'Now this is as good hap as ever could be, for this is he that slew my brother, Sir Caradoc of the Dolorous Tower; and for revenge of that, I would have this knight taken to my tower and torture him before I slay him.'

'That is well said,' said Morgan le Fay, 'for he bids fair to be one of the most strong knights of Arthur, whom I hate. This man, Sir Lancelot du Lake, is the favourite of all the ladies at that court, who hate me. So will I lay an enchantment on him, so that he shall sleep.'

Then the evil queen laid her hands over the face of Sir Lancelot, and said strange words that none could understand, and then he was laid across the crupper of one of the knights' horses, and he did not wake.

When in the twilight Sir Lancelot awoke, he found himself on a straw pallet in a strange room, and he leaped up and went to a narrow arrow-slit in the wall and looked out. Before him for a great distance was a black watery land, with the sun sinking far away on the very edge, and the pools of the marsh were as if they were of blood.

Then he beat at the door and called, but none responded, and for wrath he could have dashed the door down, but it was too stout, and he had no weapon; for his arms had been taken from him.

When it was dark, suddenly it seemed to Sir Lancelot that the room smelled foul, as if he had been carried into the midst of the quaking marsh, and was sunk deep in the slime and weeds of a pool. Then, through the arrow-slit, he saw many strange lights come, dim and blue like the wild lights that dance and flit over the lonely marshes by night; but that which made him marvel was that these lights were two together, as if they were the eyes of evil things. And they came up to him with a breath that was cold and dank, and they seemed to peer into his face, but he could see naught of their bodies. The hair upon his head rose, and his skin went cold. They pressed all about him, and to defend himself he struck at the eyes, but his blows beat only the air. Then suddenly Sir Lancelot felt sharp pains, as if small keen knives had been thrust into his flesh at many places. The stabs increased in number and in pain, and Sir Lancelot beat about himself and ran to and fro in the narrow chamber to escape the evil eyes and the stabs, but it was in vain, and thus all night in much misery he suffered. When for sheer weariness he lay down and tried to close his eyes, the evil things would not let him, but ever they tore at him and stabbed him. He was in anguish of mind more than he could bear, and for all his thought he could not think of any way to fight against the evil powers which followed and tortured him wherever he ran.

But at dawn they fled, and then the door of the room opened, and a damsel appeared, and in her hands was a manchet of sour bread, and a beaker of water from the ditch of the moat. The damsel was evilly clad in rags, and seemed like a scullion-maid.

'These,' she said, 'my mistresses bid me say shall be your food until you die.'

'Damsel,' said Lancelot, 'tell me who hath brought me here and used me so evilly.'

'It is Queen Morgan le Fay,' said the damsel, 'and the three witch queens, the Queen of Northgales, the Queen of the Out-Isles, and the Lady of the Marshes.'

'I doubt not, then, that they would slay me?' said Lancelot. 'But why hate they me?'

'It is for this,' went on the damsel, 'that you did slay Sir Caradoc, the brother of the Lady of the Marshes.'

'Alas, then,' said Sir Lancelot, 'there is no pity for me, and none of my dear friends shall learn of my shameful death.'

'And so that you should suffer much ere you are slain,' went on the damsel, 'they sent in the night the Coranians, the marsh fiends, to torture you. Thus will they do until you die, unless, sir knight, you are a knight with a stout heart, and a good fighter, and will do me justice. If you will be ruled by me, and will give me a promise, I will aid you.'

'Damsel, that will I grant you,' said Lancelot, 'for this would be an evil death for a knight. And full of terror hath been this night, from the foul things which have beset me.'

'I may not stay further now,' said the maid, 'lest they think I tarry over-long. But by evening I will come again.'

The day passed and twilight came, and Sir Lancelot was adread for fear of the night. But anon the damsel came secretly to him and said:

'Now must you promise me this, that you will release my father, whom Sir Turquine, Sir Caradoc's brother, hath kept in his foul dungeons since I was but a little child. And all his lands did Sir Turquine rob from him, and me he gave as a kitchen slut to Morgan le Fay, and evilly have I been treated who am a good knight's daughter. Now, will ye promise to free my father?'

'That will I, my poor damsel,' said Lancelot, 'and I will, God aiding me, slay this Sir Turquine as I slew Sir Caradoc his brother.'

So at the dead of night the damsel opened his door, and with the keys that she had stolen, she opened twelve other locks that stood between them and the postern door. Then she brought him to his armour, which she had hidden in a bush, and she led forth his horse, and he mounted with much joy, and took the maid with him, and she showed him the way to a convent of white nuns, and there they had good cheer.

Then, on the morrow, she led him to a thick forest with many hills therein, and anon they came to a fair ford, and over the ford there grew a tree, and on it there hung many good shields, each with the device of some knight thereon, and Sir Lancelot was astounded to see the shields of many of King Arthur's knights hung there. And on a bole of the tree there was a bason of copper.

'Now,' said the damsel, 'I have brought you here where is Sir Turquine, the mightiest knight that ever was found, as men say, and was never overmatched by any. And in his dungeons are many poor knights, and my dear father, Sir Darrel. Now strike the bason with the butt of your spear.'

Sir Lancelot beat such strokes that the bason burst asunder, and then he was aware of a great knight riding on a black horse. 'This is he,' said the damsel, 'and now God aid you!'

'What needst thou, sir knight?' cried the other.

'To try my strength on thee,' cried Lancelot, 'for thou hast done great despite and shame unto many good knights of the Round Table.'

'Art thou of that caitiff crew of ladies' knights?' sneered Sir Turquine. 'Then I defy thee.'

'Thou hast said enough,' replied Lancelot.

They put their spears in their rests, and came like the wind against each other, and either smote other in the middle of their shields, so that both their horses' girths broke. Then, lightly avoiding their beasts, they came at each other with great fierceness, and so fared for two hours, feinting and striking, and so heavy were their blows that each bled from many wounds as they stood. At last, for sheer breathlessness, each leaned upon his sword.

'Now, fellow,' said Sir Turquine haughtily, 'answer me these questions I shall put to thee.'

'Say on,' said Sir Lancelot.

'Thou art,' went on Sir Turquine, 'the biggest man that ever I met with, and like one knight that I hate above all others, and I would liefer be thy friend than thy foe. Now, therefore, I will give up to thee my captive knights if thou wilt tell me thy name, and if thou art not the knight I hate most.'

'Willingly,' said Sir Lancelot. 'But what knight hatest thou above all other? And why?'

'It is Sir Lancelot du Lake,' cried the knight, 'for he slew my brother Sir Caradoc of the Dolorous Tower in the Marsh, who was one of the best knights living. And ever I have sought this Lancelot, and slain and maimed many good knights and imprisoned others in the quest. To slay that fellow I have made a vow, and him I would meet above all others.'

'Ha!' laughed Sir Lancelot, 'and I am the first thou hast met whose love thou wouldst liefer have than my hatred? Well, I will have thee to wit that I am he ye seek, Sir Lancelot du Lake, and thy brother was an evil knight and an oppressor.'

'What sayest thou?' cried Sir Turquine. 'Thou art he I seek? Then, Lancelot, thou art unto me most welcome as ever was any knight, for we shall never part till the one of us be dead.'

Then they ran at each other like two wild boars, lashing and dashing with their swords and shields, so that sometimes in their fury they slipped together on the grass, which was wetted with blood, and fell striking at each other. But at last Sir Turquine waxed faint and tried to avoid Sir Lancelot's blows, and his shield sank low, for his arm was very weary. Seeing this, Sir Lancelot leaped upon him fiercely, and got him by the banner of his helmet, and thrust him on his knees, and slew him at a stroke.

When he had rested a while, he went to the castle of Sir Turquine and released all his prisoners, and was rejoiced to see the damsel find her father alive. He caused the old knight to have his lands again, and bade the others that they should betake themselves to the court of King Arthur to be cheered and comforted, while their possessions, which Sir Turquine had robbed of them, should be given back to them.

Then fared Sir Lancelot further afield, glad exceedingly that he had escaped the foul plots of the four witch queens, and also that he had vanquished the evil Sir Turquine.

Then he rode a great while in a deep and dark forest, and as he followed the winding ways, suddenly he saw a black hound before him, with its nose to the ground as if seeking a scent. He followed the beast, and ever she looked behind her. Soon she left the forest, and picked her way through a great marsh, and Sir Lancelot followed, until in the wide distance he saw a little hill with trees upon it, and in the midst a ruined manor.

The hound went towards the ruin and Sir Lancelot followed. The wall was broken down in many places, and the path all overgrown and weedy, and as he came to the courtyard before the house, he saw the fishponds choked with weeds and the horseblock green with moss, and in the great doorway grew charnel and hellebore, and the spiked hemlock waved and spilt its seed in the wind. The windows hung by their hinges, and the green moss crept down the wide wet cracks in the walls.

But the dog ran over the drawbridge into the house, and Sir Lancelot gat from his horse and tethered it to the post beside the horseblock, and so went across the bridge, which was full sodden and worm-eaten, and bent beneath his weight.

Coming into a great hall, foul with many rotting leaves, he saw a table in the midst thereof, and on it was a knight that was a seemly man, and he lay as if he were dead, and the black hound licked his wound. And by his side there was a lovely lady, who started up, weeping and wringing her hands, and she said:

'O knight, too much evil have you brought to me!'

'Why say ye so?' said Sir Lancelot; 'I never did harm to this knight, for hither did this hound lead me, and therefore, fair lady, be not displeased with me, for grief is upon me for your sorrow and your sadness.'

'Truly, sir,' said the lady, and she laid her face in her hands and sobbed full sorely, so that Sir Lancelot was much stirred thereat, 'I trow, as ye say it, that you are not the knight that hath near slain my love and my husband. And never may he be healed of his deadly wound except some good knight aid me. But he must be so bold and valiant a man, that never, I think, may I find such a one in the little time I have before my dear lord shall die!'

'Now on the honour of my knighthood,' replied Sir Lancelot, 'I do not presume that I am such a one as you desire; but if I may aid you and ease your sorrow, that would I do most willingly. What is it I should do?'

'Oh, sir knight!' cried the lady, and her lovely eyes looked full thankfully at Sir Lancelot, 'if ye would, it were the greatest deed you have ever done, however bold a knight ye may be. For this my lord is sore wounded by a knight whom he met in the forest this day, and by one thing only may he be made whole. For there is a lady, a sorceress, that dwelleth in a castle here beside, and she hath told me that my husband's wounds may never be whole till I may find a knight that would go at midnight into the Chapel Perilous beside the Mere, and that therein he should find before the high altar a sword, and the shroud in which the dead wizard-knight is lapped, and with that sword my husband's wounds should be searched, and a piece of the shroud should bind them.'

