Then Sir Galahad, at the prayer of the king and queen, put on a coat of light armour, and a helmet, but shield he would take none, and grasping a lance, he drove into the middle of the press of knights, and began to break spears marvellously, so that all men were full of wonder. And in so short a time he had surmounted and exceeded the rest, save Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival, that he took the chief worship of the field.
Then the king and all the court and fellowship of knights went back to the palace, and so to evensong in the great minster, a royal and goodly company, and after that sat down to supper in the hall, every knight in his own seat, as they had been before.
Anon suddenly burst overhead the cracking and crying of great peals of thunder, till the palace walls were shaken sorely, and they thought to see them riven all to pieces.
And in the midst of the blast there entered in a sunbeam, clearer by seven times than ever they saw day, and a marvellous great glory fell upon them all. Then each knight, looking on his neighbour, found his face fairer than he had ever seen, and so—all standing on their feet—they gazed as dumb men on each other, not knowing what to say.
Then entered into the hall the Sangreal, borne aloft without hands through the midst of the sunbeam, and covered with white samite, so that none might see it. And all the hall was filled with perfume and incense, and every knight was fed with the food he best loved. And when the holy vessel had been thus borne through the hall, it suddenly departed, no man saw whither.
When they recovered breath to speak, King Arthur first rose up, and yielded thanks to God and to our Lord.
Then Sir Gawain sprang up and said, “Now have weall been fed by miracle with whatsoever food we thought of or desired; but with our eyes we have not seen the blessed vessel whence it came, so carefully and preciously it was concealed. Therefore, I make a vow, that from to-morrow I shall labour twelve months and a day in quest of the Sangreal, and longer if need be; nor will I come again into this court until mine eyes have seen it evidently.”
When he had spoken thus, knight after knight rose up and vowed himself to the same quest, till the most part of the Round Table had thus sworn.
But when King Arthur heard them all, he could not refrain his eyes from tears, and said, “Sir Gawain, Sir Gawain, thou hast set me in great sorrow, for I fear me my true fellowship shall never meet together here again; and surely never Christian king had such a company of worthy knights around his table at one time.”
And when the queen and her ladies and gentlewomen heard the vows, they had such grief and sorrow as no tongue could tell; and Queen Guinevere cried out, “I marvel that my lord will suffer them to depart from him.” And many of the ladies who loved knights would have gone with them, but were forbidden by the hermit Nacien, who sent this message to all who had sworn themselves to the quest: “Take with ye no lady nor gentlewoman, for into so high a service as ye go in, no thought but of our Lord and heaven may enter.”
On the morrow morning all the knights rose early, and when they were fully armed, save shields and helms, they went in with the king and queen to service in the minster. Then the king counted all who had taken the adventure on themselves, and found them a hundred and fifty knights of the Round Table; and so they all put on their helms, and rode away together in the midst of cries and lamentationsfrom the court, and from the ladies, and from all the town.
But the queen went alone to her chamber, that no man might see her sorrow; and Sir Lancelot followed her to say farewell.
When she saw him she cried out, “Oh, Sir Lancelot, thou hast betrayed me; thou hast put me to death thus to depart and leave my lord the king.”
“Ah, madam,” said he, “be not displeased or angry, for I shall come again as soon as I can with honour.”
“Alas!” said she, “that ever I saw thee; but He that suffered death upon the cross for all mankind be to thee safety and good conduct, and to all thy company.”
Then Sir Lancelot saluted her and the king, and went forth with the rest, and came with them that night to Castle Vagon, where they abode, and on the morrow they departed from each other on their separate ways, every knight taking the way that pleased him best.
Now Sir Galahad went forth without a shield, and rode so four days without adventure; and on the fourth day, after evensong, he came to an abbey of white monks, where he was received in the house, and led into a chamber. And there he was unarmed, and met two knights of the Round Table, King Bagdemagus, and Sir Uwaine.
“Sirs,” said Sir Galahad, “what adventure hath brought ye here?”
“Within this place, as we are told,” they answered, “there is a shield no man may bear around his neck without receiving sore mischance, or death within three days.”
“To-morrow,” said King Bagdemagus, “I shall attempt the adventure; and if I fail, do thou, Sir Galahad, take it up after me.”
“I will willingly,” said he; “for as ye see I have no shield as yet.”
So on the morrow they arose and heard mass, and afterwards King Bagdemagus asked where the shield was kept. Then a monk led him behind the altar, where the shield hung, as white as any snow, and with a blood-red cross in the midst of it.
