"What may all this mean?" asked Lancelot in deep surprise.
"It has been granted you to see the most precious and wonderful thing in the world," answered the noble baron. "For you have been permitted to gaze upon the holy Sangreal. In the time to come all Arthur's knights shall take part in a quest for this precious talisman, and great shall be the woe therefrom, for through that quest the Round Table fellowship shall be broken up and many of its noble knights destroyed."
But all that passed in that land is too much for us to tell. We shall say only that the fair Elaine came to love Lancelot dearly, but he gave her no love in return, for all the affection of his heart was centred upon Queen Guenever. Yet King Pellam so desired that Lancelot should wed his fair daughter that in the end he used enchantment, and brought him to make her his wife when under a magic spell, the deluded knight fancying that it was Guenever whom he had wedded.
This delusion last not long, and when the deceived spouse came to his senses and learned how he had been dealt with, he broke away like a madman, and, gaining his horse, rode wildly through the land. And every knight-errant who dared to joust with him was made to suffer from the fury that burned in his blood.
Long afterwards, as chance and adventure brought about, there came to King Pellam's castle Sir Bors de Ganis, Lancelot's nephew. He was gladly received, and treated with all the good cheer and honor which the castle could afford. And as he sat at his repast with, the castle lords, there came in, as it had come to Lancelot, the dove with the censer, at which the air was filled with the richest perfume, and the table covered with the most delicious viands. Then entered the maiden with the holy grail, and all fell to their prayers.
"Truly," said Bors, "this is a strange place, and a land full of marvels."
"This I will say," answered the noble baron who sat in the king's chair, "that of the knights who come here few see the holy vessel, and fewer go away with any honor. Gawaine, the good knight, was here but lately; but he saw not what your eyes have beheld, and he left here in shame. None but those of a worshipful life and who love God devoutly can behold this marvel, or sleep in this castle without coming to harm."
"I am in quest of adventures," said Bors, "and shall lie in your castle this night, come what will. Men call me honest and virtuous, and I stand ready to dare all perils the castle may hold."
"I counsel you not," said the baron. "You will hardly escape without harm and shame."
"Let come what will come, I am ready."
"Then I advise you to confess, and go to your chamber with a clean soul, for you will be sorely tried."
"Let it be so. Your counsel is wise."
After Sir Bors had been confessed and received absolution, he was led into a fair large chamber, around which were many doors, while a bed of royal richness stood in the middle of the floor. Here he was left alone, and threw himself on the bed in his armor, deeming it wise to be prepared for all that might come.
Not long had he lain there with open eyes and alert wits, when the room was all at once brilliantly lighted up, though whence the light came he could not tell. And suddenly a great and long spear, whose point burnt like a taper, shot across the chamber without hand to guide it, and struck him in the shoulder so fierce a blow that his armor was pierced, and he received a wound, a hand's-breadth in depth, which pained him bitterly.
Quickly afterwards an armed knight strode in, with shield on shoulder and sword in hand, who cried in a harsh voice,—
"Arise, sir knight, and fight with me."
"I shall not fail you," said Bors, hot with the pain of his wound. "I am sorely hurt, but I have vowed boldly to dare aught that might come to me. If that burning spear came from your hand you shall pay dearly for it."
With these words he sprang from the bed and attacked the intruder, and a hard and stern battle began, which lasted long. At the end the intruding knight was driven backward to a chamber door, through which he passed, leaving Bors master of the floor.
But hardly had he rested a minute when the defeated knight returned, as fresh as at the start, and attacked Bors with renewed strength. Again the battle went on fiercely. But when Bors saw his antagonist once more retreating towards the chamber door, he cried out,—
"Not so, my good fellow. You played that trick on me once; you shall not again. Back and defend yourself. If you defeat me it shall be by strength, not by magic." And he stationed himself before the door, and drove back his opponent with such fury, that in a moment more he hurled him to the floor.
"Yield, or you die!" he cried, setting his foot on the fallen knight's head.
"I yield," came the answer.
"What is your name?"
"I am Sir Pedivere of the Straight Marches."
"Then, Sir Pedivere of the Straight Marches, take yourself away. And if you have any of your fellows behind yonder door, bid them to keep out of this room, for I came here to sleep, not to fight. At Whitsunday next, present yourself at King Arthur's court, and tell him that you have come thither as a prisoner of Sir Bors of the sharp sword."
This, Sir Pedivere swore to do, and left his conqueror to what rest he could get. But this was little, for enchantment surrounded the daring knight. The room suddenly became full of frightful noises and alive with peril. Whence they came he knew not, whether through doors or windows, but a flight of arrows and of crossbow bolts filled the air, whistling shrewdly past his ears, while many of them fell upon him and pierced his flesh through the open places in his armor.
"Who can sleep in such a den of witchcraft as this?" he cried, in a rage, springing from the bed. As he did so one of the doors opened, and a great lion leaped fiercely in, with a hideous roar.
"It is better to fight a lion that one can see, than arrows which nobody shoots," cried Bors, and he rushed without hesitation on the dangerous animal.
