and pasties.
After dinner he made them wash their heads, and their necks, and their
feet, which were sorely bruised. Then he caused them to rest in fair
beds, covered with cloth of samite, and they slept even to the morrow
without stirring. But when they were awakened the host had prepared
for them a right plenteous meal, this he did of his good will. They
sat them down joyfully, and were richly served. I would weary ye if I
told all the dishes. The knights made much mirth of the seneschal's
burn, for the dwarf would not keep the tale secret from them, but
began to speak thereof. Never would it have been known through Kay, if
the dwarf had not brought it to mind, for he was over bent on hiding
it, and the host even more than he; all that night his comrades mocked
and made sport of him even till they betook them to rest.
Next morn, without delay, the king arose at daybreak, and likewise did
all the others, and armed themselves. Then the king thanked his host
for the good lodging he had given them.
Why should I make long telling thereof? The king saith, "Hide not from
me how ye be called."
"Sire, my name is Ydier the fair, and, Sire, this castle is mine own."
Then Ydier prayed the king that of his kindness he would take him with
him, but Arthur said he might not lead with him other save those whom
he had brought from his own land; and he took leave of the knight
since he might no longer abide in his hostelry, and went forth with
his companions.
The tale is here over long, but I will shorten it for ye. Two days did
they ride without food, for they might not sooner find place where
they might win food or seek lodging. Thus must they needs ride till
they came to the Orchard of the Sepulchres, where adventures be found
oft and perilous. There they ate with the hermits, of whom there were
a hundred and more. Here 'tis not fitting to tell of the marvels of
the cemetery, so diverse they be, and so great that there is no man
living on earth who could think, or believe, that the tale be true.
Since 'twas made and established never has the tale been told whence
came those graves, nor the custom which the hermits observed; to my
mind 'twould take too long did I tell it ye ere the fitting time and
place be come. But this will I tell ye of a truth, when the king had
sojourned two days, and beheld the Orchard, on the third, after meat,
he departed, and took the road once more.
On the morrow he came to a wondrous fair land; small need to seek a
richer in meadows, forests, or orchards planted with rare and diverse
trees. In the forest ways the grass grew green and tall, reaching even
to the horses' girths. Towards even-tide they came to a trodden way,
where the tall grass was beaten to earth, and trampled down by horses,
even for the length of a bowshot. "A hundred and more have passed this
way," quoth the king's men.
Sir Gawain spake to the king, "Fair Sire, follow me gently with these
my comrades on this wide road. I will ride on ahead, and seek out, and
ask whether there be near at hand hostel where we may lodge this
night, for of lodging have we great need. Yet, Sire, I pray that ye
leave not the road for word of any."
With that he set spurs to his steed, and rode swiftly on his way; nor
had he ridden long ere he was free of the forest, and saw before him a
hill, and a company of well-nigh a hundred horsemen, who rode in
knightly guise; 'twas on their track he followed.
Sir Gawain pressed on his steed, but when he had crossed the valley
and mounted the hill there was never a man in sight. But he saw before
him a castle; none so fair had he beheld afore, which stood on the
bank of a broad river; 'twould take me over long to tell the fashion
thereof, but this and no more will I say, 'twas the fairest ever seen.
Then Sir Gawain looked toward the river, and beheld two maidens, in
very fair vesture of purple, bearing pitchers of fine gold, wherein
they had drawn water, and he quoth, "Maidens, God save ye, and give ye
good speed!" and they answered, as was fitting, "Fair sir, God bless
ye!"
"Maidens, by the faith ye owe me answer me, and hide it not, what bear
ye in those pitchers?"
Quoth the one, "No need have we to hide aught; 'tis but water,
wherewith the good knight shall wash his hands."
"Of a faith," quoth Sir Gawain, "courteously have ye named him; great
honour is there in such a name!"
The second maiden answered, "Sir, she hath spoken truth; ye will not
lightly find a fairer, or a better, knight. See, but now doth he enter
within his burg."
Then Sir Gawain hasted, and spake no more with the maidens, but rode
over the bridge, and entered the castle by the gateway. Since the hour
of his birth never had he seen one so fair, nor, I think me, so long
as he live shall he see a fairer. All the way by which he passed was
hung with curtains richly wrought, whereat he marvelled strangely.
'Twas closed all along with fair buildings of diverse fashions. In
long rows adown the street Sir Gawain beheld rich booths of changers,
wherein on many-coloured carpets were set forth vessels of gold and
silver (no treasury ever held richer), cups, tankards, and dishes, the
fairest ever seen, with money of all lands: esterlins, besants,
deniers of Africa, and treasure trove. Every kind of money was there,
and much the good knight marvelled thereat.
Stuffs there were too, of all colours, the cost whereof was past his
telling. All the doors stood open; but one thing troubled Sir Gawain
sore: there was never a living soul to be seen.
Then he said within himself, "Of a sooth, for love and kindness do
they bear their lord, who but now hath entered the burg, company to
the little castle yonder." Thus he went his way straight to that
castle, and came within a goodly hall, both high and wide, and in
length equal to a bowshot. On every daïs a linen cloth was spread,
and sure never king nor count might eat off fairer or better wrought.