“Sir,” said the monk, “this shield should hang from no knight’s neck unless he be the worthiest in the world. I warn ye, therefore, knights; consider well before ye dare to touch it.”
“Well,” said King Bagdemagus, “I know well that I am far from the best knight in all the world, yet shall I make the trial;” and so he took the shield, and bore it from the monastery.
“If it please thee,” said he to Sir Galahad, “abide here till thou hearest how I speed.”
“I will abide thee,” said he.
Then taking with him a squire who might return with any tidings to Sir Galahad, the king rode forth; and before he had gone two miles, he saw in a fair valley a hermitage, and a knight who came forth dressed in white armour, horse and all, who rode fast against him. When they encountered, Bagdemagus brake his spear upon the White Knight’s shield, but was himself struck through the shoulder with a sore wound, and hurled down from his horse. Then the White Knight alighting, came and took the white shield from the king, and said, “Thou hast done great folly, for this shield ought never to be borne but by one who hath no living peer.” And turning to the squire, he said, “Bear thou this shield to the good knight, Sir Galahad, and greet him well from me.”
“In whose name shall I greet him?” said the squire.
“Take thou no heed of that,” he answered; “it is not for thee or any earthly man to know.”
“Now tell me, fair sir, at the least,” said the squire, “why may this shield be never borne except its wearer come to injury or death?”
“Because it shall belong to no man save its rightful owner, Galahad,” replied the knight.
Then the squire went to his master, and found him wounded nigh to death, wherefore he fetched his horse, and bore him back with him to the abbey. And there they laid him in a bed, and looked to his wounds; and when he had lain many days grievously sick, he at the last barely escaped with his life.
“Sir Galahad,” said the squire, “the knight who overthrew King Bagdemagus sent you greeting, and bade you bear this shield.”
“Now blessed be God and fortune,” said Sir Galahad, and hung the shield about his neck, and armed him, and rode forth.
Anon he met the White Knight by the hermitage, and each saluted courteously the other.
“Sir,” said Sir Galahad, “this shield I bear hath surely a full marvellous history.”
“Thou sayest rightly,” answered he. “That shield was made in the days of Joseph of Arimathea, the gentle knight who took our Lord down from the cross. He, when he left Jerusalem with his kindred, came to the country of King Evelake, who warred continually with one Tollome; and when, by the teaching of Joseph, King Evelake became a Christian, this shield was made for him in our Lord’s name; and through its aid King Tollome was defeated. For whenKing Evelake met him next in battle, he hid it in a veil, and suddenly uncovering it, he showed his enemies the figure of a bleeding man nailed to a cross, at sight of which they were discomfited and fled. Presently after that, a man whose hand was smitten off touched the cross upon the shield, and had his hand restored to him; and many other miracles it worked. But suddenly the cross that was upon it vanished away. Anon both Joseph and King Evelake came to Britain, and by the preaching of Joseph the people were made Christians. And when at length he lay upon his death-bed, King Evelake begged of him some token ere he died. Then, calling for his shield, he dipped his finger in his own blood, for he was bleeding fast, and none could staunch the wound, and marked that cross upon it, saying, ‘This cross shall ever show as bright as now, and the last of my lineage shall wear this shield about his neck, and go forth to all the marvellous deeds he will achieve.’”
When the White Knight had thus spoken he vanished suddenly away, and Sir Galahad returned to the abbey.
As he alighted, came a monk, and prayed him to go see a tomb in the churchyard, wherefrom came such a great and hideous noise, that none could hear it but they went nigh mad, or lost all strength. “And sir,” said he, “I deem it is a fiend.”
“Lead me thither,” said Sir Galahad.
When they were come near the place, “Now,” said the monk, “go thou to the tomb, and lift it up.”
Galahad ... quickly lifted up the stone, and forthwith came out a foul smoke.
And Galahad, nothing afraid, quickly lifted up the stone, and forthwith came out a foul smoke,and from the midst thereof leaped up the loathliest figure that ever he had seen in the likeness of man; and Galahad blessed himself, for he knew it was a fiend of hell. Then heheard a voice crying out, “Oh, Galahad, I cannot tear thee as I would; I see so many angels round thee, that I may not come at thee.”
Then the fiend suddenly disappeared with a marvellous great cry; and Sir Galahad, looking in the tomb, saw there a body all armed, with a sword beside it. “Now, fair brother,” said he to the monk, “let us remove this cursed body, which is not fit to lie in a churchyard, for when it lived, a false and perjured Christian man dwelt in it. Cast it away, and there shall come no more hideous noises from the tomb.”
