How Sir Percivale came to a recluse, and asked counsel; and how she told him that she was his aunt.
Now saith the tale, that when Sir Launcelot was ridden after Sir Galahad, the which had all these adventures above said, Sir Percivale turned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of that knight that Launcelot followed. And so he kneeled at her window, and the recluse opened it, and asked Sir Percivale what he would? Madam, he said, I am a knight of king Arthur’s court, and my name is Sir Percivale de Galis. When the recluse heard his name, she had great joy of him, for mickle she had loved him tofore any other knight, for she ought to do so, for she was his aunt. And then she commanded the gates to be opened, and there he had all the cheer that she might make him, and all that was in her power was at his commandment. So, on the morn, Sir Percivale went to the recluse, and asked her if she knew that knight with the white shield? Sir, said she, why would ye wit? Truly, madam, said Sir Percivale, I shall never be well at ease till that I know of that knight’s fellowship, and that I may fight with him, for I may not leave him so lightly, for I have the shame yet. Ah, Percivale, said she, would ye fight with him? I see well ye have great will to be slain as your father was, through outrageousness. Madam, said Sir Percivale, it seemeth by your words that ye know me? Yea, said she, I well ought to know you, for I am your aunt, although I be in a priory place. For some called me sometime the queen of the Waste Lands, and I was called the queen of mostriches in the world; and it pleased me never my riches so much as doth my poverty. Then Sir Percivale wept for very pity, when he knew it was his aunt. Ah, fair nephew, said she, when heard ye tidings of your mother? Truly, said he, I heard none of her, but I dream of her much in my sleep, and therefore I wot not whether she be dead or on live. Certes, fair nephew, said she, your mother is dead; for after your departing from her, she took such a sorrow that anon after she was confessed she died. Now God have mercy on her soul, said Sir Percivale, it sore forethinketh me; but all we must change the life. Now fair aunt, tell me what is the knight? I deem it be he that bare the red arms on Whitsunday. Wit you well, said she, that this is he, for otherwise ought he not to do, but to go in red arms, and that same knight hath no peer, for he worketh all by miracle, and he shall never be overcome of no earthly man’s hand.
How Merlin likened the Round Table to the world, and how the knights that should achieve the Sangreal should be known.
Also Merlin made the Round Table in tokening of the roundness of the world, for by the Round Table is the world signified by right. For all the world, Christian and heathen, repair unto the Round Table, and when they are chosen to be of the fellowship of the Round Table, they think them more blessed, and more in worship, than if they had gotten half the world; and ye have seen that they have lost their fathers and their mothers, and all their kin, and their wives and their children, for to be of your fellowship. It is well seen by you; for since ye departed from your mother ye would never see her, ye found such a fellowship at the Round Table. When Merlin had ordained the Round Table, he said, by them which should be fellows of the Round Table the truth of the Sancgreal should be well known. And men asked him how men might know them that should best do, and to achieve the Sancgreal? then he said there should be three white bulls that should achieve it, and the two should be maidens, and the third should be chaste. And that one of the three should pass his father as much as the lion passeth the libard, both of strength and hardiness. They that heard Merlin say so, said thus unto Merlin: Sithen there shall be such a knight, thou shouldst ordain by thy crafts a siege that no man should sit in it but he all only that shall pass all other knights. Then Merlin answered that he would do so. And then he made the siege perilous, in the which Galahad sat in at his meat on Whitsunday last past. Now madam, said Sir Percivale, so much have I heard of you, that by my good will I will never have ado with Sir Galahad, but by way of kindness. And for God’s love, fair aunt, can ye teach me some way where I may find him, for much would I love the fellowship of him? Fair nephew, said she, ye must ride unto a castle the which is called Goothe, where he hath a cousin german, and there may ye be lodged this night. And as he teacheth you, sue after as fast as ye can, and if he can tell you no tidings of him, ride straight unto the castle of Carbonek, where the maimed king is there lying, for there shall ye hear true tidings of him.
How Sir Percivale came into a monastery, where he found king Evelake, which was an old man.
Then departed Sir Percivale from his aunt, either making great sorrow. And so he rode till evensong time. And then he heard a clock smite. And then he was ware of a house closed well with walls and deep ditches, and there he knocked at the gate, and was let in, and he alight, and was led unto a chamber, and soon he was unarmed. And there he had right good cheer all that night, and on the morn he heard his mass, andin the monastery he found a priest ready at the altar. And on the right side he saw a pew closed with iron, and behind the altar he saw a rich bed and a fair, as of cloth of silk and gold. Then Sir Percivale espied that therein was a man or a woman, for the visage was covered. Then he left off his looking, and heard his service. And when it came to the sacring, he that lay within that perclose dressed him up, and uncovered his head, and then him beseemed a passing old man, and he had a crown of gold upon his head, and his shoulders were naked and uncovered unto his middle. And then Sir Percivale espied his body was full of great wounds, both on the shoulders, arms, and visage. And ever he held up his hands unto our Lord’s body, and cried, Fair sweet Father Jesu Christ, forget not me, and so he lay down, but always he was in his prayers and orisons: and him seemed to be of the age of three hundred winter. And when the mass was done, the priest took our Lord’s body and bare it to the sick king. And when he had used it, he did off his crown, and commanded the crown to be set on the altar. Then Sir Percivale asked one of the brethren what he was. Sir, said the good man, ye have heard much of Joseph of Armathie, how he was sent by Jesu Christ into this land, for to teach and preach the holy christian faith, and therefore he suffered many persecutions, the which the enemies of Christ did unto him. And in the city of Sarras he converted a king whose name was Evelake. And so this king came with Joseph into this land: and always he was busy to be there as the Sancgreal was, and on a time he nighed it so nigh that our Lord was displeased with him, but ever he followed it more and more, till God struck him almost blind. Then this king cried mercy, and said, Fair Lord, let me never die till the good knight of my blood of the ninth degree be come, that I may see him openly that he shall achieve the Sancgreal, that I may kiss him.
How Sir Percivale saw many men of arms, bearing a dead knight, and how he fought against them.