Sharp was the fight that followed, but of short duration. The lion sprang wildly upon him, and tore the shield from his arm, while the sharp claws rent his flesh. But the knight retorted with a sweeping stroke that cut off the frightful beast's head, and stretched its tawny body lifeless on the floor.
Then Bors walked to the window to see whither the arrows had come, and as he looked into the castle court he beheld a wondrous sight. For before his eyes stood a dragon, huge and horrible of aspect, in whose forehead were letters of gold which seemed to him to form King Arthur's emblem. And as he gazed there leaped into the court an old and mighty leopard, which sprang upon the dragon and engaged in desperate battle with the huge monster.
At last the dragon spit out of its mouth a hundred of what seemed small dragons, and these quickly leaped upon the frightful beast and rent it to fragments. Then all the animals disappeared, and an old man came into the court, around whose neck two adders wreathed their folds. In his hand was a harp, upon which he played, while he sang an old song telling how Joseph of Arimathea came to that land. When his song was ended he said to Sir Bors,—
"Go from this land, sir knight, for you shall have no more adventures here. You have played your part well and nobly, and shall do still better hereafter, for wondrous things are reserved for you."
Then Bors saw a dove of whitest plumage fly across the court with a golden censer in its mouth, from which seemed to stream the most delicious perfumes. And the tempest which had raged in the sky suddenly ceased, while from the rent clouds the full moon poured down its white light to the earth.
Next there came into the court four children who bore four tapers, and an old man in their midst with a censer in one hand a spear in the other, and that spear was called the spear of vengeance.
"Go to your cousin, Sir Lancelot," said the old man, "and tell him what you have seen, and that if he had been as clean of sin as he should be, the adventure which all this signifies would have been his. Tell him, moreover, that though in worldly adventures he passes all others in manhood and prowess, there are many his betters in spiritual worth, and that what you have seen and done this night he was not deemed worthy of."
Then Bors saw four meanly-dressed gentlewomen pass through his chamber, and enter an apartment beyond which was lit up with a light like that of midsummer. Here they knelt before an altar of silver with four pillars, where also kneeled a man in the dress of a bishop. And as the knight looked upward he beheld a naked sword hovering over his head, whose blade shone like silver, yielding a flashing light that blinded him as he gazed. As he stood thus sightless, he heard a voice which said,—
"Go hence, Sir Bors, for as yet thou art not worthy to be in this place."
Then the door of that chamber closed, and he went backward to his bed, where he lay and slept undisturbed till morning dawned. But when the regent of King Pellam learned what had happened to his guest in the night, and how he had escaped the perils of the enchanted chamber, he greeted him joyfully, and said,—
"You are the first that ever endured so well that chamber's mysteries. And more has been shown to your eyes than any others have seen. Go home, worthy knight. You are chosen for great deeds in the time to come."
Sir Bors thereupon took his horse and rode away, thinking long and deeply on all that had happened to him.
CHAPTER II.
THE MARVEL OF THE FLOATING SWORD.
Many and strange were the events that followed those we have just related, and great trouble and woe came therefrom. For when Sir Bors returned to Camelot and told the story of the wedding of Lancelot and Elaine, much was the secret talk and great the scandal. And when the news came to Guenever's ears she flamed with wrath.
Not long afterwards, Lancelot returned, still half frenzied with the deception that had been practised upon him. When Guenever saw him she accused him bitterly of being a traitor to love, and harshly bade him leave the court, and never come again within her sight.
This bitter reviling turned Lancelot's frenzy to a sudden madness. With distracted brain he leaped from a window into a garden, and ran like a wild man through wood and brake, heedless that his clothes were torn and his flesh rent with thorns and briers. Thus hotly burns despised love in the human heart and brain, and thus it may turn the strongest senses away and bring madness to the clearest mind.
On learning what had passed, Bors and Hector went to the queen, and accused her harshly of the great wrong she had done to the noble Lancelot. But she was already torn with remorse, and she knelt before these noble knights, begging their forgiveness, and praying them pitifully to seek Lancelot and bring him back to the court.
Months passed and Lancelot returned not, nor could he be found, though he was sought through many lands. For he kept afar from cities and courts, and roamed through wilds and wastes, where he had many adventures in his madness, and did strange and wild things.
For two years he wandered hither and thither in frenzy, until at length he came to King Pellam's city of Corbin, and to the castle where dwelt the fair Elaine. Here he was given shelter in a little outhouse, with straw to sleep on, while every day they threw him meat and set him drink, for none would venture near a madman of such savage aspect.
But one day as he slept, Elaine chanced to behold him, and knew him at once for Lancelot. Telling a trusty baron of her discovery, she had the distracted knight borne still sleeping into a tower chamber in which was kept the holy vessel, the Sangreal, concealed from all eyes save those of persons of saintly life. Lancelot was laid near this, and when all had left the chamber a man of sanctity entered and uncovered the vessel. Such was its holy influence that it wrought marvellously upon the distracted knight as he lay there asleep and the madness passed away from his brain. When he woke he was himself again, as whole a man in mind and body as any that stood upon the earth. For so healing was the virtue of that precious vessel that it not only drove the cloud of madness from his mind, but gave him back all his old might and comeliness of body.