“And now must I depart,” he added, “for I have much in hand, and am upon the holy quest of the Sangreal, with many more good knights.”
So he took his leave, and rode many journeys backwards and forwards as adventure would lead him; and at last one day he departed from a castle without first hearing mass, which was it ever his custom to hear before he left his lodging. Anon he found a ruined chapel on a mountain, and went in and kneeled before the altar, and prayed for wholesome counsel what to do; and as he prayed he heard a voice, which said, “Depart, adventurous knight, unto the Maiden’s Castle, and redress the violence and wrongs there done!”
Hearing these words he cheerfully arose, and mounted his horse, and rode but half a mile, when he saw before him a strong castle, with deep ditches round it, and a fair river running past. And seeing an old churl hard by, he asked him what men called that castle.
“Fair sir,” said he, “it is the Maiden’s Castle.”
“It is a cursed place,” said Galahad, “and all its masters are but felons, full of mischief and hardness and shame.”
“For that good reason,” said the old man, “thou wert well-advised to turn thee back.”
“For that same reason,” quoth Sir Galahad, “will I the more certainly ride on.”
Then, looking at his armour carefully, to see that nothing failed him, he went forward, and presently there met him seven damsels, who cried out, “Sir knight, thou ridest in great peril, for thou hast two waters to pass over.”
“Why should I not pass over them?” said he, and rode straight on.
Anon he met a squire, who said, “Sir knight, the masters of this castle defy thee, and bid thee go no further, till thou showest them thy business here.”
“Fair fellow,” said Sir Galahad, “I am come here to destroy their wicked customs.”
“If that be thy purpose,” answered he, “thou wilt have much to do.”
“Go thou,” said Galahad, “and hasten with my message.”
In a few minutes after rode forth furiously from the gateways of the castle seven knights, all brothers, and crying out, “Knight, keep thee,” bore down all at once upon Sir Galahad. But thrusting forth his spear, he smote the foremost to the earth, so that his neck was almost broken, and warded with his shield the spears of all the others, which every one brake off from it, and shivered into pieces. Then he drew out his sword, and set upon them hard and fiercely, and by his wondrous force drave them before him, and chased them to the castle gate, and there he slew them.
At that came out to him an ancient man, in priest’s vestments, saying, “Behold, sir, here, the keys of this castle.”
Then he unlocked the gates, and found within a multitude of people, who cried out, “Sir knight, ye be welcome, for long have we waited thy deliverance,” and told him that the seven felons he had slain had long enslaved the people round about, and killed all knights who passed that way, because the maiden whom they had robbed of the castle had foretold that by one knight they should themselves be overthrown.
“Where is the maiden?” asked Sir Galahad.
“She lingereth below in a dungeon,” said they.
So Sir Galahad went down and released her, and restored her her inheritance; and when he had summoned the barons of the country to do her homage, he took his leave, and departed.
Presently thereafter, as he rode, he entered a great forest, and in a glade thereof met two knights, disguised, who proffered him to joust. These were Sir Lancelot, his father, and Sir Percival, but neither knew the other. So he and Sir Lancelot encountered first, and Sir Galahad smote down his father. Then drawing his sword, for his spear was broken, he fought with Sir Percival, and struck so mightily that he clave Sir Percival’s helm, and smote him from his horse.
Now hard by where they fought there was a hermitage, where dwelt a pious woman, a recluse, who, when she heard the sound, came forth, and seeing Sir Galahad ride, she cried, “God be with thee, the best knight in the world; had yonder knights known thee as well as I do, they would not have encountered with thee.”
When Sir Galahad heard that, fearing to be made known, he forthwith smote his horse with his spurs, and departed at a great pace.
Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival heard her words also, androde fast after him, but within awhile he was out of their sight. Then Sir Percival rode back to ask his name of the recluse; but Sir Lancelot went forward on his quest, and following any path his horse would take, he came by-and-by after nightfall to a stone cross hard by an ancient chapel. When he had alighted and tied his horse up to a tree, he went and looked in through the chapel door, which was all ruinous and wasted, and there within he saw an altar, richly decked with silk, whereon there stood a fair candlestick of silver, bearing six great lights. And when Sir Lancelot saw the light, he tried to get within the chapel, but could find no place. So, being passing weary and heavy, he came again to his horse, and when he had unsaddled him, and set him free to pasture, he unlaced his helm, and ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield before the cross.