When the king thus had made his prayers, he heard a voice that said, Heard be thy prayers, for thou shalt not die till he have kissed thee: and when that knight shall come, the clearness of your eyes shall come again, and thou shalt see openly, and thy wounds shall be healed, and erst shall they never close. And this befell of king Evelake: and this same king hath lived this three hundred winters this holy life. And men say the knight is in the court that shall heal him. Sir, said the good man, I pray you tell me what knight that ye be, and if ye be of king Arthur’s court and of the Table Round? Yea, forsooth, said he, and my name is Sir Percivale de Galis. And when the good man understood his name, he made great joy of him. And then Sir Percivale departed, and rode till the hour of noon. And he met in a valley about twenty men of arms, which bear in a bier a knight deadly slain. And when they saw Sir Percivale, they asked him of whence he was? and he answered, Of the court of king Arthur. Then they cried all at once, Slay him. Then Sir Percivale smote the first to the earth, and his horse upon him. And then seven of the knights smote upon his shield all at once, and the remnant slew his horse, so that he fell to the earth. So had they slain him or taken him, had not the good knight Sir Galahad, with the red arms, come there by adventure into those parts. And when he saw all those knights upon one knight, he cried, Save me that knight’s life. And then he dressed him toward the twenty men of arms as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and smote the foremost horse and man to the earth. And when his spear was broken he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand, that it was marvel to see. And at every stroke he smote one down, or puthim to a rebuke, so that they would fight no more, but fled to a thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them. And when Sir Percivale saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his horse was away. And then he wist well it was Sir Galahad. And then he cried aloud, Ah fair knight, abide and suffer me to do thankings unto thee, for much have ye done for me! But ever Sir Galahad rode so fast, that at the last he passed out of his sight. And as fast as Sir Percivale might he went after him on foot, crying. And then he met with a yeoman riding upon an hackney, the which led in his hand a great black steed, blacker than any bear. Ah fair friend, said Sir Percivale, as ever I may do for you, and to be your true knight in the first place ye will require me, that ye will lend me that black steed, that I might overtake a knight, the which rideth afore me. Sir knight, said the yeoman, I pray you hold me excused of that, for that I may not do. For wit ye well, the horse is such a man’s horse, that, and I lent it you or any other man, that he would slay me. Alas, said Sir Percivale, I had never so great sorrow as I have had for losing of yonder knight. Sir, said the yeoman, I am right heavy for you, for a good horse would beseem you well, but I dare not deliver you this horse, but if ye would take him from me. That will I not do, said Sir Percivale. And so they departed, and Sir Percivale sat him down under a tree, and made sorrow out of measure. And as he was there, there came a knight riding on the horse that the yeoman led, and he was clean armed.
How a yeoman desired him to get again an horse, and how Sir Percivale’s hackney was slain, and how he gat an horse.
And anon the yeoman came pricking after as fast as ever he might, and asked Sir Percivale if he saw any knight riding on his black steed? Yea sir, forsooth, said he, why ask ye me that? Ah, sir, that steed he hath taken from me with strength, wherefore my lord will slay me in what place he findeth me. Well, said Sir Percivale, what wouldest thou that I did? thou seest well that I am on foot, but and I had a good horse I should bring him soon again. Sir, said the yeoman, take mine hackney and do the best ye can, and I shall follow you on foot, to wit how that ye shall speed. Then Sir Percivale alight upon that hackney, and rode as fast as he might. And at the last he saw that knight. And then he cried, Knight, turn again; and he turned, and set his spear against Sir Percivale, and he smote the hackney in the midst of the breast, that he fell down dead to the earth, and there he had a great fall, and the other rode his way. And then Sir Percivale was wood wroth, and cried, Abide, wicked knight, coward and false-hearted knight, turn again and fight with me on foot. But he answered not, but past on his way. When Sir Percivale saw he would not turn, he cast away his helm and sword, and said, Now am I a very wretch, cursed, and most unhappy above all other knights. So in this sorrow he abode all that day till it was night, and then he was faint, and laid him down and slept till it was midnight. And then he awaked, and saw afore him a woman which said unto him right fiercely, Sir Percivale, what doest thou here? He answered and said, I do neither good nor great ill. If thou wilt ensure me, said she, that thou wilt fulfil my will when I summon thee, I shall lend thee mine own horse, which shall bear thee whither thou wilt. Sir Percivale was glad of her proffer, and ensured her to fulfil all her desire.—Then abide me here, and I shall go fetch you an horse. And so she came soon again, and brought an horse with her that was inly black. When Sir Percivale beheld that horse, he marvelled that it was so great and so well apparelled: and not for then he was so hardy, and he lept upon him, and took none heed of himself. And so anon as he was upon him he thrust to him with his spurs, and so rode by a forest, and the moon shoneclear. And within an hour and less, he bare him four days’ journey thence, till he came to a rough water the which roared, and his horse would have borne him into it.
Of the great danger that Sir Percivale was in by his horse, and how he saw a serpent and a lion fight.
And when Sir Percivale came nigh the brim, and saw the water so boisterous, he doubted to overpass it. And then he made a sign of the cross in his forehead. When the fiend felt him so charged, he shook off Sir Percivale, and he went into the water, crying and roaring, making great sorrow; and it seemed unto him that the water burnt. Then Sir Percivale perceived it was a fiend, the which would have brought him unto his perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed our Lord to keep him from all such temptations. And so he prayed all that night, till on the morn that it was day. Then he saw that he was in a wild mountain the which was closed with the sea nigh all about, that he might see no land about him which might relieve him, but wild beasts. And then he went into a valley, and there he saw a young serpent bring a young lion by the neck, and so he came by Sir Percivale. With that came a great lion crying and roaring after the serpent. And as fast as Sir Percivale saw this, he marvelled, and hied him thither, but anon the lion had overtaken the serpent, and began battle with him. And then Sir Percivale thought to help the lion, for he was the more natural beast of the two; and therewith he drew his sword, and set his shield afore him, and there gave the serpent such a buffet that he had a deadly wound. When the lion saw that, he made no resemblant to fight with him, but made him all the cheer that a beast might make a man. Then Sir Percivale perceived that, and cast down his shield, which was broken, and then he did off his helm for to gather wind, for he was greatly enchafed with the serpent. And the lion went alway about him fawning as a spaniel. And then he stroked him on the neck and on the shoulders. And then he thanked God of the fellowship of that beast. And about noon, the lion took his little whelp, and trussed him, and bare him there he came from. Then was Sir Percivale alone. And as the tale telleth, he was one of the men of the world at that time that most believed in our Lord Jesu Christ. For in these days there were few folks that believed in God perfectly. For in those days the son spared not the father no more than a stranger. And so Sir Percivale comforted himself in our Lord Jesu, and besought God that no temptation should bring him out of God’s service, but to endure as his true champion. Thus when Sir Percivale had prayed, he saw the lion come toward him, and then he couched down at his feet. And so all that night the lion and he slept together: and when Sir Percivale slept he dreamed a marvellous dream, that there two ladies met with him, and that one sat upon a lion, and that other sat upon a serpent, and that one of them was young, and the other was old, and the youngest him thought said, Sir Percivale, my lord saluteth thee, and sendeth thee word that thou array thee and make thee ready, for to-morn thou must fight with the strongest champion of the world. And if thou be overcome, thou shalt not be quit for losing of any of thy members, but thou shalt be shamed for ever to the world’s end. And then he asked her what was her lord. And she said, the greatest lord of all the world. And so she departed suddenly, that he wist not where.
Of the vision that Sir Percivale saw, and how his vision was expounded, and of his lion.