Then, ashamed of his frenzy, and anxious not to be known, Lancelot assumed the name of the Chevalier Mal Fet, or the knight who has trespassed, and took up his abode with Elaine and many knights and ladies at a castle given him by King Pellam. This stood on an island in the midst of a deep and clear lake, which Lancelot named the Joyous Isle. And now, filled again with martial fervor, he made it known far and wide that he would joust with any knights that came that way, and that any one who should put him to the worst would receive as a prize a jewel of worth and a jerfalcon.
But none won the prize, though very many noble knights jousted with the Chevalier Mal Fet.
Last of all came Percivale and Hector, who had been long in search of Lancelot. Learning the challenge, Percivale jousted with Lancelot, and afterwards they fought with swords. So long and even was their combat, that a length both paused for breath. And now Percivale, wondering who this sturdy knight could be, told his name, and asked for his in return. At this, Lancelot threw away his weapon, and took his late opponent in his arms, crying out that he was Lancelot du Lake.
Glad was the meeting between these old friends and comrades, and richly were the new-comers entertained in the castle. But in the end they persuaded Lancelot to go with them to Camelot, and the disconsolate Elaine was left to return, with her knights and ladies, to her father's castle.
After these events years came and went, until many summers and winters had passed over England's fair isle, and age had begun to lay its hand on those who had been young, while those who had been children grew up and became knights and ladies. Then came at length the time fixed by destiny for the adventure of the Sangreal. And thus this adventure began.
When again approached the vigil of Pentecost, and all the fellowship of the Round Table had come to Camelot, and the tables were set to dine, there rode into the great hall a gentlewoman of noble aspect, whose horse was white with sweat and foam.
She saluted Lancelot and begged him to go with her, though whither and for what purpose she would not say. Stirred by his love of adventure, he armed and rode with her, and before the day's end reached an abbey of nuns in a secluded valley. Here, as he stood conversing with the abbess, there came in to him twelve nuns, bringing with them a youth who had not yet reached manhood, but was large and powerful of frame, and as handsome of face as any man he had ever seen.
"Sir," said the ladies, with weeping eyes, "we bring you this child, whom we have long nourished, and pray you to make him a knight; for there is no worthier man from whom he can receive the order of knighthood, and we hold him worthy of your sword."
Lancelot looked long at the young squire, and saw that he was seemly, and demure as a dove, and of wonderful beauty of form and features, and his heart went out with great love for the beautiful youth.
"What is his name?" asked Lancelot.
"We call him Galahad."
"Comes this desire from himself?"
"It does," said they all.
"From whom has he sprung?"
"His mother is dead. His father is a full noble knight, as you shall soon learn."
"Then he shall be knighted by my hand to-morrow at the morning services, for truly he seems worthy of it."
That night, Lancelot's cousins, Bors and Lionel, stopped at the abbey, and spent there a cheery evening with their noble kinsman. At early morn of the next day he gave the accolade to the youth, pronouncing him knight, and bidding Bors and Lionel to stand as his godfathers in the order of knighthood.
"And may God make you a good man and a noble knight," he said. "Beauty you have now, equal to any I have ever seen, and strength and courage I doubt not; if you bear with these a noble heart and an earnest mind you have the best treasures that God can confer or man possess."
Then, when they had broken their fast, Lancelot said to the demure and modest young knight,—
"Fair sir, will you come with me to the court of King Arthur?"
"I humbly beg your pardon," said Galahad, "but I cannot come at this time. Trust me to follow soon."
Then Lancelot and his cousins left the abbey and rode to Camelot, where they arrived before the hour of the feast. In the great hall were many noble knights, some of them strangers, who walked about the Round Table, reading the names in letters of gold in the several seats, and saying,—
"Here sits Gawaine, here Lancelot, here Percivale," and so with the others.
At length they came to the seat perilous, in which no man but Percivale had hitherto dared to sit, and which he no longer occupied. To their deep surprise they found there newly written in letters of gold these words,—
"Four hundred and fifty-four winters after the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, the knight shall come for whom this seat is held by destiny."
"What marvellous thing is this?" cried all who saw it. "Here is a miracle."
"In the name of God, what means it?" cried Lancelot. "Percivale long since had warning to leave that seat. Who shall fill it to-day, for this is the feast of Pentecost of the four hundred and fifty-fourth year. The year and day have come, but where and who is the man? I advise that these letters be hidden, till he come for whom this seat is pre-ordained."
Then it was ordered that the writing should be covered with a cloth of silk; and the king bade his guests to hasten to dinner, and forget for the time being what they had seen.
"Sir," said Kay, the steward, "if you go to table now you will break your old custom, not to sit at dinner on this day till you have seen or heard of some adventure."
"Very true," said the king. "I had forgotten my custom through this strange event."
As they stood thus speaking, there came hastily into the court a squire, whose eyes were big with wonder.
"Sire, I bring you marvellous tidings," he cried to the king.
"What are they?" demanded Arthur.
"As I stood but now by the river, I saw floating on its waters a great square stone, and above this stood the hilt of a sword, whose blade was thrust deeply into the stone."
"A stone that floats!" said the king. "That is strange, indeed. I must see this marvel."
