say what might rightfully be done in such a case, and how Launfal
should be punished. And the knights did as he bade them, and some
spake fair, and some spake ill. Then they all took counsel together
and decreed that judgment should be given on a fixed day; and that Sir
Launfal should give pledges to his lord that he would return to his
hostelry and await the verdict. Otherwise, he should be held a prisoner
till the day came. The barons returned to the king, and told him what
they had agreed upon; and King Arthur demanded pledges, but Launfal was
alone, a stranger in a strange land, without friend or kindred.
Then Sir Gawain came near, with all his companions, and said to the
king: "Take pledges of all ye hold of mine and these my friends, fiefs
or lands, each for himself." And when they had thus given pledges for
him who had nothing of his own, he was free to go to his hostelry. The
knights bore Sir Launfal company, chiding him as they went for his
grief, and cursing the mad love that had brought him to this pass.
Every day they visited him that they might see if he ate and drank, for
they feared much that he would go mad for sorrow.
At the day they had named the barons were all assembled, the king was
there, and the queen, and the sureties delivered up Launfal. Very
sorrowful they were for him. I think there were even three hundred of
them who had done all in their power without being able to deliver
him from peril. Of a great offence did they accuse him, and the king
demanded that sentence should be given according to the accusation and
the defence.
Then the barons went forth to consider their judgment, heavy at heart,
many of them, for the gallant stranger who was in such stress among
them. Others, indeed, were ready to sacrifice Launfal to the will of
their seigneur.
Then spoke the Duke of Cornwall, for the right was his, whoever might
weep or rage, to him it pertained to have the first word, and he said:
"The king lays his plea against a vassal, Launfal ye call him, of
felony and misdeed he accuses him in the matter of a love of which he
boasted himself, thus making my lady, the queen, wrathful. None, save
the king, has aught against him; therefore do ye as I say, for he who
would speak the truth must have respect unto no man, save only such
honour as shall be due to his liege lord. Let Launfal be put upon
his oath (the king will surely have naught against it) and if he can
prove his words, and bring forward his lady, and that which he said and
which so angered the queen be true, then he shall be pardoned; 'twas no
villainy that he spake. But if he cannot bring proof of his word, then
shall we make him to know that the king no longer desires his service
and gives him dismissal from his court."
Then they sent messengers to the knight, and spake, and made clear to
him that he must bring forth his lady that his word might be proved,
and he held guiltless. But he told them that was beyond his power,
never through her might succour come to him. Then the messengers
returned to the judges, who saw there was no chance of aid, for the
king pressed them hard, urged thereto by the queen, who was weary of
awaiting their judgment.
But as they arose to seek the king they saw two maidens come riding on
white palfreys. Very fair they were to look upon, clad in green sendal
over their white skin. The knights beheld them gladly, and Gawain, with
three others, hastened to Sir Launfal and told him what had chanced,
and bade him look upon the maidens; and they prayed him eagerly to say
whether one of the twain were his lady, but he answered them nay.
The two, so fair to look upon, had gone forward to the palace, and
dismounted before the dais whereon King Arthur was seated. If their
beauty was great, so also was their speech courteous.
"King," they said, "command that chambers be assigned to us, fair with
silken hangings, wherein our mistress can fitly lodge, for with you
will she sojourn awhile."
They said no more, and the king called two knights, and bade them lead
the maidens to the upper chambers.
Then the king demanded from his barons their judgment and their
verdict, and said he was greatly wroth with them for their long delay.
"Sire," they answered, "we were stayed by the coming of the damsels.
Our decision is not yet made, we go but now to take counsel together."
Then they reassembled, sad and thoughtful, and great was the clamour
and strife among them.
While they were yet in perplexity, they saw, descending the street,
two maidens of noble aspect, clad in robes broidered with gold, and
mounted on Spanish mules. Then all the knights were very joyful, and
said each to the other: "Surely now shall Sir Launfal, the valiant and
courteous, be safe."
Gawain and six companions went to seek the knight. "Sir," they said,
"be of good courage, for the love of God speak to us. Hither come two
damsels, most beautiful, and richly clad, one of them must of a truth
be your lady!" But Launfal answered simply; "Never before to-day have I
looked upon, or known, or loved them."
Meantime, the maidens had come to the palace and stood before the king.
Many praised them for their beauty and bright colour, and some deemed
them fairer even than the queen.