Then came forth the other lady that rode upon the serpent, and she said, Sir Percivale, I complain me of you that ye have done unto me, and have not offendedunto you. Certes, madam, said he, unto you nor no lady I never offended. Yes, said she, I shall tell you why. I have nourished in this place a great while a serpent, which served me a great while, and yesterday ye slew him as he gat his prey. Say me for what cause ye slew him, for the lion was not yours? Madam, said Sir Percivale, I know well the lion was not mine, but I did it, for the lion is of a more gentler nature than the serpent, and therefore I slew him; me seemeth I did not amiss against you. Madam, said he, what would ye that I did? I would, said she, for the amends of my beast that ye become my man. And then he answered, That will I not grant you. No, said she, truly ye were never but my servant, since ye received the homage of our Lord Jesu Christ. Therefore I ensure you in what place I may find you without keeping, I shall take you as he that sometime was my man. And so she departed from Sir Percivale, and left him sleeping, the which was sore travailed of his vision. And on the morn he rose and blessed him, and he was passing feeble. Then was Sir Percivale ware in the sea, and saw a ship come sailing toward him, and Sir Percivale went unto the ship, and found it covered within and without with white samite. And at the board stood an old man clothed in a surplice in likeness of a priest. Sir, said Sir Percivale, ye be welcome. God keep you, said the good man. Sir, said the old man, of whence be ye? Sir, said Sir Percivale, I am of king Arthur’s court, and a knight of the Table Round, the which am in the quest of the Sancgreal, and here I am in great duresse, and never like to escape out of this wilderness. Doubt not, said the good man, and ye be so true a knight as the order of chivalry requireth, and of heart as ye ought to be, ye should not doubt that none enemy should slay you. What are ye? said Sir Percivale. Sir, said the old man, I am of a strange country, and hither I come to comfort you. Sir, said Sir Percivale, what signifieth my dream that I dreamed this night? And there he told him altogether. She which rode upon the lion, said the good man, betokeneth the new law of holy Church, that is to understand faith, good hope, belief, and baptism. For she seemed younger than the other, it is great reason, for she was born in the resurrection and the passion of our Lord Jesu Christ. And for great love she came to thee, to warn thee of thy great battle that shall befall thee. With whom, said Sir Percivale, shall I fight? With the most champion of the world, said the old man, for, as the lady said, but if thou quit thee well, thou shalt not be quit by losing of one member, but thou shalt be shamed to the world’s end. And she that rode upon the serpent signifieth the old law, and that serpent betokeneth a fiend. And why she blamed thee that thou slewest her servant, it betokeneth nothing: the serpent that thou slewest betokeneth the devil that thou rodest upon to the rock, and when thou madest a sign of the cross, there thou slewest him, and put away his power. And when she asked thee amends and to become her man, and thou saidest thou wouldest not, that was to make thee to believe on her and leave thy baptism. So he commanded Sir Percivale to depart. And so he lept over the board, and the ship and all went away he wist not whither. Then he went up unto the rock and found the lion, which alway kept him fellowship, and he stroked him upon the back, and had great joy of him.
How Sir Percivale saw a ship coming to him-ward, and how the lady of the ship told him of her disheritance.
By that Sir Percivale had abiden there till midday he saw a ship come rowing in the sea as all the wind of the world had driven it. And so it drove under that rock. And when Sir Percivale saw this, he hied him thither, and found the ship covered with silk more blacker than any bier, and therein was a gentlewoman of great beauty, and she was clothed richly that none might be better. And when she saw Sir Percivale,she said, Who brought you in this wilderness where ye be never like to pass hence? for ye shall die here for hunger and mischief. Damsel, said Sir Percivale, I serve the best man of the world, and in his service he will not suffer me to die, for who that knocketh shall enter, and who that asketh shall have, and who that seeketh him, he hideth him not. But then she said, Sir Percivale wot ye what I am? Yea, said he. Now who taught you my name? said she. Now, said Sir Percivale, I know you better than ye ween. And I came out of the waste forest, where I found the red knight with the white shield, said the damsel. Ah damsel, said he, with that knight would I meet passing fain. Sir, said she, and ye will ensure me, by the faith that ye owe unto knighthood, that ye shall do my will what time I summon you, I shall bring you unto that knight. Yea, said he, I shall promise you to fulfil your desire. Well, said she, now shall I tell you, I saw him in the forest chasing two knights to a water, the which is called Mortaise, and he drove them into that water for dread of death, and the two knights passed over, and the red knight passed after, and there his horse was drenched, and he through great strength escaped unto the land. Thus she told him, and Sir Percivale was passing glad thereof. Then she asked him if he had eaten any meat late? Nay madam, truly I ate no meat nigh these three days, but late here I spake with a good man that fed me with his good words and holy, and refreshed me greatly. Ah, sir knight, said she, that same man is an enchanter, and a multiplier of words. For, and ye believe him, ye shall plainly be shamed, and die in this rock for pure hunger, and be eaten with wild beasts, and ye be a young man and a goodly knight, and I shall help you and ye will. What are ye? said Sir Percivale, that proffereth me thus great kindness. I am, said she, a gentlewoman that am disherited, which was sometime the richest woman of the world. Damsel, said Sir Percivale, who hath disherited you, for I have great pity of you? Sir, said she, I dwelled with the greatest man of the world, and he made me so fair and so clear that there was none like me, and of that great beauty I had a little pride, more than I ought to have had. Also, I said a word that pleased him not. And then he would not suffer me to be any longer in his company, and so drove me from mine heritage, and so disherited me, and he had never pity of me nor of none of my council, nor of my court. And sithen, sir knight, it hath befallen me so, and through me and mine I have taken from him many of his men, and made them to become my men. For they ask never nothing of me but I give it them, that and much more. Thus I and all my servants war against him night and day. Therefore I know now no good knight, nor no good man, but I get them on my side and I may. And for that I know that thou art a good knight, I beseech you to help me. And for ye be a fellow of the Round Table, wherefore ye ought not to fail no gentlewoman which is disherited, and she besought you of help.
How Sir Percivale promised her help, and how he required her of love, and how he was saved from the fiend.
Then Sir Percivale promised her all the help that he might. And then she thanked him. And at that time the weather was hot, and then she called unto her a gentlewoman, and bad her bring forth a pavilion; and so she did, and pight it upon the gravel. Sir, said she, now may ye rest you in this heat of the day. Then he thanked her, and she put off his helm and his shield, and there he slept a great while. And then he awoke, and asked her if she had any meat, and she said, Yea, also ye shall have enough; and so there was set enough upon the table, and thereon so much that he had marvel for there was all manner of meats that he could think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he drank, him thought,and therewith he was a little heated more than he ought to be. With that he beheld the gentlewoman, and him thought that she was the fairest creature that ever he saw. And then Sir Percivale proffered her love, and prayed her that she would be his. Then she refused him in a manner when he required her, for the cause he should be the more ardent on her, and ever he ceased not to pray her of love. And when she saw him well enchafed, then she said, Sir Percivale, wit ye well, I shall not fulfil your will, but if ye swear from henceforth ye shall be my true servant, and to do nothing but that I shall command you: will ye ensure me this as ye be a true knight? Yea, said he, fair lady, by the faith of my body. Well, said she, now shall ye do with me whatso it please you, and now wit ye well that ye are the knight in the world that I have most desire to. And then Sir Percivale came near to her, to proffer her love, and by adventure and grace he saw his sword lie upon the ground all naked, in whose pommel was a red cross, and the sign of the crucifix therein, and bethought him on his knighthood, and his promise made toforehand unto the good man. Then he made the sign of the cross in his forehead, and therewith the pavilion turned up so down, and then it changed unto a smoke and a black cloud, and then he was adread, and cried aloud,—
How Sir Percivale for penance rove himself through the thigh; and how she was known for the devil.