All was made ready for meat, and the bread and wine set in readiness
on the tables; but never a living soul was there. In a side chamber he
beheld on grails of silver more than a hundred boars' heads, with
pepper beside them, dressed for the serving. Sir Gawain beheld, and
crossed himself with lifted hand, but would no longer abide, finding
no man with whom he might have speech.
He turned him again through the castle, thinking to find at the
bridgehead the maidens of whom I told but now, whom he had left
bearing the water in golden pitchers, but nowhere might he find them,
and it vexed him sore that he saw them not, since he thought within
himself that they would surely have told him the truth concerning
their lord, whom he had seen but now enter the burg.
Much he mused thereon, repenting him that he had not longer spoken
with them, but now would he make no more abiding, but set him speedily
on his way, to meet the king. Nor did he draw bridle till he came unto
him.
"Fair nephew," quoth Arthur, "shall we to-day find hostel where we
may take rest, for we have sore need thereof?"
"Fair Sire, be at rest; food shall ye have now," answered Sir Gawain.
"'Tis a good word," quoth Kay; "right gladly will I serve the first
course unto the king, and to my comrades after!"
"Kay," saith Sir Gawain "not for all the world might ye guess the
marvels I have found!" Then he told unto them the adventure, even as
it had fallen out, the while he guided them to the burg. As they rode
adown the street the king marvelled greatly at the riches he beheld,
and Kay spake a courteous word,
"Castle, he who hence might bear ye
Would do ill an he should spare ye!"
Thus came they all into the inner burg, and, still ahorse, into the
great hall, but they found no man to whom they might speak, or to
whose care they might give their steeds. Then they said to each other,
"'Twere ill to let them fast," and the king spake, "I counsel that
after supper we go forth into yonder fair meadow."
This they held for good rede, and dismounted, making fast their
steeds to the stag's antlers on the wall. Then they washed their faces
and their hands in a bowl of silver, and the king sat himself down
first, and his knights after.
With no delay Kay set the first course before the king; 'twas a great
boar's head, and he bare it joyfully, and thereafter swiftly served
the rest, saying an any found cause for plaint, there was no lack, he
could have at his will. "The food hath cost me naught and I give it
freely; nay, of a verity we might, an we were so minded, feed our
steeds on boars' heads; this is no niggard hostelry! See ye the fair
couches in yonder chamber?" And he pointed to an open doorway.
Sir Gawain looked, and saw a shield hanging on the wall, and within
the shield yet stood the fragment of a mighty lance, with a silken
pennon hanging from it. I tell ye of a truth, so soon as he was ware
thereof the blood stirred in his veins; he spake no word, but swiftly
as might be he sprang up from meat, casting aside the knife he held,
and gat him to his steed, and girthed him tightly, and set his helmet
on his head, and sat him down again on a bench near by the daïs, his
shield beside him.
The king marvelled greatly, and the knights said the one to the other,
"Ha, God, what aileth Sir Gawain?" Each would fain know wherefore he
had armed himself thus swiftly; they thought of a surety his head had
grown light through over much fasting and the great heat of the day.
They were sore dismayed thereat, for they had seen and heard naught
that might give occasion for arming, and they might not guess the
cause.
The king spake simply, "Fair nephew, say, wherefore have ye ceased to
eat? And wherefore thus arm in haste? Ye make us much to marvel; tell
me, I pray, doth aught ail ye?"
"Naught, Sire, save that I pray ye to eat quickly, an ye love me!"
"How," quoth Arthur, "without ye, who have fasted even as we? Methinks
that were ill done!"
"By God and Saint Thomas, to eat here will profit me naught; ye are
wrong, Sire!" Thus answered Sir Gawain, swearing that for naught in
the world would he eat in this hostelry, neither might he be joyful
or at ease so long as they abode therein. "But I pray ye, Sire,
hasten and eat."
Then the king in the hearing of all sware straitly by Him who lieth
not, that he would eat naught till that he knew wherefore his nephew
had thus donned his helmet.
"Sire," quoth Sir Gawain, "ill and falsely should I have wrought if
for the telling of so slight a matter I should make ye fast this day;
certes I will tell ye, and lie not. Ye know well how five years agone
ye led an army great and strong against the city of Branlant; many a
king, many a baron, with twenty thousand men all told, with ye laid
siege to the city. Within were many of great valour to aid the lord
who held the seignorie of that land. One morn, at break of day, they
made a sortie on our host; the cry and clamour were so great that I
took no leisure to arm me, but mounted my steed and rode forth, even
as I was, to learn the cause of the tumult, bearing with me but shield
and lance. Thus I rode forth from the camp, and came straightway on
the men of the city, who were hasting to return with their spoil. I
followed them, wherein I did foolishly, since I came near to lose my
life thereby, for I was wounded by a spear in the shoulder, as ye
know, so that I was like to die, and must needs lie sick four months
and more ere that I was whole and sound.
