"Thou needest not strive so hard, Lord," said the damsel, "for whoever may be able to pull it forth shall do so very easily." "Thou sayest well," replied the king, remembering how he had himself drawn forth the sword from the stone before St. Paul's. "Now try ye, all my barons; but beware ye be not stained with shame, or any treachery, or guile." And turning away his face from them, King Arthur mused full heavily of sins within his breast he knew of, and which his failure brought to mind right sadly.

Then all the barons present tried each after other, but could none of them succeed; whereat the damsel greatly wept, and said, "Alas, alas! I thought in this court to have found the best knight, without shame or treachery or treason."

Now by chance there was at that time a poor knight with King Arthur, who had been prisoner at his court for half a year and more, charged with slaying unawares a knight who was a cousin of the king's. He was named Balin le Savage, and had been by the good offices of the barons delivered from prison, for he was of good and valiant address and gentle blood. He being secretly present at the court saw this adventure, and felt his heart rise high within him, and longed to try the sword as did the others; but being poor and poorly clad, he was ashamed to come forward in the press of knights and nobles. But in his heart he felt assured that he could do better—if Heaven willed—than any knight among them all.

So as the damsel left the king, he called to her and said, "Damsel, I pray thee of thy courtesy, suffer me to try the sword as well as all these lords; for though I be but poorly clad, I feel assurance in my heart."

The damsel looking at him, saw in him a likely an honest man, but because of his poor garments could not think him to be any knight of worship, and said, "Sir, there is no need to put me to any more pain or labour; why shouldst thou succeed where so many worthy ones have failed?"

"Ah, fair lady," answered Balin, "worthiness and brave deeds are not shown by fair raiment, but manhood and truth lie hid within the heart. There be many worshipful knights unknown to all the people."

"By my faith, thou sayest truth," replied the damsel; "try therefore, if thou wilt, what thou canst do."

So Balin took the sword by the girdle and hilt, and drew it lightly out, and looking on its workmanship and brightness, it pleased him greatly.

But the king and all the barons marvelled at Sir Balin's fortune, and many knights were envious of him, for, "Truly," said the damsel, "this is a passing good knight, and the best man I have ever found, and the most worshipfully free from treason, treachery, or villainy, and many wonders shall he achieve."

"Now, gentle and courteous knight," continued she, turning to Balin, "give me the sword again."

"Nay," said Sir Balin, "save it be taken from me by force, I shall preserve this sword for evermore."

"Thou art not wise," replied the damsel, "to keep it from me; for if thou wilt do so, thou shalt slay with it the best friend thou hast, and the sword shall be thine destruction also."

"I will take whatever adventure God may send," said Balin; "but the sword will I keep, by the faith of my body."

"Thou will repent it shortly," said the damsel; "I would take the sword for thy sake rather than for mine for I am passing grieved and heavy for thy sake, who wilt not believe the peril I foretell thee." With that she departed, making great lamentation.

Then Balin sent for his horse and armour, and took his leave of King Arthur, who urged him to stay at his court. "For," said he, "I believe that thou art displeased that I showed thee unkindness; blame me not overmuch, for I was misinformed against thee, and knew not truly what a knight of worship thou art. Abide in this court with my good knights, and I will so advance thee that thou shalt be well pleased."

"God thank thee, Lord," said Balin, "for no man can reward thy bounty and thy nobleness; but at this time I must needs depart, praying thee ever to hold me in thy favour."

"Truly," said King Arthur, "I am grieved for thy departure; but tarry not long, and thou shalt be right welcome to me and all my knights when thou returnest, and I will repair my neglect and all that I have done amiss against thee."

"God thank thee, Lord," again said Balin, and made ready to depart.

But meanwhile came into the court a lady upon horseback, full richly dressed, and saluted King Arthur, and asked him for the gift that he had promised her when she gave him his sword Excalibur, "for," said she, "I am the lady of the lake."

"Ask what thou wilt," said the king, "and thou shalt have it, if I have power to give."

"I ask," said she, "the head of that knight who hath just achieved the sword, or else the damsel's head who brought it, or else both; for the knight slew my brother, and the lady caused my father's death."

"Truly," said King Arthur, "I cannot grant thee this desire; it were against my nature and against my name; but ask whatever else thou wilt, and I will do it."

"I will demand no other thing," said she.

And as she spake came Balin, on his way to leave the court, and saw her where she stood, and knew her straightway for his mother's murderess, whom he had sought in vain three years. And when they told him that she had asked King Arthur for his head, he went up straight to her and said, "May evil have thee! Thou desirest my head, therefore shalt thou lose thine;" and with his sword he lightly smote her head off, in the presence of the king and all the court.

"Alas, for shame!" cried out King Arthur, rising up in wrath; "why hast thou done this, shaming both me and my court? I am beholden greatly to this lady, and under my safe conduct came she here; thy deed is passing shameful; never shall I forgive thy villainy."

"Lord," cried Sir Balin, "hear me; this lady was the falsest living, and by her witchcraft hath destroyed many, and caused my mother also to be burnt to death by her false arts and treachery."

"What cause soever thou mightest have had," said the king, "thou shouldst have forborne her in my presence. Deceive not thyself, thou shalt repent this sin, for such a shame was never brought upon my court; depart now from my face with all the haste thou mayest."

Then Balin took up the head of the lady and carried it to his lodgings, and rode forth with his squire from out the town. Then said he, "Now must we part; take ye this head and bear it to my friends in Northumberland, and tell them how I speed, and that our worst foe is dead; also tell them that I am free from prison, and of the adventure of my sword."

"Alas!" said the squire, "ye are greatly to blame to have so displeased King Arthur."

"As for that," said Sir Balin, "I go now to find King Ryence, and destroy him or lose my life; for should I take him prisoner, and lead him to the court, perchance King Arthur would forgive me, and become my good and gracious lord."

"Where shall I meet thee again?" said the squire.

"In King Arthur's court," said Balin.



CHAPTER V

Sir Balin Smites the Dolorous Stroke, and Fights with his Brother, Sir Balan

Now there was a knight at the court more envious than the others of Sir Balin, for he counted himself one of the best knights in Britain. His name was Lancear; and going to the king, he begged leave to follow after Sir Balin and avenge the insult he had put upon the court. "Do thy best," replied the king, "for I am passing wroth with Balin."

In the meantime came Merlin, and was told of this adventure of the sword and lady of the lake.

"Now hear me," said he, "when I tell ye that this lady who hath brought the sword is the falsest damsel living."

"Say not so," they answered, "for she hath a brother a good knight, who slew another knight this damsel loved; so she, to be revenged upon her brother, went to the Lady Lile, of Avilion, and besought her help. Then Lady Lile gave her the sword, and told her that no man should draw it forth but one, a valiant knight and strong, who should avenge her on her brother. This, therefore, was the reason why the damsel came here." "I know it all as well as ye do," answered Merlin; "and would to God she had never come hither, for never came she into any company but to do harm; and that good knight who hath achieved the sword shall be himself slain by it, which shall be great harm and loss, for a better knight there liveth not; and he shall do unto my lord the king great honour and service."

Then Sir Lancear, having armed himself at all points, mounted, and rode after Sir Balin, as fast as he could go, and overtaking him, he cried aloud, "Abide, Sir knight! wait yet awhile, or I shall make thee do so."

Hearing him cry, Sir Balin fiercely turned his horse, and said, "Fair knight, what wilt thou with me? wilt thou joust?"

"Yea," said Sir Lancear, "it is for that I have pursued thee."

"Peradventure," answered Balin, "thou hadst best have staid at home, for many a man who thinketh himself already victor, endeth by his own downfall. Of what court art thou?"

"Of King Arthur's court," cried Lancear, "and I am come to revenge the insult thou hast put on it this day."

"Well," said Sir Balin, "I see that I must fight thee, and I repent to be obliged to grieve King Arthur or his knights; and thy quarrel seemeth full foolish to me, for the damsel that is dead worked endless evils through the land, or else I had been loath as any knight that liveth to have slain a lady."

"Make thee ready," shouted Lancear, "for one of us shall rest for ever in this field."

But at their first encounter Sir Lancear's spear flew into splinters from Sir Balin's shield, and Sir Balin's lance pierced with such might through Sir Lancear's shield that it rove the hauberk also, and passed through the knight's body and the horse's crupper. And Sir Balin turning fiercely round again, drew out his sword, and knew not that he had already slain him; and then he saw him lie a corpse upon the ground.

At that same moment came a damsel riding towards him as fast as her horse could gallop, who, when she saw Sir Lancear dead, wept and sorrowed out of measure, crying, "O, Sir Balin, two bodies hast thou slain, and one heart; and two hearts in one body; and two souls also hast thou lost."

Therewith she took the sword from her dead lover's side—for she was Sir Lancear's lady-love—and setting the pommel of it on the ground, ran herself through the body with the blade.