Fair sweet Father, Jesu Christ, ne let me not be shamed, the which was near lost had not thy good grace been! And then he looked into a ship, and saw her enter therein, which said, Sir Percivale, ye have betrayed me. And so she went with the wind roaring and yelling, that it seemed that all the water burnt after her. Then Sir Percivale made great sorrow, and drew his sword unto him, saying, Sithen my flesh will be my master, I shall punish it. And therewith he rove himself through the thigh, that the blood start about him, and said, O good Lord, take this in recompensation of that I have done against thee my Lord. So then he clothed him and armed him, and called himself a wretch, saying, How nigh was I lost, and to have lost that I should never have gotten again, that was my virginity, for that may never be recovered after it is once lost. And then he stopped his bleeding wound with a piece of his shirt. Thus as he made his moan, he saw the same ship come from the Orient that the good man was in the day before: and the noble knight was ashamed with himself, and therewith he fell in a swoon. And when he awoke he went unto him weakly, and there he saluted this good man. And then he asked Sir Percivale, How hast thou done sith I departed? Sir, said he, here was a gentlewoman, and led me into deadly sin: and there he told him altogether. Knew ye not the maid? said the good man. Sir, said he, nay: but well I wot the fiend sent her hither to shame me. Oh, good knight, said he, thou art a fool, for that gentlewoman was the master fiend of hell, the which hath power above all devils, and that was the old lady that thou sawest in thy vision riding on the serpent. Then he told Sir Percivale how our Lord Jesu Christ beat him out of heaven for his sin, the which was the most brightest angel of heaven, and therefore he lost his heritage, and that was the champion that thou foughtest withal, the which had overcome thee, had not the grace of God been: now beware, Sir Percivale, and take this for an ensample. And then the good man vanished away. Then Sir Percivale took his arms, and entered into the ship, and so departed from thence.
Here endeth the fourtenthe booke, whiche is of syr percyual. And here foloweth of syre launcelot whiche is the fyftenth book.
How Sir Launcelot came into a chapel, where he found dead, in a white shirt, a man of religion of an hundred winter old.
When the hermit had kept Sir Launcelot three days, the hermit gat him an horse, an helm, and a sword. And then he departed about the hour of noon. And then he saw a little house, and when he came near he saw a chapel, and there beside he saw an old man that was clothed all in white full richly, and then Sir Launcelot said, God save you. God keep you, said the good man, and make you a good knight. Then Sir Launcelot alight, and entered into the chapel, and there he saw an old man dead, in a white shirt of passing fine cloth. Sir, said the good man, this man that is dead ought not to be in such clothing as ye see him in, for in that he brake the oath of his order. For he hath been more than an hundred winters a man of a religion. And then the good man and Sir Launcelot went into the chapel, and the good man took a stole about his neck, and a book, and then he conjured on that book, and with that they saw in an hideous figure and an horrible, that there was no man so hard-hearted nor so hard but he should have been afeard. Then said the fiend, Thou hast travailed me greatly, now tell me what thou wilt with me? I will, said the good man, that thou tell me how my fellow became dead, and whether he be saved or damned? Then he said with a horrible voice, He is not lost, but saved. How may that be? said the good man; it seemed to me that he lived not well, for he brake his order for to wear a shirt, where he ought to wear none: and who that trespasseth against our order doth not well. Not so, said the fiend, this man that lieth here dead was come of a great lineage. And there was a lord that hight the earl de Vale, that held great war against this man’s nephew, the which hight Aguarus. And so this Aguarus saw the earl was bigger than he, then he went for to take counsel of his uncle, the which lieth here dead as ye may see. And then he asked leave, and went out of his hermitage for to maintain his nephew against the mighty earl. And so it happed that this man that lieth here dead did so much by his wisdom and hardiness that the earl was taken, and three of his lords, by force of this dead man.
Of a dead man, how men would have hewen him, and it would not be, and how Sir Launcelot took the hair of the dead man.
Then was there peace betwixt the earl and this Aguarus, and great surety that the earl should never war against him. Then this dead man that here lieth came to this hermitage again, and then the earl made two of his nephews for to be avenged upon this man. So they came on a day, and found this dead man at the sacring of his mass, and they abode him till he had said mass. And then they set upon him and drew out swords to have slain him. But there would no sword bite on him, more than upon a gad of steel, for the high Lord which he served he him preserved. Then made they a great fire, and did off all his cloathes and the hair off his back; and then this dead man hermit said unto them, Ween ye to burn me? It shall not lie in your power, nor to perish me as much as a thread, and there were any on my body. No! said one of them, it shall be assayed. And then they despoiled him, and put upon him this shirt, and cast him in a fire,and there he lay all that night till it was day, in that fire, and was not dead. And so in the morn I came and found him dead, but I found neither thread nor skin perished; and so took him out of the fire with great fear, and laid him here as ye may see. And now may ye suffer me to go my way, for I have said you the truth. And then he departed with a great tempest. Then was the good man and Sir Launcelot more gladder than they were tofore. And then Sir Launcelot dwelled with that good man that night. Sir, said the good man, be ye not Sir Launcelot du Lake? Yea, sir, said he. What seek ye in this country? Sir, said Sir Launcelot, I go to seek the adventures of the Sancgreal. Well, said he, seek it ye may well, but though it were here ye shall have no power to see it, no more than a blind man should see a bright sword, and that is long on your sin, and else ye were more abler than any man living. And then Sir Launcelot began to weep. Then said the good man, Were ye confessed sith ye entered into the quest of the Sancgreal? Yea, sir, said Sir Launcelot. Then upon the morn, when the good man had sung his mass, then they buried the dead man. Then Sir Launcelot said, Father, what shall I do? Now, said the good man, I require you take this hair that was this holy man’s, and put it next thy skin, and it shall prevail thee greatly. Sir, and I will do it, said Sir Launcelot. Also I charge you that ye eat no flesh as long as ye be in the quest of the Sancgreal, nor ye shall drink no wine, and that ye hear mass daily and ye may do it. So he took the hair and put it upon him, and so departed at evensong time. And so rode he into a forest, and there he met with a gentlewoman riding upon a white palfrey, and then she asked him, Sir knight, whither ride ye? Certes damsel, said Launcelot, I wot not whither I ride, but as fortune leadeth me. Ah, Sir Launcelot, said she, I wot what adventure ye seek, for ye were aforetime nearer than ye be now, and yet shall ye see it more openly than ever ye did, and that shall ye understand in short time. Then Sir Launcelot asked her where he might be harboured that night? Ye shall not find this day nor night, but to-morn ye shall find harbour good, and ease of that ye be in doubt of. And then he commended her unto God. Then he rode till that he came to a cross, and took that for his host as for that night.
Of a vision that Sir Launcelot had, and how he told it to an hermit, and desired counsel of him.
