THE LOVE OF LANCELOT AND GUENEVER.
CHAPTER I.
THE POISONING OF SIR PATRISE.
After the quest of the Sangreal was ended, and all the knights who were
left alive had come again to Camelot, there was great joy in the court,
with feasts and merrymakings, that this fortunate remnant might find a
glad welcome. Above all, King Arthur and Queen Guenever were full of joy
in the return of Lancelot and Bors, both from the love they bore them
and the special honor they had gained in the quest.
But, as is man's way, holy thoughts vanished with the holy task that
gave them rise, the knights went back to their old fashions and
frailties, and in Lancelot's heart his earthly love for the queen soon
rose again, and his love of heaven and holy thoughts grew dim as the
days went by. Alas that it should have been so! for such an unholy
passion could but lead to harm. To fatal ills, indeed, it led, and to
the end of Arthur's reign and of the worshipful fellowship of the Table
Round, as it is our sorrowful duty now to tell.
All this began in the scandal that was raised in the court by the close
companionship between Lancelot and the queen. Whisper of this secret
talk at length came to that good knight's ears, and he withdrew from
Queen Guenever as much as he could, giving himself to the society of
other ladies of the court, with design to overcome the evil activity of
slanderous tongues.
This withdrawal filled the queen with jealous anger, and she accused him
bitterly of coldness in his love.
"Madam," said Lancelot, "only that love for you clung desperately to my
heart, and drove out heavenly thoughts, I should have gained as great
honor in the quest of the Sangreal as even my son Galahad. My love is
still yours, but I fear to show it, for there are those of the court who
love me not, such as Agravaine and Mordred, and these evil-thinking
knights are spreading vile reports wherever they may. It is for this I
make show of delight in other ladies' society, to cheat the bitter
tongue of slander."
To this the queen listened with heaving breast and burning cheek. But at
the end she burst into bitter tears and sobs, and wept so long that
Lancelot stood in dismay. When she could speak, she called him recreant
and false, declared she should never love him more, and bade him leave
the court, and on pain of his head never come near her again.
This filled the faithful lover with the deepest grief and pain; yet
there was anger, too, for he felt that the queen had shut her ears to
reason, and had let causeless jealousy blind her. So, without further
words, he turned and sought his room, prepared to leave the court. He
sent for Hector, Bors, and Lionel, and told them what had happened, and
that he intended to leave England and return to his native land.
"If you take my advice you will do nothing so rash," said Bors. "Know
you not that women are hasty to act, and quick to repent? This is not
the first time the queen has been angry with you; nor will her
repentance be a new experience."
"You speak truly," said Lancelot. "I will ride, therefore, to the
hermitage of Brasias, near Windsor, and wait there till I hear from you
if my lady Guenever changes her mood. I pray you do your best to get me
her love again."
"That needs no prayer. Well you know I will do my utmost in your
behalf."
Then Lancelot departed in haste, none but Bors knowing whither he had
gone. But the queen showed no sign of sorrow at his going, however
deeply she may have felt it in her heart. In countenance she remained
serene and proud, as though the world went well with her, and her heart
was free from care.
Her desire, indeed, to show that she took as much joy in the society of
other knights as in that of Lancelot led to a woful and perilous event,
which we have next to describe. For she gave a private dinner, to which
she invited Gawaine and his brethren and other knights, to the number of
twenty-four in all. A rich feast it was, with all manner of dainties and
rare devices. Much was the joy and merriment of the feasting knights.
As it happened, Gawaine had a great love for fruits, especially apples
and pears, which he ate daily at dinner and supper; and all who invited
him to dine took care to provide his favorite fruits. This the queen
failed not to do. But there was at the feast an enemy of Gawaine's,
named Pinel le Savage, who was a cousin of Lamorak de Galis, and had
long hated Gawaine for the murder of that noble knight.
To obtain revenge on him, Pinel poisoned some of the apples, feeling
sure that only Gawaine would eat them. But by unlucky chance a knight
named Patrise, cousin to Mador de la Porte, eat one of the poisoned
apples. So deadly was the venom that in a moment he was in agony, and
very soon it so filled his veins that he fell dead from his seat.
Then was terror and wrath, as the knights sprang in haste and turmoil
from their seats. For they saw that Patrise had been poisoned, and
suspicion naturally fell upon the queen, the giver of the feast.
"My lady, the queen," cried Gawaine in anger, "what thing is this we
see? This fate, I deem, was meant for me, since the fruit was provided
for my taste. Madam, what shall I think? Has this good knight taken on
himself the death that was intended to be mine?"
The queen made no answer, being so confused and terrified that she knew
not what to say.
"This affair shall not end here," cried Mador de la Porte in great
wrath. "Here lies a noble knight of my near kindred, slain by poison and
treason. For this I shall have revenge to the utterance. Queen Guenever,
I hold you guilty of the murder of my cousin, Sir Patrise. I demand from
the laws of the realm and the justice of our lord the king redress for
this deed. A knight like this shall not fall unrevenged, while I can
wield spear or hold sword."
The queen, at this hot accusation, looked appealingly from face to face;
but all stood grave and silent, for greatly they suspected her of the
crime. Then, seeing that she had not a friend in the room, she burst
into a passion of tears, and at length fell to the floor in a swoon.
The story of this sad business soon spread through the court, and
quickly came to the ears of the king, who hastened to the banqueting
hall full of trouble at what he had heard. When Mador saw him, he again
bitterly accused the queen of treason,--as murder of all kinds was then
called.
"This is a serious affair," said the king, gravely. "I, as a rightful
judge, cannot take the matter into my own hands, or I would do battle in
this cause myself, for I know well that my wife is wrongly accused. To
burn a queen on a hasty accusation of crime is no light matter, though
you may deem it so, Sir Mador; and if you demand the combat, fear not
but a knight will be found to meet you in the lists."
"My gracious lord," said Mador, "you must hold me excused, for though
you are our king, you are a knight also, and held by knightly rules.
Therefore, be not displeased with me, for all the knights here suspect
the queen of this crime. What say you, my lords?"
"The dinner was made by the queen," they answered. "She or her servants
must be held guilty of the crime."
"I gave this dinner with a good will, and with no thought of evil," said
the queen, sadly. "May God help me as an innocent woman, and visit this
murder on the base head of him who committed it. My king and husband, to
God I appeal for right and justice."
"And justice I demand," said Mador, "and require the king to name a day
in which this wrong can be righted."
"Be it so, then," said the king. "Fifteen days hence be thou ready armed
on horseback in the meadow beside Winchester. If there be a knight there
to meet you, then God speed the right. If none meet you, then my queen
must suffer the penalty of the law."
When Arthur and the queen had departed, he asked her how this case
befell.
"God help me if I know," she answered.
"Where is Lancelot?" asked the king. "If he were here, he would do
battle for you."
"I know not," she replied. "His kinsmen say he has left the land."
"How cometh it," said the king, "that you cannot keep Lancelot by your
side? If he were here your case would be won. Sir Bors will do battle in
his place, I am sure. Go seek him and demand his aid."
This the queen did, begging Bors to act as her champion; but he, as one
of the knights who had been at the dinner, demurred, and accused her of
having driven Lancelot from the country by her scorn and jealousy.
Then she knelt and begged his aid, and the king, coming in, also
requested his assistance, for he was now sure the queen had been
unjustly defamed.
"My lord," answered Bors, "it is a great thing you require of me, for if
I grant your request I will affront many of my Round Table comrades. Yet
for your and Lancelot's sake I will be the queen's champion on the day
appointed, unless it may happen that a better knight than I come to do
battle for her."
"Will you promise me this, on your faith?" asked the king.
"I shall not fail you," said Bors. "If a better knight than I come, the
battle shall be his. If not, I will do what I can."
This promise gladdened the king and queen, who thanked Bors heartily,
and were filled with hope, for they trusted greatly in this good
knight's prowess and skill.
Bors, however, had other thoughts than they dreamed of, and left the
court secretly, riding to the hermitage of Brasias, where he found
Lancelot and told him of what had occurred.
"This happens well," said Lancelot. "The queen shall not suffer. Do you
make ready for the battle, but tarry and delay, if I am not there, as
much as you may, till I arrive. Mador is a hot knight, and will be hasty
to battle. Bid him cool his haste."
"Leave that to me," said Bors. "Doubt not that it will go as you wish."
Meanwhile the news spread throughout the court that Bors had taken on
himself the queen's championship. This displeased the most of the
knights, for suspicion of the queen was general. On his return many of
his fellows accused him hotly of taking on himself a wrongful quarrel.
"Shall we see the queen of our great lord King Arthur brought to shame?"
he demanded. "To whom in the world do we owe more?"
"We love and honor our king as much as you do," they answered. "But we
cannot love a destroyer of knights, as Queen Guenever has proved
herself."
"Fair sirs," said Bors, "you speak hastily, methinks. At all times, so
far as I know, she has been a maintainer, not a destroyer, of knights,
and has been free with gifts and open-handed in bounty to all of
knightly fame. This you cannot gainsay, nor will I suffer the wife of
our noble king to be shamefully slain. She is not guilty of Sir
Patrise's death, for she never bore him ill will, nor any other at that
dinner. It was for good will she invited us there, and I doubt not her
innocence will be proved; for howsoever the game goeth, take my word for
it, some other than she is guilty of that murder."