When Sir Balin saw her dead he was sorely hurt and grieved in spirit, and repented the death of Lancear, which had also caused so fair a lady's death. And being unable to look on their bodies for sorrow, he turned aside into a forest, where presently as he rode, he saw the arms of his brother, Sir Balan. And when they were met they put off their helms, and embraced each other, kissing, and weeping for joy and pity. Then Sir Balin told Sir Balan all his late adventures, and that he was on his way to King Ryence, who at that time was besieging Castle Terrabil. "I will be with thee," answered Sir Balan, "and we will help each other, as brethren ought to do."

Anon by chance, as they were talking, came King Mark, of Cornwall, by that way, and when he saw the two dead bodies of Sir Lancear and his lady lying there, and heard the story of their death, he vowed to build a tomb to them before he left that place. So pitching his pavilion there, he sought through all the country round to find a monument, and found at last a rich and fair one in a church, which he took and raised above the dead knight and his damsel, writing on it—"Here lieth Lancear, son of the King of Ireland, who, at his own request, was slain by Balin; and here beside him also lieth his lady Colombe, who slew herself with her lover's sword for grief and sorrow."

Then as Sir Balin and Sir Balan rode away, Merlin met with them, and said to Balin, "Thou hast done thyself great harm not to have saved that lady's life who slew herself; and because of it, thou shalt strike the most Dolorous Stroke that ever man struck, save he that smote our Lord. For thou shalt smite the truest and most worshipful of living knights, who shall not be recovered from his wounds for many years, and through that stroke three kingdoms shall be overwhelmed in poverty and misery."

"If I believed," said Balin, "what thou sayest, I would slay myself to make thee a liar."

At that Merlin vanished suddenly away; but afterwards he met them in disguise towards night, and told them he could lead them to King Ryence, whom they sought. "For this night he is to ride with sixty lances only through a wood hard by."

So Sir Balin and Sir Balan hid themselves within the wood, and at midnight came out from their ambush among the leaves by the highway, and waited for the king, whom presently they heard approaching with his company. Then did they suddenly leap forth and smote at him and overthrew him and laid him on the ground, and turning on his company wounded and slew forty of them, and put the rest to flight. And returning to King Ryence they would have slain him there, but he craved mercy, and yielded to their grace, crying, "Knights full of prowess, slay me not; for by my life ye may win something—but my death can avail ye nought."

"Ye say truth," said the two knights, and put him in a horse-litter, and went swiftly through all the night, till at cock-crow they came to King Arthur's palace. There they delivered him to the warders and porters, to be brought before the king, with this message—"That he was sent to King Arthur by the knight of the two swords (for so was Balin known by name, since his adventure with the damsel) and by his brother." And so they rode away again ere sunrise.

Within a month or two thereafter, King Arthur being somewhat sick, went forth outside the town, and had his pavilion pitched in a meadow, and there abode, and laid him down on a pallet to sleep, but could get no rest. And as he lay he heard the sound of a great horse, and looking out of the tent door, saw a knight ride by, making great lamentation.

"Abide, fair sir," said King Arthur, "and tell me wherefore thou makest this sorrow."

"Ye may little amend it," said the knight, and so passed on.

Presently after Sir Balin, rode, by chance, past that meadow, and when he saw the king he alighted and came to him on foot, and kneeled and saluted him.

"By my head," said King Arthur, "ye be welcome, Sir Balin;" and then he thanked him heartily for revenging him upon King Ryence, and for sending him so speedily a prisoner to his castle, and told him how King Nero, Ryence's brother, had attacked him afterwards to deliver Ryence from prison; and how he had defeated him and slain him, and also King Lot, of Orkney who was joined with Nero, and whom King Pellinore had killed in the battle. Then when they had thus talked, King Arthur told Sir Balin of the sullen knight that had just passed his tent, and desired him to pursue him and to bring him back.

So Sir Balin rode and overtook the knight in a forest with a damsel, and said, "Sir knight, thou must come back with me unto my lord, King Arthur, to tell him the cause of thy sorrow, which thou hast refused even now to do."

"That will I not," replied the knight, "for it would harm me much, and do him no advantage."

"Sir," said Sir Balin, "I pray thee make ready, for thou must needs go with me—or else I must fight with thee and take thee by force."

"Wilt thou be warrant for safe conduct, if I go with thee?" inquired the knight.

"Yea, surely," answered Balin, "I will die else."

So the knight made ready to go with Sir Balin, and left the damsel in the wood.

But as they went, there came one invisible, and smote the knight through the body with a spear. "Alas," cried Sir Herleus (for so was he named), "I am slain under thy guard and conduct, by that traitor knight called Garlon, who through magic and witchcraft rideth invisibly. Take, therefore, my horse, which is better than thine, and ride to the damsel whom we left, and the quest I had in hand, as she will lead thee—and revenge my death when thou best mayest."

"That will I do," said Sir Balin, "by my knighthood, and so I swear to thee."

Then went Sir Balin to the damsel, and rode forth with her; she carrying ever with her the truncheon of the spear wherewith Sir Herleus had been slain. And as they went, a good knight, Perin de Mountbelgard, joined their company, and vowed to take adventure with them wheresoever they might go. But presently as they passed a hermitage fast by a churchyard, came the knight Garlon, again invisible, and smote Sir Perin through the body with a spear, and slew him as he had slain Sir Herleus. Whereat, Sir Balin greatly raged, and swore to have Sir Garlon's life, whenever next he might encounter and behold him in his bodily shape. Anon, he and the hermit buried the good knight Sir Perin, and rode on with the damsel till they came to a great castle, whereinto they were about to enter. But when Sir Balin had passed through the gateway, the portcullis fell behind him suddenly, leaving the damsel on the outer side, with men around her, drawing their swords as if to slay her.

When he saw that, Sir Balin climbed with eager haste by wall and tower, and leaped into the castle moat, and rushed towards the damsel and her enemies, with his sword drawn, to fight and slay them. But they cried out, "Put up thy sword, Sir knight, we will not fight thee in this quarrel, for we do nothing but an ancient custom of this castle."

Then they told him that the lady of the castle was sick, and had lain ill for many years, and might never more be cured, unless she had a silver dish full of the blood of a pure maid and a king's daughter. Wherefore the custom of the castle was, that never should a damsel pass that way but she must give a dish full of her blood. Then Sir Balin suffered them to bleed the damsel with her own consent, but her blood helped not the lady of the castle. So on the morrow they departed, after right good cheer and rest.

Then they rode three or four days without adventure and came at last to the abode of a rich man, who sumptuously lodged and fed them. And while they sat at supper Sir Balin heard a voice of some one groaning grievously. "What noise is this?" said he.

"Forsooth," said the host, "I will tell you. I was lately at a tournament, and there I fought a knight who is brother to King Pelles, and overthrew him twice, for which he swore to be revenged on me through my best friend, and so he wounded my son, who cannot be recovered till I have that knight's blood, but he rideth through witchcraft always invisibly, and I know not his name."

"Ah," said Sir Balin, "but I know him; his name is Garlon, and he hath slain two knights, companions of mine own, in the same fashion, and I would rather than all the riches in this realm that I might meet him face to face."

"Well," said his host, "let me now tell thee that King Pelles hath proclaimed in all the country a great festival, to be held at Listeniss, in twenty days from now, whereto no knight may come without a lady. At that great feast we might perchance find out this Garlon, for many will be there; and if it please thee we will set forth together."

So on the morrow they rode all three towards Listeniss, and travelled fifteen days, and reached it on the day the feast began. Then they alighted and stabled their horses, and went up to the castle, and Sir Balin's host was denied entrance, having no lady with him. But Sir Balin was right heartily received, and taken to a chamber, where they unarmed him, and dressed him in rich robes, of any colour that he chose, and told him he must lay aside his sword. This, however, he refused, and said, "It is the custom of my country for a knight to keep his sword ever with him; and if I may not keep it here, I will forthwith depart." Then they gave him leave to wear his sword. So he went to the great hall, and was set among knights of rank and worship, and his lady before him.

Soon he found means to ask one who sat near him, "Is there not here a knight whose name is Garlon?"

"Yonder he goeth," said his neighbour, "he with that black face; he is the most marvellous knight alive, for he rideth invisibly, and destroyeth whom he will."

"Ah, well," said Balin, drawing a long breath, "is that indeed the man? I have aforetime heard of him."

Then he mused long within himself, and thought, "If I shall slay him here and now, I shall not escape myself; but if I leave him, peradventure I shall never meet with him again at such advantage; and if he live, how much more harm and mischief will he do!"

But while he deeply thought, and cast his eyes from time to time upon Sir Garlon, that false knight saw that he watched him, and thinking that he could at such a time escape revenge, he came and smote Sir Balin on the face with the back of his hand, and said, "Knight, why dost thou so watch me? be ashamed, and eat thy meat, and do that which thou camest for."