'This is a marvellous thing,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and I will essay it. But what is your husband's name?'

'Sir,' she said, 'his name is Sir Meliot de Logres.'

'That me repenteth,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for he is a fellow of the Round Table, and for him will I do all in my power.'

Going to the table, he looked upon the ashen face of the wounded man, and it was Sir Meliot, even as the lady said.

'Now, sir,' said the lady, when Sir Lancelot had mounted his horse, 'do ye follow that hard way across the marsh, and it will lead ye by midnight to the Chapel Perilous, and may ye speed well.'

Right so, Sir Lancelot departed, and the sun was near its setting.

For some hours Sir Lancelot fared across the marsh, until it was deep night, save for the stars; then he came upon a broad road, grass-grown and banked high, where the night wind piped in the long grass. This he knew was a road which the great Roman necromancers had wrought, and he thought he had missed his way, for there was no other path.

As he stood marvelling, the figure of a man, tall and gaunt and but half clad, came down the broad road towards him, and cried in a hollow voice:

'For the love of charity, sir knight, give to a poor man who is outcast.'

Sir Lancelot pitied the sunken eyes of the poor man, and gave him alms.

'God give thee comfort, poor soul,' said the knight, 'and get thee a roof, for the night wind blows chill.'

'God bless thee, sir knight,' said the man, in awful tones, 'for courtesy and pity such as thine are rare. Whither goest thou this night?'

'I seek the Chapel Perilous,' said Sir Lancelot.

At which the shape threw back its head and cried out as if with great sorrow.

'God fend thee, sir knight,' he said, 'and bring thee safe alive. What thou gettest there, keep thou in thy hands until the dawn, or thy soul shall suffer death.'

Then he vanished, and Sir Lancelot knew it had been a phantom.

Then as he crossed himself, he looked up, and through some thin and withered trees a little way off upon a slope he saw the shimmer of light, as if a chapel was lit up. He went towards it, and he saw a high wall that was broken down in many places, and an old grey chapel beyond, and the windows were shimmering with a ghostly light. As he came through the trees he saw they were all dead, with neither leaf nor twig upon them, their roots were crooked out of the ground as if they would throw his horse, and their limbs were stretched as if they strained to clutch him.

Coming to the gate in the wall, his horse trembled and plunged, and would go no further; whereat Sir Lancelot alighted, and tied it to a thorn-tree, and went through the gate. By the ghostly light that came from the windows of the ruined chapel he saw that under the eaves were hung fair shields, with rich devices, and all were turned upside down. Many of them were those of knights he had known or heard of, long since dead or lost. When he had made a few steps on the grass-grown pathway towards the door, of a sudden he saw, coming from the church, thirty tall knights, each a foot higher than he, each in black armour, and each with sword uplifted, as they rushed towards him.

Their feet and their armour made no sound as they pressed forwards, and a thin blue flame licked about each naked sword.

They came upon him, but Sir Lancelot, with a prayer to God, dressed his shield and sword and stood firm, though his flesh quaked and his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. They mowed and gnashed at him, and heaved their swords about him; then suddenly their vizors went up and he looked into their faces. And at that he was sore adread, for he knew they were dead men.

But he would not be overcome, and said in a loud voice:

'In the name of God, avaunt ye!'

He made a step forward, and they scattered before him, but followed closely behind. Then he went into the chapel, where he saw no light but a dim lamp burning upon the altar. It was an old, old chapel, with dust upon its floor like a thick carpet, the walls and windows were holed and broken, and the timber of the seats was rotten.

He went up to the high altar, and saw before it a trestle, and upon it was a dead man, all covered with a cloth of silk. Sir Lancelot stooped down, and with his sword cut a piece of that cloth away.

With that his blood seemed turned to water, and his feet seemed eager to run towards the door, for with a mighty roar the earth shook beneath him, and the walls of the chapel rocked. But he looked for the sword which he must take, and saw it under the trestle, and picked it up and went out of the chapel.

The ghosts of the knights pressed about him as he walked, and strove to tear the sword from his grasp. But he would not suffer them to take it, and when he reached the gate they could no further go, and so left him.

At the gate there came running up to him a fair damsel, crying to him:

'O brave knight, give me the sword and the cloth, that I may take them at once to my mistress, the lady of Sir Meliot, for he is at the point of death, and she is waiting in sorrow and tears beside him.'

But Sir Lancelot remembered the words of the phantom beggar, and made reply:

'Fair damsel, I shall take them myself to the lady of Sir Meliot, for these things I may not give to any until the dawning.'

The damsel would have torn the sword and the cloth full hastily from his hands, but he was aware of her intent, and hindered her, and bade her in the name of God to withdraw.

Whereat, with a great shriek, she vanished.

'Now,' said Sir Lancelot, 'may God, who has brought me through these evil adventures, shield me from any further subtle crafts of these foul things.'

Straightway he mounted his horse, and took his way towards the marsh, so that he should give the sword and the cloth into the hands of the lady of Sir Meliot, for the healing of her lord.

But at the dawn Merlin met him.

'Sir Lancelot,' said the old white wizard, 'ye have no need to go to the ruined manor, except ye would have the proof of what I tell you.'

'And what is that?' asked Sir Lancelot.

'That all that hath befallen thee hath been done by evil magic,' replied Merlin. 'The black dog that led thee to the manor was a fiend, the fair lady that entreated ye was an evil witch, and she and the damsel at the chapel were the same, and all was caused by the witch queens who had you in their tower; and the likeness of the wounded knight to Sir Meliot was formed by wizardry. They that craved your death did hope that ye would fail at the terrors of the Chapel Perilous, and that your soul would be lost as have the souls of those evil or weak knights whose ghosts assailed ye. But by your courage and great heart ye won through all.'

'This is a great marvel,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and I thank God that He hath shielded me of His mercy.'

When Sir Lancelot was returned to Camelot, and Merlin had told King Arthur of the knight's adventures, the king made him one of the knights of the Round Table.

'Ye do well,' said Merlin privily unto the king, 'for he shall prove the most man of worship that is in the world, and all your court and all your Round Table shall be by him made more famous than by any knight now living. Yet shall he not be one of those three that shall achieve the Holy Graal.'



IV

THE KNIGHT OF THE KITCHEN

It was the feast of Pentecost, and King Arthur was holding his court of the Round Table at the city of Kin-Kenadon, hard by the sea in Wales. In the high hall the tables were set for dinner, and the floor was freshly strewn with rushes, flowers and fennel, so that the place smelled as sweet as a field. The cook and his scullions came to and fro through the door of the kitchen with anxious faces, for they feared lest the meats should be overdone, but as yet King Arthur would not sit to dinner. For it was his custom never to go to meat on that day until he had heard or seen some great marvel or adventure.

Sir Gawaine stood looking from a window in the bower where the king sat with the queen, and suddenly he turned with a laugh, and said:

'Sir, go to your meat, for here, I think, cometh a strange adventure.'

And even as the king took his seat on the high dais in the hall, and his knights sat at the Round Table, through the great door of the hall came two men, well beseen and richly dressed, and, leaning on their shoulders, was a tall, fair, young man, as goodly to strength and breadth as ever was seen, with hands large and fair. But he was either lazy or ill-conditioned, for he leaned upon his fellows as if he were unable to stand upright. And the three of them marched through the hall, speaking no word, and they came to the foot of the dais, while men sat silent and marvelling. Then the young man raised himself upright, and it was seen that he was a foot and a half taller than those beside him.

'God bless you, O king!' said the young man, 'and all your fair fellowship, and in especial the fellowship of the Round Table. I come to crave of your kindness three gifts, and they are such as ye may worshipfully and honourably grant unto me. And the first I will ask now, and the others will I ask at the same day twelvemonths, wheresoever ye hold your feast of Pentecost.'

'Ask,' said the king, 'and ye shall be granted your petition.'

'The first is this,' said he, 'that ye give me meat and drink and lodging here for a year.'

'Willingly,' said the king, 'but what is your name and whence come you? Ye have the bearing of good lineage.'

'That is as may be,' was the reply, 'but I may tell you naught, if it please you, lord.'

Then King Arthur called Sir Kay, his steward, and bade him tend the young man for a year as if he were a lord's son.

'There is no need that he should have such care,' sneered Sir Kay, who was a man of a sour mind. 'I dare swear that he is but a villein born. If he were of good blood he would have craved a horse and harness. And since he hath no name I will dub him Beaumains, or Fair Hands, for see how soft are his hands! And he shall live in the kitchen, and become as fat as any pig!'

But Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawaine reproached Sir Kay for his mocking of the young man, 'for,' said Sir Lancelot, 'I dare lay my head he hath the making of a man of great worship.'

'That cannot be,' said Sir Kay; 'he has asked as his nature prompted him. He will make naught but fat, for he desires only meat and drink. On my life I would swear he is only some lazy fellow from an abbey, where food hath failed, and so he has come hither for sustenance.'

So Kay sat down to his meat laughing, and Beaumains went to the door of the hall, where the varlets and boys ate the leavings from the table; but he fared badly there, for they jeered at him as Sir Kay had done.

Afterwards Sir Lancelot, of his great gentleness and courtesy, bade him come to his chamber, to be better fed and clothed; and Sir Gawaine, because of a liking he felt in his heart for the young man, proffered him good meat and drink and a soft bed. But then, and at all other times, Beaumains refused, and would do nothing but what Sir Kay commanded.

Thus he lived in the kitchen, eating broken scraps, and lying at night where the scullions lay, except that he was given the chilliest spot furthest from the fire. But he did what he was bidden to do with a cheerful air and was ever willing to work. And if there was any jousting of knights or any other sights of prowess, these would he see with the greatest delight. In any sports or trials of strength or skill among the serving-men, he was ever foremost, and none could overcome him in wrestling or at quarterstaff, nor could any throw the bar or cast the stone so far as he could, no, not by two yards.

Whenever Sir Kay met him about the hall or the kitchen he would laugh mockingly, and to those about him he would say, 'Well, how like you my huge boy of the kitchen?'

But to such sneers, and to all the scorns and insults of the varlets of the kitchen, Beaumains would answer naught, and was ever quiet and mild whatever he endured. And to all was he ever gentle, both man and child, and he never put forth his great strength in anger.