This some began to believe, convinced by his words, but others still
held their displeasure, believing the queen guilty.
When at length the day that had been fixed for the battle came, there
was a great gathering of knights and people in the meadow beside
Winchester, where the combat was to take place. But many shuddered when
they saw another thing, for an iron stake was erected, and fagots heaped
round it, for the burning of the queen should Mador win the fight.
Such, indeed, was the custom of those days. Neither for favor, for love,
nor for kindred could any but righteous judgment be given, as well upon
a king as upon a knight, upon a queen as upon a poor lady, and death at
the stake was the penalty for those convicted of murder.
Now there rode into the lists Sir Mador de la Porte, and took oath
before the king that he held the queen to be guilty of the death of Sir
Patrise, and would prove it with his body against any one who should say
to the contrary.
Sir Bors followed, and made oath as the queen's champion that he held
her guiltless, and would prove it with his body, unless a better knight
came to take the battle on him.
"Make ready then," said Mador, "and we shall prove which is in the
right, you or I."
"You are a good knight, Sir Mador," said Bors, "but I trust that God
will give this battle to justice, not to prowess."
He continued to talk and to make delay till Mador called out
impatiently,--
"It seems to me that we waste time and weather. Either come and do
battle at once, or else say nay."
"I am not much given to say nay," answered Bors. "Take your horse and
make ready. I shall not tarry long, I promise you."
Then each departed to his tent, and in a little while Mador came into
the field with his shield on his shoulder and his spear in his hand. But
he waited in vain for Bors.
"Where is your champion?" cried Mador to the king. "Bid him come forth
if he dare!"
When this was told to Bors he was ashamed to delay longer, and mounted
his horse and rode to his appointed place. But as he did so he saw a
knight, mounted on a white horse, and bearing a shield of strange
device, emerge from a neighboring wood, and come up at all speed. He
continued his course till he came to Sir Bors.
"Be not displeased, fair knight," he said, "if I claim this battle. I
have ridden far this day to have it, as I promised you when we spoke
last. And for what you have done I thank you."
Then Bors rode to the king and told him that a knight had come who would
do battle for the queen and relieve him from the championship.
"What knight is this?" asked the king.
"All I may say is that he covenanted to be here to-day. He has kept his
word, and I am discharged."
"How is this?" demanded Arthur. "Sir knight, do you truly desire to do
battle for the queen?"
"For that, and that alone, came I hither," answered the knight. "And I
beg that there be no delay, for when this battle is ended I must depart
in haste on other duties. I hold it a dishonor to all those knights of
the Round Table that they can stand and see so noble a lady and
courteous a queen as Queen Guenever rebuked and shamed among them all.
Therefore I stand as her champion."
Then all marvelled what knight this could be, for none suspected him.
But Mador cried impatiently to the king,--
"We lose time here. If this knight, whoever he be, will have ado with
me, it is time to end words and begin deeds."
"You are hot, Sir Mador. Take care that your valor be not cooled," said
the other.
They now moved to their appointed stations, and there couched their
spears and rode together with all the speed of their chargers. Mador's
spear broke, but the spear of his opponent held, and bore him and his
horse backward to the earth.
But he sprang lightly from the saddle, and drew his sword, challenging
the victor to do battle with him on foot. This the other knight did,
springing quickly to the ground, and drawing his sword. Then they came
eagerly to the combat, and for the space of near an hour fought with the
fury of wild beasts, for Mador was a strong knight, proved in many
battles.
But at last the strange champion struck his opponent a blow that brought
him to the earth. He stepped near him to hurl him flat, but at that
instant Mador suddenly rose. As he did so he struck upward with his
sword, and ran the other through the thick of the thigh, so that the
blood flowed freely.
When he felt himself wounded he stepped back in a rage, and grasping his
sword struck Mador a two-handed blow that hurled him flat to the earth.
Then he sprang upon him to pull off his helm.
"I yield me!" cried Mador. "Spare my life, and I release the queen."
"I shall not grant your life," said the other, "only on condition that
you freely withdraw this accusation from the queen, and that no charge
against her be made on Sir Patrise's tomb."
"All this shall be done. I have lost, and adjudge her innocent."
The knights-parters of the lists now took up Sir Mador and bore him to
his tent. The other knight went to the foot of King Arthur's seat. By
that time the queen had come thither also, and was heartily kissed by
her overjoyed lord. Then king and queen alike thanked the victor knight,
and prayed him to take off his helmet, and drink some wine for
refreshment. This he did, and on the instant a loud shout went up from
all present, for they recognized the noble face of Lancelot du Lake.
"Sir Lancelot!" cried the king. "Never were you more heartily welcome.
Deep thanks I and Queen Guenever owe you for your noble labor this day
in our behalf."
"My lord Arthur," said Lancelot, "I would shame myself should I ever
fail to do battle for you both. It was you who gave me the high honor of
knighthood. And on the day you made me knight I lost my sword through
haste, and the lady your queen found it and gave it me when I had need
of it, and so saved me from disgrace among the knights. On that day I
promised her to be ever her knight in right or wrong."
"Your goodness merits reward," said the king, "and therein I shall not
fail you."
But as the queen gazed on Lancelot, tears came to her eyes, and she wept
so tenderly that she almost sank to the ground from sorrow and remorse
at her unkindness to him who had done her such noble service.
Now the knights of his blood came around Lancelot in the greatest joy,
and all the Knights of the Round Table after them, glad to welcome him.
And in the days that followed Lancelot was cured of his wound, and Mador
put under the care of skilful leeches, while great joy and gladness
reigned in the court for the happy issue of that combat which had
promised so fatal an ending.
About this time it befell that Nimue, the damsel of the lake, came to
the court, she who knew so many things by her power of enchantment, and
had such great love for Arthur and his knights. When the story of the
death of Sir Patrise and the peril of the queen was told her, she
answered openly that the queen had been falsely accused, and that the
real murderer was Sir Pinel, who had poisoned the apples to destroy
Gawaine, in revenge for the murder of Lamorak. This story was confirmed
when Pinel fled hastily from the court, for then all saw clearly that
Guenever was innocent of the crime.
The slain knight was buried in the church of Westminster, and on his
tomb was written,--
"Here lieth Sir Patrise of Ireland, slain by Sir Pinel le Savage,
through poisoned apples intended for Sir Gawaine." And to this was added
the story of how Guenever the queen had been charged with that crime,
and had been cleared in the combat by Sir Lancelot du Lake, her
champion.
All this was written on the tomb, to clear the queen's good fame. And
daily and long Sir Mador sued the queen to have her good grace again.
At length, by means of Lancelot, he was forgiven, and entered again into
the grace of king and queen. Thus once more peace and good-will were
restored to Camelot.
CHAPTER II.
THE LILY MAID OF ASTOLAT.
It came to pass that, within fifteen days of the Feast of the
Assumption, King Arthur announced that a great tournament would be held
on that day at Camelot, where he and the king of Scots would hold the
lists against all who should come. This tidings went far, and there came
to Camelot many noble knights, among them the king of North Wales, King
Anguish of Ireland, the king with the hundred knights, Sir Galahalt the
high prince, and other kings, dukes, and earls.
But when Arthur was ready to ride from London, where he then was, to
Camelot, the queen begged to be excused from going with him, saying that
she was not well. Lancelot, too, would not go, on the plea that he was
not well of the wound which Sir Mador had given him. So the king set out
in grief and anger, for the absence of his wife and Lancelot tried him
sorely. On his way to Camelot he lodged in a town named Astolat, which
is now known as Gilford, and here he remained for several days.
But hardly had he departed before the queen sought Lancelot, and blamed
him severely for not going with the king, saying that he thus exposed
her to slander.
"Madam, your wisdom comes somewhat late. Why gave you not this advice
sooner?" said Lancelot. "I will go, since you command it; but I warn you
that at the jousts I will fight against the king and his party."
"Fight as you will, but go," said Guenever. "If you take my counsel,
however, you will keep with your king and your kindred."
"Be not displeased with me, madam," said Lancelot. "I will do as God
wills, and that, I fear, will be to fight against the king's party."
So the knight took horse and rode to Astolat, and here in the evening he
obtained quarters in the mansion of an old baron, named Sir Bernard of
Astolat. It happened that this mansion was near the quarters of the
king, who, as in the dusk he walked in the castle garden, saw Lancelot
draw near to Sir Bernard's door, and recognized him.
"Aha!" said the king, "is that the game? That gives me comfort. I shall
have one knight in the lists who will do his duty nobly."
"Who is that?" asked those with him.
"Ask me not now," said the king, smiling. "You may learn later."
Meanwhile Lancelot was hospitably received by the old baron, though the
latter knew not his guest.
"Dear sir," said Lancelot to his host, "I thank you for your kindness,
and I shall owe you deeper thanks if you will lend me a shield. Mine is
too well known, and I wish to fight in disguise."
"That shall I willingly," answered his host. "I have two sons who were
lately knighted, and the elder, Sir Tirre, has been hurt. His shield you
shall have, for it is yet unknown in list or field. As for my younger
son, Sir Lavaine, he is a strong and likely youth, whom I beg you will
take with you. I feel that you must be a champion of renown, and hope
you will tell me your name."
"Not at present, if you will excuse me," said Lancelot. "If I speed well
at the tournament I will return and tell you. But I shall be glad to
have Sir Lavaine with me, and to use his brother's shield."
"You are welcome to both," said Sir Bernard.