Then he, followed by all the knights, went to the river, and saw there that the squire had spoken truly; for a great stone that seemed of red marble floated like wood on the water, and thrust deeply into it was a rich sword, in whose pommel were many jewels of price. As they looked in wonder the stone whirled inward on an eddy and came aground at their feet. And now they saw that the precious stones were set in letters of gold, which none there could read. But there was a man at the court learned in strange tongues, and he being sent for, read these with ease, and thus interpreted them,—
"Never shall the hand of man draw me from this stone until he comes by whose side I am to hang; and he shall be the best knight in the world."
"Lay your hand on this sword and draw it," said the king to Lancelot. "To you it surely belongs; for you are the best knight in the world."
"Best of hand, mayhap, but not of heart and life," said Lancelot, soberly. "Certes, sir, that sword is not for me, nor have I the hardiness to set hand thereto. I had a vision in my last night's sleep, and this it told me: that he who seeks to draw that sword, and fails therein, shall in time receive from it a wound which shall be very long in healing. And this more I learned, that this same day, and with the drawing of that sword, shall begin the marvellous quest of the holy vessel, the Sangreal. For fate has destined that this precious amulet shall be sought throughout the world; and to him who finds it the greatest of earth's honors shall come."
The king and all the knights heard these words with wonder, for Lancelot spoke like one inspired. Then Arthur turned to Gawaine.
"Fair nephew," he said, "try you this task for my love."
"Saving your good grace," said Gawaine, "that I shall not do."
"Then, sir, seek to draw the sword at my command."
"Your command I must obey," said Gawaine, "yet I dread to meddle with magic."
Then he took the sword by the handle, and pulled with all his might, but he could not stir it.
"I thank you," said the king, "for the trial, even if you have failed."
"My lord Gawaine," said Lancelot, "bear well in mind, this sword shall touch you so sore that you would give the best castle in this kingdom not to have set your hand thereto."
"It may be," answered Gawaine. "Yet I could not disobey the command of the king."
Then the king turned to Percivale, and asked him for his love to try the task.
"Gladly will I," he said, "if only to bear Gawaine fellowship."
But pull as strongly as he would, the sword yielded not to his hand. And there were more there so hardy as to disregard Lancelot's warning and seek to draw the sword, but to no hand would it yield.
"Try no more," said Kay to the king. "You have seen your marvel, and now may, with a good appetite, go to your dinner."
This advice seemed timely to the king, and all went to the court, where the knights took their seats at the Round Table, and were served by young men lately made knights. When they had been fully served, every seat being filled save the seat perilous, another marvellous thing happened. For suddenly all the doors and windows of the hall shut of themselves. Yet the room was not greatly darkened, and men looked into one another's faces with abashed and frightened visages.
"Fair fellows and lords," said the king, "this is a day of strange events. And I doubt if we shall not see greater before night comes, for it seems a day set aside by the fates."
As he spoke, there came into the hall an ancient man, clothed all in white, but no knight knew through which door he had entered. By the hand he led a young knight, clad in red armor, but without sword or shield, an empty scabbard hanging by his side.
"Peace be with you, fair lords," said the old man. Then he turned to King Arthur, and said,—
"Sir, I bring with me a young knight who is of kingly lineage, and of the kindred of Joseph of Arimathea. By his hand many strange marvels are destined to be accomplished."
The king heard these words with close attention, and answered graciously,—
"Sir, you are right welcome here, and the young knight you bring."
Then the old man removed the youth's armor, and put upon him a coat of red sendal and a mantle that was furred with ermine. And Lancelot saw that the young man was he whom he had knighted that morning at the abbey.
But the chief wonder of the day was now to appear. For the old man said to his young companion,—
"Sir, follow me." He led him around the table till they came to the seat perilous, beside which sat Lancelot. Here the old man lifted up the silken cloth, and lo! the letters which had been covered were gone, and new letters of gold were visible, which read,—
"This is the seat of Galahad, the high prince."
"Sir," said the old man, "this seat is yours. Long has it waited your coming."
And he seated him therein, while all the circle of knights looked on in wonder. Now for the first time the young knight spoke.
"Dear sir," he said, "you may now depart, for you have done well what you were commanded to do. Recommend me to my grandsire, King Pellam, and say to him that I will come and see him as soon as I may."
With this the old man departed. Outside there waited twenty noble squires, who mounted when he came, and rode away with him. The Knights of the Round Table marvelled greatly at all this, and the more so on seeing that he who occupied that chair of peril was one so tender of age, and a youth whom no one knew, nor whence he came; but to one another they privately said,—
"This is he by whom the Sangreal shall be achieved; for none ever sat there before but Percivale, and he was not long deemed worthy to occupy that seat."
The talk of this strange event quickly passed through the palace, and came to the queen, who heard it with wonder. Those who brought word said that the youth resembled Sir Lancelot.
"I must see this strange thing," she said, and, followed by her ladies, she entered the hall.
"It is Sir Lancelot in youth again," she cried, on looking the young knight in the face. "Fair sir, tell me truly, what father had you, and what mother."