"Thou sayest well," cried Sir Balin, rising fiercely; "now will I straightway do that which I came to do, as thou shalt find." With that he whirled his sword aloft and struck him downright on the head, and clove his skull asunder to the shoulder.

"Give me the truncheon," cried out Sir Balin to his lady, "wherewith he slew thy knight." And when she gave it him—for she had always carried it about with her, wherever she had gone—he smote him through the body with it, and said, "With that truncheon didst thou treacherously murder a good knight, and now it sticketh in thy felon body."

Then he called to the father of the wounded son, who had come with him to Listeniss, and said, "Now take as much blood as thou wilt, to heal thy son withal."

But now arose a terrible confusion, and all the knights leaped from the table to slay Balin, King Pelles himself the foremost, who cried out, "Knight, thou hast slain my brother at my board; die, therefore, die, for thou shalt never leave this castle."

"Slay me, thyself, then," shouted Balin.

"Yea," said the king, "that will I! for no other man shall touch thee, for the love I bear my brother."

Then King Pelles caught in his hand a grim weapon and smote eagerly at Balin, but Balin put his sword between his head and the king's stroke, and saved himself but lost his sword, which fell down smashed and shivered into pieces by the blow. So being weaponless he ran to the next room to find a sword, and so from room to room, with King Pelles after him, he in vain ever eagerly casting his eyes round every place to find some weapon.

At last he ran into a chamber wondrous richly decked, where was a bed all dressed with cloth of gold, the richest that could be thought of, and one who lay quite still within the bed; and by the bedside stood a table of pure gold borne on four silver pillars, and on the table stood a marvellous spear, strangely wrought.

When Sir Balin saw the spear he seized it in his hand, and turned upon King Pelles, and smote at him so fiercely and so sore that he dropped swooning to the ground.

But at that Dolorous and awful Stroke the castle rocked and rove throughout, and all the walls fell crashed and breaking to the earth, and Balin himself fell also in their midst, struck as it were to stone, and powerless to move a hand or foot. And so three days he lay amidst the ruins, until Merlin came and raised him up and brought him a good horse, and bade him ride out of that land as swiftly as he could.



"May I not take the damsel with me I brought hither?" said Sir Balin.

"Lo! where she lieth dead," said Merlin. "Ah, little knowest thou, Sir Balin, what thou hast done; for in this castle and that chamber which thou didst defile, was the blood of our Lord Christ! and also that most holy cup—the Sangreal—wherefrom the wine was drunk at the last supper of our Lord. Joseph of Arimathea brought it to this land, when first he came here to convert and save it. And on that bed of gold it was himself who lay, and the strange spear beside him was the spear wherewith the soldier Longus smote our Lord, which evermore had dripped with blood. King Pelles is the nearest kin to Joseph in direct descent, wherefore he held these holy things in trust; but now have they all gone at thy dolorous stroke, no man knoweth whither; and great is the damage to this land, which until now hath been the happiest of all lands, for by that stroke thou hast slain thousands, and by the loss and parting of the Sangreal the safety of this realm is put in peril, and its great happiness is gone for evermore."

Then Balin departed from Merlin, struck to his soul with grief and sorrow, and said, "In this world shall we meet never more."

So he rode forth through the fair cities and the country, and found the people lying dead on every side. And all the living cried out on him as he passed, "O Balin, all this misery hast thou done! For the dolorous stroke thou gavest King Pelles, three countries are destroyed, and doubt not but revenge will fall on thee at last!"

When he had passed the boundary of those countries, he was somewhat comforted, and rode eight days without adventure. Anon he came to a cross, whereon was written in letters of gold, "It is not for a knight alone to ride towards this castle." Looking up, he saw a hoary ancient man come towards him, who said, "Sir Balin le Savage, thou passest thy bounds this way; therefore turn back again, it will be best for thee;" and with these words he vanished.

Then did he hear a horn blow as it were the deathnote of some hunted beast. "That blast," said Balin, "is blown for me, for I am the prey; though yet I be not dead." But as he spoke he saw a hundred ladies with a great troop of knights come forth to meet him, with bright faces and great welcome, who led him to the castle and made a great feast, with dancing and minstrelsy and all manner of joy.

Then the chief lady of the castle said, "Knight with the two swords, thou must encounter and fight with a knight hard by, who dwelleth on an island, for no man may pass this way without encountering him."

"It is a grievous custom," answered Sir Balin.

"There is but one knight to defeat," replied the lady.

"Well," said Sir Balin, "be it as thou wilt. I am ready and quite willing, and though my horse and my body be full weary, yet is my heart not weary, save of life. And truly I were glad if I might meet my death."

"Sir," said one standing by, "methinketh your shield is not good; I will lend you a bigger."

"I thank thee, sir," said Balin, and took the unknown shield and left his own, and so rode forth, and put himself and horse into a boat and came to the island.

As soon as he had landed, he saw come riding towards him, a knight dressed all in red, upon a horse trapped in the same colour. When the red knight saw Sir Balin, and the two swords he wore, he thought it must have been his brother (for the red knight was Sir Balan), but when he saw the strange arms on his shield, he forgot the thought, and came against him fiercely. At the first course they overthrew each other, and both lay swooning on the ground; but Sir Balin was the most hurt and bruised, for he was weary and spent with travelling. So Sir Balan rose up first to his feet and drew his sword, and Sir Balin painfully rose against him and raised his shield.

Then Sir Balan smote him through the shield and brake his helmet; and Sir Balin, in return, smote at him with his fated sword, and had wellnigh slain his brother. So they fought till their breaths failed.

Then Sir Balin, looking up, saw all the castle towers stand full of ladies. So they went again to battle, and wounded each other full sore, and paused, and breathed again, and then again began the fight; and this for many times they did, till all the ground was red with blood. And by now, each had full grievously wounded the other with seven great wounds, the least of which might have destroyed the mightiest giant in the world. But still they rose against each other, although their hauberks now were all unnailed, and they smiting at each other's naked bodies with their sharp swords. At the last, Sir Balan, the younger brother, withdrew a little space and laid him down.

Then said Sir Balin le Savage, "What knight art thou? for never before have I found a knight to match me thus."

"My name," said he, all faintly, "is Balan, brother to the good knight Sir Balin."

"Ah, God!" cried Balin, "that ever I should see this day!" and therewith fell down backwards in a swoon.

Then Sir Balan crept with pain upon his feet and hands, and put his brother's helmet off his head, but could not know him by his face, it was so hewed and bloody. But presently, when Sir Balin came to, he said, "Oh! Balan, mine own brother, thou hast slain me, and I thee! All the wide world saw never greater grief!"

"Alas!" said Sir Balan, "that I ever saw this day; and through mishap alone I knew thee not, for when I saw thy two swords, if it had not been for thy strange shield, I should have known thee for my brother."

"Alas!" said Balin, "all this sorrow lieth at the door of one unhappy knight within the castle, who made me change my shield. If I might live, I would destroy that castle and its evil customs."

"It were well done," said Balan, "for since I first came hither I have never been able to depart, for here they made me fight with one who kept this island, whom I slew, and by enchantment I might never quit it more; nor couldst thou, brother, hadst thou slain me, and escaped with thine own life."

Anon came the lady of the castle, and when she heard their talk, and saw their evil case, she wrung her hands and wept bitterly. So Sir Balan prayed the lady of her gentleness that, for his true service, she would bury them both together in that place. This she granted, weeping full sore, and said it should be done right solemnly and richly, and in the noblest manner possible. Then did they send for a priest, and received the holy sacrament at his hands. And Balin said, "Write over us upon our tomb, that here two brethren slew each other; then shall never good knight or pilgrim pass this way but he will pray for both our souls." And anon Sir Balan died, but Sir Balin died not till the midnight after; and then they both were buried.

On the morrow of their death came Merlin, and took Sir Balin's sword and fixed on it a new pommel, and set it in a mighty stone, which then, by magic, he made float upon the water. And so, for many years, it floated to and fro around the island, till it swam down the river to Camelot, where young Sir Galahad achieved it, as shall be told hereafter.



CHAPTER VI

The Marriage of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, and the Founding of the Round Table—The Adventure of the Hart and Hound

It befell upon a certain day, that King Arthur said to Merlin, "My lords and knights do daily pray me now to take a wife; but I will have none without thy counsel, for thou hast ever helped me since I came first to this crown."

"It is well," said Merlin, "that thou shouldst take a wife, for no man of bounteous and noble nature should live without one; but is there any lady whom thou lovest better than another?"

"Yea," said King Arthur, "I love Guinevere, the daughter of King Leodegrance, of Camelgard, who also holdeth in his house the Round Table that he had from my father Uther; and as I think, that damsel is the gentlest and the fairest lady living."