This old baron had a daughter of great beauty, and in the freshness of
youth, who was known in that region as the Fair Maid of Astolat, by name
Elaine le Blank. And when she saw Lancelot her whole heart went out to
him in love,--a love of that ardent nature that never dies while she who
wears it lives.
Lancelot, too, was strongly attracted by her fresh young face, of
lily-like charm; but he had no love to give. Yet he spoke in tender
kindness to the maiden, and so emboldened her that she begged him to
wear her token at the tournament.
"You ask more than I have ever yet granted to lady or damsel," said
Lancelot. "If I yield to your wish I shall do more for your love than
any woman born can claim."
[Illustration: "YOU ARE WELCOME, BOTH!" SAID SIR BERNARD.]
She besought him now with still more earnestness, and it came to his
mind that if he wished to go to the lists disguised he could take no
better method, for no one would recognise Lancelot under a damsel's
token.
"Show me what you would have me wear, fair maiden," he said.
"It is a red sleeve of mine," she answered, "a sleeve of scarlet,
embroidered with great pearls," and she brought it to him.
"I have never done this for damsel before," said Lancelot. "In return I
will leave my shield in your keeping. Pray keep it safe till we meet
again."
Then the evening was spent in merry cheer; but that night Elaine slept
but lightly, for her slumber was full of dreams of Lancelot, and her
heart burned with fears that he might come to harm in the lists.
On the next day King Arthur and his knights set out for Camelot. Soon
afterwards Lancelot and Lavaine took leave of Sir Bernard and his fair
daughter, while the eyes of Elaine followed the noble form of Lancelot
fondly and far, as he rode. Both the knights had white shields, and
Lancelot bore with him Elaine's red embroidered sleeve. When they
reached Camelot they took lodging privately with a rich burgess of the
town, that none might know them.
When came Assumption Day, the lists were set, the trumpets blew to the
field, the two parties of knights gathered promptly to the fray, and
fierce was the encounter between them. In the end, after hard fighting,
the party of Arthur bore back their opponents, who were headed by the
kings of Northumberland and North Wales.
All this was seen by Lancelot and Lavaine, who sat their horses at a
distance looking on.
"Come," said Lancelot, "let us help these good fellows, who seem to be
overpowered."
"Lead on," said Lavaine. "I shall follow and do my best."
Then Lancelot, with the red sleeve fastened upon his helmet, rode into
the thickest of the press, and smote down such numbers of knights with
spear and sword that the party of the Round Table were forced to give
back, and their opponents came on with fresh heart. And close upon
Lancelot's track Lavaine smote down several good knights.
"Who can this wonderful fighter be?" asked Gawaine of the king.
"I know him well," said Arthur, "but will not name him since he is in
disguise."
"I could believe it was Lancelot," said Gawaine, "but for that red
sleeve. No man ever saw Lancelot wear a woman's token."
"Let him be," said Arthur. "He will be better known before he is done."
Then nine knights of Lancelot's kindred, angry at seeing this one
champion beat down all before him, joined together and pressed hotly
into the din, smiting down all that opposed them. Three of them--Bors,
Hector, and Lionel--spurred together on Lancelot, all striking him at
once with their spears. So great was their force that Lancelot's horse
was hurled to the ground, and his shield pierced by Bors, whose spear
wounded him in the side, breaking and leaving its head deep in the
flesh.
Seeing this misfortune, Lavaine spurred fiercely on the king of the
Scots, thrust him from his horse, and, in despite of them all, brought
that horse to Lancelot, and helped him to mount. Then, though so sorely
hurt, Lancelot drew his sword, and, aided by Lavaine, did such deeds of
arms as he had never surpassed in his hours of greatest strength. As the
chronicles say, that day he unhorsed more than thirty knights; and
Lavaine followed his example well, for he smote down ten Knights of the
Round Table in this his first tournament. So does a noble example stir
young hearts.
"I would give much to know who this valiant knight can be," said
Gawaine.
"He will be known before he departs," answered Arthur. "Trust me for
that."
Then the king blew to lodging, and the prize was given by the heralds to
the knight with the white shield who bore the red sleeve. Around
Lancelot gathered the leaders on his side, and thanked him warmly for
gaining them the victory.
"If I have deserved thanks I have sorely paid for them," said Lancelot,
"for I doubt if I escape with my life. Dear sirs, permit me to depart,
for just now I would rather have repose than be lord of all the world."
Then he broke from them and galloped away, though his wound forced
piteous groans from his steadfast heart. When out of sight of them all
he checked his horse, and begged Lavaine to help him dismount and to
draw the spear-head from his side.
"My lord," said Lavaine, "I would fain help you; yet I fear that to draw
the spear will be your death."
"It will be my death if it remains," said Lancelot. "I charge you to
draw it."
This Lavaine did, the pain being so deadly that Lancelot shrieked and
fell into a death-like swoon, while a full pint of blood gushed from the
wound. Lavaine stopped the bleeding as well as he could, and with great
trouble got the wounded knight to a neighboring hermitage, that stood in
front of a great cliff, with a clear stream running by its foot.
Here Lavaine beat on the door with the butt of his spear, and cried
loudly,--
"Open, for Jesus' sake! Open, for a noble knight lies bleeding to death
at your gate!"
This loud appeal quickly brought out the hermit, who was named Baldwin
of Brittany, and had once been a Round Table knight. He gazed with pity
and alarm on the pale face and bleeding form before him.
"I should know this knight," he said. "Who is he?"
"Fair sir," said Lancelot, feebly, "I am a stranger and a knight-errant,
who have sought renown through many realms, and have come here to my
deadly peril."
As he spoke the hermit recognized him, by a wound on his pallid cheek.
"Ah, my lord Lancelot," he said, "you cannot deceive me thus."
"Then, if you know me, help me for heaven's sake. Relieve me from this
pain, whether it be by life or death."
"I shall do my best," said the hermit. "Fear not that you will die."
Then he had him borne into the hermitage, and laid in bed, his armor
being removed. This done, the hermit stanched the bleeding, anointed the
wound with healing ointments, and gave Lancelot a refreshing and healing
draught.
Meanwhile King Arthur invited the knights of both parties to a great
evening feast, and there asked the king of North Wales to bring forward
the knight of the red sleeve, that he might receive the prize he had
won.
"That I cannot do," was the answer. "He was badly, if not fatally,
wounded, and left us so hastily that we know not whither he went."
"That is the worst news I have heard these seven years," said Arthur. "I
would rather lose my throne than have that noble knight slain."
"Do you know him?" they all asked.
"I have a shrewd suspicion who he is; and I pray God for good tidings of
him."
"By my head," said Gawaine, "I should be sorry enough to see harm come
to one that can handle spear and sword like him. He cannot be far away,
and if he is to be found I shall find him."
"Fortune aid you in the quest," said the king.
Then Gawaine took a squire, and they rode in all directions for six or
seven miles around Camelot, but could learn nothing of the missing
knight. Two days afterwards Arthur and his fellowship set out on their
return to London. On their way they passed through Astolat, and here it
happened that Gawaine lodged with Sir Bernard, Lancelot's former host.
He was well received, and the old baron and his fair daughter begged him
earnestly for tidings of the tournament, being specially eager to know
who had done best there.
"Two knights bore all before them," said Gawaine. "Both carried white
shields, and one wore on his helmet a red sleeve, as some fair lady's
token. Never saw I a man before do such mighty deeds, and his fellow
seconded him nobly."
"Blessed be God that that knight did so well," broke out Elaine, "for he
is the first man I ever loved, and shall be the last."
"You know him then?" said Gawaine. "Pray tell me his name."
"That I know not, nor whence he came; but this I truly know, that I love
him, and that the token he wore was mine. This, and this only, I can
justly affirm."
"This is a strange story," said Gawaine. "What knowledge have you of
him? and how came you to know him?"
In response, she told him how the knight had left his shield with her,
and taken that of her brother, with what else she knew.
"I would thank you much for a sight of that shield," said Gawaine.
"I have it in my chamber, covered with a case, and will send for it,"
said Elaine.
When the shield was brought Gawaine removed the case, and at sight he
knew it to be Lancelot's shield.
"Ah, mercy!" said Gawaine, "the sight of this makes my heart heavy."
"Why so?" she demanded.
"For good cause," he answered. "Is the owner of this shield your love?"
"Truly so," she replied. "I love him dearly; would to God he loved me as
dearly."
"Then must I say that you have given your love to the noblest and most
renowned knight in the world."
"So it seemed to me; for he carries a noble soul in his face."
"This I may say," said Gawaine. "I have known this knight for more than
twenty years, and never knew him before to wear a woman's token at joust
or tournament. You owe him thanks, indeed, that he wore yours. Yet I
dread greatly that you will never see him again, and it is for this that
my heart is heavy."
"Why say you so?" she cried, starting up with pallid face. "Is he hurt?
Is he slain?"
"Not slain; but sadly hurt. This more it is my duty to tell you: he is
the noble knight, Sir Lancelot du Lake. I know him by his shield."
"Lancelot! Can this be so? And his hurt--who gave it? Is it really
perilous?"
"Had the knight who wounded him known him, he would have been grieved
almost to death. As for Sir Lancelot, I can tell you nothing more. On
receiving his hurt he left the lists with his comrade, and cannot be
found. He is somewhere concealed."