Thus a year passed, until again it was the feast of Pentecost, and at that time the king held it at his chief city in Wales, Caerleon-upon-Usk. And again the feast was royally prepared in the great hall of the court, but the king would not give the signal to sit to meat until he should have heard or seen some strange adventure.

But about noon a squire came to where the king waited, and said, 'Lord, I am bidden to say ye may go to your meat, for there cometh a damsel with some strange adventure.'

Quickly the king sat on the high seat, and the cooks brought in the smoking collops of meat and the dishes of savoury stews. And as they began to eat, there came a maiden of a plain sharp visage, who made her way to the step of the dais, and there kneeling, cried:

'Succour and help I crave of you, O king!'

'For whom?' said the king, 'and for what reason?'

'Sir,' said the maiden, 'my lady sister is of great beauty and renown, and is besieged in her castle by a tyrant-knight, who will not let her go forth from her castle; and because it is said that here in your court are the noblest knights in all the world, I come to you praying for aid.'

'What is your lady sister's name?' asked the king, 'and where doth she dwell, and tell me who is he that doth besiege her?'

'Sir king,' said the lady, 'I may not tell you my sister's name, but she is of great beauty and of wide lands. And the tyrant-knight who besieges her is the Red Knight of Reedlands.'

'I know him not,' replied the king.

'Sir,' cried Sir Gawaine from his seat, 'I know him well. He is one of the perilous knights of the world, for he hath the strength of seven men, and from him I once escaped barely with my life.'

'Fair lady,' said the king, 'I would help you willingly, but as ye will not tell me your lady's name, none of my knights here shall go with you with my consent.'

The damsel looked about the hall with a quick angry glance, and the knights that sat there liked not her sour looks. Then from the crowd of scullions and kitchen lads that hung about the serving-tables at the side of the hall came Beaumains, his dress smirched, but his handsome face lit up and his eyes burning with eagerness.

'Sir king!' he cried, holding up his hand, 'a boon I crave!'

As he came to the step of the dais the damsel shrank from him as if he had been something foul.

'Say on,' replied the king to the young man.

'God thank you, my king,' went on Beaumains. 'I have been these twelve months in your kitchen, and have had my full living, as ye did graciously order, and now I ask for the two further gifts ye promised.'

'Ye have but to ask,' replied the king.

'Sir, they are these,' said Beaumains. 'First, that you will grant me this adventure of the damsel.'

'I grant it you,' said King Arthur.

'Then, sir, this is the other,—that ye shall bid Sir Lancelot du Lake to follow me, and to make me a knight when I shall desire him.'

'All this shall be done if Sir Lancelot think it well,' said the king.

But the lady was exceedingly wroth, and her eyes flashed with scorn as she turned to the king:

'Shame on thee!' she cried; 'will you give me a kitchen scullion to aid me?'

With that she hastened from the hall, mounted her horse and rode away. Even as she went forth, a dwarf in the dress of a page entered the hall leading a great horse richly caparisoned, and on the saddle was piled a splendid suit of armour. And the dwarf went up to Beaumains and began to arm him, while men asked each other whence came all this fine gear.

When he was dressed in armour, all the knights marvelled to see how goodly a man he looked. Then Beaumains took leave of King Arthur and of Sir Gawaine, and asked Sir Lancelot to follow him.

Many people went to the door of the hall to see Beaumains mount his horse and ride after the damsel, and the way he sat his steed, with its trappings of gold and purple, excited their admiration. But all wondered to see that Beaumains had neither shield nor spear, and some laughed and said, 'The ignorant churl! Doth he think the mere sight of him on horseback will affright his enemies, that he carries neither shield nor lance.'

Sir Kay sneered with them, and suddenly getting up from his seat he cried:

'By my faith! I will go after my kitchen boy and see whether he will still know me for his better!'

'Ye had better bide at home,' said Sir Lancelot, and Sir Gawaine agreed.

But Sir Kay laughed them aside, and having swiftly put on his armour, he took his spear and shield and rode after Beaumains. He caught up with the youth just as the latter reached the side of the damsel, and Sir Kay cried out, with a scornful laugh:

'What! Beaumains, do ye not know me?'

'Ay,' replied Beaumains, 'I know ye for the most ungentle knight in all King Arthur's court, and therefore keep you off from me.'

'Ah, churl!' cried Sir Kay, 'thou needst a lesson from me. A beggar, though he be on horseback, is still a beggar.'

With that he put his lance in rest and dashed towards Beaumains, expecting an easy victory. But the young man, putting the lance aside with his sword just as it was about to strike him, rushed upon Sir Kay, and with a deft thrust struck him through a joint of his armour, so that Sir Kay fell backwards off his horse to the ground. Swiftly leaping down, Beaumains took possession of his opponent's spear and shield, and commanded his dwarf to mount upon Sir Kay's horse.

Then, after remounting, Beaumains rejoined the damsel, who had seen all that had taken place, but said nothing.

At that moment they saw Sir Lancelot coming towards him. He had seen Sir Kay's discomfiture, and wondered at the mastery which Beaumains had shown.

'Fair sir,' cried Beaumains, turning and drawing rein as Sir Lancelot approached, 'I would joust with you, if ye will.'

'Have at you, then!' replied Sir Lancelot with a laugh, and with spears in rest they set their horses at a great gallop. They came together so fiercely that they were both thrust backwards from their saddles and fell to the earth, half stunned and greatly bruised.

Sir Lancelot recovered first and ran to help Beaumains to his feet, and then, with their shields before them, they continued the combat with swords. For an hour they strove fiercely, thrusting, striking and parrying like two great boars in a forest clearing. Sir Lancelot was astonished to feel how great was the young man's strength, how swift were his thrusts, and how powerful were his blows. He recognised that Beaumains was a dangerous fighter, and that he himself would have much to do to overcome him.

'Beaumains,' he cried at length, 'fight not so hard, lad. Our quarrel, if we have aught, is surely not so great that we cannot leave off.'

'That is truth!' said Beaumains, laughing, as he dropped the point of his weapon. 'But, Sir Lancelot, it doth me good to feel your wondrous skill and the strength of your arm. Yet, my lord, I have not shown the uttermost of mine.'

'By my faith, I believe ye,' cried Sir Lancelot, 'for I should have much ado to keep myself from shameful defeat if you should really push me to the utmost. Therefore I say that you need not fear any earthly knight.'

'I thank you for your good words,' replied Beaumains. 'And do you think I may hope at any time to become a proved knight?'

'Fight as you have fought with me, and I have no doubt of you.'

'Then, I pray you, my lord,' said Beaumains, 'give me the order of knighthood.'

'Ere I do that, you must tell me your name and of what kin you were born,' replied Sir Lancelot.

'If you will promise to tell no one, I will reveal it.'

Sir Lancelot gave his promise, and Beaumains, going closer, whispered some words into Sir Lancelot's ear.

'Ah, sir,' said Sir Lancelot, taking the young man's hand in his, 'I am glad I was not deceived. I knew you must come of great kin, and that you had not come to King Arthur for meat or drink. Kneel now, and I will make you knight.'

So Beaumains knelt before Sir Lancelot, who lightly touched him on the shoulder with his sword, naming him knight.

Thereupon they parted with many kind words, and Beaumains made haste to overtake the damsel, who had long since disappeared.

As for Sir Kay, he was lifted upon Sir Lancelot's shield and taken back to the court, and there slowly he recovered of his wound. Men laughed him to scorn for the beating he had received from his own 'kitchen boy.'

'Lo,' said some, 'the proud knight went forth to cuff his own scullion, and the scullion beat him sore and took his weapons for spoil.'

When Beaumains reached the side of the damsel, she pulled up her horse and turned upon him with flashing eyes and angry looks.

'What doest thou here?' she cried. 'Away from me—thou smellest of the kitchen, knave! Pah! thy clothes are foul with grease and tallow! Dost thou think to ride with me?'

'Lady,' said Beaumains, and he spoke full gently, 'my clothes may be smirched, but my arm, I trust, is as strong to defend you as any that is wrapped in silk.'

'Out upon thee, saucy churl!' she cried. 'Thinkest thou I should allow for that knight whom you thrust from his horse but now? Nay, not a whit do I, for thou didst strike him foully and like a coward! I know thee well, for Sir Kay named you. Beaumains you are, dainty of hands and of eating, like a spoilt page. Get thee gone, thou turner of spits and washer of greasy dishes!'

But for all that she raved, Beaumains would not reply in angry words, though his heart burned within him.

'Damsel,' said he courteously, 'ye may say what ye will to me, but I will not go from you whatever you say. I have given my promise to King Arthur that I will achieve this adventure for you, and that will I do or die in the trial of it.'

The girl laughed mockingly.

'You will finish my adventure—you will come to our aid!' she cried in scorn. 'Fie on thee, thou upstart kitchen page! But if you will not go from me, then come, fool, and I shall see thee quickly shamed. Thou art proud with the too good living thou hadst in Arthur's kitchen, but one I know whose face thou wilt not dare to look into, my knight of the kitchen!'

So saying, she pushed on her horse, and thus in silence they went on together.

In a little while they came to a dark wood, and suddenly as they rode, a man with white scared face started from behind a bush and ran to the side of Beaumains.

'Go not that way, sir knight,' he said, 'for there be six knaves who have taken my lord and bound him, and now they will surely take you and your lady unless you go back. I barely escaped with my life, and hid when I heard you, thinking you were of their thievish company.'

'Take me to them!' cried Beaumains, and the poor squire, holding the knight's stirrup-leather, ran with him. And surely, in a little while, three knaves rushed forth before them in the green drive and bade Beaumains stand. But grimly he dashed at them, before ever they could recover. Two he cut down with his good sword as they stood, and the third, trying to escape, was run between the shoulders.

Then turning, Beaumains saw in a glade near the drive where three other knaves stood beside a knight bound to a tree. They dashed towards Beaumains with spiked clubs uplifted. But the squire rushed at one, tripped him up and despatched him; and the others suddenly decided to turn and flee. Their resolution came too late, however, for Beaumains cut them down as they ran.

The knight was quickly released by his squire, and came up to his rescuer, and thanked him heartily for his speedy help.

'Come with me,' he said, 'you and your lady, to my castle, which is but a little way hence, and I will fittingly requite thee for the saving of my life.'

'Nay,' said Beaumains, 'I will have no reward. All I do henceforth is but my duty, and I will take naught in payment. Moreover, I must follow this lady.'