"Sir," answered Merlin, "as for her beauty, she is one of the fairest that do live; but if ye had not loved her as ye do, I would fain have had ye choose some other who was both fair and good. But where a man's heart is set, he will be loath to leave." This Merlin said, knowing the misery that should hereafter happen from this marriage.

Then King Arthur sent word to King Leodegrance that he mightily desired to wed his daughter, and how that he had loved her since he saw her first, when with Kings Ban and Bors he rescued Leodegrance from King Ryence of North Wales.

When King Leodegrance heard the message, he cried out "These be the best tidings I have heard in all my life—so great and worshipful a prince to seek my daughter for his wife! I would fain give him half my lands with her straightway, but that he needeth none—and better will it please him that I send him the Round Table of King Uther, his father, with a hundred good knights towards the furnishing of it with guests, for he will soon find means to gather more, and make the table full."

Then King Leodegrance delivered his daughter Guinevere to the messengers of King Arthur, and also the Round Table with the hundred knights.

So they rode royally and freshly, sometimes by water and sometimes by land, towards Camelot. And as they rode along in the spring weather, they made full many sports and pastimes. And, in all those sports and games, a young knight lately come to Arthur's court, Sir Lancelot by name, was passing strong, and won praise from all, being full of grace and hardihood; and Guinevere also ever looked on him with joy. And always in the eventide, when the tents were set beside some stream or forest, many minstrels came and sang before the knights and ladies as they sat in the tent-doors, and many knights would tell adventures; and still Sir Lancelot was foremost, and told the knightliest tales, and sang the goodliest songs, of all the company.

And when they came to Camelot, King Arthur made great joy, and all the city with him; and riding forth with a great retinue he met Guinevere and her company, and led her through the streets all filled with people, and in the midst of all their shoutings and the ringing of church bells, to a palace hard by his own.

Then, in all haste, the king commanded to prepare the marriage and the coronation with the stateliest and most honourable pomp that could be made. And when the day was come, the archbishops led the king to the cathedral, whereto he walked, clad in his royal robes, and having four kings, bearing four golden swords, before him; a choir of passing sweet music going also with him.

In another part, was the queen dressed in her richest ornaments, and led by archbishops and bishops to the Chapel of the Virgins, the four queens also of the four kings last mentioned walked before her, bearing four white doves, according to ancient custom; and after her there followed many damsels, singing and making every sign of joy.

And when the two processions were come to the churches, so wondrous was the music and the singing, that all the knights and barons who were there pressed on each other, as in the crowd of battle, to hear and see the most they might.

When the king was crowned, he called together all the knights that came with the Round Table from Camelgard, and twenty-eight others, great and valiant men, chosen by Merlin out of all the realm, towards making up the full number of the table. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury blessed the seats of all the knights, and when they rose again therefrom to pay their homage to King Arthur there was found upon the back of each knight's seat his name, written in letters of gold. But upon one seat was found written, "This is the Siege Perilous, wherein if any man shall sit save him whom Heaven hath chosen, he shall be devoured by fire."

Anon came young Gawain, the king's nephew, praying to be made a knight, whom the king knighted then and there. Soon after came a poor man, leading with him a tall fair lad of eighteen years of age, riding on a lean mare. And falling at the king's feet, the poor man said, "Lord, it was told me, that at this time of thy marriage thou wouldst give to any man the gift he asked for, so it were not unreasonable."

"That is the truth," replied King Arthur, "and I will make it good."

"Thou sayest graciously and nobly," said the poor man. "Lord, I ask nothing else but that thou wilt make my son here a knight."

"It is a great thing that thou askest," said the king. "What is thy name?"

"Aries, the cowherd," answered he.

"Cometh this prayer from thee or from thy son?" inquired King Arthur.

"Nay, lord, not from myself," said he, "but from him only, for I have thirteen other sons, and all of them will fall to any labour that I put them to. But this one will do no such work for anything that I or my wife may do, but is for ever shooting or fighting, and running to see knights and joustings, and torments me both night and day that he be made a knight."

"What is thy name?" said the king to the young man.

"My name is Tor," said he.

Then the king, looking at him steadfastly, was well pleased with his face and figure, and with his look of nobleness and strength.

"Fetch all thy other sons before me," said the king to Aries. But when he brought them, none of them resembled Tor in size or shape or feature.

Then the king knighted Tor, saying, "Be thou to thy life's end a good knight and a true, as I pray God thou mayest be; and if thou provest worthy, and of prowess, one day thou shall be counted in the Round Table." Then turning to Merlin, Arthur said, "Prophesy now, O Merlin, shall Sir Tor become a worthy knight, or not?"

"Yea, lord," said Merlin, "so he ought to be, for he is the son of that King Pellinore whom thou hast met, and proved to be one of the best knights living. He is no cowherd's son."

Presently after came in King Pellinore, and when he saw Sir Tor he knew him for his son, and was more pleased than words can tell to find him knighted by the king. And Pellinore did homage to King Arthur, and was gladly and graciously accepted of the king; and then was led by Merlin to a high seat at the Table Round, near to the Perilous Seat.

But Sir Gawain was full of anger at the honour done King Pellinore, and said to his brother Gaheris, "He slew our father, King Lot, therefore will I slay him."

"Do it not yet," said he; "wait till I also be a knight, then will I help ye in it: it is best ye suffer him to go at this time, and not trouble this high feast with bloodshed."

"As ye will, be it," said Sir Gawain.

Then rose the king and spake to all the Table Round, and charged them to be ever true and noble knights, to do neither outrage nor murder, nor any unjust violence, and always to flee treason; also by no means ever to be cruel, but give mercy unto him that asked for mercy, upon pain of forfeiting the liberty of his court for evermore. Moreover, at all times, on pain of death, to give all succour unto ladies and young damsels; and lastly, never to take part in any wrongful quarrel, for reward or payment. And to all this he swore them knight by knight.

Then he ordained that, every year at Pentecost, they should all come before him, wheresoever he might appoint a place, and give account of all their doings and adventures of the past twelvemonth. And so, with prayer and blessing, and high words of cheer, he instituted the most noble order of the Round Table, whereto the best and bravest knights in all the world sought afterwards to find admission.

Then was the high feast made ready, and the king and queen sat side by side, before the whole assembly; and great and royal was the banquet and the pomp.

And as they sat, each man in his place, Merlin went round and said, "Sit still awhile, for ye shall see a strange and marvellous adventure."

So as they sat, there suddenly came running through the hall, a white hart, with a white hound next after him, and thirty couple of black running hounds, making full cry; and the hart made circuit of the Table Round, and past the other tables; and suddenly the white hound flew upon him and bit him fiercely, and tore out a piece from his haunch. Whereat the hart sprang suddenly with a great leap, and overthrew a knight sitting at the table, who rose forthwith, and, taking up the hound, mounted, and rode fast away.

But no sooner had he left, than there came in a lady, mounted on a white palfrey, who cried out to the king, "Lord, suffer me not to have this injury!—the hound is mine which that knight taketh." And as she spake, a knight rode in all armed, on a great horse, and suddenly took up the lady and rode away with her by force, although she greatly cried and moaned.

Then the king desired Sir Gawain, Sir Tor, and King Pellinore to mount and follow this adventure to the uttermost; and told Sir Gawain to bring back the hart, Sir Tor the hound and knight, and King Pellinore the knight and the lady.

So Sir Gawain rode forth at a swift pace, and with him Gaheris, his brother, for a squire. And as they went, they saw two knights fighting on horseback, and when they reached them they divided them and asked the reason of their quarrel. "We fight for a foolish matter," one replied, "for we be brethren; but there came by a white hart this way, chased by many hounds, and thinking it was an adventure for the high feast of King Arthur, I would have followed it to have gained worship; whereat my younger brother here declared he was the better knight and would go after it instead, and so we fight to prove which of us be the better knight."

"This is a foolish thing," said Sir Gawain. "Fight with all strangers, if ye will, but not brother with brother. Take my advice, set on against me, and if ye yield to me, as I shall do my best to make ye, ye shall go to King Arthur and yield ye to his grace."

"Sir knight," replied the brothers, "we are weary, and will do thy wish without encountering thee; but by whom shall we tell the king that we were sent?"

"By the knight that followeth the quest of the white hart," said Sir Gawain. "And now tell me your names, and let us part."

"Sorlous and Brian of the Forest," they replied; and so they went their way to the king's court.

Then Sir Gawain, still following his quest by the distant baying of the hounds, came to a great river, and saw the hart swimming over and near to the further bank. And as he was about to plunge in and swim after, he saw a knight upon the other side, who cried, "Come not over here, Sir knight, after that hart, save thou wilt joust with me."

"I will not fail for that," said Sir Gawain; and swam his horse across the stream.

Anon they got their spears, and ran against each other fiercely; and Sir Gawain smote the stranger off his horse, and turning, bade him yield.