And while he lay between waking and sleeping, he saw come by him two white palfreys bearing a litter, wherein a sick knight lay, and the palfreys stood still by the cross. Then Sir Lancelot heard the sick man say, “O sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and the holy vessel pass by me, wherethrough I shall be blessed? for I have long endured.”
With that Sir Lancelot saw the chapel open, and the candlestick with the six tapers come before the cross, but he could see none who bare it. Then came there also a table of silver, and thereon the holy vessel of the Sangreal. And when the sick knight saw that, he sat up, and lifting both his hands, said, “Fair Lord, sweet Lord, who art here within this holy vessel, have mercy on me, that I may be whole;” and therewith he crept upon his hands and knees so nigh, that he might touch the vessel; and when he had kissed it, he leaped up, and stood and criedaloud, “Lord God, I thank Thee, for I am made whole.” Then the Holy Grale departed with the table and the silver candlestick into the chapel, so that Sir Lancelot saw it no more, nor for his sins’ sake could he follow it. And the knight who was healed went on his way.
Then Sir Lancelot awake, and marvelled whether he had seen aught but a dream. And as he marvelled, he heard a voice saying, “Sir Lancelot, thou are unworthy, go thou hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place.” And when he heard that, he was passing heavy, for he bethought him of his sins.
So he departed weeping, and cursed the day of his birth, for the words went into his heart, and he knew wherefore he was thus driven forth. Then he went to seek his arms and horse, but could not find them; and then he called himself the wretchedest and most unhappy of all knights, and said, “My sin hath brought me unto great dishonour: for when I sought earthly honours, I achieved them ever; but now I take upon me holy things, my guilt doth hinder me, and shameth me; therefore had I no power to stir or speak when the holy blood appeared before me.”
So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and he heard the birds sing; then was he somewhat comforted, and departing from the cross on foot, he came into a wild forest, and to a high mountain, and there he found a hermitage; and, kneeling before the hermit down upon both his knees, he cried for mercy for his wicked works, and prayed him to hear his confession. But when he told his name, the hermit marvelled to see him in so sore a case, and said, “Sir, ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath given thee more honour than any; yet for thy presumption, while in deadly sin to come into the presence of His flesh and blood, He suffered theeneither to see nor follow it. Wherefore, believe that all thy strength and manhood will avail thee little, when God is against thee.”
Then Sir Lancelot wept and said, “Now know I well ye tell me truth.”
Then he confessed to him, and told him all his sins, and how he had for fourteen years served but Queen Guinevere only, and forgotten God, and done great deeds of arms for her, and not for Heaven, and had little or nothing thanked God for the honour that he won. And then Sir Lancelot said, “I pray you counsel me.”
“I will counsel thee,” said he: “never more enter into that queen’s company when ye can avoid it.”
So Sir Lancelot promised him.
“Look that your heart and your mouth accord,” said the good man, “and ye shall have more honour and more nobleness than ever ye have had.”
Then were his arms and horse restored to him, and so he took his leave, and rode forth, repenting greatly.
Now Sir Percival had ridden back to the recluse, to learn who that knight was whom she had called the best in the world. And when he had told her that he was Sir Percival, she made passing great joy of him, for she was his mother’s sister, wherefore she opened her door to him, and made him good cheer. And on the morrow she told him of her kindred to him, and they both made great rejoicing. Then he asked her who that knight was, and she told him, “He it is who on Whit Sunday last was clad in the red robe, and bare the red arms; and he hath no peer, for he worketh all by miracle, and shall be never overcome by any earthly hands.”
“By my goodwill,” said Sir Percival, “I will never after these tidings have to do with Sir Galahad but in the wayof kindness; and I would fain learn where I may find him.”
“Fair nephew,” said she, “ye must ride to the Castle of Goth, where he hath a cousin; by him ye may be lodged, and he will teach you the way to go; but if he can tell you no tidings, ride straight to the Castle of Carbonek, where the wounded king is lying, for there shall ye surely hear true tidings of him.”
So Sir Percival departed from his aunt, and rode till evensong time, when he was ware of a monastery closed round with walls and deep ditches, where he knocked at the gate, and anon was let in. And there he had good cheer that night, and on the morrow heard mass. And beside the altar where the priest stood, was a rich bed of silk and cloth of gold; and on the bed there lay a man passing old, having a crown of gold upon his head, and all his body was full of great wounds, and his eyes almost wholly blind; and ever he held up his hands and said, “Sweet Lord, forget not me!”
Then Sir Percival asked one of the brethren who he was.