And so he put his horse to pasture, and did off his helm and his shield, and made his prayers unto the cross that he never fall in deadly sin again. And so he laid him down to sleep. And anon as he was asleep it befell him there a vision, that there came a man afore him all by compass of stars, and that man had a crown of gold on his head, and that man led in his fellowship seven kings and two knights. And all these worshipped the cross, kneeling upon their knees, holding up their hands towards the heaven; and all they said, Fair sweet Father of heaven, come and visit us, and yield unto us every each as we have deserved. Then looked Launcelot up to the heaven, and him seemed the clouds did open, and an old man came down with a company of angels, and alight among them, and gave unto every each his blessing, and called them his servants, and good and true knights. And when this old man had said thus, he came to one of those knights and said, I have lost all that I have set in thee, for thou hast ruled thee against me as a warrior, and used wrong wars with vain glory, more for the pleasure of the world than to please me, therefore thou shalt be confounded without thou yield me my treasure. All this vision saw Sir Launcelot at the cross. And on the morn he took his horse and rode till mid day, and there, by adventure, he met with the same knight that took his horse, his helm,and his sword, when he slept when the Sancgreal appeared afore the cross. When Sir Launcelot saw him he saluted him not fair, but cried on high, Knight, keep thee, for thou hast done to me great unkindness. And then they put afore them their spears, and Sir Launcelot came so fiercely upon him that he smote him and his horse down to the earth, that he had nigh broken his neck. Then Sir Launcelot took the knight’s horse, that was his own aforehand, and descended from the horse he sat upon, and tied the knight’s own horse to a tree, that he might find that horse when that he was arisen.
Then Sir Launcelot rode till night, and by adventure he met an hermit, and each of them saluted other, and there he rested with that good man all night, and gave his horse such as he might get. Then said the good man unto Launcelot, Of whence be ye? Sir, said he, I am of Arthur’s court, and my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake, that am in the quest of the Sancgreal. And therefore I pray you to counsel me of a vision, the which I had at the cross. And so he told him all.
How the hermit expounded to Sir Launcelot his vision, and told him that Sir Galahad was his son.
Lo, Sir Launcelot, said the good man, there thou mightest understand the high lineage that thou art come of, and thy vision betokeneth: After the passion of Jesu Christ forty years, Joseph of Aramathie preached the victory of king Evelake, that he had in the battles the better of his enemies. And of the seven kings and the two knights: the first of them is called Nappus, an holy man; and the second hight Nacien, in remembrance of his grandsire, and in him dwelled our Lord Jesu Christ; and the third was called Hellias le Grose; and the fourth hight Lisais; and the fifth hight Jonas, he departed out of his country and went into Wales, and took the daughter of Manuel, whereby he had the land of Gaul, and he came to dwell in this country, and of him came king Launcelot thy grandsire, which there wedded the king’s daughter of Ireland, and he was as worthy a man as thou art, and of him came king Ban thy father, the which was the last of the seven kings. And by thee, Sir Launcelot, it signifieth that the angels said thou were none of the seven fellowships. And the last was the ninth knight, he was signified to a lion, for he should pass all manner of earthly knights, that is Sir Galahad, the which thou gat of king Pelles’ daughter, and thou ought to thank God more than any other man living; for of a sinner earthly thou hast no peer as in knighthood, nor never shall be. But little thank hast thou given to God for all the great virtues that God hath lent thee.
Sir, said Launcelot, ye say that that good knight is my son. That oughtest thou to know, and no man better, said the good man, for by the daughter of king Pelles thou hadst Galahad, and that was he that at the feast of Pentecost sat in the siege perilous, and therefore make thou it known openly that he is thy son, for that will be your worship and honour, and to all thy kindred. And I counsel you in no place press not upon him to have ado with him. Well, said Launcelot, me seemeth that good knight should pray for me unto the high Father that I fall not to sin again. Trust thou well, said the good man, thou farest much the better for his prayer; but the son shall not bear the wickedness of the father, nor the father shall not bear the wickedness of the son, but every each shall bear his own burthen; and therefore beseek thou only God, and he will help thee in all thy needs. And then Sir Launcelot and he went to supper, and so laid him to rest, and the hair pricked so Sir Launcelot’s skin, which grieved him full sore, but he took it meekly, and suffered the pain. And so on the morn he heard his mass, and took his arms, and so took his leave.
How Sir Launcelot justed with many knights, and how he was taken.
And then he mounted upon his horse and rode into a forest, and held no highway. And as he looked afore him he saw a fair plain, and beside that a fair castle, and afore the castle were many pavilions of silk and of divers hue. And him seemed that he saw there five hundred knights riding on horseback, and there were two parties; they that were of the castle were all on black horses, and their trappings black. And they that were without were all on white horses and trappings: and every each hurtled to other, that it marvelled Sir Launcelot. And at the last him thought they of the castle were put to the worse. Then thought Sir Launcelot for to help there the weaker party, in increasing of his chivalry. And so Sir Launcelot thrust in among the party of the castle, and smote down a knight, horse and man, to the earth. And then he rashed here and there, and did marvellous deeds of arms. And then he drew out his sword and strake many knights to the earth, so that all those that saw him marvelled that ever one knight might do so great deeds of arms. But always the white knights held them nigh about Sir Launcelot, for to tire him and wind him.
But at the last, as a man may not ever endure, Sir Launcelot waxed so faint of fighting and travailing, and was so weary of his great deeds, that he might not lift up his arms for to give one stroke, so that he wend never to have borne arms: and then they all took him and led him away into a forest, and there made him to alight and to rest him. And then all the fellowship of the castle were overcome for the default of him, and then they said all unto Sir Launcelot, Blessed be God that ye be now of our fellowship, for we shall hold you in our prison. And so they left him with few words. And then Sir Launcelot made great sorrow,—For never or now was I never at tournament nor justs but I had the best, and now I am shamed. And then he said, Now I am sure that I am more sinfuller than ever I was. Thus he rode sorrowing, and half a day was he out of despair, till that he came into a deep valley, and when Sir Launcelot saw he might not ride up into the mountain, he there alight under an apple-tree, and there he left his helm and his shield, and put his horse unto pasture. And then he laid him down to sleep. And then him thought there came an old man afore him, the which said, Ah, Launcelot, of evil faith and poor belief, wherefore is thy will turned so lightly towards thy deadly sin? And when he had said thus he vanished away, and Launcelot wist not where he was become. Then he took his horse, and armed him. And as he rode by the way he saw a chapel, where was a recluse, which had a window that she might see up to the altar. And all aloud she called Launcelot, for that he seemed a knight errant. And then he came, and she asked him what he was, and of what place, and where about he went to seek.
How Sir Launcelot told his vision unto a woman, and how she expounded it to him.