"Then shall I go seek him!" cried Elaine. "Give me leave to do so, dear
father, if you would not have me lose my mind. I shall never rest till
I find him and my brother, and nurse him back to health."
"Go, daughter, if you will," said her father, "for I am sick at heart to
hear such tidings of that noble knight."
In the morning Gawaine rejoined King Arthur, and told him of what he had
learned.
"I knew already it was Lancelot," said the king; "but never before knew
I him to wear woman's token."
"By my faith, this lily maiden of Astolat loves him deeply," said
Gawaine. "What it means I cannot say, but she has set out to seek him,
and will break her heart if she fail to find him."
And so they rode on to London, where Gawaine made known to the court
that it was Lancelot who wore the red sleeve and won the prize at the
tournament.
This tidings made no small trouble in the court. Bors and his kinsmen
were heavy at heart when they learned that it was Lancelot whom they had
so hotly assailed. And Queen Guenever was beside herself with anger on
learning that it was Lancelot who had worn the red sleeve at the
tournament.
Meanwhile Elaine journeyed to Camelot in search of the wounded knight,
and as she sought far and near about the town, sick at heart, it chanced
that she espied her brother Lavaine, as he rode out to give his horse
air. She called loudly to him, and when he came up asked him,--
"How does my lord, Sir Lancelot?"
"Who told you, sister, that my lord's name was Lancelot?"
She told him how she had learned this, and they rode together to the
hermitage, where Lavaine brought her in to see the wounded knight.
But when she saw him lying there so sick and pale, and with a death-like
hue upon his face, she stood gazing upon him with dilated eyes and
whitening face, and then suddenly fell to the floor in a deep swoon.
"I pray you, Lavaine, take her up and bring her to me," said Lancelot.
When she was brought near him he kissed her pale face, and at the touch
of his lips her cheeks flamed out with red, and life came back to her.
"Fair maiden," said Lancelot, "it pains me to see you so deeply
afflicted. Comfort yourself, I pray you. If you come here to my aid you
are truly welcome; but let not this little hurt trouble you; I shall
soon be well of it."
Then they fell into discourse, and Elaine told Lancelot how Gawaine had
seen and known his shield. This gave him no small trouble, for he knew
well that the story of the red scarf would get to Queen Guenever's ears,
and he feared its effect on her hasty and jealous temper. But Elaine
never left Lancelot, but watched him day and night, nursing him back to
health.
CHAPTER III.
HOW ELAINE DIED FOR LOVE.
When Sir Bors learned that his unlucky blow had brought Lancelot nearly
to death's door, he became sore indeed at heart, and hastened to Camelot
in search of his noble kinsman. Here he met Lavaine, who knew him and
conducted him to the bedside of the wounded knight.
When he saw the pale and haggard countenance of Lancelot, he fell into a
passion of tears, and accused himself bitterly. But Lancelot consoled
him as well as he could, declaring that the fault was his own, and that
he would bear the blame. Then Bors told him of the anger of the queen,
and of his earnest but vain endeavor to overcome it.
"I deserve it not," said Lancelot. "I wore the sleeve only by way of
disguise. As for Gawaine, he would have shown more wisdom and friendship
had he been less free of speech."
"I told her all this," said Bors, "but she was past listening to reason.
Is this maiden, who is so busy about you, she whom they call the lily of
Astolat?"
"She it is," said Lancelot. "I cannot by any means put her from me."
"Why should you?" asked Bors. "She is a beautiful and tender-hearted
damsel. Would to God, fair cousin, you could love her, for I see well,
by her gentle and close care of you, that she loves you devoutedly."
"That I am sorry for," said Lancelot.
"She will not be the first that has loved you in vain," said Bors; "the
more the pity."
Many other things they talked of, and Lancelot found such comfort in the
presence of Sir Bors that in a few days he showed great signs of
improvement. Then Bors told him of another tournament that King Arthur
had ordered, to be held at Camelot on All-hallowmas day, between his
party and that of the king of North Wales.
This filled Lancelot with an earnest desire to grow strong, and during
the following month, under the kind care of his cousin, and the gentle
ministrations of Elaine, he improved greatly in health. For Elaine
waited upon him with loving diligence night and day, and never was child
or wife more gentle and heedful to father or husband than this fair maid
of Astolat to the wounded knight.
At length came a day when Lancelot felt so much stronger, through the
healing influence of a bath of herbs which the hermit had gathered in
the woods, that he determined to try if he could wear his armor and sit
in his saddle. He thereupon armed and had his horse brought out.
Mounting the mettled charger, in the high spirit of new health he
spurred it to full speed.
But the courser's long rest in the stable had made it fresh and fierce,
and on feeling the spurs it leaped forward so violently that Lancelot's
wound burst open in the strain, and the blood gushed out again.
"Bors! Lavaine! help!" he feebly cried. "I am come to my end."
As he spoke he fell from his horse to the earth, and lay there like a
corpse.
The two knights hurried up, full of fearful concern, and when Elaine,
who had heard the pitiful call, came flying to the spot, she threw
herself on the prostrate form, weeping like one beside herself with
grief, and kissing the insensible knight as if she hoped thus to recall
him to life.
"Traitors you are!" she cried wildly to her brother and Sir Bors. "Why
did you let him leave his bed? I hold you guilty of his death."
At this moment the hermit Baldwin appeared. When he saw Lancelot in that
plight he grew angry at heart, though he checked the reproachful words
that rose to his lips.
"Let us have him in," he said, briefly.
Lancelot was thereupon carried to the hermitage, his armor removed, and
the bleeding stanched, but it was long before he could be brought out of
his death-like swoon.
"Why did you put your life thus in jeopardy?" asked the hermit,
reproachfully, when the knight was again in his senses.
"I was too eager to attend the tournament, now near at hand," he said.
"Ah, Sir Lancelot, you have more courage than wisdom, I fear. As for the
tournament, let Sir Bors attend it and do what he may. By the time it is
over and he returned, I hope that you may be well once more, if you will
but be governed by my advice."
This advice was taken and Bors went to the tournament, where he bore
himself so valorously that the prize was divided between him and
Gawaine. Gareth and Palamides also did noble deeds, but they departed
suddenly before the prize was declared, as if called away by some
adventure.
All this Lancelot heard with great pleasure from Bors on his return, his
only regret being that he had not been able to take part in that
knightly sport. But the remedies of the hermit and the care of Elaine
had meanwhile done him wonderful service, and he was soon able again to
mount his horse and wear his armor in safety.
A day, therefore, quickly came when the knight felt himself in condition
for a journey, and when he and his companions took the road to Astolat,
escorting the fair Elaine back to her father's home. Here they were
gladly received by the old baron Bernard, and his son Tirre, who had now
recovered.
But when the time approached which Lancelot had set for his departure,
Elaine grew pale and drooping. At length, with the boldness of speech of
that period, she came to him and said,--
"My lord Sir Lancelot, clear and courteous sir, will you then depart,
and leave me alone with my love and sorrow? Have mercy on me, I pray
you, and suffer me not to die of grief."
"What would you have me do?" asked Lancelot.
"I brought you back to life; give me your love in return; make me your
wedded wife, and I will love you as never woman loved."
"That can I never do," said Lancelot, gravely. "I shall never wed."
"Then shall I die for your love."
"Think not of death, Elaine. If I could marry woman it would be you,
for I could love you dearly were my heart free. For your gentleness and
kindness thus only can I repay you. If you can set your heart upon some
worthy knight who is free to wed you, I shall give to you and your heirs
a thousand pounds yearly, as some small payment of the debt I owe you."
"You speak idly and coldly, Sir Lancelot. Your money I will have none
of; and as for wedding, I have but the choice to wed you or wed my
death."
"You rend my heart, fair Elaine. Would that it could be as you wish.
Alas! that can never be."
At this, with a cry of heart-pain, the distressed maiden fell swooning
at his feet. Thence she was borne by women to her chamber, where she
lay, lamenting like one whose heart is broken.
Sir Bernard now came to Lancelot, who was preparing to depart, and
said,--
"Dear sir, it grieves me to find my daughter Elaine in such a
distressful state. I fear she may die for your sake."
"It grieves me as deeply," said Lancelot. "But what can I do? That she
loves me so deeply I am sorry to learn, for I have done nothing to
encourage it, as your son can testify. I know that she is a true and
noble maiden, and will do all that I can for her as an honest knight;
but love her as she loves me I cannot, and to wed I am forbidden. Yet
her distress wounds me sorely."
"Father," said Lavaine, "I dare avow that she is as pure and good as my
lord Sir Lancelot has said. In loving him she does but what I do, for
since I first saw him I could never depart from him; nor shall I leave
him so long as he will bear my company."
Then Lancelot took his leave, and he and Lavaine rode together to
Camelot, where Arthur and the whole court received the errant knight
with the utmost joy and warmest welcome. Queen Guenever alone failed to
greet him kindly, her jealous anger continuing so bitter that she would
not give him a word or a look, seek as he would.
But the joy and brightness at Camelot were replaced by darkness at
Astolat, for the fair Elaine was in such sorrow day and night that she
neither ate, drank, nor slept; and ever she sadly moaned and bewailed
the cruelty of Sir Lancelot.
Ten days of this brought her so near her end, that her old father, with
sad heart, sent for the priest to give her the last sacraments. But even
then she made her plaints of Lancelot's coldness so mournfully, that the
ghostly father bade her cease such thoughts.