The knight went to the lady, and begged that she would accept his hospitality, for the twilight was deepening and they were yet far from a town. The damsel consented, but, on reaching the castle of the knight, she would not permit Beaumains to sit at the same table with her.

'Take the knave hence!' she cried haughtily. 'He is but a scullion from King Arthur's kitchen, and is not fit to sit with a lady of rank. He is more suited, sir knight, to dine with your turnspits.'

'Lady, I do not understand your words,' said the knight, 'for this gentleman hath proved himself a man of knightly courage and courtesy this day.'

'As for that,' said the lady, 'I count it naught. He took the rascals unawares, and they had no heart. They were but sorrier knaves than he is.'

'Well,' said the knight, 'since you mislike him so, he shall sit with me, and you shall sit alone.'

So it was done, and while the lady sat eating her meal in chilly silence at one table, Beaumains and the knight, his host, laughed and talked merrily over their dinner at another.

Next morning, early, Beaumains and the lady were up and away while yet the dew shone on the leaves. Soon they passed through a great forest and approached a wide river. In a little while they rode down to where a roughly paved way ran into the water, and, looking to the other bank, Beaumains was aware of two knights on horseback, stationed as if to hinder his passing the ford.

'Now, sir kitchen knight,' laughed the lady mockingly, 'what sayest thou? Art thou a match for these two knights, or wilt thou not turn back?'

'I would not turn if they were six,' replied Beaumains quietly.

With that he rushed, with spear at rest, into the ford, and one of the waiting knights came swiftly against him. They met in the midst with so great a shock that their spears were splintered. They then closed fiercely with their swords, and hurtled about in the foaming, dashing water, beating at each other. Suddenly Beaumains struck the other so hard a stroke on his helm that he was stunned, and fell from his horse into the stream, which whirled him away into the deeps, and there drowned him.

Then Beaumains rode swiftly towards the other knight, who with his lance dashed against him. But Beaumains parried the spear stroke, and with one great heave of his sword, clove the other's helm in twain, so that the knight fell like a stone.

'Alas!' cried the lady, as she came across the ford, 'that ever kitchen knave should have the mishap to slay two such noble knights! Doubtless thou thinkest thou hast done mightily, sir knight of the turnspit, but I saw well how it all happened. The first knight's horse stumbled on the stones of the ford, and the other thou didst stab from behind. 'Twas a shameful deed!'

'Damsel,' said Beaumains, quiet in words though hot of mind at her words, 'ye may say what ye will. I only know that I fight fairly, as God gives me strength. I reck not what ye say, so I win your lady sister from her oppressor.'

'Thou knave of impudence!' cried the lady. 'Thee to speak of winning my lady sister, high of rank and rich in wide lands as she is! But thou shalt soon see knights that shall abate thy pride.'

'Whatever knights they be, I care not, so that I win good words from you at last,' said Beaumains.

'Those thou shalt never have, thou churl,' replied the lady scornfully. 'For all that thou hast done has been by chance and misadventure, and not by the prowess of thy hands. But if thou wilt follow me, why, then, come, and I shall the more quickly be rid of thee, for of a surety thou wilt soon be slain.'

Beaumains answered naught, and so they went on their way.



Thus they fared until evensong, and then they came to a waste land, where their way led through a narrow darkling valley. And at the head thereof they entered upon a wide land, black and drear to the very skies, and beside the way was a black hawthorn, and thereon hung a black banner and a black shield, and by it, stuck upright, was a long black spear, and beside it was a great black horse covered with silk, and a black stone fast by it.

And upon the stone sat a knight in black armour, at sight of whom the damsel cried:

'Now, my kitchen knight, 'tis not too late. Fly back through the valley, or this knight will surely slay thee.'

'Nay, I will not,' said Beaumains, 'for I fear him not.'

The black knight came to the damsel and asked if she had brought this knight from King Arthur's court to be her champion.

'Fie!' she said angrily, 'he is no knight. He is but a knave that was fed for alms in the king's kitchen, and would follow me in spite of all I say. And I would that you would rid me of him. To-day he slew two noble knights at the passage of the water, and all by evil chance.'

'A strong knave, in truth,' answered the knight, 'and a saucy one. Then this will I do. He shall leave me his horse and armour, for since he is but a knave, my knightly hands may not harm him.'

'You speak lightly of my horse and armour,' said Beaumains, 'but I will have you know that you get naught from me, and moreover I will pass these lands with this lady in spite of you.'

'Thou knave!' cried the knight angrily, 'yield me this lady and thyself without ado!'

'Let me see what thou canst do to take us,' replied Beaumains, and laughed gaily.

At this the knight in a rage leaped upon his horse and they thundered together. The black knight's spear broke, but Beaumains' lance pierced him through the side and broke off short. Nevertheless, though badly wounded, the black knight drew his sword and fought manfully, striking Beaumains many mighty blows and bruising him sorely.

But suddenly his lifted sword fell from his hand, and turning in his saddle, he dropped to the ground in a swoon, and shortly died.

And Beaumains, seeing that the black armour was better than his own, armed himself in it with the aid of his dwarf squire, and rode after the damsel.

But ever as before she railed at him, telling him he had conquered the black knight by a cowardly blow; but Beaumains would answer her nothing in anger.

Anon they came to the edge of a vast and dark forest, and from its shadows came a knight in green armour, who cried to the damsel:

'Lady, is that my brother the Black Knight whom ye bring riding behind ye?'

'Nay, sir knight, it is not your brother,' she replied. 'It is but a kitchen knave who by treachery hath slain your noble brother, the Knight of the Black Lands.'

'Thou traitor!' cried the green knight. 'Now shalt thou surely die, for my brother, Sir Percard, was a most noble knight and a valiant. And to think that he fell by the dirty hand of a knave is great shame.'

'I am no knave!' said Beaumains, 'but of lineage as high as thine, maybe. And I slew your brother in knightly fashion.'

But the green knight stayed not to answer, and they hurtled together, and clashed midway as if it were thunder. And Beaumains' stroke was so mighty that both the green knight and his horse fell to the ground.

Swiftly the green knight rose to his feet, and then, Beaumains having alighted, they rushed together with their swords, and stood a long time hacking, thrusting and parrying. And each hurt the other sorely.

'Oh, my lord, the green knight,' cried the damsel, 'why do ye stand so long fighting with that kitchen knave? A shame it is to see a proved knight matched by a dirty scullion! Slay him for me and be done!'

Shamed by her words the green knight gave a fierce stroke and clove Beaumains' shield in twain. Then Beaumains, smarting with this blow, and in anger at the words of the lady, suddenly gave the green knight so great a stroke that he fell upon his knees, and then was thrust grovelling upon the earth.

Swiftly Beaumains cut the fastenings of his helm, and, tearing it off, lifted his sword to strike off the other's head.

But the green knight prayed of his mercy and pleaded hard for his life.

'Thou shalt plead in vain,' said Beaumains, 'unless this lady shall beg thy life of me.'

'Shame on thee, thou kitchen knave!' cried the lady, biting her lip with anger. 'Thinkest thou I shall crave aught of thee, and be so beholden to thee?'

'Then he shall die!' cried Beaumains.

'O lady, suffer me not to die!' cried the prostrate knight, 'when a fair word from you will save my life. And you, sir knight, give me my life, and I will yield myself and thirty knights to be your men and do your commands while they live.'

'Now that is a grievous shame!' cried the lady, 'What, Sir Green Knight, art such a coward as to crave thy life of a scullion knave, and promise him thirty knights' service!'

'You and your thirty knights shall avail you naught,' said Beaumains grimly, 'and since this lady will not beg thy life of me, why, now I shall slay thee.'

With that he raised the sword, but the lady cried out:

'Put down, thou rascally knave, and slay him not, or thou shalt repent it!'

'Lady,' said Beaumains, and bowed full gently, 'your command is to me a pleasure, and at your desire I give him his life.'

Then the green knight did homage to Beaumains and gave up his sword. Afterwards he took them to his castle near by, where they passed the night.

Next morning the green knight, whose name was Sir Pertolope, accompanied them some distance on their way, and at parting he told Beaumains that he and his thirty knights would do service when and where he might desire. Thereupon Beaumains told him that he must go and yield himself and his knights to King Arthur, and this Sir Pertolope promised faithfully to do.

And again, when they had gone some way and had reached a little town, a knight challenged Beaumains, who, having fought with the stranger and overpowered him, threatened to slay him unless the lady begged for his life. This she did, after she had said many bitter and evil things, and Beaumains commanded the knight to go, with threescore knights which were in his service, and yield himself up to King Arthur.

Then Beaumains and the lady went on again, and the lady was full of rage in that she had been compelled a second time to plead with him for the life of a knight.

'Thou shalt get thy full wages to-day, sir kitchen knight,' said she, 'for in a little while there will meet us the most valiant knight in the world, after King Arthur. Methinks thou wouldst do the better part to flee, for the evil luck which thou hast had with the three knights you have overcome will not avail thee upon this one.'

'Madam,' said Beaumains, 'ye know that ye are uncourteous so to reproach me. I have done you great service these three days, but ever ye call me coward and kitchen knave. Yet those who have come against me, whom you said would beat me, are now either slain or have yielded homage to me.'

'The greater shame,' said the lady, 'that so lowborn a churl as thou art should have knights yield to thee who should have slain thee.'

Beaumains answered nothing more, but his heart was very heavy at the thought that, do what he might, he could not win this lady to speak fairly of him.

Towards noon, as they rode, they saw the white towers of a fair city, and before its gates was a field newly mown, with many tents therein of divers rich colours.

'Lo, there is the town of the man that shall cut thy comb, thou proud varlet!' said the lady. 'A brave and proved knight is he, by name Sir Persaunt of Mynnid. And he hath a following of five hundred knights and men-at-arms.'

'A goodly lord, indeed,' replied Beaumains, 'and one I fain would see.'

The lady laughed mockingly.

'Thou shalt see him too soon to please thee, I doubt not,' she replied, 'for he is the lordliest knight that ever whipped a knave.'

'That may well be,' said Beaumains, 'and the more desire I have to see him.'

'Thou fool!' cried the lady angrily. 'Thou hadst better turn and flee while there is time.'

'Not a step will I,' replied he with a laugh. 'For, look you, if he be so lordly a knight as you say, he will not set his five hundred knights on me at once. But if he will send but one against me at a time, I will do my best till my strength goes from me. No man, be he knave or knight, can do more.'