And then he told her altogether word by word, and the truth how it befel him at the tournament. And after told her his vision, that he had had that night in his sleep, and prayed her to tell him what it might mean, for he was not well content with it. Ah, Launcelot, said she, as long as ye were knight of earthly knighthood, ye were the most marvellous man of the world, and most adventurous. Now, said the lady, since ye be set among the knights of heavenly adventures, if adventure fell the contrary at that tournament, have thou no marvel; for that tournament yesterday was but a tokening of our Lord. And not for then there was none enchantment, for they at the tournament were earthlyknights. The tournament was a token for to see who should have most knights, either Eliazar the son of king Pelles, or Argustus the son of king Harlon; but Eliazar was all clothed in white, and Argustus was covered in black, the which were come. All what this betokeneth I shall tell you. The day of Pentecost, when king Arthur held his court, it befell that earthly kings and knights took a tournament together, that is to say, the quest of the Sancgreal. The earthly knights were they, the which were clothed all in black, and the covering betokeneth the sins whereof they be not confessed. And they with the covering of white betokeneth virginity, and they that chosen chastity. And thus was the quest begun in them. Then thou beheld the sinners and the good men, and when thou sawest the sinners overcome, thou inclinedst to that party, for boasting and pride of the world, and all that must be left in that quest. For in this quest thou shalt have many fellows and thy betters, for thou art so feeble of evil trust and good belief, this made it when thou were there where they took thee, and led thee into the forest. And anon there appeared the Sancgreal unto the white knights, but thou was so feeble of good belief and faith, that thou might not abide it, for all the teaching of the good man, but anon thou turnedst unto the sinners; and that caused thy misadventure, that thou shouldest know good from evil and vain glory of the world, the which is not worth a pear. And for great pride thou madest great sorrow that thou hadst not overcome all the white knights with the covering of white, by whom was betokened virginity and chastity, and therefore God was wroth with you, for God loveth no such deeds in this quest; and this vision signifieth that thou were of evil faith and of poor belief, the which will make thee to fall into the deep pit of hell, if thou keep thee not. Now have I warned thee of thy vain glory and of thy pride, that thou hast many times erred against thy Maker. Beware of everlasting pain, for of all earthly knights I have most pity of thee, for I know well thou hast not thy peer of any earthly sinful man. And so she commanded Sir Launcelot to dinner; and after dinner he took his horse and commended her to God, and so rode into a deep valley, and there he saw a river and an high mountain. And through the water he must needs pass, the which was hideous; and then in the name of God he took it with good heart. And when he came over he saw an armed knight, horse and man black as any bear: without any word he smote Sir Launcelot’s horse to the earth, and so he passed on: he wist not where he was become. And then he took his helm and his shield, and thanked God of his adventure.
Here leueth of the story of syr launcelot. And speke we of sir Gawayne, the whiche is the xvi. book.
How Sir Gawaine was nigh weary of the quest of the Sangreal, and of his marvellous dream.
When Sir Gawaine was departed from his fellowship, he rode long without any adventure. For he found not the tenth part of adventure as he was wont to do. For Sir Gawaine rode from Whitsunday unto Michaelmas, and found none adventure that pleased him. So on a day it befell Gawaine met with Sir Ector de Maris, and either made great joy of other, that it were marvel to tell. And so they told every eachother, and complained them greatly that they could find none adventure.
Truly, said Sir Gawaine unto Sir Ector, I am nigh weary of this quest, and loth I am to follow further in strange countries. One thing marvelleth me, said Sir Ector, I have met with twenty knights, fellows of mine, and all they complain as I do. I marvel, said Sir Gawaine, where that Sir Launcelot your brother is. Truly, said Sir Ector, I cannot hear of him, nor of Sir Galahad, Percivale, nor Sir Bors. Let them be, said Sir Gawaine, for they four have no peers. And if one thing were not in Sir Launcelot, he had no fellow of none earthly man; but he is as we be, but if he took more pain upon him. But and these four be met together, they will be loth that any man meet with them; for, and they fail of the Sancgreal, it is in waste of all the remnant to recover it. Thus as Ector and Gawaine rode more than eight days. And on a Saturday they found an old chapel, the which was wasted that there seemed no man thither repaired, and there they alight, and set their spears at the door, and in they entered into the chapel, and there made their orisons a great while, and then set them down in the sieges of the chapel. And as they spake of one thing and other, for heaviness they fell on sleep, and there befell them both marvellous adventures. Sir Gawaine him seemed he came into a meadow full of herbs and flowers. And there he saw a rack of bulls an hundred and fifty, that were proud and black, save three of them were all white, and one had a black spot, and the other two were so fair and so white that they might be no whiter. And these three bulls which were so fair were tied with two strong cords. And the remnant of the bulls said among them, Go we hence to seek better pasture. And so some went, and some came again; but they were so lean that they might not stand upright; and of the bulls that were so white, that one came again, and no more. But when this white bull was come again among these other, there arose up a great cry for lack of wind that failed them; and so they departed, one here and another there. This vision befell Sir Gawaine that night.
Of the vision of Sir Ector, and how he justed with Sir Uwaine les Avoutres, his sworn brother.
But to Sir Ector de Maris befell another vision, the contrary. For it seemed him that his brother Sir Launcelot and he alight out of a chair and lept upon two horses, and the one said to the other, Go we seek that we shall not find. And him thought that a man beat Sir Launcelot and despoiled him, and clothed him in another array, the which was all full of knots, and set him upon an ass. And so he rode till he came to the fairest well that ever he saw, and Sir Launcelot alight, and would have drunk of that well. And when he stooped to drink of the water, the water sank from him. And when Sir Launcelot saw that, he turned and went thither as the head came from. And in the meanwhile he trowed that himself and Sir Ector rode till that they came to a rich man’s house, where there was a wedding. And there he saw a king, the which said, Sir knight, here is no place for you: and then he turned again unto the chair that he came from. Thus within a while both Gawaine and Ector awaked, and either told other of their vision, the which marvelled them greatly. Truly, said Ector, I shall never be merry till I hear tidings of my brother Launcelot.
Now as they sat thus talking, they saw an hand shewing unto the elbow, and was covered with red samite, and upon that hung a bridle not rich, and held within the fist a great candle which burnt right clear, and so passed afore them, and entered into the chapel, and then vanished away, and they wist not where. And anon came down a voice which said, Knights full of evil faith and poor belief, these two things have failed you, and therefore yemay not come to the adventures of the Sancgreal. Then first spake Gawaine and said, Ector, have ye heard these words? Yea truly, said Sir Ector, I heard all. Now go we, said Sir Ector, unto some hermit that will tell us of our vision, for it seemeth me we labour all in vain. And so they departed and rode into a valley, and there met with a squire which rode on an hackney, and they saluted him fair. Sir, said Gawaine, can thou teach us to any hermit? Here is one in a little mountain, said the squire, but it is so rough that there may no horse go thither; and therefore ye must go on foot: there shall ye find a poor house, and there is Nacien the hermit, which is the holiest man in this country. And so they departed either from other. And then in a valley they met with a knight all armed, which proffered them to just as far as he saw them. Truly, said Sir Gawaine, sith I departed from Camelot there was none proffered me to just but once. And now, sir, said Ector, let me just with him. Nay, said Gawaine, ye shall not, but if I be beaten, it shall not forthink me then if ye go after me. And then either enbraced other to just, and came together as fast as their horses might run, and brast their shields and the mails, and the one more than the other: and Gawaine was wounded in the left side, but the other knight was smitten through the breast, and the spear came out on the other side, and so they fell both out of their saddles, and in the falling they brake both their spears. Anon Gawaine arose, and set his hand to his sword, and cast his shield afore him. But all for nought was it, for the knight had no power to arise against him. Then said Gawaine, Ye must yield you as an overcome man, or else I may slay you. Ah, sir knight, said he, I am but dead; for God’s sake, and of your gentleness, lead me here unto an abbey, that I may receive my Creator. Sir, said Gawaine, I know no house of religion hereby. Sir, said the knight, set me on an horse tofore you, and I shall teach you. Gawaine set him up in the saddle, and he lept up behind him for to sustain him, and so came to an abbey, where they were well received; and anon he was unarmed, and received his Creator. Then he prayed Gawaine to draw the truncheon of the spear out of his body. Then Gawaine asked him what he was, that knew him not? I am, said he, of king Arthur’s court, and was a fellow of the Round Table, and we were brethren sworn together, and now, Sir Gawaine, thou hast slain me, and my name is Uwaine les Avoutres, that sometime was son unto king Uriens, and was in the quest of the Sancgreal; and now forgive it thee God, for it shall ever be said that the one sworn brother hath slain the other.