"Nay," replied he, "not so; for though ye have the better of me on horseback, I pray thee, valiant knight, alight, and let us match together with our swords on foot."

"What is thy name?" quoth Gawain.

"Allardin of the Isles," replied the stranger.

Then they fell on each other; but soon Sir Gawain struck him through the helm, so deeply and so hard, that all his brains were scattered, and Sir Allardin fell dead. "Ah," said Gaheris, "that was a mighty stroke for a young knight!"

Then did they turn again to follow the white hart, and let slip three couple of greyhounds after him; and at the last they chased him to a castle, and there they overtook and slew him, in the chief courtyard.

At that there rushed a knight forth from a chamber, with a drawn sword in his hand, and slew two of the hounds before their eyes, and chased the others from the castle, crying, "Oh, my white hart! alas, that thou art dead! for thee my sovereign lady gave to me, and evil have I kept thee; but if I live, thy death shall be dear bought." Anon he went within and armed, and came out fiercely, and met Sir Gawain face to face.

"Why have ye slain my hounds?" said Sir Gawain; "they did but after their nature: and ye had better have taken vengeance on me than on the poor dumb beasts."

"I will avenge me on thee, also," said the other, "ere thou depart this place."

Then did they fight with each other savagely and madly, till the blood ran down to their feet. But at last Sir Gawain had the better, and felled the knight of the castle to the ground. Then he cried out for mercy, and yielded to Sir Gawain, and besought him as he was a knight and gentleman to save his life. "Thou shalt die," said Sir Gawain, "for slaying my hounds."

"I will make thee all amends within my power," replied the knight.

But Sir Gawain would have no mercy, and unlaced his helm to strike his head off; and so blind was he with rage, that he saw not where a lady ran out from her chamber and fell down upon his enemy. And making a fierce blow at him, he smote off by mischance the lady's head.

"Alas!" cried Gaheris, "foully and shamefully have ye done—the shame shall never leave ye! Why give ye not your mercy unto them that ask it? a knight without mercy is without worship also."

Then Sir Gawain was sore amazed at that fair lady's death, and knew not what to do, and said to the fallen knight, "Arise, for I will give thee mercy."

"Nay, nay," said he, "I care not for thy mercy now, for thou hast slain my lady and my love—that of all earthly things I loved the best."

"I repent me sorely of it," said Sir Gawain, "for I meant to have struck thee: but now shalt thou go to King Arthur and tell him this adventure, and how thou hast been overcome by the knight that followeth the quest of the white hart."

"I care not whether I live or die, or where I go," replied the knight.

So Sir Gawain sent him to the court to Camelot, making him bear one dead greyhound before and one behind him on his horse. "Tell me thy name before we part," said he.

"My name is Athmore of the Marsh," he answered.

Then went Sir Gawain into the castle, and prepared to sleep there and began to unarm; but Gaheris upbraided him, saying, "Will ye disarm in this strange country? bethink ye, ye must needs have many enemies about."

No sooner had he spoken than there came out suddenly four knights, well armed, and assailed them hard, saying to Sir Gawain, "Thou new-made knight, how hast thou shamed thy knighthood! a knight without mercy is dishonoured! Slayer of fair ladies, shame to thee evermore! Doubt not thou shalt thyself have need of mercy ere we leave thee."

Then were the brothers in great jeopardy, and feared for their lives, for they were but two to four, and weary with travelling; and one of the four knights shot Sir Gawain with a bolt, and hit him through the arm, so that he could fight no more. But when there was nothing left for them but death, there came four ladies forth and prayed the four knights' mercy for the strangers. So they gave Sir Gawain and Gaheris their lives, and made them yield themselves prisoners.

On the morrow, came one of the ladies to Sir Gawain, and talked with him, saying, "Sir knight, what cheer?"

"Not good," said he.

"It is your own default, sir," said the lady, "for ye have done a passing foul deed in slaying that fair damsel yesterday—and ever shall it be great shame to you. But ye be not of King Arthur's kin."

"Yea, truly am I," said he; "my name is Gawain, son of King Lot of Orkney, whom King Pellinore slew—and my mother, Belisent, is half-sister to the king."

When the lady heard that, she went and presently got leave for him to quit the castle; and they gave him the head of the white hart to take with him, because it was in his quest; but made him also carry the dead lady with him—her head hung round his neck and her body lay before him on his horse's neck.

So in that fashion he rode back to Camelot; and when the king and queen saw him, and heard tell of his adventures, they were heavily displeased, and, by the order of the queen, he was put upon his trial before a court of ladies—who judged him to be evermore, for all his life, the knight of ladies' quarrels, and to fight always on their side, and never against any, except he fought for one lady and his adversary for another; also they charged him never to refuse mercy to him that asked it, and swore him to it on the Holy Gospels. Thus ended the adventure of the white hart.

Meanwhile, Sir Tor had made him ready, and followed the knight who rode away with the hound. And as he went, there suddenly met him in the road a dwarf, who struck his horse so viciously upon the head with a great staff, that he leaped backwards a spear's length.

"Wherefore so smitest thou my horse, foul dwarf?" shouted Sir Tor.

"Because thou shall not pass this way," replied the dwarf, "unless thou fight for it with yonder knights in those pavilions," pointing to two tents, where two great spears stood out, and two shields hung upon two trees hard by.

"I may not tarry, for I am on a quest I needs must follow," said Sir Tor.

"Thou shalt not pass," replied the dwarf, and therewith blew his horn. Then rode out quickly at Sir Tor one armed on horseback, but Sir Tor was quick as he, and riding at him bore him from his horse, and made him yield. Directly after came another still more fiercely, but with a few great strokes and buffets Sir Tor unhorsed him also, and sent them both to Camelot to King Arthur. Then came the dwarf and begged Sir Tor to take him in his service, "for," said he, "I will serve no more recreant knights."

"Take then a horse, and come with me," said Tor.

"Ride ye after the knight with the white hound?" said the dwarf; "I can soon bring ye where he is."

So they rode through the forest till they came to two more tents. And Sir Tor alighting, went into the first, and saw three damsels lie there, sleeping. Then went he to the other, and found another lady also sleeping, and at her feet the white hound he sought for, which instantly began to bay and bark so loudly, that the lady woke. But Sir Tor had seized the hound and given it to the dwarfs charge.

"What will ye do, Sir knight?" cried out the lady; "will ye take away my hound from me by force?"

"Yea, lady," said Sir Tor; "for so I must, having the king's command; and I have followed it from King Arthur's court, at Camelot, to this place."

"Well" said the lady, "ye will not go far before ye be ill handled, and will repent ye of the quest."

"I shall cheerfully abide whatsoever adventure cometh, by the grace of God," said Sir Tor; and so mounted his horse and began to ride back on his way. But night coming on, he turned aside to a hermitage that was in the forest, and there abode till the next day, making but sorrowful cheer of such poor food as the hermit had to give him, and hearing a Mass devoutly before he left on the morrow.

And in the early morning, as he rode forth with the dwarf towards Camelot, he heard a knight call loudly after him, "Turn, turn! Abide, Sir knight, and yield me up the hound thou tookest from my lady." At which he turned, and saw a great and strong knight, armed full splendidly, riding down upon him fiercely through a glade of the forest.

Now Sir Tor was very ill provided, for he had but an old courser, which was as weak as himself, because of the hermit's scanty fare. He waited, nevertheless, for the strange knight to come, and at the first onset with their spears, each unhorsed the other, and then fell to with their swords like two mad lions. Then did they smite through one another's shields and helmets till the fragments flew on all sides, and their blood ran out in streams; but yet they carved and rove through the thick armour of the hauberks, and gave each other great and ghastly wounds. But in the end, Sir Tor, finding the strange knight faint, doubled his strokes until he beat him to the earth. Then did he bid him yield to his mercy.

"That will I not," replied Abellius, "while my life lasteth and my soul is in my body, unless thou give me first the hound."

"I cannot," said Sir Tor, "and will not, for it was my quest to bring again that hound and thee unto King Arthur, or otherwise to slay thee."

With that there came a damsel riding on a palfrey, as fast as she could drive, and cried out to Sir Tor with a loud voice, "I pray thee, for King Arthur's love, give me a gift."

"Ask," said Sir Tor, "and I will give thee."

"Grammercy," said the lady, "I ask the head of this false knight Abellius, the most outrageous murderer that liveth."

"I repent me of the gift I promised," said Sir Tor. "Let him make thee amends for all his trespasses against thee."

"He cannot make amends," replied the damsel, "for he hath slain my brother, a far better knight than he, and scorned to give him mercy, though I kneeled for half an hour before him in the mire, to beg it, and though it was but by a chance they fought, and for no former injury or quarrel. I require my gift of thee as a true knight, or else will I shame thee in King Arthur's court; for this Abellius is the falsest knight alive, and a murderer of many."