“Sir,” said the good man, “ye have heard of Joseph of Arimathea, how he was sent of Jesus Christ into this land to preach and teach the Christian faith. Now, in the city of Sarras he converted a king named Evelake, and this is he. He came with Joseph to this land, and ever desired greatly to see the Sangreal; so on a time he came nigh thereto, and was struck almost blind. Then he cried out for mercy, and said, ‘Fair Lord, I pray thee let me never die until a good knight of my blood achieve the Sangreal, and I may see and kiss him.’ When he had thus prayed, he heard a voice that said, ‘Thy prayers be heard and answered, for thou shalt not die till that knightkiss thee; and when he cometh shall thine eyes be opened and thy wounds be healed.’ And now hath he lived here for three hundred winters in a holy life, and men say a certain knight of King Arthur’s court shall shortly heal him.”
Thereat Sir Percival marvelled greatly, for he well knew who that knight should be; and so, taking his leave of the monk, departed.
Then he rode on till noon, and came into a valley where he met twenty men-at-arms bearing a dead knight on a bier. And they cried to him, “Whence comest thou?”
“From King Arthur’s court,” he answered.
Then they all cried together, “Slay him,” and set upon him.
But he smote down the first man to the ground, and his horse upon him; whereat seven of them all at once assailed him, and others slew his horse. Thus he had been either taken or slain, but by good chance Sir Galahad was passing by that way, who, seeing twenty men attacking one, cried, “Slay him not,” and rushed upon them; and, as fast as his horse could drive, he encountered with the foremost man, and smote him down. Then, his spear being broken, he drew forth his sword and struck out on the right hand and on the left, at each blow smiting down a man, till the remainder fled, and he pursued them.
Then Sir Percival, knowing that it was Sir Galahad, would fain have overtaken him, but could not, for his horse was slain. Yet followed he on foot as fast as he could go; and as he went there met him a yeoman riding on a palfrey, and leading in his hand a great black steed. So Sir Percival prayed him to lend him the steed, that he might overtake Sir Galahad. But he replied,“That can I not do, fair sir, for the horse is my master’s, and should I lend it he would slay me.” So he departed, and Sir Percival sat down beneath a tree in heaviness of heart. And as he sat, anon a knight went riding past on the black steed which the yeoman had led. And presently after came the yeoman back in haste, and asked Sir Percival if he had seen a knight riding his horse.
“Yea,” said Sir Percival.
“Alas,” said the yeoman, “he hath reft him from me by strength, and my master will slay me.”
Then he besought Sir Percival to take his hackney and follow, and get back his steed. So he rode quickly, and overtook the knight, and cried, “Knight, turn again.” Whereat he turned and set his spear, and smote Sir Percival’s hackney in the breast, so that it fell dead, and then went on his way. Then cried Sir Percival after him, “Turn now, false knight, and fight with me on foot;” but he would not, and rode out of sight.
Then was Sir Percival passing wroth and heavy of heart, and lay down to rest beneath a tree, and slept till midnight. When he awoke he saw a woman standing by him, who said to him right fiercely, “Sir Percival, what doest thou here?”
“I do neither good nor evil,” said he.
“If thou wilt promise me,” said she, “to do my will whenever I shall ask thee, I will bring thee here a horse that will bear thee wheresoever thou desirest.”
At that he was full glad, and promised as she asked. Then anon she came again, with a great black steed, strong and well apparelled. So Sir Percival mounted, and rode through the clear moonlight, and within less than an hour had gone a four days’ journey, till he came to a rough water that roared; and his horse would haveborne him into it, but Sir Percival would not suffer him, yet could he scarce restrain him. And seeing the water so furious, he made the sign of the cross upon his forehead, whereat the horse suddenly shook him off, and with a terrible sound leaped into the water and disappeared, the waves all burning up in flames around him. Then Sir Percival knew it was a fiend which had brought him the horse; so he commended himself to God, and prayed that he might escape temptations, and continued in prayer till it was day.
Then he saw that he was on a wild mountain, nigh surrounded on all sides by the sea, and filled with wild beasts; and going on into a valley, he saw a serpent carrying a young lion by the neck. With that came another lion, crying and roaring after the serpent, and anon overtook him, and began to battle with him. And Sir Percival helped the lion, and drew his sword, and gave the serpent such a stroke that it fell dead. Thereat the lion fawned upon him like a dog, licking his hands, and crouching at his feet, and at night lay down by him and slept at his side.
And at noon the next day Sir Percival saw a ship come sailing before a strong wind upon the sea towards him, and he rose and went towards it. And when it came to shore, he found it covered with white samite, and on the deck there stood an old man dressed in priest’s robes, who said, “God be with you, fair sir; whence come ye?”