The elder was wise and courteous, and she delivered her message
gracefully. "King," she said, "bid your folk give us chambers wherein
we may lodge with our lady; she comes hither to speak with you."
Then the king commanded that they should be led to their companions
who had come before them. Nor as yet was the judgment spoken. So when
the maidens had left the hall, he commanded his barons to deliver their
verdict, their judgment already tarried too long, and the queen waxed
wrathful for their delay.
But even as they sought the king, through the city came riding a
maiden, in all the world was none so fair. She rode a white palfrey,
that bore her well and easily. Well shaped were its head and neck,
no better trained steed was there in all the world. Costly were the
trappings of that palfrey, under heaven was there no king rich enough
to purchase the like, save that he sold or pledged his land.
And thus was the lady clad: her raiment was all of white, laced on
either side. Slender was her shape, and her neck whiter than snow on
the bough. Her eyes were blue, her skin fair. Straight was her nose,
and lovely her mouth. Her eyebrows were brown, her forehead white,
and her hair fair and curling. Her mantle was of purple, and the
skirts were folded about her; on her hand she bare a hawk, and a hound
followed behind her.
In all the Burg there was no one, small nor great, young nor old, but
was eager to look upon her as she passed. She came riding swiftly, and
her beauty was no mere empty boast, but all men who looked upon her
held her for a marvel, and not one of those who beheld her but felt his
heart verily kindled with love.
Then those who loved Sir Launfal went to him, and told him of the
maiden who came, if by the will of heaven she might deliver him. "Sir
knight and comrade, hither comes one, no nutbrown maid is she, but
the fairest of all fair women in this world." And Launfal heard, and
sighed, for well he knew her. He raised his head and the blood flew to
his cheek as he made swift answer: "Of a faith," he said, "_this_ is my
lady! Now let them slay me if they will and she has no mercy on me. I
am whole if I do but see her."
The maiden reached the palace; fairer was she than any who had entered
there. She dismounted before the king that all might behold her; she
had let her mantle fall that they might the better see her beauty. King
Arthur, in his courtesy, had risen to meet her, and all around him
sprang to their feet, and were eager to offer their service. When they
had looked well upon her, and praised her beauty, she spoke in these
words, for no will had she to delay:
"King Arthur, I have loved one of your knights, behold him there,
seigneur, Sir Launfal. He hath been accused at your court, but it
is not my will that harm shall befall him. Concerning that which he
said, know that the queen was in the wrong; never on any day did he
pray her for her love. Of the boast that he hath made, if he may by
me be acquitted, then shall your barons speak him free, as they have
rightfully engaged to do."
The king granted that so it might be, nor was there a single voice but
declared that Launfal was guiltless of wrong, for their own eyes had
acquitted him.
And the maiden departed; in vain did the king pray her to remain; and
many there were who would fain have served her. Without the hall was
there a great block of grey marble, from which the chief knights of
the king's court were wont to mount their steeds; on this Launfal took
his stand, and when the maiden rode forth from the palace he sprang
swiftly upon the palfrey behind her. Thus, as the Bretons tell us, he
departed with her for that most fair island, Avalon; thither the fairy
maiden had carried her knight, and none hath heard man speak further of
Sir Launfal. Nor know I more of his story.
Tyolet
[Illustration]
_This is the Lay of Tyolet_
Aforetime when King Arthur reigned over the country of Britain, which
is now called England, there were, I think me, far fewer folk in the
land than there are to-day. But Arthur, whose valour men highly praise,
had in his company many brave and noble knights. Of a sooth there are
even now knights of high fame and renown, yet are they not such manner
of men as they were of old time.
For then the best and bravest knights were wont to wander through the
land seeking adventures by day and by night, with never a squire for
company, and it might well be that in the day's journey they found
neither house nor tower, or again perchance they would find two or
three such. Or by dusky night they might find fair adventures, the
which they would tell again at court, even as they had befallen. And
the clerks of the court would write them fairly on parchment in the
Latin tongue, so that in days to come, men, an they would, might
hearken to them.
And these tales were turned from Latin into Romance, and from them, as
our ancestors tell us, did the Britons make many a lay.
And one lay they made will I tell ye, even as I myself heard the tale.