"King Pellam is my grandsire," answered Galahad, "and Elaine was my mother. As for my father, I know him not."
"Then do I," cried the queen, "for he sits beside you. Sir Lancelot is your father. You are son unto the noblest knight that ever wore sword."
At these words Lancelot rose up in haste, for he had not dreamed of what was to come; and he clasped the youth in his arms and kissed his fair young face with a love that overflowed his heart.
"My son!" he said. "Can it be? Greatly, indeed, have I felt drawn unto you."
"And my heart went out to you, dear father," said Galahad, "from the moment I looked upon your noble face."
The sight of this affecting meeting filled all hearts there with joy, and the king warmly congratulated Lancelot on having found so worthy a son; "for to him, I dare avow," he said, "is destined that great achievement of the Sangreal of which you have this day told us."
Then Arthur took Galahad by the hand, and said,—
"Come with me, young sir," and led him from the palace to the river to show him the marvel of the stone. After them followed the knights, and the queen and ladies of the court, all full of hope of greater wonders yet to come.
"Sir," said the king, "that sword floated hither this day. Many knights of great prowess have tried to draw it and failed."
"That is no marvel," said Galahad. "The sword is not theirs, but mine. And since I knew it awaited me I have brought no sword; but its scabbard, as you may see, hangs by my side."
Then he laid his hand upon the sword, and, while all eyes opened wide with wonder, drew it from the stone as easily as if it came from the water only, and thrust it into the scabbard, saying to the king,—
"It fits there better than in a floating stone."
"God has sent it you," said the king. "And I doubt not he will send you a shield in as marvellous a manner."
"This is the sword that at one time belonged to Balin le Savage," said Galahad, "and with which he killed his brother Balan, in that terrible joust which happened many years ago. The scabbard I wear was Balin's scabbard, and it was Merlin who put the sword into that stone, saying that no hand should draw it but that of Lancelot, or his son Galahad. Nor can any man have forgotten the dolorous stroke which Balin dealt my grandfather King Pellam, of which he is not yet healed, nor shall be till I heal him. So has Merlin prophesied."
As they talked thus a lady on a white palfrey was seen riding down the river side to where they stood. Reaching the group, she saluted the king and queen, and asked if Sir Lancelot were there.
"I am here, fair lady," he answered.
"Sad is it," she said, while tears flowed from her eyes, "that all your great renown is changed since this day's dawn."
"Damsel, why say you this?"
"Until to-day you were the best knight in the world," she answered. "But he who should say this now would speak falsely, for there has come a better than you. And this is proved by the adventure of the sword to which you dared not set your hand. Remember well what I have said."
"As touches that," rejoined Lancelot, "I never had the pride of being the best knight in the world, nor do I envy my son if any worship has passed from me to him."
"Yet you were the greatest; and still are among sinful men," she persisted. "And, sir king," she said to Arthur, "this more I am bid to say, from the holy lips of Nancien the hermit, that to you shall fall to-day the greatest of honors; for this day the Sangreal shall appear in your palace, and feed you and all your fellowship of the Round Table!"
With these words she turned her palfrey and rode away as she had come, leaving all who had heard her lost in wonder and admiration.
When they had a little got over their wonder at what they had seen, the king gave orders that the stone should be taken from the water, saying that he would have it set up as a monument of those strange events.
"And as it may be long before you all come together here again, I should like to have you joust in the meadow of Camelot, by way of honor to this day."
Thus he spoke; but his real purpose was to see Galahad proved, for he feared that if he once left the court it might be long before he should see him again. Then the knights put on their armor and rode to the meadow in a gallant cavalcade. Galahad also, at the earnest request of the king, put on armor, but he would take no shield, though the king and Lancelot prayed him to do so. The most he would consent to do was to take a spear.
But noble work he did that day, meeting all men who cared to break spears with him, so that by the end of the joust he had thrown down many good Knights of the Round Table. Only two of them, Lancelot and Percivale, were able to keep their seats against the vigorous onset of the strong young knight.
When the jousting was at an end, the king and knights went back to Camelot, where they attended even-song at the great minster. Thence they proceeded to the palace hall, where all took their seats at the table for supper.
But as they sat eating, there came outside a terrible crash of thunder, and a wind arose that seemed as if it would rend the great hall from its foundations. In the midst of this blast the hall was lighted by a sudden gleam seven times brighter than the midday light, in whose glare the knights sat dumb, none daring to speak. But each looked at the others, and it seemed to each that his fellows were fairer of visage than he had ever seen them before.
Then the storm and the glare passed away as suddenly as they had come, and there entered the hall the holy grail. None there saw it, for it was covered with white samite, but the hall was filled with the rarest odors, and each knight saw on the table before him the meats and drinks that he loved best in the world.
When the holy vessel had passed through the hall, it suddenly vanished, none knew how. And not till then dared any man speak.
"Certes," said the king, "we ought to thank God devoutly for what he has shown us this day."
"We have enjoyed the richest of perfumes, and have before us the rarest of food," said Gawaine; "and we have but one thing to regret, that the sacred vessel was so preciously covered that no eye might behold it. But this miracle has filled my soul with the warmest desire to see this holy thing, and I therefore vow that to-morrow, without delay, I shall set out in quest of the Sangreal, and shall not return hither till I have seen it more openly, if it take me a twelvemonth or more. If I fail in the end, I shall return as one who is not worthy to behold the holy vessel."