“I am a knight of King Arthur’s court,” said he, “and follow the quest of the Sangreal; but here have I lost myself in this wilderness.”
“Fear nothing,” said the old man, “for I have come from a strange country to comfort thee.”
Then he told Sir Percival it was a fiend of hell upon which he had ridden to the sea, and that the lion, whom he had delivered from the serpent, meant the Church. And Sir Percival rejoiced at these tidings, and entered into the ship, which presently sailed from the shore into the sea.
Now when Sir Bors rode forth from Camelot to seek the Sangreal, anon he met a holy man riding on an ass, and courteously saluted him.
“Who are ye, son?” said the good man.
“I am a knight,” said he, “in quest of the Sangreal, and would fain have thy counsel, for he shall have much earthly honour who may bring it to a favourable end.”
“That is truth,” said the good man, “for he shall be the best knight of the world; yet know that none shall gain it save by sinless living.”
So they rode to his hermitage together, and there he prayed Sir Bors to abide that night, and anon they went into the chapel, and Sir Bors was confessed. And they eat bread and drank water together.
“Now,” said the hermit, “I pray thee eat no other food till thou sit at the table where the Sangreal shall be.” Thereto Sir Bors agreed.
“Also,” said the hermit, “it were wise that ye should wear a sackcloth garment next your skin, for penance;” and in this also did Sir Bors as he was counselled. And afterwards he armed himself and took his leave.
Then rode he onwards all that day, and as he rode he saw a passing great bird sit in an old dry tree, whereon no leaves were left; and many little birds lay round the great one, nigh dead with hunger. Then did the big bird smite himself with his own bill, and bled till he died amongst his little ones, and they recovered life in drinkingup his blood. When Sir Bors saw this he knew it was a token, and rode on full of thought. And about eventide he came to a tower, whereto he prayed admission, and he was received gladly by the lady of the castle. But when a supper of many meats and dainties was set before him, he remembered his vow, and bade a squire to bring him water, and therein he dipped his bread, and ate.
Then said the lady, “Sir Bors, I fear ye like not my meat.”
“Yea, truly,” said he; “God thank thee, madam; but I may eat no other meat this day.”
After supper came a squire, and said, “Madam, bethink thee to provide a champion for thee to-morrow for the tourney, or else shall thy sister have thy castle.”
At that the lady wept, and made great sorrow. But Sir Bors prayed her to be comforted, and asked her why the tournament was held. Then she told him how she and her sister were the daughters of King Anianse, who left them all his lands between them; and how her sister was the wife of a strong knight, named Sir Pridan le Noir, who had taken from herself all her lands, save the one tower wherein she dwelt. “And now,” said she, “this also will they take, unless I find a champion by to-morrow.”
Then said Sir Bors, “Be comforted; to-morrow I will fight for thee;” whereat she rejoiced not a little, and sent word to Sir Pridan that she was provided and ready. And Sir Bors lay on the floor, and in no bed, nor ever would do otherwise till he had achieved his quest.
On the morrow he arose and clothed himself, and went into the chapel, where the lady met him, and they heard mass together. Anon he called for his armour, and went with a goodly company of knights to thebattle. And the lady prayed him to refresh himself ere he should fight, but he refused to break his fast until the tournament were done. So they all rode together to the lists, and there they saw the lady’s eldest sister, and her husband, Sir Pridan le Noir. And a cry was made by the heralds that, whichever should win, his lady should have all the other’s lands.
Then the two knights departed asunder a little space, and came together with such force, that both their spears were shivered, and their shields and hauberks pierced through; and both fell to the ground sorely wounded, with their horses under them. But swiftly they arose, and drew their swords, and smote each other on the head with many great and heavy blows, till the blood ran down their bodies; and Sir Pridan was a full good knight, so that Sir Bors had more ado than he had thought for to overcome him.
But at last Sir Pridan grew a little faint; that instantly perceived Sir Bors, and rushed upon him the more vehemently, and smote him fiercely, till he rent off his helm, and then gave him great strokes upon his visage with the flat of his sword, and bade him yield or be slain.
And then Sir Pridan cried him mercy, and said, “For God’s sake slay me not, and I will never war against thy lady more.” So Sir Bors let him go, and his wife fled away with all her knights.
Then all those who had held lands of the lady of the tower came and did homage to her again, and swore fealty. And when the country was at peace Sir Bors departed, and rode forth into a forest until it was midday, and there befell him a marvellous adventure.