'Twas of a lad, fair and skilful, proud and brave and valiant. Tyolet
was he called, and he knew strange wiles, for by whistling could he
call the beasts of the woodland to him and trap them, even as many as
he would. A fairy had taught him this skill, and never a beast that
God had made but would come to him at his whistle. A lady had he for
mother, who dwelt in the wide woodland where her lord had made his
abode by day and by night, and the spot was passing lonely, for ten
leagues round was there no other dwelling.
Now the knight, his father, had been dead fifteen years, and Tyolet had
grown fair and tall, but never an armed knight had he seen in all his
days, and but rarely other folk in that wide woodland where his mother
dwelt. Never had he gone forth into the world beyond, for his mother
held him passing dear, but in the forest might he wander as it pleased
him, and no other pastime had he ever known. When he whistled as the
fay had taught him, and the beasts heard him, then they came to him
swiftly and he slew what he would and bore them home to his mother, and
on this they lived, they twain alone, for neither brother nor sister
had he, and his mother was a noble and courteous lady of good and loyal
life.
One day she called her son unto her and prayed him gently (for she
loved him much) to go into the wood and slay her a stag; and the lad at
her command went straightway into the forest and wandered the groves
till noontide, but neither stag nor beast of any kind might he see.
Then he was sorely vexed at heart and bethought him to turn again
homewards, since nothing might he find in the woodland, when under
a tree he saw a stag which was both great and fair, and at once he
whistled to it.
The stag heard his whistle and looked towards him, but it came not at
his call nor awaited his coming, but at a gentle pace issued forth from
the wood, and Tyolet followed it till it came to a water and passed
over. The stream was deep and swift-flowing, wide-reaching and perilous
to pass, and the stag stood safe upon the further shore. Tyolet looked
up and down, and saw a roebuck fat and well-grown coming towards him,
then he stayed his steps and whistled, and as the deer came closer he
put forth his hand and drew his knife and plunged it into its body, and
so slew it straightway.
But even as he did so he looked across the river, and lo! the stag
which had passed the water changed its shape and became a knight, fully
armed as a knight should be, and mounted on a gallant warhorse. Thus he
stood on the river bank, and the lad, who never in his life had seen
the like, deemed it a great marvel and stood silent, gazing long upon
him, and wondering what might be the meaning of this strange gear.
Then the knight spake to him across the water with gentle words,
courteously asking his name, and who he was and what he sought. And
Tyolet answered him: "Son am I to the widow lady who dwelleth in the
great forest, and Tyolet do they call me who would name my name. Now
tell me who thou art, and what may be thy name?"
Then he who stood on the bank of the river spake: "_Knight_ do men call
me."
"What manner of beast may _Knight_ be," quoth Tyolet; "where doth it
dwell and whence doth it come?"
"Of a faith that will I tell thee, truly and with no lie. 'Tis a beast
that is greatly feared for it taketh and eateth other beasts. Oft-times
doth it abide in the wood and oft-times in the open lands."
"Of a faith," said Tyolet, "'tis a marvel--for never since I might
wander in the wilderness have I seen such a beast; yet know I bears
and lions, and every sort of venison. Nor is there a beast in all the
forest that I know not, but I take them all without pain or trouble;
thou alone I may not know. Yet thou seemest a brave beast. Tell me,
thou Knight-Beast, what dost thou bear on thy head? And what is it that
hangeth at thy neck, and is red and shining?"
"Of a truth I will tell thee, and lie not. That which I bear on my head
is a coif, which men call helmet, with steel all around; and this is a
mantle in which I am wrapped, and this at my neck a shield, banded with
gold."
"And with what hast thou clad thyself, it seemeth me pierced through
with little holes?"
"'Tis a coat of wrought mail, men call it a hauberk."
"And with what art thou shod? Tell me of thy friendship."
"Shoes and greaves of iron have I, right well wrought."
"And what hast thou girt at thy side? Tell me an thou wilt."
"Men call it a sword, 'tis fair to look upon, and the blade is hard and
keen."
"And that long wood thou holdest? Tell me, and hide it not from me."
"Dost wish to know?"
"Yea, of a truth."
"'Tis a lance, this that I bear with me. Now have I told thee the truth
of all thou hast required of me."
"Sir," quoth Tyolet, "I thank thee, and I would to God that I had also
such vesture as thou hast, so fair and so comely; a coat and a coif and
mantle even as thou wearest. Tell me, Knight-Beast, for the love of
God and His fair Feast, if there be other beasts such as thou and as
fair to look upon?"