On hearing these words the other knights arose as one man, and repeated the vow which Gawaine had made.
Upon this, King Arthur sprang to his feet in deep displeasure, for there came to his mind like a vision a host of evil consequences from this inconsiderate vow.
"You are over-hasty, Gawaine," he said, sharply, "and have done me a lifelong evil with your vow. For you have bereft me of the fairest fellowship that ever came together in this world. When my knights depart hence on that difficult search, well I know that they will never all meet again in this world, for many shall die in the quest. Therefore it distresses me deeply, for I have loved them as I loved my life, and I would rather have my soul depart from my body than to lose their noble fellowship. Long have we dwelt together in sorrow and in joy, but I fear our happy days are at an end, and that trouble and suffering await us in the time to come. What God wills must be, but my heart is sore at the thought of it."
And men who looked upon the king could see tears of distress and grief flowing from his eyes.
CHAPTER III.
HOW GALAHAD GOT HIS SHIELD.
When morning came the knights made ready for their departure, amid the tears and lamentations of ladies, and with the deep sorrow of the king and queen. For there were a hundred and fifty of them in all, comprising the whole fellowship of the Table Round, and King Arthur had deep reason for his fear that he would never gather all these gallant knights round his festal board again. And so they mounted and rode through the streets of Camelot, where was weeping of rich and poor, and the king turned away and could not speak for grief, while Queen Guenever hid herself in her chamber, to be alone with her bitter sorrow at the going of Lancelot.
Onward they rode in company until they came to a castle and town that were named Vagon. There they stopped and were well entertained by the lord of the castle, who was a man of great hospitality. But when morning came it was decided between them that they should separate, each taking his own course, so that the Sangreal might be sought in all quarters. This they did with much sorrow and many fervent farewells, each knight taking the way that he liked the best, and riding alone and afar on his perilous quest.
First must we follow the young knight Galahad, who still rode without a shield, and who passed onward for four days without an adventure. Near eventide of the fourth day he came to a white abbey, where he was received with great respect, and led to a chamber that he might lay off his armor. And here, to his surprise, he met with two of the goodly company from which he had lately parted, Sir Uwaine and King Bagdemagus.
"Sirs," said Galahad, "what adventure brought you hither?"
"We are told," they replied, "that within this place is a shield of perilous significance. For he who bears it about his neck runs deep risk of being slain within three days, or maimed forever. Yet," said Bagdemagus, "I shall bear it to-morrow and try my fortune."
"In the name of God, try it," said Galahad. "Yet truly you take a great risk."
"If I fail therein, you shall take the adventure. I am sure you will not fail."
"I agree to that," said Galahad. "I have ridden far enough without a shield."
Then they went to supper, and afterwards to sleep. When morning came Bagdemagus asked of the abbot where the magic shield was, and a monk led him behind an altar where hung a shield as white as snow, but with a red cross in its centre.
"I hope you are well advised of what you do," said the monk. "No knight, unless he be the worthiest in the world, can safely bear this shield."
"I know well that I am not the best of knights," said Bagdemagus; "and yet I shall wear it and dare the danger."
Then he took it out of the monastery, and said to Galahad,—
"If it please you, await me here till you learn how I shall speed."
"I shall await tidings," said Galahad.
Bagdemagus now rode forward with a squire, that he might send back tidings of his good or ill fortune, and passed onward for two miles, when he found himself in a valley before a hermitage. Here he saw a stalwart knight in white armor, horse and all, who, in seeing the red-cross shield, rode upon him at the full speed of his charger. Bagdemagus put his spear in rest and rode to meet him, but his spear broke on the white knight, while he was wounded in the right shoulder and borne from his horse, the treacherous shield refusing to cover him. Then the victor knight alighted and took the white shield from him, saying,—
"Sir knight, you have acted with more folly than wisdom, for you should have known that only he who has no peer living can safely bear this shield."
Then he went to the squire who had come with King Bagdemagus, and said,—
"Bear this shield to the good knight Sir Galahad, whom you left in the abbey, and greet him from me."
"What shall I tell him is your name?"
"Take no heed of my name. That is not for you to know, nor for any earthly man. Content yourself with telling Sir Galahad that this shield is for him, and for no other man to wear. And may God aid him to bear it worthily and worshipfully."
But the squire went first to Bagdemagus and asked him if he were seriously wounded.
"Forsooth, I am," he said. "I shall scarce escape from death."
The squire then conveyed him in great pain to the hermitage, and left him in care of the hermit. And as the chronicle tells, he lay there long, and barely escaped with life.
OATH OF KNIGHTHOOD.
"Sir Galahad," said the squire, when he had returned to the abbey, "King Bagdemagus has paid dearly for his venture. He lies at a hermitage sorely wounded. As for you, the knight that overthrew him sends you greeting, and bids you to bear this shield, through which marvellous adventures shall come to you."
"Then blessed be God and fortune," said Galahad.