At his quiet brave words the lady's heart smote her. She repented of her evil tongue, when she thought how valiant and true this unknown man had been on her behalf.

'Sir,' she said in a gentler voice, 'ye make me marvel. Thou hast spoken boldly, and, by my faith, thou hast done boldly, and that makes me wonder of what kin thou art. But as ye are so brave, and have done, you and your horse, great travail these three days, I misdoubt that ye will get hurt if ye go further. Therefore I bid you turn, or ever it be too late.'

'Nay, I will not,' said Beaumains. 'It would be a great shame that now, when we are but a few miles from your lady sister's oppressor, I should turn back.'

'But, sir, I counsel ye to do so,' said the lady. 'For the strength of Sir Persaunt, even if ye conquer him, is but little compared with the great strength of the Red Knight who doth oppress my sister. And I am sure you have little hope of overcoming him.'

'Nevertheless, lady, I will essay to conquer him,' said Beaumains, 'for it is but my duty and my desire to rescue your lady sister as I have resolved.'

'I marvel what manner of man ye be,' said the lady. 'It must be that ye come of noble blood, for no woman could have spoken or treated you more evilly than I have done. Yet ever you have courteously suffered all I said.'

'Lady, it is but a man's duty to suffer a woman's wayward words,' said Beaumains, 'and they have not been without service to me. For the more ye angered me the more strength of wrath I put into my blows, and so was enabled to overcome your enemies. And as to what I am and whence I came, I could have had meat in other places than in King Arthur's kitchen, but all that I have done was to try my friends. And whether I be knave or gentleman, I have done you gentleman's service.'

'That is truth, Sir Beaumains,' said the lady, all soft and penitent now, 'and I beg of you forgiveness for all my evil words.'

'I forgive ye with all my heart,' said Sir Beaumains, 'and I tell you, lady, that now that you speak kindly to me, it gladdens me greatly, and I feel that there is no knight living whom I could not strike down for the sake of yourself and your lady sister.'

By this time Sir Persaunt had seen them, and had sent a squire to ask Beaumains whether he came in peace or war.

'If he will not let us pass,' replied Beaumains, 'it shall be war.'

At that they saw Sir Persaunt array himself in his armour and mount his horse, and now he came rushing across the field at utmost speed, his lance in rest. Beaumains also made his horse leap forward swiftly, and the two knights met with so great a force that both their lances splintered in many pieces, and their horses fell dead upon the field.

But the two knights instantly disentangled themselves, and fought on foot with shield and sword. So furiously did they hurl themselves at each other that often they fell to the ground. For two hours the duel raged, till their hauberks were tattered and their shields were hacked, while both were sorely bruised and wounded.

At length Beaumains thrust Sir Persaunt in the side, and the latter's attack became less eager. Finally Beaumains hit the other so great a stroke that he fell headlong, and instantly Beaumains leaped astride of him and unlashed his helm, as if about to slay him.

Then Sir Persaunt yielded him and pleaded for his life, and the lady, who had stood watching the combat, ran forward, placed her hand on Sir Beaumains' sword arm, and cried:

'Of your mercy, Sir Beaumains, yield him his life for my sake.'

'I do it willingly,' cried he, helping the knight to rise, 'for he hath nobly fought and so deserves not to die.'

'Gramercy,' said Sir Persaunt, 'and now I know thou art the strong knight who slew my brothers the Black Knight of the Thorn and the Green Knight of the Wood. And now I will be your man, and five hundred knights of mine shall do your service as and when you will.'

And that night they supped bounteously in Sir Persaunt's castle, and the lady besought Beaumains to sit by her at the same table, and all three made merry company.

In the morning, after they had heard mass and broken their fast, Beaumains and the lady set out again, and Sir Persaunt went with them to the drawbridge.

'Fair lady,' said he, 'where dost thou lead this valiant knight?'

'Sir,' said the lady, 'he is going to raise the siege which hath been set by the tyrant knight of the Reed Lands.'

'Ah, then he goes to Castle Dangerous, and on the most perilous adventure that any man could take. For they say the Red Knight hath the strength of seven men. And he doth oppress one of the fairest and sweetest ladies in the world. I think you are her sister, Dame Linet?'

'That is my name,' replied the lady, 'and my sister is Dame Lyones.'

'This Red Knight is the most dangerous knight in the world,' said Sir Persaunt to Beaumains, 'and hath besieged that fair lady these two years. Many times he might have forced her for terror to have married him, but he keeps the siege in hopes that Sir Lancelot or even King Arthur would come to rescue the lady. For he hateth all true knights, but those two with most bitterness.'

So they parted from Sir Persaunt and rode onwards, and the lady spoke now full friendly to Beaumains.

In a little while, when they had passed through a fair forest, they came upon a plain, and in the distance was a high castle with many tents about it, and men passing to and fro between them. And as they rode under some withered trees by the edge of the forest, they saw, hanging by their necks from the bare boughs, many goodly knights in armour, with their shields and swords hung before them.

At this shameful sight Beaumains checked his horse and asked: 'What means this?'

'Fair sir,' said Linet, 'abate not your cheer at this dreadful sight, for ye have need now of all your courage, or else are we all shamed and destroyed. These dead knights are those who have come against the Red Knight trying to rescue my sister from his power. But the tyrant knight hath overcome them, and slain them thus shamefully by hanging.'

'Now Heaven aid me,' said Beaumains, 'for this is a most shameful and unknightly custom, and well doth that evil knight deserve death.'

'Nevertheless he is a knight of great prowess and force, though of evil custom,' replied the lady, 'and no one hath ever borne him down in battle.'

With that they came to a sycamore-tree which stood alone in the plain, and on it was hung a great horn of elephant bone, with gold work curiously wrought.

'Fair sir, ye must blow that horn if ye wish to do battle with the Red Knight. But, sir,' went on the lady quickly, and caught at Beaumains' arm that already had lifted the horn, 'be ye not overbold. It is now the hour of prime, and it is said that the Red Knight's force increaseth to the strength of seven men until it is noon. Wait, therefore, until noon shall be past, and his strength shall diminish.'

'Nay, nay,' said Beaumains, 'speak not thus to me. I will assail him however mighty he be, and either I will beat him or die with honour in the field.'

Therewith he lifted the horn and blew so great a blast that instantly knights came in a great press from the tents, and people looked out from the walls and windows of the castle.

Then Beaumains saw a tall man come running from a tent, arming himself as he came. Two barons set his spurs upon his heels and an earl buckled his helm upon his head. He was all in red armour, from the plume which waved upon his crest to the cloth which was upon his horse. And his shield was all of red, with but a black heart in the centre thereof.

Then he waited for Beaumains in a little hollow before the castle, so that all that were therein might see the combat.

'Now, fair sir,' said Linet, 'it behoves you to have great courage and heart, for yonder is your deadliest enemy, and at yonder window is my lady sister, Dame Lyones.'

Beaumains looked to where Linet was pointing, and saw at a window the loveliest lady he had ever seen. And as he looked she smiled and bowed to him, and he felt his heart burn with love for her.

'Truly,' he said, 'she is the fairest lady I have ever looked upon, and she shall be my lady.'

'Cease thy looking at that lady,' called the Red Knight in a harsh and angry voice. 'She is my lady, and soon shall she see thy foolish body swinging from the tree for the ravens to pluck, as others hang there afore thee.'

''Tis for that shameful sight and for the love of this lady that hates you and your evil custom, that I am resolved to slay you, if God so wills,' was the stern reply of Beaumains.

'A boastful rogue thou art,' cried the Red Knight, and laughed scornfully. 'What is thy name, and whence come ye, Sir Black Knight? For surely from your talk you must be one of those prating and soft fools of the Round Table?'

'I will not tell thee my name,' said Beaumains. 'And as yet I am not of the worshipful company of King Arthur's Round Table. But when I have slain thee and rid the world of so shameful a knight, then shall I crave the king to receive me into that high fellowship of noble and courteous knights.'

'Make thee ready!' shouted the Red Knight in a furious voice. 'I will talk no more with thee.'

With that they withdrew a little from each other, and then, spurring their horses, and with lances in rest, they hurled themselves towards each other. With so great a crash did they come together that both their spears were broken into a hundred pieces, and their breastplates, girths and cruppers burst, and the two knights fell to the ground half stunned with the shock.

But in a little while they avoided their struggling horses, and leaping towards each other with their swords, they cut and hacked each the other so fiercely that great pieces of their shields and armour flew off.

Thus they fought till it was past noon, and would not stop, till at last they both lacked wind, and thus they stood swaying, staggering, panting, yet feinting and striking with what strength they had. The Red Knight was a cunning fighter, and Beaumains learned much from him, though it was at the cost of many a gaping wound.

When it was evensong they rested by mutual accord, and seated on two molehills near the fighting place, they had their helms taken off by their pages and their worse wounds bound up. Then Beaumains lifted up his eyes to the lady at the window, and saw how her looks were tender with pity for him.

So heartened was he at the sight that he started up swiftly, and bade the Red Knight make him ready to do battle once more to the uttermost. Then they rushed fiercely at each other, and the fight raged more hotly than ever. At length, by cunning, the Red Knight suddenly struck Beaumains' sword from his hand, and before he could recover it, the Red Knight had with a great buffet thrown him to the ground, and had fallen upon him to keep him down.

Then cried the Lady Linet piteously:

'O Sir Beaumains! Sir Beaumains! where is your great heart? My lady sister beholds you, and she sobs and weeps, for surely she feels the evil Red Knight hath her almost in his power!'

At that, so great a rage possessed Beaumains, that with one great effort he thrust the Red Knight from him, and, leaping up, he seized his sword again, and so fiercely did he beat upon his enemy that the Red Knight sank to his knees, and then was thrust grovelling to the ground.

Beaumains leaped astride him, and cut the fastenings of his helm. Then the Red Knight shrieked for mercy.

'Thou recreant and coward!' said Beaumains. 'Did not any of those knights that thou hast hung cry to thee for mercy? What pity and what mercy didst thou give them? And thou deservest none from me, nor from any man!'

With that he slew him at a stroke, and the people in the castle cried out with joy.

Their leader being dead, his following of earls, barons and knights came and did homage to Beaumains, and he commanded that instantly they should betake themselves to the court of King Arthur and yield them into his hands.

Then for ten days the Lady Linet made Beaumains rest him in the Red Knight's tent, while she tended his many sore wounds. But ever Beaumains desired to go into the castle to see the lady he loved, but his hurts forbade him.