"One morning, as I lay in my tent, I bade them raise the hangings
around that I might look on the land, and I beheld one of my squires,
mounted on the Gringalet, making his way from the stream where he had
watered the steed. I called him, and he came to me, and I bade him
without delay saddle the good horse, and he did my bidding. I clad me
swiftly the while, and bade them bring me my armour secretly, and when
I had armed me I mounted, and rode alone out of the camp. Fair Sire,
ye followed me, ere I came beyond the tents, praying me straitly to
return, but I entreated ye gently that since I had lain overlong sick
ye would grant me to go forth into the fields to disport myself, and
to test if I were in very truth healed of my wound, promising to
return speedily to camp. By this covenant, Sire, ye granted me to ride
forth.
"Thus I went my way till I came to a leafy grove, beset with flowers,
and abounding in birds, which sang loud and clear. I stayed my steed
to hearken, and for the sweetness of the song my heart grew light, and
I felt nor pain nor ill. Then I set spurs to my steed, and galloped
adown the glade. I found myself hale and strong, and feared no longer
for my wound.
"Thus I hearkened to the sweet song of the birds till that I forgat
myself, and passed a second grove, and a third, and a fourth, ere that
I bethought me of returning. Thus I rode till I came to a clearing
fair and wide, where I saw beside a fountain a pavilion, richly
fashioned. I rode even to the doorway, and looked within, and there on
a couch I beheld so wondrous fair a maiden that I was abashed for her
great beauty. Sire, I dismounted, and fastened my steed without the
tent and entered and saluted the maiden; but, Sire, first she greeted
Sir Gawain ere that she made answer to me.
"Then I asked her wherefore she did thus, and she answered that she
held Sir Gawain in honour above all knights, and therefore she first
gave him greeting. And when I heard this I spake saying that I was
indeed Sir Gawain, and her most true knight, but scarce would the
maiden believe me. I must needs unhelm, and from an inner chamber she
brought forth a silken ribbon, whereon a Saracen maiden of the queen's
household had wrought my semblance. And when she had looked thereon,
and beheld me disarmed, and knew of a verity that I was he whom she
desired, then she threw her arms around me, and kissed me more than a
hundred times, saying that she was mine even as long as she might
live.
"Then I took that fair gift right joyfully, and we spake together
long, and had our will the one of the other. And this I tell ye that
ere we parted I sware to her that other love would I never have. Then
when I had armed me again, and mounted my steed, I took leave of the
maid right lovingly, and turned me again for the camp, joyful of this
my fair adventure.
"Thus I rode swiftly through one grove, but had gone scarce a bowshot
beyond when a knight came fast behind me, marvellous well armed, and
bearing a lance with a fair pennon. He cried loudly upon me, 'Traitor,
ye may go no further; ye must pay dearly for my brother, whom ye slew,
and for this my daughter, whom ye have now dishonoured.' Then I
answered him, 'Sir Knight, ye might speak more courteously, for I have
done ye neither shame nor evil; an I had, I were ready to give ye what
amends might seem good to ye and to my lady; treason have I not done.'
"With that I set spurs to my steed, and he likewise, and we came fast
the one against the other, and his lance was shivered on my shield,
but my blade pierced him through shield and hauberk, so that he fell
to the ground sore wounded. Sire, I pray ye eat, for an I tell ye more
it may turn to evil." And the king quoth, "Nephew, say on speedily,
and delay not."
Then spake Sir Gawain, "Sire, I left the knight lying, and went my
way, but ere I had gone far I heard one cry upon me, 'Traitor, stay;
ye must pay for my uncle and this my father, whom ye have wrongfully
slain, and for my sister, whom ye have dishonoured!' Then I stayed my
steed, and prayed him to speak more courteously, for that I was ready
to make amends an I had done wrong, but that I was no traitor.
"Then we set ourselves to joust, and I tell ye, Sire, we came so hard
together that we were borne both of us to the earth. Then we betook
us to our swords, and dealt many a blow the one to the other; but in
the end, in that I was scarce healed of my wound, he dealt me more
harm than I might deal him; in this I lie not, I was well-nigh worn
down, and put to the worse. Then I bethought me, Sire, and prayed him
to tell me his name since I was fain to know it; and he told me he was
Bran de Lis. Ider de Lis, the good and valiant, was his father, and
Melians de Lis his uncle, and he said did I get the better of him,
then had I slain the three best knights in any land, yet he deemed
well, an God would help him, that he might even avenge the twain; for
he quoth, 'I know well that a combat betwixt us may not endure over
long, but that one of us must needs be slain.' And I answered, 'Sir,
let us do otherwise, for an ye put me to the worse but few will
believe the tale, for in this land it were not lightly held that any
man may vanquish me. Methinks 'twere better that our combat be fought
in the sight of many, who shall bear true witness as to the which of
us comes off the better.' Thus, Sire, we made covenant together by
token that in what place soever he should find me, whether armed or
unarmed, there we should fight. This we sware, the one to the other.
By the love I bear ye, Sire, never since that day have I heard aught
of him in any land where I might be. Thus was our combat ended, as I
tell ye, and of a truth I saw him no more.