How Sir Gawaine and Sir Ector came to an hermitage to be confessed, and how they told to the hermit their visions.
Alas, said Sir Gawaine, that ever this misadventure is befallen me. No force, said Uwaine, sith I shall die this death, of a much more worshipfuller man’s hands might I not die; but when ye come to the court, recommand me unto my lord king Arthur, and all those that be left onlive, and for old brotherhood think on me. Then began Gawaine to weep, and Ector also. And then Uwaine himself, and Sir Gawaine, drew out the truncheon of the spear; and anon departed the soul from the body. Then Sir Gawaine and Sir Ector buried him, as men ought to bury a king’s son, and made written upon his name, and by whom he was slain.
Then departed Gawaine and Ector, as heavy as they might for their misadventure; and so rode till that they came unto the rough mountain, and there they tied their horses, and went on foot to the hermitage. And when they were come up, they saw a poor house, and beside the chapel a little courtlage, where Nacien the hermit gathered worts, as he which had tasted none other meat of a great while. And when he sawthe errant knights, he came toward them and saluted them, and they him again. Fair lords, said he, what adventure brought you hither? Sir, said Gawaine, to speak with you, for to be confessed. Sir, said the hermit, I am ready. Then they told him so much that he wist well what they were, and then he thought to counsel them if he might. Then began Gawaine first, and told him of his vision that he had had in the chapel: and Ector told him all as it is afore rehearsed. Sir, said the hermit unto Sir Gawaine, the fair meadow and the rack therein ought to be understood the Round Table, and by the meadow ought to be understood humility and patience, those be the things which be always green and quick; for men may no time overcome humility and patience, therefore was the Round Table founded, and the chivalry hath been at all times, so by the fraternity which was there that she might not be overcome. For men said she was founded in patience and in humility. At the rack ate an hundred and fifty bulls, but they ate not in the meadow, for their hearts should be set in humility and patience, and the bulls were proud and black, save only three. By the bulls is to understand the fellowship of the Round Table, which for their sin and their wickedness be black. Blackness is to say without good or virtuous works. And the three bulls which were white, save only one which was spotted;—the two white betoken Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale, for they be maidens clean and without spot; and the third that had a spot signifieth Sir Bors de Ganis, which trespassed but once in his virginity, but since he kept himself so well in chastity that all is forgiven him, and his misdeeds. And why those three were tied by the necks, they be three knights in virginity and chastity, and there is no pride smitten in them. And the black bulls which said, Go we hence, they were those which at Pentecost, at the high feast, took upon them to go in the quest of the Sancgreal without confession: they might not enter in the meadow of humility and patience. And therefore they returned into waste countries, that signifieth death, for there shall die many of them: every each of them shall slay other for sin, and they that shall escape shall be so lean that it shall be marvel to see them. And of the three bulls without spot, the one shall come again, and the other two never.
How the hermit expounded their vision.
Then spake Nacien unto Ector. Sooth it is that Launcelot and ye came down of one chair: the chair betokeneth mastership and lordship, which ye came down from. But ye two knights, said the hermit, ye go to seek that ye shall never find, that is the Sancgreal. For it is the secret thing of our Lord Jesu Christ. What is to mean, that Sir Launcelot fell down off his horse:—he hath left pride, and taken him to humility, for he hath cried mercy loud for his sin, and sore repented him, and our Lord hath clothed him in His clothing, which is full of knots, that is the hair which he weareth daily. And the ass that he rode upon is a beast of humility. For God would not ride upon no steed, nor upon no palfrey. So in ensample that an ass betokeneth meekness, that thou sawest Sir Launcelot ride on in thy sleep: and the well where as the water sank from him when he should have taken thereof, and when he saw he might not have it, he returned thither from whence he came, for the well betokeneth the high grace of God, the more men desire it to take it, the more shall be their desire. So when he came nigh the Sancgreal, he meeked him that he held him not a man worthy to be so nigh the holy vessel, for he had been so defouled in deadly sin by the space of many years, yet when he kneeled to drink of the well, there he saw great providence of the Sancgreal. And forhe had served so long the devil, he shall have vengeance four and twenty days long, for that he hath been the devil’s servant four and twenty years. And then soon after he shall return unto Camelot out of this country, and he shall say a part of such things as he hath found.
Now will I tell you what betokeneth the hand with the candle and the bridle; that is to understand the Holy Ghost, where charity is ever, and the bridle signifieth abstinence. For when she is bridled in Christian man’s heart, she holdeth him so short that he falleth not in deadly sin. And the candle which sheweth clearness and sight, signifieth the right way of Jesu Christ. And when he went, and said, Knights of poor faith and of wicked belief,—these three things failed, charity, abstinence, and truth, therefore ye may not attain that high adventure of the Sancgreal.
Of the good counsel that the hermit gave to him.
Certes, said Gawaine, soothly have ye said, that I see it openly. Now I pray you, good man and holy father, tell me why we met not with so many adventures as we were wont to do, and commonly have the better. I shall tell you gladly, said the good man: The adventure of the Sancgreal, which ye and many other have undertaken the quest of it, and find it not, the cause is, for it appeareth not to sinners. Wherefore marvel not though ye fail thereof, and many other. For ye be an untrue knight, and a great murderer, and to good men signifieth other things than murder. For I dare say, as sinful as Sir Launcelot hath been, sith that he went into the quest of the Sancgreal he slew never man, nor nought shall till that he come unto Camelot again. For he hath taken upon him for to forsake sin. And were not that he is not stable, but by his thought he is likely to turn again, he should be next to achieve it, save Galahad his son. But God knoweth his thought, and his unstableness, and yet shall he die right an holy man; and no doubt he hath no fellow of no earthly sinful man. Sir, said Gawaine, it seemeth me by your words, that for our sins it will not avail us to travail in this quest. Truly, said the good man, there be an hundred such as ye be, that never shall prevail but to have shame. And when they had heard these voices, they commanded him unto God.
Then the good man called Gawaine, and said, It is long time passed sith that ye were made knight, and never since thou servedst thy Maker, and now thou art so old a tree, that in thee there is neither life nor fruit; wherefore bethink thee that thou yield unto our Lord the bare rind, sith the fiend hath the leaves and the fruit. Sir, said Gawaine, and I had leisure I would speak with you, but my fellow here, Sir Ector, is gone, and abideth me yonder beneath the hill. Well, said the good man, thou were better to be counselled. Then departed Gawaine, and came to Ector, and so took their horses, and rode till they came to a foster’s house which harboured them right well. And on the morn they departed from their host, and rode long or they could find any adventure.