He now resumed his arms and mounted his horse, hanging the white shield about his neck and commending himself to God. Uwaine offered to bear him company, but this was not to be.
"Sir knight," said Galahad, "I thank you for your offer, but I must go alone, save that this squire shall bear me fellowship."
With these words the youthful knight rode away, and soon came to where the white knight abode by the hermitage. They saluted each other courteously, and fell into a conversation in which the white knight told Galahad the story of the magical shield.
"In the far past time," he said, "soon after Joseph of Arimathea took down the body of our Lord from the holy cross, and bore it from Jerusalem to a city named Sarras, there was a king of Sarras named Evelake, who was then at war with the Saracens. This king, through the teachings of Joseph, was converted from the old law to the new, and for him this shield was made, in the name of Him who died on the cross. Afterwards, when Evelake was in battle, the shield was covered with a cloth, which was only removed in times of deadly peril, and then his enemies saw the figure of a man on the cross, before which they fell back discomfited. At times the cross of the shield would vanish away, and at times stand out clear and bright; and such was its virtue that a soldier whose hand was stricken off was made whole again by touching the cross. The time came at length when Joseph left Palestine and journeyed westward, and King Evelake with him, till they came to Great Britain, where all the people had been pagans, but were then converted to the Christian faith. Soon afterwards Joseph sickened and came near to death, and while he lay in his bed he bade Evelake bring him the shield, and on it he traced a red cross with his own blood. Then he said to Evelake, 'No man hereafter shall bear this shield but he shall repent it, until Galahad, the last of my lineage, shall come to seek it, and with it he shall do marvellous deeds.' 'Where shall the shield await his coming?' asked Evelake. 'You shall leave it in the abbey where Nancien the hermit shall lie after his death, and thither the knight Galahad shall come for it soon after he receives the order of knighthood.' This is the story of the shield, and this day has the prediction been fulfilled. Wear the shield worthily and well, young knight, for much glory and renown shall come to you through it. You are in God's hands; to God commend yourself."
With these words the white knight vanished away, and in the place where he had stood was seen but empty air.
Then the squire, who had heard these words, alighted and kneeled at Galahad's feet, praying that he would make him a knight.
"That I shall consider," said Galahad. "But now let us return to the abbey."
Here Galahad drove away a fiend that had long dwelt in a tomb near by, where it made such noise that none could venture near it. But the virtue of the shield protected him from all harm from this evil shape, which was forced to depart.
When morning came, he asked the young squire his name.
"Sir," he answered, "men call me Melias de Lile, and I am the son of the king of Denmark."
"Then, fair sir, since you come of kings and queens, I shall make you a knight; and look you that knighthood sit well on you, for you should be a mirror of chivalry."
"That shall I seek to be," said Melias.
Then Galahad gave him the accolade as he kneeled before him, and bade him rise a knight.
"Now, dear sir," said Melias, "since you have done me this high honor, it is but right that you grant me my first request, so that it be in reason."
"You speak justly," said Galahad.
"I beg, then, that you let me ride with you in the quest of the Sangreal till some adventure shall part us."
"That I grant willingly."
Armor was now brought to Melias, and when it had been girded upon him he and Galahad rode away, and passed onward all that week without an adventure. But on the Monday next, as they set out from an abbey, they came to where a cross marked a parting of the road. On the cross was written,—
"Ye knights-errant, that ride in quest of adventures, here lie two ways. He that takes the right-hand road shall not leave it again, if he be a good man and a worthy knight. He that takes the left-hand shall not lightly win fortune, for his strength and endurance will be soon tried."
"If you will suffer me to take the left-hand road I should like it greatly," said Melias. "My strength and skill need trial."
"It were better not. I fancy that I only should face the danger that there confronts us."
"Nay, my lord, I pray you let me have this adventure."
"Take it, then, in God's name," said Galahad; "and do your duty worthily."
So Melias rode forward and soon found himself in a forest, through which he passed for two days, seeing there neither man, woman, nor child. Then he came from the forest into a broad meadow, where stood a lodge built of green boughs. And in that lodge was a chair, on which lay a crown of gold wrought with rich and subtle skill. Also there were cloths spread upon the earth, upon which delicious meats were laid.
Melias beheld all this and thought it marvellous. He felt no hunger, but the crown of gold roused his covetousness, and he took it up and rode away with it. But not far had he ridden when a knight came after him, who said,—
"Sir knight, why have you taken that crown? It is not yours; therefore defend yourself."
Then Melias blessed himself, and said,—
"Fair Lord of Heaven, help and save thy new made knight."
Then they rode together at full speed, but Melias's prayer availed him naught, for the spear-head of the other went through his hauberk, and wounded him so deeply in the left side that he fell to the earth like a dead man. Then the victor knight took the crown and rode away.
But with wise forethought Galahad had followed Melias, and now rode into the valley, where he found him in peril of death.
"Ah, Melias!" he cried, "better for you had you taken the other way. Who has done you this harm?"
"For God's love, let me not die in this place!" said Melias in reply. "Bear me to some abbey near by, where I may be confessed and have the rites of the church."
"It shall be done," said Galahad. "But where is he who has wounded you?"