"Why should I?" she cried. "Am I not a woman, with a woman's heart and
feelings? While the breath is in my body I must lament my fate; for I
hold it no offence to love, and take God to witness that I never have
and never can love other than Lancelot du Lake. Since it is God's will
that I must die from unrequited love of so noble a knight, I pray for
his mercy and forgiveness of all my sins. Never did I offend deeply
against God's laws; but it was not in my nature to withstand the fervent
love that is bringing me to my death."
Then she sent for her father and brother, and prayed them to write a
letter as she might dictate. This they did, writing down the mournful
words which she spoke.
"Now," she said, "this more I command you to do. When I am dead, put
this letter in my right hand before my body grows cold. Then see that I
be richly dressed and laid in a fair bed, and take me in a chariot to
the river Thames. There lay my body in a barge, covered with black
samite, and with but one man to steer the barge down the river to
Camelot."
All this they, weeping sadly, agreed to do, and soon afterwards the
maiden died, slain by her love. Her sad old father then had all done as
she had requested.
Meanwhile, in Camelot the world moved merrily. But one morning, by
fortune, as King Arthur and Queen Guenever stood talking at a window,
they espied a black barge drifting slowly down the river. Wondering much
what it meant, the king called Sir Kay and two other knights, and sent
them to the river, bidding them to bring him speedy word of what the
barge contained.
This they did. On reaching the river-side they found that the barge had
been turned inward, and lay beside the bank, and to their surprise they
saw in it a rich bed, on which lay the corpse of as fair a woman as they
had ever beheld. In the stern of the barge sat, with oar in hand, a poor
man who seemed dumb, for no word would he speak.
"That corpse must I see," said the king, when word of this event was
brought him. "Surely this betokens something strange."
He took the queen by the hand and went to the river-side with her. Here
the barge had been made fast, and they stepped from the shore to its
deck. There they saw the corpse of a beautiful maiden, dressed in costly
attire, and lying in a bed which was richly covered with cloth of gold.
And as she lay she seemed to smile.
The queen now espied a letter clasped closely in her right hand, and
showed it to the king.
"That will surely tell us who she is, and why she has come hither," he
said.
He thereupon took the letter and returned with the queen to the palace.
Here, surrounded by many knights, he broke the seal, and gave the
epistle to a clerk to read. This was its purport,--
"Most noble knight, Sir Lancelot, now hath death made us two at debate
for your love. I was your lover, she whom men called the Fair Maid of
Astolat; therefore unto all ladies I make my moan, and I beg you to pray
for my soul, and at the least to bury me, and offer my mass-penny. This
is my last request. God is my witness that I die a pure maiden. Pray for
my soul, Sir Lancelot, as thou art peerless."
When this pitiful letter had been read, all who heard it shed tears, for
never had they heard aught so moving. Then Lancelot was sent for and the
letter read to him.
"A sorrowful thing is this," he said, in grievous tones. "Then she is
dead, the fair Elaine, and thus, with silent lips, makes her last
prayer. Truly it wounds me to the heart. Yet, my lord Arthur, God knows
I had no just share in the death of this maiden, as her brother here,
Sir Lavaine, can testify. She was fair and good, and I owed her much,
but she loved me beyond measure, and her love I could not return."
"You might have shown her," said the queen, reprovingly, "some bounty
and gentleness, and thus have preserved her life."
"Madam," said Lancelot, "naught would she have but my love, and my hand
in marriage. I offered to endow her with a thousand pounds yearly, if
she should love and wed any other, but to this she would not listen. As
for me, I had no other comfort to give her, for love cannot be
constrained, but must rise of itself from the heart."
"Truly must it," said the king. "Love is free in itself, and will not be
bound, for if bonds be placed upon it, it looseth itself perforce. As
for this unhappy maiden, nothing is left for you but to obey her last
pitiful request."
"That shall I to the utmost of my power," said Lancelot.
Then many knights and ladies went to behold the fair maiden, who had
come thither in such moving wise. And in the morning she was richly
interred, and with all due honor, at Lancelot's command; and he offered
her mass-penny, as did all the knights who were there present.
Then the poor dumb servitor returned again with the barge, rowing it
slowly and sadly back to Astolat.
Afterwards the queen sent for Lancelot, and begged his pardon humbly for
her causeless anger.
[Illustration: ELAINE.]
"This is not the first time," said Lancelot, "that you have been
displeased with me without cause. What you will, I must bear, and keep
my sorrow within my heart; yet I would that your love were less tainted
by hasty jealousy. As for forgiving you, what else can I do, my queen?
Love cannot live without forgiveness."
After these events the winter and spring passed on, with hunting and
hawking, and jousts and tournaments, and the fate of the fair Elaine was
wellnigh forgotten in the joy of the court. But her brother Lavaine
gained great honor, and at a tournament that was given on Candlemas day
did so nobly that the king promised he should be made a Knight of the
Round Table at the next feast of Pentecost.
And at this tournament Lancelot again fought in disguise, wearing a
sleeve of gold of the queen's, and did such deeds that the prize was
adjudged to him. Thus a second time did he wear a woman's token in the
lists.
CHAPTER IV.
THE CHEVALIER OF THE CART.
The year passed on from Candlemas till after Easter, and then came the
month of May, when every lusty heart begins to blossom and to bear
fruit; for as herbs and trees flourish in May, so does the heart of a
lover, since in this lusty month all lovers gain courage, calling to
their minds old vows and deeds of gentleness, and much that was
forgotten in the winter's chill.
As winter always defaces and erases green summer, so fares it with
unstable love in man and woman. But as May flowers and flourishes in
many gardens, so flowers the lover's heart in the joy of her to whom he
has promised his faith. Yet nowadays men cannot love seven days without
their love cooling; for where love warms in haste it cools as hastily;
thus fareth it in our days,--soon hot, soon cold. The old love was not
so. Men and women could love together seven years in truth and
faithfulness. Such was the way of love in King Arthur's days; but love
nowadays I liken unto summer and winter; now hot, now cold, like the
changing seasons. Therefore all ye who are lovers call to your
remembrance the month of May, like as did Queen Guenever, who while she
lived was a true lover, and therefore she had a good end.
So it befell in the month of May that Queen Guenever called unto her
certain knights of the Round Table, inviting them to ride with her in
the early morn a-maying in the woods and fields beside Camelot.
"And see that you all be well horsed," she said, "and clad in green,
either in silk or cloth. I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every
knight shall have a lady behind him, and bring with him a squire and two
yeomen."
And so, when morning came, the ten knights invited put on their gayest
robes of green, and rode with the queen and her ladies, a-maying in the
woods and fields, to their great joy and delight.
Yet this pleasure party led to sad results, as we have now to tell. For
there was a knight named Meliagrance, son of King Bagdemagus, who had a
castle, the gift of King Arthur, within seven miles of Camelot. This
knight loved the queen, and had done so for many years, and it had long
been in his heart to steal her away; but he had never been able to find
her without many knights about her, and, chief of all, Sir Lancelot.
When he heard of this Maying party, and that the queen would be attended
by only ten knights, and these in green robes, he resolved to carry out
his base design, and therefore placed in ambush twenty men-at-arms and a
hundred archers.
So it happened that while the queen and her knights were merrily
arraying one another in flowers and mosses, and with wreaths made of
sprays of fresh green, this false knight rode suddenly from a wood near
by, followed by a throng of armed men, and bade them stand, and yield up
the queen on peril of their lives.
"Traitor knight," cried Guenever, "what seek you to do? Wouldst thou, a
king's son, and a knight of the Round Table, seek to dishonor the noble
king who made you what you are? You shame yourself and all knighthood;
but me you shall never shame, for I had rather cut my throat than be
dishonored by you."
"Madam, this language will avail you nothing," said Meliagrance. "I have
loved you many a year, and now that I have you at advantage will take
you as I find you."
"You must kill us first, unarmed as we are," cried the queen's knights.
"You have taken us at a foul disadvantage; but you shall not have the
queen so lightly as you deem."
"Fight, will you? Then fight it, if you will have it so," said
Meliagrance.
Then the ten knights drew their swords, and the others spurred upon them
with couched spears. But so skilfully did the queen's defenders use
their blades that the spears did them no harm.
The battle then went on with swords, and the ten knights did noble
deeds, slaying many of their assailants; yet they were so overmatched
that they soon were all stretched upon the earth with bleeding wounds.
"Sir Meliagrance," cried the queen, in deep distress, "kill not my noble
knights, I pray you. If you do them no more harm I will go with you, if
you will take them with me. Otherwise I will slay myself before you
shall take me."
"Madam, since you wish it, they shall be taken to my castle, whither you
must come with me."
Then at the queen's command the battle ceased, and the knights had their
wounds dressed. But Meliagrance watched keenly that none of the company
should escape, for greatly he feared that news of this outrage might be
borne to Lancelot du Lake.
But there was with the queen a little page who rode a swift horse, and
to him she privily spoke.
"Slip away, when you see the chance," she said, "and bear this ring to
Lancelot du Lake. Tell him what has happened, and pray him as he loves
me to come in haste to my rescue. Spare not your horse, and stay not for
land or water."
The page took the ring, and rode carelessly to the edge of the circle.
Then, seeing his opportunity, he put spurs to his horse and rode away at
full speed. When Meliagrance saw this he ordered instant pursuit, and
the boy was hotly chased and fired at with arrows and javelins; yet the
speed of his horse soon carried him beyond danger.