On the eleventh day he would no longer be denied, but having armed himself, all except his helm, which his page carried, he rode up to the castle gate. But as he came thither he saw many armed men, who pulled up the drawbridge before him, so that he should not enter.

Therewith he saw a knight at a window, who called to him.

'Fair sir, I am Sir Gringamor, brother to the Lady Lyones,' said the knight. 'I will that ye enter not yet. We know that you have proved yourself a bold and brave fighter, but we know not who you are. Therefore, unless you tell me your name and kindred, I may not suffer my sister to see you.'

'I know naught of thee, sir knight,' cried Beaumains sternly. 'My business is with the lady, from whom I think I deserve a little kindness, for I have bought her deliverance and her love with some of the best blood in my body. Must I go away then, thinking she cares more for a name and noble lineage than for brave deeds and devotion? Tell me, Sir Gringamor, is this the will of the Lady Lyones?'

'Ye have but to tell us thy name and of thy lineage, brave man,' said Sir Gringamor.

'Nay, that I will not!' said Beaumains, for his heart was hot with shame and anger. 'If I were but a churl, I should reckon myself a nobler man than the recreant knight from whom I have rescued you and your sister. But since he was a knight, it seems ye would reckon him as of greater honour than the brave churl that slew him for his evil deeds.'

'Nay, nay, it is not so!' came a sweet voice crying in tears, and Sir Beaumains saw the tender face of the Lady Lyones at the window where Sir Gringamor had been. 'My brave knight, think not ill of me, for this is none of my will, for I am mocked and my pleasure denied in my own castle by this my over-careful brother. I love thee, sir knight, whatsoever thou art, for I feel that thou art gentle and brave, and as good a man as any lady might love. And I beg you go not far from me, for I will have my will erelong, and I tell you now that I trust you, and I shall be true to you, and unto my death I shall love you and no other. And whenever I may come to you I will, in spite of this my brother.'

Saying these words, the lady sobbed as if her heart would break, and hiding her face in her hands she was led away by her women.

With that Beaumains' heart smote him, and he was resolved to reveal his name and lineage for the sake of the dear lady who loved him. But even as he thought this, he was aware of a party of knights coming towards him from the plain, and soon he recognised that they were of the company of King Arthur's Round Table.

And the foremost knight, who bore his helm in his hand, rode forward to him, crying:

'O Gareth, Gareth, my brother, how hast thou deceived us all!'

Then did Sir Beaumains clasp the other's hand right warmly, for this was his own brother, Sir Gaheris, sent from King Arthur to bring him home.

When Sir Gringamor knew of the coming of these knights, quickly he bade the drawbridge to be lowered, and in a little while the knights were being welcomed in the hall.

'Sir Gringamor,' said Sir Gaheris, 'I find that I come at a lucky chance for the happiness of my brother. Already the fame of his brave deeds has reached King Arthur, for the knights he hath overcome have put themselves in the mercy of the king.'

'Sir Knight of the Round Table,' said Sir Gringamor, 'tell me who is this brave knight that will not say his name?'

'He is Sir Gareth, my brother, the youngest son of the King of Orkney,' replied Sir Gaheris, 'and fit for the highest lady in the land. He hath played this trick upon us all, to test us. We did not know him, for he hath grown up to manhood while we have been long away from home. But ever he hath had an adventurous and witty mind.'

'Sir, I thank you,' said Sir Gringamor, and taking Sir Gareth by the hand he led him into the bower where sat the Lady Lyones, who sprang to meet Sir Gareth. To her Sir Gringamor told all that he had heard, and then left Sir Gareth to tell her more of himself.

And in a little while, at the court of King Arthur, they were married with great feastings and joustings and with all things to make merry. And Linet was wedded at the same time to Sir Gaheris. For though the Lady Linet was sharp of tongue, she was of great and good heart, and well beloved of all who knew her well.



V

HOW SIR TRISTRAM KEPT HIS WORD

In the days when King Arthur had established his kingdom, he was called Emperor of Britain and its three islands. Nevertheless, there were kings who were rulers in their own lands, but they held their sovereignty of Arthur and had done homage to him and sworn fealty. In Wales there were two kings, in the north were eleven kings, and these he had conquered in a great battle by Sherwood Forest; in Cornwall were two kings, and in Ireland three kings, but all gave service to the great King Arthur.

That part of Cornwall which was called the lands of Tintagel formed the kingdom of a prince named Mark, and he owed certain yearly tribute or truage to King Anguish of South Ireland. It befell one day that King Anguish sent a messenger, who came to King Mark as he sat in hall, and said:

'Sir king, my master bids me say that the truage which you owe unto him is unpaid for seven years past, and if it be not paid he will demand of you double the sum.'

Now King Mark was a man of a mean and covetous mind, and he loved not to give money. Therefore, to put off the payment for a little while, he made answer thus:

'Tell your master that we will pay him no truage; and if your lord says he will have it, let him send a trusty knight of his land that will fight for his right, and we will find another to do battle with him.'

When King Anguish heard the message he was wondrous wroth, and called into him the brother of his queen, Sir Marhaus, a good knight of prowess nobly proved, and, besides, a knight of the Round Table. The king craved of him to go and do battle for the truage due from Mark of Cornwall.

'Sir,' said Sir Marhaus, 'I will gladly go and do battle for you on this saucy king or his knight. I ween ye shall have your truage to the last groat, for I fear not the best knight of the Round Table, unless it be Sir Lancelot, and I doubt not King Mark hath no knight of such worth and prowess as I.'

So in all haste Sir Marhaus set forth in a ship, and in a little while cast anchor fast by the shore where, on two high cliffs, the castle of Tintagel frowned upon the sea. When King Mark understood that so noble a knight as Sir Marhaus had come to do battle for the truage, he was full of sorrow, and wept as he looked upon the bags of gold in his treasure-chest. He knew of no knight of his court that durst face Sir Marhaus, and he feared much that he would have to part with his gold.

Daily Sir Marhaus sent a message up to the castle gate, demanding payment of the truage, or that a knight should come forth to do battle against him.

Then King Mark let make a proclamation through all the lands, that if a knight would fight to save the truage of Cornwall he should fare the better as long as he lived. But the days and weeks went by and no knight came forward. Then Sir Marhaus sent at the last a message which said, that if within a day and a night a champion for King Mark came not forward, he should depart.

All that day King Mark was sore and ill of mind and haggard of face, and could never stay still, but was for ever faring with his barons to where he could look down upon the ship of Sir Marhaus, and see the knight waiting in his armour.

Late in the afternoon, as the king stood thus, gnawing his nails for rage, and so hot and wrathful that none of his barons dare speak to him, there came two horsemen riding swiftly into the courtyard of the castle, and at the sound of their horses' feet King Mark turned eagerly.

A young squire was the foremost rider, and he was a youth full handsome and tall, with brown curly hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in a surcoat of red satin and a mantle of crimson, trimmed with gold; and on his head was a cap of rich purple, and his feet and legs were clad in fine leather, with gold bosses on his shoes. Alighting easily, he doffed his hat and came towards the king:

'Sir,' said he, 'if ye will give me the order of knighthood, I shall do battle to the uttermost with Sir Marhaus of Ireland.'

King Mark looked the young man up and down, and saw that though he was young of age, yet he was passing well made of body, with broad shoulders and of big limbs. The heart of King Mark became light.

'Fair son,' he said, and his barons marvelled at his soft words, 'what are ye and whence come ye?'

'Sir,' said the youth, 'I come from King Talloch, Prince of Lyones, and I am a gentleman's son.'

'And your name and birthplace—what are they?'

'My name is Tristram, sir, and I was born in Lyones.'

'Young sir,' said the king, 'I like your manner, and I think ye should be a good man of your hands. Therefore will I make you knight if ye will fight with Sir Marhaus.'

'That is why I have come,' said Tristram.

Eagerly the king bade a baron give him his sword, and commanded Tristram to kneel, and then and there he tapped his shoulder with the flat of the sword and bade him rise, 'Sir Tristram of Lyones.'

The king commanded his scrivener to come to him, and on the low wall overlooking the sea the man of inkhorn and goosequill laid his parchment, and wrote a letter to Sir Marhaus at the king's dictation, saying that a knight would battle with him in the morning. A messenger was sent therewith without delay, and the king went into supper, snapping his fingers and joking with his barons in great glee.

But in the midst of supper a parchment was brought to the king and his face fell, and he commanded the new-made knight to come from his seat and stand before him.

'Hark ye,' he said, his face dark, 'this prideful Sir Marhaus, waiting so long, hath made his terms the harder. I fear, good fellow, your knighthood hath been earned of me too easily, even if ye are not in league with this pesky Irish knight,' he went on, his narrow eyes gleaming with suspicion. 'He sayeth now that he will not fight with any knight unless he be of blood royal on his mother's side or father's. Say, are ye some starveling knight's brat, or what are ye?'

Sir Tristram's face went hard and his eyes flashed.

'No starveling's brat am I, king,' he said, 'unless ye are that thyself.'

'What mean you? Have a care of your saucy tongue.'

'I fear thee not,' laughed Sir Tristram, 'but this I would have you know. I am thy nephew, son of thy sister Elizabeth, who died in the forest, and of King Talloch of Lyones.'

At these words the king rose from his seat and embraced Sir Tristram, crying:

'Now, in the name of Heaven, thou art right heartily welcome unto me, dear nephew.'

That evening he made great cheer of Sir Tristram, and had his bed made next to his own in his own royal chamber. On the morrow the king had Sir Tristram horsed and armed in the best manner. Then he sent a trumpeter down to the seashore, and let Sir Marhaus know that a better born man than he was himself would fight with him, and that his name was Sir Tristram of Lyones, son of the King of Lyones and his queen Elizabeth, King Mark's sister. Sir Marhaus was right blithe that he should have to do with such a gentleman.

Then it was ordained that the two knights should battle on a little island near the ship of Sir Marhaus, and so young Sir Tristram and his squire were rowed thereunto, and when he departed, King Mark and his barons and all the common people were rejoiced to see the young knight's noble and high bearing, and wished him Godspeed.

When Sir Tristram landed he saw Sir Marhaus waiting armed in the shadow of his ship. Sir Tristram's squire brought his master's horse to land, and clad his master in his armour as was right, and then the young knight mounted upon his horse and rode towards Sir Marhaus.