For at a place where two ways parted, there met him two knights, bearing Sir Lionel, his brother, all naked,bound on a horse, and as they rode, they beat him sorely with thorns, so that the blood trailed down in more than a hundred places from his body; but for all this he uttered no word or groan, so great he was of heart. As soon as Sir Bors knew his brother, he put his spear in rest to run and rescue him; but in the same moment heard a woman’s voice cry close beside him in the wood, “St. Mary, succour thy maid;” and, looking round, he saw a damsel whom a felon knight dragged after him into the thickets; and she, perceiving him, cried piteously for help, and adjured him to deliver her as he was a sworn knight. Then was Sir Bors sore troubled, and knew not what to do, for he thought within himself, “If I let my brother be, he will be murdered; but if I help not the maid, she is shamed for ever, and my vow compelleth me to set her free; wherefore must I first help her, and trust my brother unto God.”
So, riding to the knight who held the damsel, he cried out, “Sir knight, lay your hand off that maid, or else ye be but dead.”
At that the knight set down the maid, and dropped his shield, and drew forth his sword against Sir Bors, who ran at him, and smote him through both shield and shoulder, and threw him to the earth; and when he pulled his spear forth, the knight swooned. Then the maid thanked Sir Bors heartily, and he set her on the knight’s horse, and brought her to her men-at-arms, who presently came riding after her. And they made much joy, and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and he should be right welcome. But “truly,” said he, “I may not at this time, for I have a great adventure yet to do;” and commending them to God, he departed in great haste to find his brother.
So he rode, seeking him by the track of the horses a great while. Anon he met a seeming holy man riding upon a strong black horse, and asked him, had he seen pass by that way a knight led bound and beaten with thorns by two others.
“Yea, truly, such an one I saw,” said the man; “but he is dead, and lo! his body is hard by in a bush.”
Then he showed him a newly slain body lying in a thick bush, which seemed indeed to be Sir Lionel. Then made Sir Bors such mourning and sorrow that by-and-by he fell into a swoon upon the ground. And when he came to himself again, he took the body in his arms and put it on his horse’s saddle, and bore it to a chapel hard by, and would have buried it. But when he made the sign of the cross, he heard a full great noise and cry as though all the fiends of hell had been about him, and suddenly the body and the chapel and the old man vanished all away. Then he knew that it was the devil who had thus beguiled him, and that his brother yet lived.
Then held he up his hands to heaven, and thanked God for his own escape from hurt, and rode onwards; and anon, as he passed by an hermitage in a forest, he saw his brother sitting armed by the door. And when he saw him he was filled with joy, and lighted from his horse, and ran to him and said, “Fair brother, when came ye hither?”
But Sir Lionel answered, with an angry face, “What vain words be these, when for you I might have been slain? Did ye not see me bound and led away to death, and left me in that peril to go succouring a gentlewoman, the like whereof no brother ever yet hath done? Now, for thy false misdeed, I do defy thee, and ensure thee speedy death.”
Then Sir Bors prayed his brother to abate his anger, and said, “Fair brother, remember the love that should be between us twain.”
But Sir Lionel would not hear, and prepared to fight and mounted his horse and came before him, crying, “Sir Bors, keep thee from me, for I shall do to thee as a felon and a traitor; therefore, start upon thy horse, for if thou wilt not, I will run upon thee as thou standest.”
But for all his words Sir Bors would not defend himself against his brother. And anon the fiend stirred up Sir Lionel to such rage, that he rushed over him and overthrew him with his horse’s hoofs, so that he lay swooning on the ground. Then would he have rent off his helm and slain him, but the hermit of that place ran out, and prayed him to forbear, and shielded Sir Bors with his body.
Then Sir Lionel cried out, “Now, God so help me, sir priest, but I shall slay thee else thou depart, and him too after thee.”
And when the good man utterly refused to leave Sir Bors, he smote him on the head until he died, and then he took his brother by the helm and unlaced it, to have stricken off his head, and so he would have done, but suddenly was pulled off backwards by a knight of the Round Table, who, by the will of Heaven, was passing by that place—Sir Colgrevance by name.
“Sir Lionel,” he cried, “will ye slay your brother, one of the best knights of all the world? That ought no man to suffer.”
“Why,” said Sir Lionel, “will ye hinder me and meddle in this strife? beware, lest I shall slay both thee and him.”
And when Sir Colgrevance refused to let them be, Sir Lionel defied him, and gave him a great stroke through the helmet, whereat Sir Colgrevance drew his sword, and smoteagain right manfully. And so long they fought together that Sir Bors awoke from his swoon, and tried to rise and part them, but had no strength to stand upon his feet.