"Madam," cried Meliagrance, fiercely, to the queen, "you are plotting to
betray me. But if you have sent for Lancelot du Lake, he shall find the
road to you a perilous one, I warrant him."
And as they rode to the castle he placed an ambush of thirty archers by
the road-side, charging them if they saw a knight come that way on a
white horse to slay the horse. But he warned them not to assail him in
person, as they would find him hard to overcome.
This done, the party proceeded to the castle; but here the queen would
not let her ladies and knights out of her presence, and Meliagrance
stood in such dread of Lancelot that he dared not use force.
In the mean time the page found Lancelot, and gave him the queen's ring
and message, telling him the whole story of the treacherous assault.
"I would give all France to have been there well armed," cried Lancelot.
"The queen shall be saved, or I will die in the effort. Haste you to Sir
Lavaine and tell him where I have gone, and bid him follow me to
Meliagrance's castle. Tell him to come quickly, if he wishes to have a
hand in the rescue of the queen and her knights."
Lancelot was hastily arming as he spoke, and mounting, he rode with all
speed, forcing his horse to swim the Thames in his haste. In no great
time he reached the spot where the fight had taken place, and where he
found the garlands the knights had worn, rent with sword-strokes and
reddened with their blood. Then he followed the tracks of the party till
he entered a narrow passage, bordered by a wood. Here were the archers
stationed, and when Lancelot came by they bade him return, for that way
was closed.
"Why should I turn?" he demanded. "Whence get you the right to close the
way?"
"If you go forward it will be on foot, for we shall kill your horse."
"Go forward I shall, if there were five hundred more of you," said
Lancelot.
Then a cloud of arrows whistled through the air, and the noble horse,
struck by a dozen shafts, fell to the earth. Lancelot leaped lightly
from the falling animal, and rushed in a rage into the wood; but there
were so many hedges and ditches that he found it impossible to reach his
light-armed assailants.
"Shame on this Meliagrance for a dastard!" he cried in anger. "It is a
true old saw that a good man is never in danger but from a coward."
The angry knight, finding that his assailants were beyond his reach, set
out on foot for Meliagrance's castle, but found himself so encumbered
with his armor, shield, and spear, that his progress was but slow. Yet
he dared not leave any of his arms, for fear of giving his foe an
advantage.
At length, by good fortune, there appeared on the road a cart, that was
used for hauling wood.
"Tell me, friend carter," said Lancelot, when the vehicle came near,
"what shall I give you for a ride in your cart to a castle that lies a
few miles away?"
"You can give me nothing," said the carter. "I am sent to bring wood for
my lord, Sir Meliagrance, and it is not my fashion to work for two at
once."
"It is Sir Meliagrance I seek."
"Then go on foot," said the carter, surlily. "My cart is for other
work."
Incensed at this, Lancelot dealt the fellow a blow with his mailed fist
that stretched him senseless on the ground. Then he turned to the
carter's comrade.
"Strike me not, fair sir," pleaded this fellow. "I will bring you where
you wish."
"Then drive me and this cart to the gate of Meliagrance's castle."
"Leap into the cart, and you shall be there before the day grows old."
This Lancelot did, and the carter lashed his horse forward with all
speed, for he was in mortal fear of the knight's hard fist.
An hour and a half afterwards, as Guenever and her ladies stood in a
window of the castle, they saw a cart approaching, in which stood
upright an armed knight, resting on his spear. Even at that distance
they knew him by his shield to be Lancelot du Lake.
"A noble and trusty friend he is, indeed, to come in such a fashion,"
said the queen. "Hard bested he must have been, to be forced to ride
hither in a woodman's cart."
As they looked, the cart came to the castle gates, and Lancelot sprang
from it to the ground, his heart full of rage and passion.
"Where art thou, traitor?" he cried, in a voice that rang throughout the
castle. "Come forth, thou disgrace to the Round Table fellowship! Come,
with all your men; for here am I, Lancelot du Lake, who will fight you
all single-handed on this question."
As he spoke he thrust the gates open with such force that the porter,
who sought to hold them shut, was hurled like a dead man to the earth.
When Meliagrance in the castle heard this loud defiance his cowardly
soul sank within him, for well he knew from whom it came, and he ran in
haste to the queen and fell on his knees before her, begging her to
forgive him and to cool the wrath of Lancelot. So pitifully did he
implore, that in the end Guenever was moved to compassion, and went with
her ladies to the castle court, where Lancelot stood furiously bidding
the traitor knight to come down and do battle.
"Why are you so moved, Lancelot?" asked the queen.
"Why should I not be?" he cried, in a rage. "The hound has killed my
horse and stolen my queen. Is this the thing to bear like a lamb?"
"He sorely repents his fault, and has moved me to forgive him," said the
queen. "Come in, then, peaceably, I beg you, for I have passed my word."
"You accord easily with this dog of a kidnapper," said Lancelot,
sourly. "Had I looked for this I might have spared my haste and saved my
horse."
"It is not through love or favor I have forgiven him," said the queen,
"but to check the voice of scandal."
"I am no fonder of scandal than yourself," said Lancelot. "Yet if I had
my will I would make this fellow's heart full cold before I left this
castle."
"I know that well, but beg that you will be ruled by me in this affair."
"Let it be so, if you have passed your word. But you are too soft of
heart Queen Guenever."
Then she took his hand, for he had taken off his gauntlet, and led him
into the castle, and to the chamber in which lay the ten wounded
knights, whose hearts warmed at his coming. From them he learned in full
what had occurred, a story which stirred his blood again into such a
flame, that only the soft hand of the queen hindered him from seeking
Meliagrance through the castle to slay him.
As they stood talking, Sir Lavaine rode furiously in at the gate,
crying,--
"Where is my lord, Sir Lancelot du Lake?"
"Here I am," cried Lancelot from a window. "All is well, Lavaine."
"I found your horse slain with arrows, and judged you were hard pushed."
"As for that, Lavaine, soft words have turned hard blows. Come in. We
shall right this matter at another time, when we best may."
For many a day thereafter, as the French book says, Lancelot was called
the Chevalier of the Cart, and many an adventure he had under that
homely name.
All went peacefully that night at the castle, but the next morning there
was new trouble. For one of the castle maidens brought word to
Meliagrance that she had found what seemed to be the print of a bloody
hand on the coverings of the queen's bed. Thither he hurried, full of
jealous anger, and found what appeared, indeed, to be the crimson print
of a man's hand. On seeing this he made a loud outcry, declaring that it
was the blood of one of the wounded knights, and fiercely accused
Guenever of having been false to her lord King Arthur.
When word of this accusation came to the wounded knights they were
filled with indignation, and cried that they would meet Meliagrance or
any man in the lists in defence of the queen's honor.
"Ye speak proudly," said Meliagrance. "Yet look here, and see if I have
not warrant for what I say."
When he showed them the red witness of his words they were abashed, and
knew not what to answer.
All this was told to Lancelot, and he came in haste and anger to the
queen's chamber.
"What is this?" he demanded.
"It is that the queen has proved false to her lord and husband, and this
I stand ready to prove with my body," said Meliagrance.
"Beware what you say, sir knight," cried Lancelot, "or you will find
your challenge taken."
"My lord Lancelot," answered Meliagrance, "good knight as you are, take
heed how you do battle in a wrong quarrel, for God will have a hand in
such a cause."
"This I say," answered Lancelot, hotly, "that you accuse the queen
wrongly, and these noble knights as falsely. This is the work of treason
or magic."
"Hold," said Meliagrance; "here is my glove, in proof that she is
traitress to the king, and that one of these wounded knights is her
leman."
"I accept your challenge," said Lancelot, "and will fight you to the
death in this cause. When shall we do battle?"
"Let it be in eight days from this," said Meliagrance, "in the field
beside Camelot."
"I am agreed," said Lancelot.
"Then let us go to dinner," said Meliagrance, "and afterwards you and
the queen and her knights may ride to Camelot."
Yet fairly as he spoke his heart was full of treachery, and before going
to the table he asked Lancelot if he would care to see the rooms and
passages of the castle.
"If you wish to show them," said Lancelot.
Then they went from chamber to chamber, Lancelot having no fear of peril
or thought of treason. But as they traversed a long and dark passage the
false-hearted host trod on a spring, and down fell a trap-door, giving
Lancelot a fall of more than ten fathoms into a dark cell, whose floor
was covered deeply with straw. This done, Meliagrance hastened away,
after replacing the trap, and ordered one of his men to remove Lavaine's
horse from the stable.
When the knights came to dinner all were surprised that Lancelot was not
present.
"Is this one of his old tricks?" asked the queen. "He has a fashion of
thus departing suddenly, without warning."
"But not on foot," said Lavaine, and left the room.
When he returned, it was to say that his horse had vanished from the
stable, and that doubtless Lancelot had taken it and ridden off. So they
sat quietly at dinner, and afterwards set out for the court, the wounded
knights being carried under care of Lavaine, in easily litters.
When the court was reached, and Arthur was told of what had occurred, he
was full of wrath.
"So this traitor Meliagrance chooses first to kidnap my queen, and then
to accuse her of treason?" he cried. "By my crown, I would deal with him
in another fashion only that Lancelot has taken the challenge. I fancy
the fellow will have his hands full, without my care. But where is
Lancelot?"