While he was as yet six spear-lengths from him the knight of the Round Table cried unto him:

'Young knight, Sir Tristram, what doest thou here? I grieve me of thy courage, for ye are untried, while I have been well essayed in jousts and tournaments with some of the best men of their hands as are now living. I counsel thee to go back.'

'Fair and well-proved knight,' said Sir Tristram, 'I am for thy sake made knight, and I have promised to fight thee, and I will do so, as much for mine uncle's sake as for what worship I may win from doing battle with ye, who are one of the best renowned knights of the world.'

'Then I would have ye know, fair sir,' said Sir Marhaus, 'that no worship shalt thou lose if thou canst only stand against three strokes of mine, for, by reason of my noble deeds, seen and proved, King Arthur made me knight of the Round Table.'

Sir Tristram answered him naught, and then they dressed their spears and spurred their horses, and ran so fiercely each against the other that both were smitten to the ground, both horses and men. But Sir Marhaus had struck a great wound in the side of Sir Tristram, yet so eager was the young knight that he knew not of it. They leaped up and avoided their horses, and drew out their swords, and with shield on arm they lashed at each other like fierce wild boars. Yet for all Sir Marhaus' strong and bitter strokes he could not beat down the young knight's guard, and in despite he began to aim at his vizor and his neck. At this Sir Tristram was wroth, and struck him more furiously. Thus for two hours the battle waged, and both were sore wounded. But Sir Tristram was the fresher and better winded and bigger of limb and reach; and suddenly he heaved his sword up high, and closing upon Sir Marhaus he smote him with so mighty a buffet upon his helm that the blade shore through the steel even into the brain-pan.

So fierce had been the stroke that the sword stuck fast in the bone and the helmet, and Sir Tristram pulled thrice at his sword before it would loosen. Sir Marhaus sank to his knees with a deathly groan; then he threw away his sword and shield, and rising, staggered away towards his ship. Sir Tristram swooned and fell; and his squire came running to him, just as the men of Sir Marhaus' ship came and drew their master on board. Then they swiftly set their sail and flew over the sea.

Great was the mourning of the barons and the people of Cornwall when it was known how deep and wide was the wound which Tristram had received from the lance of Sir Marhaus. Many famous leeches came and searched the wound and strove to close it, but none availed. When two months had passed, came an old, old woman, a witch wise in leechcraft beyond all others, who was called the Mother of the Mists, and who lived in the Great Shuddering Moor, where only trolls dwelled, and no man ever dared to go. She also came and searched his wound at the king's desire.

When she had made her search, with many mumblings and strange words, she turned and looked keenly at the king. Her eyes gleamed like beads, her skin was wrinkled and dark, and she laughed a little soft laugh.

'Lord king,' she said, 'this fine man's wound is poisoned, and naught can heal it this side the great water. But if he goeth whither the spear came from which poisoned it, he shall get whole of that wound.'

''Tis well,' said the king, 'he shall be sent to Ireland.'

'Ay, ay, ay,' said the old woman, and laughed in Sir Tristram's face. 'Thou shalt be healed, fair chief, but the hand that shall heal thee shall give thee a deeper wound—a wound that shall never be healed this side o' thy grave.'

Forthwith King Mark let a fair ship be purveyed and well stored with necessary victuals, and Sir Tristram was carried thereto and laid on his couch on the deck, and Governale, his faithful squire, went with him. In the sunshine and the brisk wind Sir Tristram felt joyful, and the merry waves slapped the sides of the ship full prettily as it cleaved through the blue seas towards the west.

In the evening they saw the white cliffs and the brown rocks of Ireland, and Sir Tristram took his harp and played thereon, for he had learned to harp most featly in France, where he had lived seven years, to learn all manner of courtly and noble pastimes. Soon the shipmen cast anchor in a wide sheltered cove beneath a castle which stood on a high rock beside a fair town.

Sir Tristram asked the master of the ship the name of that town.

'Cro-na-Shee, if it please you, my lord,' said the master.

'It pleases me well,' said Tristram; 'it should mean that there dwell therein brave and noble knights, and damsels like unto fairies.'

Out of the merriness of his heart he thrummed his harp with so blithe and strange a tune that in a little while the very folk upon the shore came listening, and some began to dance, while others looked sad. For though the tune was very merry, there was sadness also peeping from it.

It happened that King Anguish and his court were in that castle by the sea, and a handmaiden of the queen came to where they sat and told them of the knight that sat in his ship and harped so strange a lay that it made one glad and sorry at the same time.

Then King Anguish sent a knight and begged the harper to take cheer with him, and Sir Tristram was brought in a litter, and all the damsels were sad at his sickness, and the knights sorrowed that a knight so noble-looking should be so wounded. King Anguish asked him who he was and how he came by his wound. And Sir Tristram, having learned that this was the King of Ireland, whose champion he had worsted in the battle, and thinking that his own name would be known, replied:

'I am of the country of Lyones, and my name is Sir Tramor, and my wound was got in battle, as I fought for a lady's right.'

'I pity thee, sir knight,' said the king, who was a right noble king and lovable, 'and by Heaven's aid, ye shall have all the help in this country that ye may need.'

The king told him of the battle which Sir Marhaus had had on his behalf with a knight named Sir Tristram, and how Sir Marhaus had come home wounded unto death, and was dead this two months. On which Sir Tristram feigned to be sorry, but said not much thereon.

Then did the king order his daughter to come before him. She was called La Belle Isoude, for that she was the most lovely damsel in all Ireland and the Out-Isles, and withal gentle and kind; and her father bade her tend and minister to this stranger knight, who had come to Ireland to heal him of his wound.

In a few weeks, so soft was she of her hands and so learned in leechcraft, she had cleaned Tristram's wound of all poison and he was hale and strong again. As some reward he taught her to harp, and gave her many good and costly presents. These she took, but valued them not so much as his kind words and smiles. More and more she loved to hear his voice, and when he was gone out hawking or looking at jousts she was sad and thoughtful, sitting with her fair hands in her lap and her eyes looking far away, and when she heard his step or his voice in the hall, then would her sad eyes light up, and a merry tune would hum upon her lips, and she would gaily talk with her handmaidens, who, whispering and glancing and nodding to each other as they sat about her at their spinning frames, knew of her love for Sir Tristram before she was aware of it herself.

Sir Tristram cared not overmuch to be with ladies, but was more joyful to be in hall, talking of hunting, jousting and hawking. All men regarded him highly for his great knowledge of these things, but as yet, for fear of hurting his wound which was but freshly healed, La Belle Isoude forbade him gently to take violent exercise. Sir Tristram was impatient to be in the saddle again, with lance in rest and his great charger leaping beneath him.

Now, to the court of King Anguish there had lately come a knight named Sir Palomides, famed for his knightly deeds, though still a pagan, and he was well favoured both of King Anguish and his queen. Sir Palomides came and made great court to La Belle Isoude, and proffered her many gifts, for he loved her passing well. Indeed, for her sake he declared he would be christened and become a Christian knight; but La Belle Isoude had no care for him, and avoided him as well as she might.

On a certain day King Anguish made a great cry that a joust and tournament would be held, wherein only unmarried knights should join, and the prize would be a fair lady called the Lady of the Laundes, near cousin to the king. The heralds further said that he who should win her should marry her three days after, and have all her lands with her. This cry was made in all Ireland and Wales, and in Logres and Alban, which are now called England and Scotland.

It befell the same day that La Belle Isoude came to Sir Tristram, and she seemed distressed of mind and as if she had wept secretly.

'Sir Tramor,' she said, 'this tournament shall exalt Sir Palomides beyond all other knights, unless a better do come forward and overcome him.'

'Fair lady,' said Sir Tristram, 'Sir Palomides may well win the prize against any knight, except it be Sir Lancelot. But if ye think I am fit to joust I will e'en essay it. Yet he is a proved knight, and I but a young one and but lately ill; and my first battle that I fought, it mishapped me to be sore wounded. Yet I will essay it, for I love not this Sir Palomides.'

'Ah, but I know thou wilt do well in the battle, and thou shalt have all my prayers for thy safety and success,' said La Belle Isoude.

On the first day of the jousts Sir Palomides came with a black shield, and he was a knight big of his body and on a great horse. He overthrew many knights and put them to the worst, among them being many of the knights of the Round Table, as Sir Gawaine and his brother Sir Gaheris, Sir Agravaine, Sir Kay, Sir Sagramore le Desirous, Sir Owen, who had been the little page-boy who had saved King Arthur's life in his hall at Caerleon, and three other knights. All these he struck down, and the others were adread of him. The people had great marvel, and acclaimed him with much worship as the victor of the first day.

The next day he came and smote down King Morgant, the pagan King of Scotland, as also the Duke of Cambenet. Then, as he rode up and down the lists proudly flourishing his lance, dressing his shield and waiting for the other knights to offer themselves to him, he was aware of a knight all in white armour, with vizor closed, riding quickly through the gate as if he came from the seashore.

The stranger knight came with swiftness, lifting his lance in token of challenge. Whereat Sir Palomides rode to the other end of the lists, dressed his lance, and together they put their horses in motion. Like two bulls the knights thundered against each other in the centre of the lists. The white knight's lance hit the shield of Sir Palomides full in the centre, and with the shock the pagan knight was lifted from his saddle, carried beyond his horse, and fell with a great thud to the ground, while his horse careered onward riderless.

Sir Gawaine and his fellows marvelled who this stranger knight might be. Then Sir Palomides, rising from the ground, caught his horse, and full of shame, would have slunk from the field. But the white knight rode after him and bade him turn, 'for,' said the stranger, 'he would better prove him with the sword.'

Then, alighting, they lashed at each other with their swords. Now Sir Palomides was a powerful man, and his strokes were passing heavy, but Sir Tristram, for the stranger knight was he, felt so full of strength and joy after his long leisure, that he played with Sir Palomides, and men wondered at the might of his blows, and his swiftness was a marvel to see. In a while, with a great buffet on the head of the pagan knight, Sir Tristram felled him to the earth.

'Now yield thee,' said the white knight sternly, 'and do my command, or I will slay thee of a surety.'

Sir Palomides was sore adread, and promised.

'Swear me this,' said the stranger, 'that upon pain of thy life thou leave my lady La Belle Isoude, and come not unto her ever again, and for a year and a day thou shalt bear no armour. Promise me this, or here shalt thou die!'

'I swear it,' said Sir Palomides, 'but I am for ever shamed.'

In his rage Sir Palomides cut off his armour and threw it from him and fled away on his horse.