How Sir Bors met with an hermit, and how he was confessed to him, and of his penance enjoined to him.
When Bors was departed from Camelot, he met with a religious man riding on an ass, and Sir Bors saluted him. Anon the good man knew him that he was one of the knights errant that was in the quest of the Sancgreal. What are ye? said the good man. Sir, said he, I am a knight that fain would be counselled in the quest of the Sancgreal: for he shall have much earthly worship that may bring it to an end. Certes, said the good man, that is sooth, for he shall be the best knight of the world, and the fairest of all thefellowship. But wit you well, there shall none attain it but by cleanness, that is, pure confession. So rode they together till that they came to an hermitage. And there he prayed Bors to dwell all that night with him: and so he alight, and put away his armour, and prayed him that he might be confessed; and so they went into the chapel, and there he was clean confessed: and they eat bread, and drank water, together. Now, said the good man, I pray thee that thou eat none other, till that thou sit at the table where the Sancgreal shall be. Sir, said he, I agree me thereto; but how wit ye that I shall sit there? Yes, said the good man, that know I, but there shall be but few of your fellows with you. All is welcome, said Sir Bors, that God sendeth me. Also, said the good man, instead of a shirt, and in sign of chastisement, ye shall wear a garment; thereof I pray you do off all your clothes and your shirt, and so he did. And then he took him a scarlet coat, so that should be instead of his shirt, till he had fulfilled the quest of the Sancgreal. And the good man found him in so marvellous a life, and so stable, that he marvelled, and felt that he was never corrupt in fleshly lusts, but in one time that he begat Elian le Blank. Then he armed him, and took his leave, and so departed. And so a little from thence he looked up into a tree, and there he saw a passing great bird upon an old tree, and it was passing dry, without leaves, and the bird sat above, and had birds, the which were dead for hunger. So smote he himself with his beak, the which was great and sharp. And so the great bird bled till that he died among his birds. And the young birds took the life by the blood of the great bird. When Bors saw this, he wist well it was great tokening. For when he saw the great bird arose not, then he took his horse and went his way. So by evensong, by adventure he came to a strong tower, and an high, and there was he lodged gladly.
How Sir Bors was lodged with a lady, and how he took on him for to fight against a champion for her land.
And when he was unarmed, they led him into an high tower, where was a lady, young, lusty, and fair. And she received him with great joy, and made him to sit down by her, and so was he set to sup with flesh and many dainties. And when Sir Bors saw that, he bethought him on his penance, and bad a squire to bring him water. And so he brought him, and he made sops therein, and ate them. Ah, said the lady, I trow ye like not my meat. Yes, truly, said Sir Bors, God thank you madam, but I may eat none other meat this day. Then she spake no more as at that time, for she was loth to displease him.
Then after supper they spake of one thing and other. With that there came a squire, and said, Madam, ye must purvey you to-morn for a champion, for else your sister will have this castle, and also your lands, except ye can find a knight that will fight to-morn in your quarrel against Pridam le Noire. Then she made sorrow, and said, Ah Lord God, wherefore granted ye to hold my land, whereof I should now be disherited without reason and right. And when Sir Bors had heard her say thus, he said, I shall comfort you. Sir, said she, I shall tell you, there was here a king that hight Aniause, which held all this land in his keeping. So it mishapped he loved a gentlewoman, a great deal elder than I. So took he her all this land to her keeping, and all his men to govern, and she brought up many evil customs, whereby she put to death a great part of his kinsmen. And when he saw that, he let chase her out of this land, and betook it me, and all this land in my charge: but anon, as that worthy king was dead, this other lady began to war upon me, and hath destroyed many of my men, and turned them against me, that I have well nigh no man left me,and I have nought else but this high tower that she left me. And yet she hath promised me to have this tower, without I can find a knight to fight with her champion. Now tell me, said Sir Bors, what is that Pridam le Noire? Sir, said she, he is the most doubted man of this land.—Now may ye send her word that ye have found a knight that shall fight with that Pridam le Noire in God’s quarrel and yours. Then that lady was not a little glad, and sent word that she was provided. And that night Sir Bors had good cheer, but in no bed he would come, but laid him on the floor, nor never would do otherwise till that he had met with the quest of Sancgreal.
Of a vision which Sir Bors had that night, and how he fought and overcame his adversary.
And anon as he was asleep, him befell a vision, that there came to him two birds, the one as white as a swan, and the other was marvellous black, but it was not so great as the other, but in the likeness of a raven. Then the white bird came to him, and said, And thou wouldst give me meat and serve me, I should give thee all the riches of the world, and I shall make thee as fair and as white as I am. So the white bird departed, and there came the black bird to him, and said, And thou wilt serve me to-morrow, and have me in no despite, though I be black, for wit thou well that more availeth my blackness, than the other’s whiteness. And then he departed. And he had another vision: him thought that he came to a great place, which seemed a chapel, and there he found a chair set on the left side, which was worm-eaten and feeble. And on the right hand were two flowers like a lily, and the one would have taken the other’s whiteness, but a good man parted them, that the one touched not the other, and then out of every flower came out many flowers, and fruit great plenty. Then him thought the good man said, Should not he do great folly, that would let these two flowers perish for to succour the rotten tree, that it fell not to the earth? Sir, said he, it seemeth me that this wood might not avail. Now keep thee, said the good man, that thou never see such adventure befall thee. Then he awaked and made a sign of the cross in the midst of the forehead, and so rose and clothed him, and there came the lady of the place, and she saluted him, and he her again, and so went to a chapel, and heard their service. And there came a company of knights that the lady had sent for, to lead Sir Bors unto battle. Then asked he his arms. And when he was armed, she prayed him to take a little morsel to dine. Nay, madam, said he, that shall I not do, till I have done my battle, by the grace of God. And so he lept upon his horse, and departed all the knights and men with him. And as soon as these two ladies met together, she which Bors should fight for, complained her, and said, Madam, ye have done me wrong to bereave me of my lands that king Aniause gave me, and full loth I am there should be any battle. Ye shall not choose, said the other lady, or else your knight withdraw him. Then there was the cry made, which party had the better of those two knights, that this lady should enjoy all the land. Now departed the one knight here, and the other there. Then they came together with such force that they pierced their shields and their hauberks, and the spears flew in pieces, and they wounded either other sore. Then hurtled they together so that they fell both to the earth, and their horses betwixt their legs. And anon they arose, and set hands to their swords, and smote each one other upon the heads, that they made great wounds and deep, that the blood went out of their bodies. For there found Sir Bors greater defence in that knight more than he wend. For that Pridam was a passing good knight, and he wounded Sir Bors full evil, and he him again. But ever this Sir Pridam held the stour in like hard.That perceived Sir Bors, and suffered him till he was nigh attaint, and then he ran upon him more and more, and the other went back for dread of death. So in his withdrawing he fell upright, and Sir Bors drew his helm so strongly that he rent it from his head, and gave him great strokes with the flat of his sword upon the visage, and bade him yield him, or he should slay him. Then he cried him mercy, and said, Fair knight, for God’s love slay me not, and I shall ensure thee never to war against thy lady, but be alway toward her. Then Bors let him be. Then the old lady fled with all her knights.