Anon Sir Colgrevance saw him, and cried out to him for help, for now Sir Lionel had nigh defeated him. When Sir Bors heard that, he struggled to his feet, and put his helmet on, and took his sword. But before he could come to him, Sir Lionel had smitten off Sir Colgrevance’s helm, and thrown him to the earth and slain him. Then turned he to his brother as a man possessed by fiends, and gave him such a stroke as bent him nearly double.
But still Sir Bors prayed him for God’s sake to quit that battle, “For if it befell us that we either slew the other we should die for care of that sin.”
“Never will I spare thee if I master thee,” cried out Sir Lionel.
Then Sir Bors drew his sword all weeping, and said, “Now, God have mercy on me, though I defend my life against my brother;” with that he lifted up his sword to strike, but suddenly he heard a mighty voice, “Put up thy sword, Sir Bors, and flee, or thou shalt surely slay him.” And then there fell upon them both a fiery cloud, which flamed and burned their shields, and they fell to the earth in sore dread.
Anon Sir Bors rose to his feet, and saw that Sir Lionel had taken no harm. Then came the voice again, and said, “Sir Bors, go hence and leave thy brother, and ride thou forward to the sea, for there Sir Percival abideth thee.”
Then he said to his brother, “Brother, forgive me all my trespass against thee.”
And Sir Lionel answered, “God forgive it thee, as I do.”
Then he departed and rode to the sea, and on the strand he found a ship all covered with white samite, andas soon as he had entered thereinto, it put forth from the shore. And in the midst of the ship there stood an armed knight, whom he knew to be Sir Percival. Then they rejoiced greatly over each other, and said, “We lack nothing now but the good knight Sir Galahad.”
Now when Sir Galahad had rescued Sir Percival from the twenty knights he rode into a vast forest. And after many days it befell that he came to a castle whereat was a tournament. And the knights of the castle were put to the worse; which when he saw, he set his spear in rest and ran to help them, and smote down many of their adversaries. And as it chanced, Sir Gawain was amongst the stranger knights, and when he saw the white shield with the red cross, he knew it was Sir Galahad, and proffered to joust with him. So they encountered, and having broken their spears, they drew their swords, and Sir Galahad smote Sir Gawain so sorely on the helm that he clove it through, and struck on slanting to the earth, carving the horse’s shoulder in twain, and Sir Gawain fell to the earth. Then Sir Galahad beat back all who warred against the castle, yet would he not wait for thanks, but rode away that no man might know him.
And he rested that night at a hermitage, and when he was asleep, he heard a knocking at the door. So he rose, and found a damsel there, who said, “Sir Galahad, I will that ye arm you, and mount upon your horse and follow me, for I will show you within these three days the highest adventure that ever any knight saw.”
Anon Sir Galahad armed him, and took his horse, and commended himself to God, and bade the gentlewoman go, and he would follow where she liked.
So they rode onwards to the sea as fast as theirhorses might gallop, and at night they came to a castle in a valley, inclosed by running water, and by strong and high walls, whereinto they entered and had great cheer, for the lady of the castle was the damsel’s mistress.
And when he was unarmed, the damsel said to her lady, “Madam, shall we abide here this night?”
“Nay,” said she, “but only till he hath dined and slept a little.”
So he ate and slept a while, till the maid called him, and armed him by torchlight; and when he had saluted the lady of the castle, the damsel and Sir Galahad rode on.
Anon they came to the seaside, and lo! the ship, wherein were Sir Percival and Sir Bors, abode by the shore. Then they cried, “Welcome, Sir Galahad, for we have awaited thee long.”
Then they rejoiced to see each other, and told of all their adventures and temptations. And the damsel went into the ship with them, and spake to Sir Percival: “Sir Percival, know ye not who I am?”
And he replied, “Nay, certainly, I know thee not.”
Then said she, “I am thy sister, the daughter of King Pellinore, and am sent to help thee and these knights, thy fellows, to achieve the quest which ye all follow.”
So Sir Percival rejoiced to see his sister, and they departed from the shore. And after a while they came upon a whirlpool, where their ship could not live. Then saw they another greater ship hard by and went towards it, but saw neither man nor woman therein. And on the end of it these words were written, “Thou who shalt enter me, beware that thou be in steadfast belief, for I am Faith; and if thou doubtest, I cannot help thee.” Then were they all adread, but, commending themselves to God, they entered in.