Then the white knight also went away, and none knew who he was. The king sent after him, to tell him he was the winner of the lady, whom he should wed, but the messengers could not find him. Men marvelled much at this, that the victor knight should not come to claim the rich lady for his wife with the wide lands that went with her.

When Sir Tristram returned to the private postern where La Belle Isoude had led him forth secretly, he found her standing breathless, and she was pale and red by turns, and could not speak at first.

'Thou—thou hast not failed?' she said, and clasped her hands.

'Nay,' said Sir Tristram, laughing. 'He will never trouble you again. And, by Our Lady, I wished there had been six of him, for I never felt more full of fight and strength than I do this day.'

'But—but have ye not claimed the prize?' said La Belle Isoude, and hid her face that was so deathly white.

'Nay, nor will I,' said Sir Tristram, 'for I crave not to be married. I would be free and go forth into strange lands to seek adventures.'

He went from her, with the tune of a hunting song upon his lips, and saw not how La Belle Isoude trembled against the wall and was near to swoon.

For La Belle Isoude herself was the Lady of the Laundes who should be given to the victor, though this was known to none but herself and the king and queen.

The king and queen and all the court marvelled who should be the stranger knight, and why he had departed, and some suspected Sir Tristram, but none knew of this except La Belle Isoude and Governale his squire, and none dared charge him therewith. La Belle Isoude kept her counsel, and strove to seem lighthearted.

It fell upon a day that Sir Tristram was disporting himself with other knights at a game of ball upon the green before the castle, and had left his sword hung upon the post beside his seat in hall. The queen, with La Belle Isoude, passed through the hall to go to see the men at their sport, and on her way she espied Sir Tristram's sword, and the strange device of a serpent which was upon the handle. She said it was a marvellous piece of work, and never had she seen the like of it. Then, by ill hap, she drew the sword from the scabbard, and they both admired it a long time, looking at its keenness and brightness and the words of mystery engraved on it.

Suddenly the queen gave a little cry as of terror, and she pointed to where, within a foot and a half of the point, there was a piece broken out of the edge. Then, very hastily, the queen ran with the sword into her bower, and from her treasure-chest she drew a casket, and from the casket she drew a tiny piece of doeskin, and from that she took a fragment of steel.

While her daughter marvelled what it all might mean, the queen took the piece of steel and placed it in the broken part of Sir Tristram's sword, and it fitted so that the break could hardly be seen.

'Alas!' said the queen, 'this is the piece of sword that the leech took from the brain of my brother, Sir Marhaus, and this Sir Tramor is the traitorous knight that slew him!'

The heart of La Belle Isoude stood still for fear of the ill that would befall Sir Tristram, for she knew her mother's rage.

The queen caught up the sword fiercely in her hand and rushed from the room. Midway through the hall there met her Sir Tristram himself with his squire Governale, and the queen sped to him and would have run him through, but for Governale, who snatched the sword from her, though she wounded him in her wrath.

Finding her rage thus put to naught, she ran to King Anguish, and threw herself on her knees before him, crying out:

'Oh, my lord and husband, here have ye in your house that traitor knight that slew my brother and your champion, that noble knight, Sir Marhaus. It is Sir Tramor, as he falsely calleth himself, but the piece of steel that was taken from my brother's brain fits a notch in his sword.'

'Alas,' cried King Anguish, 'then am I right heavy, for he is as full noble a knight as ever I knew; and I charge ye, have not to do with him, but let me deal in this matter.'

The king went to Sir Tristram and found him fully armed, as if ready to fight for his life, for he knew that now the truth had been discovered.

'Nay, Sir Tramor,' said the king gravely, 'it will not avail thee to fight me. But this will I do for the love and honour I bear thee. Inasmuch as ye are within my court it would be no worship for me to have thee taken and slain, and therefore will I let thee freely depart if thou wilt tell me this: Who is thy father and what is thy name? And didst thou truly and rightly slay Sir Marhaus?'

'Tristram is my name,' replied the young knight, 'and I am son of King Talloch of Lyones. For the truage of Cornwall I fought for the sake of my uncle King Mark, and the battle with Sir Marhaus was the first I had, for I was made knight for that alone. Sir Marhaus went from me alive into his ship, though he left his sword and shield behind him.'

'I may not say that ye have done aught but what a good knight should do,' replied the king, 'but I may not maintain you in this country unless I would displease my wife and her kin.'

'Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'I thank you for your goodness and for the kind cheer which I have had here of yourself and your queen and La Belle Isoude. I will depart straightway when I have bidden your daughter farewell, for I owe my life to her gentle hands; and I promise this, that I will be your daughter's servant and knight in right or wrong, to shield her and fight for her, and do all that a knight may do in her behalf, as long as I live.'

Then took he his leave of La Belle Isoude, and he told her all how he had come to that land. He thanked her heartily for all her gentleness to him and for her healing of his wound. At first she stood silent, changing red and white of face, and with downcast eyes, her fingers straining about each other. When he swore that he would be her knight, to fight for her whenever she should send for him, and bade her good-bye, she took the hand which he held forth, but would not look at him.

Tristram wondered why her fair hand was so cold. 'Good-bye and God be with ye always,' La Belle Isoude replied in a faint voice, and then turned and went from him. Tristram thought she was angered with him for the slaying of her uncle.

So in a little while he rode forth with Governale down to the seashore and looked back not once. There he entered by a ship, and with good wind he arrived at Tintagel in Cornwall, and King Mark and all his barons were glad that Tristram was whole again.

Then Sir Tristram went to his father King Talloch, and there was made great cheer for him, and wide lands were given him. Nevertheless, he could not rest long in one place, but went into Logres and Alban and Wales, seeking adventures, and his fame for prowess was almost as great as the fame of Sir Lancelot. Whereever he went he took his harp, and in hall and bower his favourite songs were those that praised the beauty of La Belle Isoude, her gentle ways and her soft white hands.

After a year and a day he returned to the court of King Mark and lived there, and all the knights and ladies admired him, and the praise of his courtesy was in the mouths of all, noble and simple, high and low. Then King Mark his uncle began to hate him for the love that all bore him, and since he had never married and had no son to whom his kingdom should go after his death, he saw that Sir Tristram would have it, for he was his next kin, and then, with Lyones and Tintagel, the fame and power of Tristram would increase abundantly.

So the king began to cast about in his mind for a way whereby he might do some hurt to Sir Tristram, or even destroy him.

He called the young knight to him one day and said:

'Dear nephew, I have been thinking a long while of taking unto myself a wife, and I hear much of the beauty and goodness of the king's daughter of Ireland, whom men call La Belle Isoude. Now I would that you go to the king and bear my message to him.'

Sir Tristram was troubled in mind at these words. Since he had left La Belle Isoude he had had no ease of spirit, for now he knew that he loved her. Though she had been angered with him for his slaying her uncle, and he knew that the queen and other kinsfolk of Sir Marhaus would surely slay him if they could, yet had he hoped in a while to have gone to King Anguish and found some way to win Isoude for his wife.

'Ye are feared to go, then?' sneered King Mark, noting the silence of Sir Tristram. 'Then I will e'en send some other knight that is bolder.'

At that Sir Tristram flushed hotly and said:

'I fear not to go there or anywhere, and I will bear thy message, sir.'

'It is well,' said the king. 'I will send thee with a fine ship, and a rich company of knights, and I will get my scrivener to write my message.'

Now King Mark said all this by reason of his craft and treachery. He had heard how Sir Tristram had been full of the praises of La Belle Isoude, while yet, as he had learned, Sir Tristram had not promised himself in love to her. By his crafty speech King Mark had hoped to make Sir Tristram promise to go to Ireland to obtain her, not for himself, but for King Mark. So, therefore, if the king married La Belle Isoude, this would cause some grief and hurt to Sir Tristram.

But King Mark cared not overmuch whether he wedded La Belle Isoude or not. He believed that Sir Tristram would of a surety be slain by the kin of Sir Marhaus in Ireland, and, if so, King Mark's plot would succeed to the full.

Sir Tristram, sad and troubled, went apart, and rode into a forest, for now he knew that he had done himself an ill turn. The lady he loved and whom he wanted to wife for himself he had now promised to woo for another.

As he rode moodily through the forest drive, a knight came swiftly riding on a great horse, its flanks flecked with the foam of its speed.

'Fair knight,' said the stranger, 'will ye of your courtesy tell me where I may quickly come at a knight called Sir Tristram of Lyones?'

'I am he,' said Tristram. 'What would ye?'

'I thank Heaven that hath led me to you, sir knight,' said the other. 'Here is a message from my master, King Anguish of Ireland, who is in dire peril of honour and life, and craves aid of you for the love that hath been atween you.'

Sir Tristram, much marvelling, took the parchment and read: 'These to you, Sir Tristram of Lyones, most noble knight, from his lover and friend King Anguish of Ireland, in sore trouble and straits at Camelot. Know ye, Sir Tristram, that I have been summoned to King Arthur's court on pain of forfeiture of his lordship's royal grace, to answer a charge whereof I knew naught till I came here. Which is that by treason and felony I caused to be slain at my court in Ireland a cousin of Sir Bleobaris de Ganis and Sir Blamor de Ganis, and of this evil deed these knights do most falsely accuse me. And there is none other remedy than for me to answer them in knightly fashion, my armed body against theirs. But inasmuch as I am old, and my wasted arm could naught avail me, and in that they are of such renown and prowess that none of my knights may hope to overcome them, I pray ye, Sir Tristram, of your ancient love for me, to come to my aid and fight for me as my champion in this most cruel charge. But if ye will not, and if ye choose to remember rather that I thrust you from my court, and would not protect you against those that meant you ill, then forgive my request, and leave me to my fate and my dishonour.'

The heart of Sir Tristram lifted within him for love of the good old king, and turning, he said:

'For what day is the trial by combat which your master speaketh of?'

'For midday on the day before next Sabbath,' said the knight.

'Go ye at once to your master,' said Sir Tristram, 'and say to him that I will not fail him, but will make all speed.'

'Sir, I thank you from my heart,' said the knight, and bowed. Then wheeling his horse he dashed swiftly away.

At Camelot, on the day and hour appointed, the lists were set, and knights and nobles and the common people waited to see the trial by battle which should prove the innocence or guilt of King Anguish. King Arthur was not at Camelot, nor was Sir Lancelot, for both were at Joyous Gard, the castle of Sir Lancelot, which King Arthur had given to him by the sea in the Northern Marches. In their places, King Kador of Cornwall and King Uriens of Reged were judges at the trial.