"That we know not," said the knights. "It is like him to go off in this
hasty way. He took Sir Lavaine's horse, and left us without a word of
parting."
"Let him he," said the king. "He will come in good time,--unless he be
trapped by some treachery."
Little dreamed they of Lancelot's true situation at that moment. He had
been sorely bruised by his fall, and lay in great pain in the cave,
visited only by a lady, who came to him daily with food. Yet it
happened, as had occurred so often to Lancelot, that the lady fell in
love with his handsome face. Meliagrance had made a foolish choice in
sending a woman with a soft heart to his prisoner, and was likely to pay
dearly for his folly. Yet days passed on, and Lancelot continued deaf to
her sighs and blind to her languishing looks.
"Sir Lancelot," she at length said, "do you not know that your lady,
Queen Guenever, will be burnt at the stake unless you be there at the
day of battle?"
"God forbid that such a disaster should come to pass!" cried Lancelot.
"Yet if I should not be there, all men of worship will know that I am
dead, sick, or in prison, for men know me well enough to know that
nothing less would keep me away. Therefore, some knight of my blood or
of my fellowship will take up this battle, and fight bravely in the
queen's cause."
"I shall set you free, Sir Lancelot, to fight your own battle, if you
will but give me your love; for truly I love you with my whole heart."
"I am sorry that I cannot return it," said Lancelot. "But I cannot lie
to you in such a cause, even for life or honor."
"Take heed what you say, Sir Lancelot. Shame will be your lot if any but
you fight this battle."
"As for the world's shame, may Christ defend me. As for my distress of
heart, it is welcome, if God sends it."
The lady went away full of sorrowful thoughts. But on the morning of the
day fixed for the battle she came to him again, and said, gently,--
"Sir Lancelot, I deem you hard-hearted and cruel; yet I love you too
truly to see you disgraced. If you will solace my heart-pain with but
one kiss, I will set you free, and deliver to you your armor, and the
best horse in the castle stables."
"Surely there is no dishonor in a kiss; and well will you earn it by
such service," said Lancelot. "You offer me new life, fair lady."
Then he kissed her; and with a face half glad, half gloomy, she led him
from the prison by a secret passage to the chamber where his armor had
been left. And when he was armed she conducted him privily to a stable
where stood twelve good horses, and bade him make his choice.
Lancelot chose a white courser, whose size and spirit pleased him most,
and this he deftly saddled and bridled. Then, with spear in hand and
sword by side, he commended the lady to God, saying,--
"Lady, for this good deed I shall do you ample service if ever it be in
my power. If not, may God reward you."
This said, he rode with proud mien from the castle, and galloped at
headlong speed away, while she, with sad eyes and sighing lips, stood
looking with loving regard on his departing form.
Sadly was his coming needed, for imminent was the peril of the queen. At
the place fixed for the combat knights and lords had early gathered, and
Meliagrance, feeling sure that Lancelot could not appear to do battle,
put on a haughty mien, and loudly demanded justice, or the combat. Yet
the hour appointed came and passed, and the queen's champion had not
appeared; while the king and all the court grew full of pain and dread
as the fatal moments went by. The laws were strict, and could not be set
aside for queen or commoner. Guenever must perish at the stake, or be
saved by a champion's sword and spear. Therefore, as the minutes slowly
grew into hours, and nothing of Lancelot was seen, while Meliagrance
more loudly demanded justice or a champion, all hearts sank deep in
despair.
"My lord the king," cried Lavaine, at length, "some sad misfortune has
happened to Sir Lancelot. Never did he fail to appear to do battle
unless he were sick or in prison. I beseech you, therefore, give me
leave this day to do battle for him, and to strike a knightly blow for
my lady the queen."
"Thanks, gentle knight," said the king. "I dare avow that the charge
which Meliagrance lays upon the queen is a false one, for of these ten
wounded knights who were present, there is not one but would gladly do
battle to prove its falsity were he able to wear armor."
"That shall I do in the service of my lord Lancelot," said Lavaine, "if
you will give me leave."
"Full leave you have," answered the king. "I pray you do your best; for
it seems sure that some treachery has been done to the noble Lancelot."
Lavaine now armed in all haste, and, mounting his war-courser, rode into
the lists, where he faced Meliagrance, challenging him to do battle to
the death.
"Lesses les aller!" cried the heralds.
The two champions couched their spears, clutched their bridles, and were
about to plunge the spurs into their horses' flanks, when the sound of
hoofs was heard without, and an armed knight came galloping at furious
speed into the lists.
"Ho! and abide!" cried King Arthur.
"Raise your spears, sir knights, this quarrel is mine," said the
new-comer. "You have my thanks, Lavaine, but only I must fight in this
cause."
Then he rode to the king, lifted his visor, and showed the noble face of
Lancelot, now hot with indignation.
"I am here to fight this villain and traitor," he called, loudly. "My
lord the king, I have lain these eight days in a prison cell, into which
the base hound entrapped me. By fortune I escaped, and here I am, ready
to pay him in fitting coin for his foul treachery."
"The dog! has he done this thing?" cried the king, in anger. "Then, by
my crown, whether he win or not Guenever shall not suffer from the
charge which he has dared bring. But God's justice will not let him
win."
That Meliagrance quaked at heart on seeing this seeming apparition from
the grave need not be said. But he had dared the hazard of the die, and
sat his horse in grim silence while his foul treachery was thus made
known to the court. Lancelot now rode to his place in the lists, and
faced his adversary.
"Lesses les aller!" cried the heralds again.
Then, spear in rest, the warriors spurred their horses, and met with a
shock like thunder in the centre of the field. Lancelot kept his saddle,
but Meliagrance was hurled over his horse's croup. Seeing this, Lancelot
lightly sprang from his saddle, drew his sword, and advanced upon his
foe, who was on his feet ready to meet him.
Hot and fierce was the combat that succeeded, many great strokes being
given and returned; but at length Lancelot struck so fierce a blow that
Meliagrance was felled to the ground. Then the dastard cried aloud in an
agony of fear,--
"Noble knight, noble Sir Lancelot, spare my life, I humbly pray you! I
yield me as overcome and recreant and beseech you, as a Knight and
Fellow of the Round Table, not to slay me helpless. Alive or dead, I put
myself in your hands and the king's."
Lancelot stood looking grimly down upon him, at a loss what to do. To
slay him was the wish of his heart; yet it looked like murder to kill a
praying wretch. In his doubt he turned towards the queen, and she nodded
her head as if to bid him kill the villain.
"Rise, sir hound," cried Lancelot. "You shall fight this battle to the
utterance."
"I will never rise," said Meliagrance, "till you grant me mercy as a
yielding and recreant knight."
"Coward!" cried Lancelot. "If you fear to fight me as I am, I will give
you odds in the combat. I will take off my armor from my head and the
left side of my body, and let them bind my left hand behind me, and
fight you with my right hand alone."
At this perilous offer Meliagrance started hastily to his feet, and
loudly cried,--
"My lord Arthur, you have heard this offer! I accept it. Let him be
disarmed and bound as he says."
"You do not mean to keep this foolish promise, Lancelot?" demanded the
king.
"That do I," said Lancelot. "I shall not go back on my word, be it wise
or foolish."
"Then so let it be; but you invite death by such a reckless compact."
The attendant knights thereupon removed Lancelot's helmet, and took from
him his shield and the armor from his left side. They then bound his
left arm behind him, and thus arrayed he was placed before his
antagonist, whose heart burned with hope and with murderous designs.
All those who looked on were full of fear for Lancelot, deeming it the
height of folly that he should take such a frightful risk, while many
ladies closed their eyes, in dread to see him slain.
With the inspiration of hope, Meliagrance came up, bearing his sword
uplifted, while Lancelot stood with his head and side fully open to his
stroke. Down came the blade with a deadly sweep that caused many men to
close their eyes, sure that the knights head would be cleft in twain.
But Lancelot had no such thought. With a light swing to the right he
avoided the stroke, which cut idly through the air; then, stepping
forward to give effect to the blow, he swung his own blade upward with
giant strength, and brought it down on Meliagrance's helmet with such
mighty force that the hard steel and the head it covered were shorn in
twain, and the traitor knight fell dead upon the field.
Wild were the shouts of joy and triumph at this unlooked-for end to the
combat. The king sprang from his seat and rushed into the lists, where
he warmly clasped Lancelot in his arms; while Guenever, in joy at her
deliverance, kissed him on both cheeks; and all the knights crowded
around them with glad cries and warm congratulations.
As for Meliagrance, he was given the burial of a recreant and traitor,
the cause of his death being inscribed on his tomb, that all might read
his dishonor.
But for Sir Lancelot, the king and queen made more of him, and felt more
love for him in their hearts, than ever before.
After this time many events of interest took place of which we have
little space to speak. Among them, Lancelot healed the wounds of a
knight of Hungary, named Sir Urre, who had been held in pain, through
sorcery, for seven years, till his wounds should be touched by the best
knight in the world. This knight had a lovely sister, named Felelolie,
whom Lavaine married, whereupon King Arthur made him a Knight of the
Round Table, and gave him a barony of land.
As for Lancelot, he gained great fame as the Chevalier of the Cart. For
as many lords and ladies made sport of him as the knight who had ridden
in a cart, like one sentenced to the gallows, for a whole twelvemonth he
never mounted horse, but rode only in a cart, during which time he had
many adventures and fought forty battles, in all of which he came off
victor.