When Abellius heard this, he trembled greatly, and was sore afraid, and yielded to Sir Tor, and prayed his mercy.

"I cannot now, Sir knight," said he, "lest I be false to my promise. Ye would not take my mercy when I offered it; and now it is too late."

Therewith he unlaced his helmet, and took it off; but Abellius, in dismal fear, struggled to his feet, and fled, until Sir Tor overtook him, and smote off his head entirely with one blow.

"Now, sir," said the damsel, "it is near night, I pray ye come and lodge at my castle hard by."

"I will, with a good will," said he, for both his horse and he had fared but poorly since they left Camelot.

So he went to the lady's castle and fared sumptuously, and saw her husband, an old knight, who greatly thanked him for his service, and urged him oftentimes to come again.

On the morrow he departed, and reached Camelot by noon, where the king and queen rejoiced to see him, and the king made him Earl; and Merlin prophesied that these adventures were but little to the things he should achieve hereafter.

Now while Sir Gawain and Sir Tor had fulfilled their quests, King Pellinore pursued the lady whom the knight had seized away from the wedding-feast. And as he rode through the woods, he saw in a valley a fair young damsel sitting by a well-side, and a wounded knight lying in her arms, and King Pellinore saluted her as he passed by.

As soon as she perceived him she cried out, "Help, help me, knight, for our Lord's sake!" But Pellinore was far too eager in his quest to stay or turn, although she cried a hundred times to him for help; at which she prayed to heaven he might have such sore need before he died as she had now. And presently thereafter her knight died in her arms; and she, for grief and love slew herself with his sword.

But King Pellinore rode on till he met a poor man and asked him had he seen a knight pass by that way leading by force a lady with him.

"Yea, surely," said the man, "and greatly did she moan and cry; but even now another knight is fighting with him to deliver the lady; ride on and thou shalt find them fighting still."

At that King Pellinore rode swiftly on, and came to where he saw the two knights fighting, hard by where two pavilions stood. And when he looked in one of them he saw the lady that was his quest, and with her the two squires of the two knights who fought.

"Fair lady," said he, "ye must come with me unto Arthur's court."

"Sir knight," said the two squires, "yonder be two knights fighting for this lady; go part them, and get their consent to take her, ere thou touch her."

"Ye say well," said King Pellinore, and rode between the combatants, and asked them why they fought.

"Sir knight," said the one, "yon lady is my cousin, mine aunt's daughter, whom I met borne away against her will, by this knight here, with whom I therefore fight to free her."

"Sir knight," replied the other, whose name was Hantzlake of Wentland, "this lady got I, by my arms and prowess, at King Arthur's court to-day."

"That is false," said King Pellinore; "ye stole the lady suddenly, and fled away with her, before any knight could arm to stay thee. But it is my service to take her back again. Neither of ye shall therefore have her; but if ye will fight for her, fight with me now and here."

"Well," said the knights, "make ready, and we will assail thee with all our might."

Then Sir Hantzlake ran King Pellinore's horse through with his sword, so that they might be all alike on foot. But King Pellinore at that was passing wroth, and ran upon Sir Hantzlake, with a cry, "Keep well thy head!" and gave him such a stroke upon the helm as clove him to the chin, so that he fell dead to the ground. When he saw that, the other knight refused to fight, and kneeling down said, "Take my cousin the lady with thee, as thy quest is; but as thou art a true knight, suffer her to come to neither shame nor harm."

So the next day King Pellinore departed for Camelot, and took the lady with him; and as they rode in a valley full of rough stones, the damsel's horse stumbled and threw her, so that her arms were sorely bruised and hurt. And as they rested in the forest for the pain to lessen, night came on, and there they were compelled to make their lodging. A little before midnight they heard the trotting of a horse. "Be ye still," said King Pellinore, "for now we may hear of some adventure," and therewith he armed him. Then he heard two knights meet and salute each other, in the dark; one riding from Camelot, the other from the north.

"What tidings at Camelot?" said one.

"By my head," said the other, "I have but just left there, and have espied King Arthur's court, and such a fellowship is there as never may be broke or overcome; for wellnigh all the chivalry of the world is there, and all full loyal to the king, and now I ride back homewards to the north to tell our chiefs, that they waste not their strength in wars against him."

"As for all that," replied the other knight, "I am but now from the north, and bear with me a remedy, the deadliest poison that ever was heard tell of, and to Camelot will I with it; for there we have a friend close to the king, and greatly cherished of him, who hath received gifts from us to poison him, as he hath promised soon to do."

"Beware," said the first knight, "of Merlin, for he knoweth all things, by the devil's craft."

"I will not fear for that," replied the other, and so rode on his way.

Anon King Pellinore and the lady passed on again; and when they came to the well at which the lady with the wounded knight had sat, they found both knight and Damsel utterly devoured by lions and wild beasts, all save the lady's head.

When King Pellinore saw that, he wept bitterly, saying, "Alas! I might have saved her life had I but tarried a few moments in my quest."

"Wherefore make so much sorrow now?" said the lady.

"I know not," answered he, "but my heart grieveth greatly for this poor lady's death, so fair she was and young."

Then he required a hermit to bury the remains of the bodies, and bare the lady's head with him to Camelot, to the court.

When he was arrived, he was sworn to tell the truth of his quest before the King and Queen, and when he had entered the Queen somewhat upbraided him, saying, "Ye were much to blame that ye saved not that lady's life."

"Madam," said he, "I shall repent it all my life."

"Ay, king," quoth Merlin, who suddenly came in, "and so ye ought to do, for that lady was your daughter, not seen since infancy by thee. And she was on her way to court, with a right good young knight, who would have been her husband, but was slain by treachery of a felon knight, Lorraine le Savage, as they came; and because thou wouldst not abide and help her, thy best friend shall fail thee in thine hour of greatest need, for such is the penance ordained thee for that deed."

Then did King Pellinore tell Merlin secretly of the treason he had heard in the forest, and Merlin by his craft so ordered that the knight who bare the poison was himself soon after slain by it, and so King Arthur's life was saved.



CHAPTER VII

King Arthur and Sir Accolon of Gaul

Being now happily married, King Arthur for a season took his pleasure, with great tournaments, and jousts, and huntings. So once upon a time the king and many of his knights rode hunting in a forest, and Arthur, King Urience, and Sir Accolon of Gaul, followed after a great hart, and being all three well mounted, they chased so fast that they outsped their company, and left them many miles behind; but riding still as rapidly as they could go, at length their horses fell dead under them. Then being all three on foot, and seeing the stag not far before them, very weary and nigh spent—"What shall we do," said King Arthur, "for we are hard bested?" "Let us go on afoot," said King Urience, "till we can find some lodging." At that they saw the stag lying upon the bank of a great lake, with a hound springing at his throat, and many other hounds trooping towards him. So, running forward, Arthur blew the death-note on his horn, and slew the hart. Then lifting up his eyes he saw before him on the lake a barge, all draped down to the water's edge, with silken folds and curtains, which swiftly came towards him, and touched upon the sands; but when he went up close and looked in, he saw no earthly creature. Then he cried out to his companions, "Sirs, come ye hither, and let us see what there is in this ship." So they all three went in, and found it everywhere throughout furnished, and hung with rich draperies of silk and gold.

By this time eventide had come, when suddenly a hundred torches were set up on all sides of the barge, and gave a dazzling light, and at the same time came forth twelve fair damsels, and saluted King Arthur by his name, kneeling on their knees, and telling him that he was welcome, and should have their noblest cheer, for which the king thanked them courteously. Then did they lead him and his fellows to a splendid chamber, where was a table spread with all the richest furniture, and costliest wines and viands; and there they served them with all kinds of wines and meats, till Arthur wondered at the splendour of the feast, declaring he had never in his life supped better, or more royally. After supper they led him to another chamber, than which he had never beheld a richer, where he was left to rest. King Urience, also, and Sir Accolon were each conducted into rooms of like magnificence. And so they all three fell asleep, and being very weary slept deeply all that night.



But when the morning broke, King Urience found himself in his own house in Camelot, he knew not how; and Arthur awaking found himself in a dark dungeon, and heard around him nothing but the groans of woful knights, prisoners like himself. Then said King Arthur, "Who are ye, thus groaning and complaining?" And some one answered him, "Alas, we be all prisoners, even twenty good knights, and some of us have lain here seven years—some more—nor seen the light of day for all that time." "For what cause?" said King Arthur. "Know ye not then yourself?" they answered—"we will soon tell you. The lord of this strong castle is Sir Damas, and is the falsest and most traitorous knight that liveth; and he hath a younger brother, a good and noble knight, whose name is Outzlake. This traitor Damas, although passing rich, will give his brother nothing of his wealth, and save what Outzlake keepeth to himself by force, he hath no share of the inheritance. He owneth, nevertheless, one fair rich manor, whereupon he liveth, loved of all men far and near. But Damas is as altogether hated as his brother is beloved, for he is merciless and cowardly: and now for many years there hath been war between these brothers, and Sir Outzlake evermore defieth Damas to come forth and fight with him, body to body, for the inheritance; and if he be too cowardly, to find some champion knight that will fight for him. And Damas hath agreed to find some champion, but never yet hath found a knight to take his evil cause in hand, or wager battle for him. So with a strong band of men-at-arms he lieth ever in ambush, and taketh captive every passing knight who may unwarily go near, and bringeth him into this castle, and desireth him either to fight Sir Outzlake, or to lie for evermore in durance. And thus hath he dealt with all of us, for we all scorned to take up such a cause for such a false foul knight—but rather one by one came here, where many a good knight hath died of hunger and disease. But if one of us would fight, Sir Damas would deliver all the rest."