"Of a truth," spake the knight, "I will shew thee more than a hundred
such."
For as the tale telleth in a little space there came through the meadow
two hundred armed knights, all of the king's court; they had even taken
a stronghold at his command, and set it in fire and flames, and now
they went their way homeward riding in three ranged squadrons.
The Knight-Beast spake to Tyolet and bade him come forward a little
step and look beyond the river; and the lad did as he bade him, and
saw the knights ride armed on their chargers; and cried aloud, "Now
see the beasts who all bear coifs on their heads! Ne'er have I seen
such a sight! If it please God and His fair Feast I too will be a
Knight-Beast!"
Then the knight who stood on the bank of the river spake again and
said: "Wilt thou be brave and valiant?"
"Yea, of a truth, I swear it to thee."
"Then go thy way, and when thy mother seeth thee, she will say, 'Fair
son, tell me, what aileth thee, and of what art thou thinking?' and
thou shalt answer that thou hast much to think on, for thou would'st
fain be like a Knight-Beast which thou hast seen in the forest, and for
that art thou thoughtful; and she will tell thee that it grieveth her
much that thou hast seen such a beast which deceiveth and devoureth
others. Then shalt thou say, Of a faith little joy shall she have of
thee if thou may'st not be even such a beast, and wear such a coif on
thy head; and when she heareth that, swiftly will she bring thee other
raiment, coat and mantle, helm and sword, greaves, and a long lance,
even as thou hast seen here."
Then Tyolet departed, for it seemed to him long ere he might be at
home, and he gave his mother the roebuck he had brought, and told her
all his adventures even as they had chanced. And his mother answered
that it grieved her much that he had seen such a beast, "For it taketh
and devoureth many another."
"Of a truth," said Tyolet, "now is it thus: if I may not be even such
a beast as I saw, little joy shalt thou have of me henceforward." When
his mother heard that she answered straightway that all the arms she
had would she bring him, and she brought those which had belonged to
her lord, and armed her son therewith, and when he was mounted on his
horse he seemed indeed to be a Knight-Beast.
"Now," said she, "fair son, dost know what thou must do? Thou shalt go
straight to King Arthur, and take good heed to my words, company not
with man or woman save with those of gentle birth and breeding." Then
she embraced and kissed him, and the lad went on his way, and journeyed
for many days over hills and plains and valley, till he came to the
court of King Arthur, that valiant and courteous monarch.
The King was seated at meat, for he was wont to be richly served, but
Tyolet waited not at the hall entrance; clad even as he was in his
armour and mounted on his steed, he rode up to the dais, whereon sat
Arthur the King, and spake no word, nor gave greeting to any man.
"Friend," quoth the King, "dismount, and come, eat with us. Then shalt
thou tell me what thou seekest, and who thou art, and what men call
thee."
"Of a truth," said the lad, "I will tell thee that ere ever I eat.
King, my name is Knight-Beast; many a beast have I slain, and men call
me Tyolet. Well do I know how to catch venison, for, an it please thee,
sire, I am son to the widow of the forest, and of a surety she hath
sent me to thee to learn skill and wisdom and courtesy. I would learn
of knighthood, of tourney, and jousting, how I may spend, and how I may
give, for never aforetime came I in a king's court, and I think me well
that never again shall I come where I may learn such fair nurture and
courtesy. Now have I told thee what I seek. What is thy mind thereon,
Sir King?"
And Arthur said, "Sir Knight, thou shalt be my man, come now and eat."
"Sire," he said, "I thank thee well."
Then Tyolet dismounted, and they disarmed him and clothed him in a
surcoat and light mantle, and brought water for his hands and he sat
down to meat.
With that there entered a maiden, a proud and noble lady; of her beauty
I may not speak, but I deem well that neither Dido nor Helen herself
was so fair. She was daughter unto the King of Logres, and came riding
upon a snow-white palfrey, bearing with her a white brachet of smooth
and shining hair, at whose neck hung a little golden bell. Thus she
rode up before the King, and gave him greeting: "King Arthur, God the
all powerful who reigneth on high have thee in His keeping."
"Fair friend, may He who counteth the faithful for His own guard thee."