The reply came from the edge of the forest, where Galahad heard a voice cry in stirring tones,—
"Knight, defend yourself from me."
"Beware, sir," warned Melias. "He it is that has left me thus."
"Sir knight," said Galahad, "come on at your peril."
Then they rode together as fast as their horses could run, and Galahad drove his spear through the shoulder of his opponent, hurling him from his horse. But in his fall the spear broke. Then, before the young knight could turn, another knight rode from under the leaves and broke his spear upon him.
At this treacherous act Galahad drew his sword in wrath, and with a keen blow smote off the left arm of his antagonist, whom he pursued into the forest.
He soon returned, however, and took up Melias gently, for the truncheon of the spear was in his body, and bore him on his horse in his arms to an abbey near at hand. Here the wounded knight was unarmed and laid upon a bed, where the rites of the church were administered to him.
"Sir Galahad," he then said, "let death come when it will, I am at peace with God." And he drew the truncheon of the spear from his body, and swooned away.
But an old monk who stood there, and who was a skilful leech, examined the wound, and said, "He need not die. By the grace of God I hope to heal him of this wound within seven weeks."
This gladdened Galahad, and he remained at the abbey three days to see how Melias should fare. Then he asked him how it stood with him.
"I feel now as if I may live," he answered.
"God be thanked for that," said Galahad. "Now must I depart, for I have much to do, and the quest of the Sangreal will not permit long leisure and delay."
"Sir," said the monk, "it is for his sin this knight is so bitterly wounded. He took on him the high order of knighthood without clean confession, which was a sinful thing to do. As for the two ways to which you came, the way on the right betokens the highway of righteousness, and the way on the left, which he chose, betokens that of sinners and infidels. And when the devil saw his presumption in taking the quest of the Sangreal without being worthy of it, he caused his overthrow. And when he took the crown of gold he sinned in covetousness and theft. As for you, Sir Galahad, the two knights with whom you fought signify the two deadly sins which abide in Sir Melias. But they could not withstand you, for you are without deadly sin."
"God send I may keep so," said Galahad. "Now must I depart. I pray you do your utmost for this knight."
"My Lord Galahad," said Melias, "I shall get well, and shall seek you as soon as I can ride."
"God grant you speedy health," said Galahad, and he left the room and sought his horse, and rode away alone.
After he had ridden for days in various directions, it chanced that he departed from a place called Abblasoure, where he had heard no mass, as was his daily custom. But ere the day was old, he came to a mountain, on which he found a ruined chapel, and here he kneeled before the altar, and besought God's counsel. And as he prayed he heard a voice that said, "Go now, thou adventurous knight, to the Castle of Maidens, and do away with the wicked customs which there are kept."
When Galahad heard this he took his horse and rode away, full of gladness that he might thus serve God. And not long nor far had he ridden before he saw in a valley before him a strong castle, with high towers and battlements and deep ditches; and beside it ran a broad river, named the Severn.
Here he met an aged man, whom he saluted, and asked the castle's name.
"It is the Castle of Maidens," said the old man.
"Then it is a cursed castle, and an abode of sin," said Galahad. "All pity is wanting within those walls, and evil and hardness of heart there have their abode."
"Then, sir knight, you would do well to turn and leave it."
"That shall I not," said Galahad. "I have come here to punish the evil-doers that there abide."
Leaving the old man, he rode forward, and soon met with seven fair maidens, who said to him,—
"Sir knight, you ride in folly, for you have the water to pass."
"And why should I not pass the water?" asked Galahad.
He continued his ride, and next met a squire, who said,—
"Sir knight, I bring you defiance from the knights in the castle, who forbid you to go farther till they learn your purpose."
"You may tell it to them, if you will. I come to destroy the wicked customs of this castle."
"Sir, if you abide by that, you will have enough to do."
"Go now and bear them my answer."
Then the squire returned to the castle, from which there soon after rode seven knights, in full armor. When they saw Galahad they cried,—
"Knight, be on your guard, for you have come to your death."
"What!" asked Galahad, "will you all assail me at once?"
"That shall we; so defend yourself."
Then Galahad rode against them and smote the foremost such a blow that he nearly broke his neck. The others rode on him together, each striking his shield with might. But their spears broke and he still held his seat.
He now drew his sword, and set upon them with such energy that, many as they were, he put them all to flight, chasing them until they entered the castle, and following them within its walls till they fled from the castle by another gate.
Galahad was now met by an old man, clad in religious costume, who said to him,—
"Sir, here are the keys of the castle."
Then the victor ordered that all the gates should be thrown open, and in the streets of the neighboring town were crowds of people, crying gladly,—
"Sir knight, you are heartily welcome. Long have we waited for the deliverance which you bring us."
And a gentlewoman came, who said to him,—
"These knights are fled, but they will come again. Therefore, sir, I counsel you to send for all the knights that hold their lands of this castle, and make them swear to restore the old customs, and do away with the evil practices which these villanous knights have fostered."
"That is good counsel," said Galahad.
Then she brought him a horn of ivory, richly adorned with gold, and said,—
"Blow this horn loudly. It will be heard two miles and more from the castle, and all that hear it will come."