"God of his mercy send you deliverance," said King Arthur, and sat turning in his mind how all these things should end, and how he might himself gain freedom for so many noble hearts.

Anon there came a damsel to the king, saying, "Sir if thou wilt fight for my lord thou shalt be delivered out of prison, but else nevermore shalt thou escape with thy life." "Nay," said King Arthur, "that is but a hard choice, yet had I rather fight than die in prison, and if I may deliver not myself alone, but all these others, I will do the battle." "Yea," said the damsel, "it shall be even so." "Then," said King Arthur, "I am ready now, if but I had a horse and armour." "Fear not," said she, "that shalt thou have presently, and shalt lack nothing proper for the fight." "Have I not seen thee," said the king, "at King Arthur's court? for it seemeth that thy face is known to me." "Nay," said the damsel, "I was never there; I am Sir Damas' daughter, and have never been but a day's journey from this castle." But she spoke falsely, for she was one of the damsels of Morgan le Fay, the great enchantress, who was King Arthur's half-sister.

When Sir Damas knew that there had been at length a knight found who would fight for him, he sent for Arthur, and finding him a man so tall and strong, and straight of limb, he was passingly well pleased, and made a covenant with him, that he should fight unto the uttermost for his cause, and that all the other knights should be delivered. And when they were sworn to each other on the holy gospels, all those imprisoned knights were straightway led forth and delivered, but abode there one and all to see the battle.

In the meanwhile there had happened to Sir Accolon of Gaul a strange adventure; for when he awoke from his deep sleep upon the silken barge, he found himself upon the edge of a deep well, and in instant peril of falling thereinto. Whereat, leaping up in great affright, he crossed himself and cried aloud, "May God preserve my lord King Arthur and King Urience, for those damsels in the ship have betrayed us, and were doubtless devils and no women; and if I may escape this misadventure, I will certainly destroy them wheresoever I may find them." With that there came to him a dwarf with a great mouth, and a flat nose, and saluted him, saying that he came from Queen Morgan le Fay. "And she greeteth you well," said he, "and biddeth you be strong of heart, for to-morrow you shall do battle with a strange knight, and therefore she hath sent you here Excalibur, King Arthur's sword, and the scabbard likewise. And she desireth you as you do love her to fight this battle to the uttermost, and without any mercy, as you have promised her you would fight when she should require it of you; and she will make a rich queen for ever of any damsel that shall bring her that knight's head with whom you are to fight."

"Well," said Sir Accolon, "tell you my lady Queen Morgan, that I shall hold to that I promised her, now that I have this sword—and," said he, "I suppose it was to bring about this battle that she made all these enchantments by her craft." "You have guessed rightly," said the dwarf, and therewithal he left him.

Then came a knight and lady, and six squires, to Sir Accolon, and took him to a manor house hard by, and gave him noble cheer; and the house belonged to Sir Outzlake, the brother of Sir Damas, for so had Morgan le Fay contrived with her enchantments. Now Sir Outzlake himself was at that time sorely wounded and disabled, having been pierced through both his thighs by a spear-thrust. When, therefore, Sir Damas sent down messengers to his brother, bidding him make ready by to-morrow morning, and be in the field to fight with a good knight, for that he had found a champion ready to do battle at all points, Sir Outzlake was sorely annoyed and distressed, for he knew he had small chance of victory, while yet he was disabled by his wounds; notwithstanding, he determined to take the battle in hand, although he was so weak that he must needs be lifted to his saddle. But when Sir Accolon of Gaul heard this, he sent a message to Sir Outzlake offering to take the battle in his stead, which cheered Sir Outzlake mightily, who thanked Sir Accolon with all his heart, and joyfully accepted him.

So, on the morrow, King Arthur was armed and well horsed, and asked Sir Damas, "When shall we go to the field?" "Sir," said Sir Damas, "you shall first hear mass." And when mass was done, there came a squire on a great horse, and asked Sir Damas if his knight were ready, "for our knight is already in the field." Then King Arthur mounted on horseback, and there around were all the knights, and barons, and people of the country; and twelve of them were chosen to wait upon the two knights who were about to fight. And as King Arthur sat on horseback, there came a damsel from Morgan le Fay, and brought to him a sword, made like Excalibur, and a scabbard also, and said to him, "Morgan le Fay sendeth you here your sword for her great love's sake." And the king thanked her, and believed it to be as she said; but she traitorously deceived him, for both sword and scabbard were counterfeit, brittle, and false, and the true sword Excalibur was in the hands of Sir Accolon. Then, at the sound of a trumpet, the champions set themselves on opposite sides of the field, and giving rein and spur to their horses urged them to so great a speed that each smiting the other in the middle of the shield, rolled his opponent to the ground, both horse and man. Then starting up immediately, both drew their swords and rushed swiftly together. And so they fell to eagerly, and gave each other many great and mighty strokes.

And as they were thus fighting, the damsel Vivien, lady of the lake, who loved King Arthur, came upon the ground, for she knew by her enchantments how Morgan le Fay had craftily devised to have King Arthur slain by his own sword that day, and therefore came to save his life. And Arthur and Sir Accolon were now grown hot against each other, and spared not strength nor fury in their fierce assaults; but the king's sword gave way continually before Sir Accolon's, so that at every stroke he was sore wounded, and his blood ran from him so fast that it was a marvel he could stand. When King Arthur saw the ground so sore be-blooded, he bethought him in dismay that there was magic treason worked upon him, and that his own true sword was changed, for it seemed to him that the sword in Sir Accolon's hand was Excalibur, for fearfully it drew his blood at every blow, while what he held himself kept no sharp edge, nor fell with any force upon his foe.

"Now, knight, look to thyself, and keep thee well from me," cried out Sir Accolon. But King Arthur answered not, and gave him such a buffet on the helm as made him stagger and nigh fall upon the ground. Then Sir Accolon withdrew a little, and came on with Excalibur on high, and smote King Arthur in return with such a mighty stroke as almost felled him; and both being now in hottest wrath, they gave each other grievous and savage blows. But Arthur all the time was losing so much blood that scarcely could he keep upon his feet yet so full was he of knighthood, that knightly he endured the pain, and still sustained himself, though now he was so feeble that he thought himself about to die. Sir Accolon, as yet, had lost no drop of blood, and being very bold and confident in Excalibur, even grew more vigorous and hasty in his assaults. But all men who beheld them said they never saw a knight fight half so well as did King Arthur; and all the people were so grieved for him that they besought Sir Damas and Sir Outzlake to make up their quarrel and so stay the fight; but they would not.

So still the battle raged, till Arthur drew a little back for breath and a few moments' rest; but Accolon came on after him, following fiercely and crying loud, "It is no time for me to suffer thee to rest," and therewith set upon him. Then Arthur, full of scorn and rage, lifted up his sword and struck Sir Accolon upon the helm so mightily that he drove him to his knees; but with the force of that great stroke his brittle, treacherous sword broke short off at the hilt, and fell down in the grass among the blood, leaving the pommel only in his hand. At that, King Arthur thought within himself that all was over, and secretly prepared his mind for death, yet kept himself so knightly sheltered by his shield that he lost no ground, and made as though he yet had hope and cheer. Then said Sir Accolon, "Sir knight, thou now art overcome and canst endure no longer, seeing thou art weaponless, and hast lost already so much blood. Yet am I fully loth to slay thee; yield, then, therefore, to me as recreant." "Nay," said King Arthur, "that may I not, for I have promised to do battle to the uttermost by the faith of my body while my life lasteth; and I had rather die with honour than live with shame; and if it were possible for me to die an hundred times, I had rather die as often than yield me to thee, for though I lack weapons, I shall lack no worship, and it shall be to thy shame to slay me weaponless." "Aha," shouted then Sir Accolon, "as for the shame, I will not spare; look to thyself, sir knight, for thou art even now but a dead man." Therewith he drove at him with pitiless force, and struck him nearly down; but Arthur evermore waxing in valour as he waned in blood, pressed on Sir Accolon with his shield, and hit at him so fiercely with the pommel in his hand, as hurled him three strides backwards.