"Sire, I am a maiden, daughter unto king and queen, and my father
ruleth over Logres. I ask of thee for love, as of a right valiant
monarch, if there be one among thy knights who is of such prowess that
for me he will smite off the white foot of a certain stag. If there be
give him to me, I pray thee, sire, and I will take him for my lord;
for indeed, none other will I have. For no man may win my favour if he
bring me not the white foot of that great and fair stag, the hair of
which shineth like gold, and which is guarded by seven lions."
"Of a faith," said the King, "such covenant will I make with thee that
he who bringeth hither the stag's foot shall have thee for wife."
"And I, Sir King, swear to thee that such shall be the covenant."
So they made the pact fast between them, and never a knight in the
hall who was of any praise or renown but said he would go and seek the
stag, did he but know where it might be found.
The maiden spake: "This brachet shall guide ye where the stag is wont
to have his dwelling-place."
Then Lodoer, who desired greatly to be the first to seek the stag,
prayed the boon from Arthur, and the King would not say him nay. So he
took the brachet, and mounted and set forth to seek the stag's foot.
But the dog which went with him led him straight to a water which was
great and wide, black, swollen, and hideous to look upon, four hundred
fathoms was it wide, and well on a hundred deep, and the brachet sprang
straightway into the flood, deeming perchance, as a dog may, that the
knight was following it closely.
But follow it would Lodoer in no wise: he had no mind to enter the
stream, for he had little desire of death, and he said within himself:
"He who hath not himself hath naught; he keepeth a castle well, I think
me, who taketh heed that it be not mishandled."
Then the dog came forth out of the water, and returned to Lodoer, and
Lodoer turned himself again and took the brachet, and went swiftly on
his way to the court, where was a great company assembled, and gave
back her brachet to the maiden, the King's daughter of Logres.
Then King Arthur asked him if he had brought the foot; and Lodoer
answered that an another would risk his life, the venture yet awaited
him. Then they mocked at him throughout the hall, but he wagged his
head at them and bade them go seek the foot, if by hap they might bring
it back.
Then many set forth to seek the stag, and to win the damsel, but never
a one might sing another song than that which Lodoer of need must sing
(for he was indeed a valiant knight) save one only, who was brave and
swift-footed, and whom men called _Knight-Beast_, though his name, as
ye know well, was Tyolet. For this knight went his way to King Arthur,
and prayed him straitly that the maiden be held at the court for him,
since he would go forth to conquer the adventure of the stag's foot;
never, he said, would he return till he had smitten off the white right
foot of the stag.
The King gave him leave, and Tyolet armed himself right well, and went
to the maiden and prayed of her the loan of her white brachet, which
she granted him freely, and he took leave of her. When he had ridden
and roved long enough he came to the ford of that great and rushing
water which was deep and deadly to look upon; the brachet sprang into
the stream, and swam straightway, and Tyolet plunged in after it and
thus mounted on his steed he followed the dog till he came forth on dry
land. And the brachet ran ever before him and guided him till he came
to where he might see the stag; seven lions they were that guarded it,
and loved it with a great love.
Then Tyolet looked, and saw the stag where it fed alone in a meadow,
and none of the lions were near at hand; and he set spurs to his horse,
and passed before it whistling as he went. The stag came swiftly
towards him, and when Tyolet had whistled seven times it stood still.
Then Tyolet drew his sword, and taking the white right foot in his hand
smote it off at the joint, and hid it within his robe. The stag at
this gave a loud cry, and the lions, who were none too far off, came
swiftly to its aid and beheld the knight.
One of the lions sprang upon the steed Tyolet bestrode, and wounded
it so sorely that it tore away all the skin and flesh from the right
shoulder, and when Tyolet saw it he smote the lion a mighty blow in the
chest, cleaving asunder nerve and sinew--and with that lion had he no
more ado. The steed fell to the ground, and even as the knight sprang
clear the lions were upon him on all sides. They tore the good hauberk
from his back, and the flesh from his arms and ribs, and wounded him
so sorely that they went nigh to devour him altogether. Sorely was he
torn, but at last he slew them, though scarce might he be delivered
from their claws. Then he fell senseless beside the lions, for so torn
and mauled was he that he might not stand upright.
Now as he lay senseless there came thither a knight mounted upon an
iron-grey steed, and drew his bridle, and looked upon the young knight,
and lamented over him. Then Tyolet opened his eyes, and told him all
that had chanced, and bade him take the foot from out his breast.
This the knight did, rejoicing greatly within himself, for much had he
longed to win that foot.