And so the days grew into years, and all went happily at Arthur's court,
though each passing day brought the coming time of woe and disaster
nearer to hand.
BOOK XI.
THE HAND OF DESTINY.
CHAPTER I.
THE TRAPPING OF THE LION.
In May, when every lusty heart flourisheth and bourgeoneth,--for as
winter, with its rough winds and blasts, causes man and woman to cover
and sit fast by the fire, this fresh and joyous season brings them forth
to gladden in the coming of the flowery summer,--in this rare month of
May, when only merry thoughts and gentle deeds should be known, there
began a great and unhappy season of wrath, which ended not till the
flower of chivalry of all the world was destroyed. And this all came
about through the hate and jealousy of two unhappy knights, Sir
Agravaine and Sir Mordred, brothers unto Sir Gawaine.
For much in their secret souls they hated the queen and Lancelot, and
they fell to watching this good knight daily and nightly, with the hope
of bringing him in some way to shame.
Failing in this base endeavor, they no longer concealed their enmity,
but began to talk openly of the love of Lancelot for the queen, and to
hint that shameful relations existed between them. The report of this
slanderous talk coming to Gawaine's ears, he reproved them sharply for
indulging in such base and unworthy scandal, in which he was joined by
his brothers Gareth and Gaheris.
"You forget what Lancelot has done for you," said Gawaine. "Who but he
rescued you both when held in prison by Sir Turquine? And many other
things he has done in your favor. Methinks such kind deeds merit better
return than this."
"Think as you will," said Agravaine, "I have my opinions and shall hide
them no longer."
As they thus debated King Arthur approached.
"Now, brothers, stint your noise," said Gawaine.
"That will we not," they replied.
"Then the devil speed the pair of you, if you are bent on mischief! I
will listen to no more of your slanderous talk."
"Nor will we," said Gareth and Gaheris. "We owe too much to Lancelot to
listen to the false tales of evil tongues."
With this they turned and walked away in anger and grief, as Arthur came
up.
"What is this?" asked the king. "Is there bad blood between you
brethren?"
"They do not care to hear the truth," said Agravaine, "but to my fancy
it has been kept too long from your knowledge. We are your sister's
sons, King Arthur, and it is our duty to be honest and open with you."
"What would you say?" asked the king.
"Simply what we and all your court know well, that there are such doings
between Lancelot and your queen as are a disgrace to this realm of
England. He is a traitor to your person and your honor, and this we
stand ready to prove."
"This is a perilous charge you make," said Arthur, deeply moved. "Nor am
I ready to believe such a tale on your mere word. You have gone far,
gentlemen; too far, I deem, without abundant proof."
"My lord," said Mordred, "we speak not without due warrant, and proof
you shall have. What we advise is, that you ride out to the hunt
to-morrow. Lancelot, you will find, will have some excuse to hold back.
Then, when night draws near, send word to the queen that you will lie
out all that night. Let this be done, and we promise you we shall take
him with the queen. If we do it will go hard with Lancelot; for we shall
not lightly see our king brought to shame."
"Be it so," said the king, after deep thought, for he was little
inclined to believe ill of Lancelot. "I will do as you say. Understand,
sir knights, I have heard all this before; yet I believe it not, and I
consent to your scheme only to put an end to the vile voice of scandal."
On the next morning, as agreed upon, Arthur rode to the hunt; but
Lancelot excused himself, as his enemies had predicted, on the plea that
he was in no mood for the chase. When night came near a messenger from
the king brought word to Guenever that the hunting party had been drawn
far away, and would not return that night.
Meanwhile Mordred and Agravaine selected twelve knights, all of them
enemies of Lancelot, to whom they told their purpose, and set them on
guard in the castle of Carlisle, where the court then was. Of Lancelot's
friends few were in the court, for nearly all had gone with the king to
the hunt.
When night came, Lancelot told Bors, who dwelt with him, that he had a
fancy to go and speak with the queen.
"Do not go to-night, I pray you," said Bors.
"Why not to-night?"
"I fear some plot of that rogue, Agravaine, who has it in his heart to
work you ill. I have heard a whisper, and fear that the king's absence
to-night is part of a plot, and that an ambush is laid to do you harm."
"Have no dread of that," said Lancelot. "I wish only some minutes'
conversation with the queen, and will quickly return again."
"I should rather you would not go. I am in doubt that some evil may come
of it."
"Why say you this nephew? Do you deem that I am a coward, or that the
queen is my mistress, as the evil-tongued say? I go because she has sent
for me, desiring to see me. Am I the man to deny her request because
there are foul-mouthed slanderers abroad?"
"Go, then, since I see you will. God speed you, and send you back safe
and sound."
Lancelot thereupon wrapped himself in his mantle, and taking his sword
under his arm made his way to the castle, which was some distance from
his residence. Here he sought and entered the queen's chamber, where she
awaited him with her ladies.
But no sooner had he done so, and scarcely had he spoken a word to his
royal lady, than Mordred, Agravaine, and their followers burst in tumult
from the chamber in which they had been concealed, and loudly
exclaimed,--
"Traitor knight! Lancelot du Lake, false and caitiff wretch, now art
thou taken in thy treason!"
So loud they cried that their voices rang throughout the court, and they
crowded round the door of the queen's chamber, bent on taking Lancelot
unarmed, and slaying him at the feet of Guenever. Fortunately the door
was of solid oak, and a damsel of the queen had hastily shot the bolts.
"Alas!" cried the queen, "what vile plot is this? Mischief is around us,
Lancelot!"
"Is there any armor in your chamber?" asked Lancelot. "If so, give it to
me, and I will face this malicious crew."
"There is none," said the queen. "I see no hope, and fear our love has
come to a fatal end. There seems to be a host of armed knights without.
They will kill you, Lancelot, and death will come to me through their
vile charge of unchastity."
"Why did I not even wear as much of my armor as I fought Meliagrance
with!" cried Lancelot, in distress. "If I had but listened to Sir Bors!
Never was I caught in such a trap before."
As they spoke the tumult without increased, and Mordred and Agravaine
cried together,--
"Come out, thou traitor knight! Think not to escape, for we have you
like a rat in a trap. Come out and meet your just deserts."
"Shall I bear this?" cried Lancelot, flaming into anger. "The dogs! a
dozen of them in armor against one man in his mantle! I would rather
meet death at once than stand and hear their reviling tongues."
Then he took the queen in his arms and kissed her, saying,--
"Most noble Christian queen, I beseech you, as you have ever been my
special good lady, and I your poor knight, and as I never failed you in
right or wrong since the day that King Arthur made me knight, that you
will pray for my soul if I be here slain. For you may be sure that Sir
Bors and my other kindred, with Lavaine and others of my friends, will
rescue you from harm, and I beg you to go with them and live like a
queen on my lands."
"That will I not, Lancelot," said the queen. "If you are slain for me,
then death may come when it will, for I shall not live long to mourn
you."
"Then, since my last hour seems to have come, and our love and life must
cease together, so let it be; but some of those barking curs shall go
with me to the shades. I am heavier at heart for you than for myself.
Ah, that I had but a knight's armor!"
"I would that God would be content with my death, and suffer you to
escape," said the queen.
"That shall never be," said Lancelot. "God defend me from such a shame.
And now may the Lord Jesus be my shield and my armor."
This said, he wrapped his mantle around his arm, and approached the
door. As he did so the strong oaken portal trembled under their blows,
for they had got a great form out of the hall, and were using it as a
battering-ram.
"Save your trouble, you crew of mischief," said Lancelot. "Think you
that Lancelot du Lake needs to be come at like a rabbit in its hutch? I
fear you not, and dread not to face an army of such hounds."
"Come out, then, or let us into that chamber. It avails you nothing to
strive against us all; but we will promise to spare your life till we
have brought you to King Arthur."
"Will you?" said Lancelot, "or do you think to slay me where I stand? I
trust you not, liars."
Then he unbarred the door and with his left hand held it open a little,
so that but one man could enter at a time. As he did so, Colgrevance of
Gore, who stood nearest, pressed forcibly through the opening, and
struck a spiteful blow at Lancelot with his sword. This Lancelot
parried, and returned so fierce a stroke with his own good blade, that
he cut through the helmet and skull of the knight, and stretched him
dead upon the floor.
Then, with all his great strength, he dragged the bleeding corpse within
the chamber, closed the door against the pressure of all who bore upon
it, and replaced the bars. "So much for this daring fool," he cried.
"Thank heaven, I have an armor now! I shall not be quite a sheep at the
shambles."
As he spoke he was hastily stripping the armor from the body of the dead
knight. This done, he quickly arrayed himself in it, with the aid of the
queen and her ladies.
Meanwhile the assault on the door continued, and Mordred and Agravaine
kept up their cry,--
"Traitor knight! come out of the queen's chamber!"
"Hold your peace," cried Lancelot. "You shall not prison me here, I
promise you that, and if you take my counsel, you will depart. I am
ready to agree on my knighthood to appear to-morrow before the king, and
answer there that I came not to the queen with any evil purpose; and
this I stand ready to prove by word or deed."
"Out on you, traitor!" cried Mordred. "Have you, we will, and slay you
if we wish, for the king has given us the choice to save you or slay
you."
"Is that your last word, sirrahs? Then keep yourselves, for I am not of
the breed that die easily."