This, therefore, so confused Sir Accolon, that rushing up, all dizzy, to deliver once again a furious blow, even as he struck, Excalibur, by Vivien's magic, fell from out his hands upon the earth. Beholding which, King Arthur lightly sprang to it, and grasped it, and forthwith felt it was his own good sword, and said to it, "Thou hast been from me all too long, and done me too much damage." Then spying the scabbard hanging by Sir Accolon's side, he sprang and pulled it from him, and cast it away as far as he could throw it; for so long as he had worn it, Arthur new his life would have been kept secure. "Oh, knight!" then said the king, "thou hast this day wrought me much damage by this sword, but now art thou come to thy death, for I shall not warrant thee but that thou shalt suffer, ere we part, somewhat of that thou hast made me suffer." And therewithal King Arthur flew at him with all his might, and pulled him to the earth, and then struck off his helm, and gave him on the head a fearful buffet, till the blood leaped forth. "Now will I slay thee!" cried King Arthur; for his heart was hardened, and his body all on fire with fever, till for a moment he forgot his knightly mercy. "Slay me thou mayest," said Sir Accolon, "for thou art the best knight I ever found, and I see well that God is with thee; and I, as thou hast, have promised to fight this battle to the uttermost, and never to be recreant while I live; therefore shall I never yield me with my mouth, and God must do with my body what he will." And as Sir Accolon spoke, King Arthur thought he knew his voice; and parting all his blood-stained hair from out his eyes, and leaning down towards him, saw, indeed, it was his friend and own true knight. Then said he—keeping his own visor down—"I pray thee tell me of what country art thou, and what court?" "Sir knight," he answered, "I am of King Arthur's court, and my name is Sir Accolon of Gaul." Then said the king, "Oh, sir knight! I pray thee tell me who gave thee this sword? and from whom thou hadst it?"

Then said Sir Accolon, "Woe worth this sword, for by it I have gotten my death. This sword hath been in my keeping now for almost twelve months, and yesterday Queen Morgan le Fay, wife of King Urience, sent it to me by a dwarf, that therewith I might in some way slay her brother, King Arthur; for thou must understand that King Arthur is the man she hateth most in all the world, being full of envy and jealousy because he is of greater worship and renown than any other of her blood. She loveth me also as much as she doth hate him; and if she might contrive to slay King Arthur by her craft and magic, then would she straightway kill her husband also, and make me the king of all this land, and herself my queen, to reign with me; but now," said he, "all that is over, for this day I am come to my death."

"It would have been sore treason of thee to destroy thy lord," said Arthur. "Thou sayest truly," answered he; "but now that I have told thee, and openly confessed to thee all that foul treason whereof I now do bitterly repent, tell me, I pray thee, whence art thou, and of what court?" "O, Sir Accolon!" said King Arthur, "learn that I am myself King Arthur." When Sir Accolon heard this he cried aloud, "Alas, my gracious lord! have mercy on me, for I knew thee not." "Thou shalt have mercy," said he, "for thou knewest not my person at this time; and though by thine own confession thou art a traitor, yet do I blame thee less, because thou hast been blinded by the false crafts of my sister Morgan le Fay, whom I have trusted more than all others of my kin, and whom I now shall know well how to punish." Then did Sir Accolon cry loudly, "O, lords, and all good people! this noble knight that I have fought with is the noblest and most worshipful in all the world; for it is King Arthur, our liege lord and sovereign king; and full sorely I repent that I have ever lifted lance against him, though in ignorance I did it."

Then all the people fell down on their knees and prayed the pardon of the king for suffering him to come to such a strait. But he replied, "Pardon ye cannot have, for, truly, ye have nothing sinned; but here ye see what ill adventure may ofttimes befall knights-errant, for to my own hurt, and his danger also, I have fought with one of my own knights."

Then the king commanded Sir Damas to surrender to his brother the whole manor, Sir Outzlake only yielding him a palfrey every year; "for," said he scornfully, "it would become thee better to ride on than a courser;" and ordered Damas, upon pain of death, never again to touch or to distress knights-errant riding on their adventures; and also to make full compensation and satisfaction to the twenty knights whom he had held in prison. "And if any of them," said the king, "come to my court complaining that he hath not had full satisfaction of thee for his injuries, by my head, thou shalt die therefor."

Afterwards, King Arthur asked Sir Outzlake to come with him to his court, where he should become a knight of his, and, if his deeds were noble, be advanced to all he might desire.

So then he took his leave of all the people and mounted upon horseback, and Sir Accolon went with him to an abbey hard by, where both their wounds were dressed. But Sir Accolon died within four days after. And when he was dead, the king sent his body to Queen Morgan, to Camelot, saying that he sent her a present in return for the sword Excalibur which she had sent him by the damsel.

So, on the morrow, there came a damsel from Queen Morgan to the king, and brought with her the richest mantle that ever was seen, for it was set as full of precious stones as they could stand against each other, and they were the richest stones that ever the king saw. And the damsel said, "Your sister sendeth you this mantle, and prayeth you to take her gift, and in whatsoever thing she hath offended you, she will amend it at your pleasure." To this the king replied not, although the mantle pleased him much. With that came in the lady of the lake, and said, "Sir, put not on this mantle till thou hast seen more; and in nowise let it be put upon thee, or any of thy knights, till ye have made the bringer of it first put it on her." "It shall be done as thou dost counsel," said the king. Then said he to the damsel that came from his sister, "Damsel, I would see this mantle ye have brought me upon yourself." "Sir," said she, "it will not beseem me to wear a knight's garment." "By my head," said King Arthur, "thou shall wear it ere it go on any other person's back!" And so they put it on her by force, and forthwith the garment burst into a flame and burned the damsel into cinders. When the king saw that, he hated that false witch Morgan le Fay with all his heart, and evermore was deadly quarrel between her and Arthur to their lives' end.



CHAPTER VIII

King Arthur conquers Rome, and is crowned Emperor

And now again the second time there came ambassadors from Lucius Tiberius, Emperor of Rome, demanding, under pain of war, tribute and homage from King Arthur, and the restoration of all Gaul, which he had conquered from the tribune Flollo.

When they had delivered their message, the king bade them withdraw while he consulted with his knights and barons what reply to send. Then some of the younger knights would have slain the ambassadors, saying that their speech was a rebuke to all who heard the king insulted by it. But when King Arthur heard that, he ordered none to touch them upon pain of death; and sending officers, he had them taken to a noble lodging, and there entertained with the best cheer. "And," said he, "let no dainty be spared, for the Romans are great lords; and though their message please me not, yet must I remember mine honour."

Then the lords and knights of the Round Table were called on to declare their counsel—what should be done upon this matter; and Sir Cador of Cornwall speaking first, said, "Sir, this message is the best news I have heard for a long time, for we have been now idle and at rest for many days, and I trust that thou wilt make sharp war upon the Romans, wherein, I doubt not, we shall all gain honour."

"I believe well," said Arthur, "that thou art pleased, Sir Cador; but that is scarce an answer to the Emperor of Rome, and his demand doth grieve me sorely, for truly I will never pay him tribute; wherefore, lords, I pray ye counsel me. Now, I have understood that Belinus and Brennius, knights of Britain, held the Roman Empire in their hands for many days, and also Constantine, the son of Helen, which is open evidence, not only that we owe Rome no tribute, but that I, being descended from them, may, of right, myself claim the empire."

Then said King Anguish of Scotland, "Sir, thou oughtest of right to be above all other kings, for in all Christendom is there not thine equal; and I counsel thee never to obey the Romans. For when they reigned here they grievously distressed us, and put the land to great and heavy burdens; and here, for my part, I swear to avenge me on them when I may, and will furnish thee with twenty thousand men-at-arms, whom I will pay and keep, and who shall wait on thee with me, when it shall please thee."

Then the King of Little Britain rose and promised King Arthur thirty thousand men; and likewise many other kings, and dukes, and barons, promised aid—as the lord of West Wales thirty thousand men, Sir Ewaine and his cousin thirty thousand men, and so forth; Sir Lancelot also, and every other knight of the Round Table, promised each man a great host.

So the king, passing joyful at their courage and good will, thanked them all heartily, and sent for the ambassadors again, to hear his answer. "I will," said he, "that ye now go back straightway unto the Emperor your master and tell him that I give no heed to his words, for I have conquered all my kingdoms by the will of God and by my own right arm, and I am strong enough to keep them, without paying tribute to any earthly creature. But, on the other hand, I claim both tribute and submission from himself, and also claim the sovereignty of all his empire, whereto I am entitled by the right of my own ancestors—sometime kings of this land. And say to him that I will shortly come to Rome, and by God's grace will take possession of my empire and subdue all rebels. Wherefore, lastly, I command him and all the lords of Rome that they forthwith pay me their homage, under pain of my chastisement and wrath."