SIR GALAHAD FIGHTING THE SEVEN SINS.
Galahad took the horn, and blew so loud a blast that the very trees shook therewith. Then he seated himself and waited to see what would come from the summons. As he sat there a priest came to him and said,—
"Sir knight, for seven years these brethren have held the castle, whose lord, Duke Lianor, they killed, and held his daughter prisoner; and by force they have kept all the knights of the castle under their power, and have acted as tyrants, robbing the common people of all they had, and taking tribute and demanding service from all the country round. Seven years ago the duke's daughter said to them, 'You shall not hold this castle for many years, for by one knight you shall be overcome.' 'Say you so,' they replied. 'Then shall never knight or lady pass this castle, but all that come shall stay or lose their heads, till comes that knight of whom you prophesy.' Therefore this is called the Maidens' Castle, since its tyrants have so long made war upon maidens."
"Is the duke's daughter still here?"
"No; she died three days after the castle was taken. But her younger sister and many other ladies are held prisoners."
Soon afterwards the knights of the country began to flock in, in response to the bugle-call, and glad were they to find what had occurred. Galahad made them do homage and fealty to the duke's daughter, which they did with great willingness of heart.
And when the next day dawned great news was brought in, for a messenger came to Galahad and told him that the seven felon brothers had been met by Gawaine, Gareth, and Uwaine, and all slain.
"So ends their rule and power," said Galahad, fervently. "It is well done, and well are all here delivered."
Then he commended them to God, and took his armor and horse, and rode away amid the prayers of those he had delivered.
CHAPTER IV.
THE TEMPTATION OF SIR PERCIVALE.
Many adventures had the other knights that set out in search of the Sangreal, and much reproof did many of them receive for the evil lives they had led; but all this we cannot stop to tell, but must confine ourselves to the deeds of a few only. As for Sir Gawaine, he parted from Gareth and Uwaine after they had slain the seven wicked knights of the Castle of Maidens, and rode from Whitsuntide to Michaelmas without an adventure. Then came a day in which he met Sir Hector de Maris, and glad were both at the meeting.
"Truly," said Gawaine, "I am growing weary of this quest."
"And I as well," said Hector. "And of the twenty knights I have met from time to time, they all complain as we do."
"Have you met with Lancelot?"
"No, nor with Percivale, Bors, or Galahad. I can learn nothing of these four."
"They are well able to take care of themselves," said Gawaine. "And if they fail to find the Sangreal, it is waste of time for the rest of us to seek it, for outside of them there is little virtue in the Round Table fellowship."
Afterwards these two knights went far in company, and had strange dreams and visions, the meaning of which was expounded to them by the hermit Nancien. This holy man also reproved Gawaine severely for his evil life, and bade both him and his companion to give up the search for the Sangreal, as that high achievement was not for hands like theirs.
Soon after they met an armed knight in the road, who proffered to joust with them. Gawaine accepted the challenge, and rode against this unknown opponent, dealing him so severe a blow that he was hurled from his horse with a mortal wound. But when they had removed his helmet, what was their horror to find that it was their friend and comrade, Uwaine.
"Alas!" cried Gawaine, "that such a fatal misadventure should have befallen me! I would sooner have died myself."
"Thus ends my quest of the Sangreal," said Uwaine. "And thus will end that of many a noble knight. Dear friends, commend me to King Arthur, and to my fellows of the Round Table, and sometimes think of me for old brotherhood's sake."
And he died in their arms, leaving them plunged in the deepest grief, from which they were long in recovering.
Meanwhile Lancelot and Percivale rode far in company, and many things happened to them. While journeying through a strange region they met an unknown knight, whom they challenged to joust. But the event turned out little to their satisfaction, for Lancelot was hurled to the ground, horse and man, and Percivale received so fierce a sword-blow that he would have been slain had not the sword swerved.
Then the victor knight rode rapidly away, leaving them to recover as they best could. But a recluse near whose hut this encounter had taken place told them that the victor was Sir Galahad. On learning this they pursued him at all speed, but in vain.
Percivale now turned back to question the recluse further, but Lancelot kept on, passing through waste and forest till he came to a stone cross at the parting of two ways.
Near by was a ruined chapel, with broken door, and other signs of waste and decay, if it had been long deserted. But when he looked within he saw to his great surprise a high altar richly dressed with cloth of white silk, on which stood a lofty candelabra of silver which bore six great candles, all lighted.
Lancelot sought to enter the chapel, but try as he would he could not pass the broken door, nor find entrance elsewhere. Some invisible power seemed to stand between him and admission to that sacred place.
Then, out of heart at this ill success, he took off his helm and sword, relieved his horse of saddle and bridle, and lay down to sleep before the cross. Night came upon him as he lay there, and with the night came strange visions.
For as he lay but half asleep he saw a sick knight brought thither in a litter. This knight prayed earnestly for aid in his affliction, and as he did so Lancelot saw the silver candlestick come from the chapel to the cross, and after it a table of silver on which was the holy grail. The sick knight crawled painfully to it on his hands and knees, and raised himself so as to touch and kiss the sacred vessel. No sooner had he done so than he grew whole and sound, with all his pain and sickness gone, and rose to his feet with his former strength and vigor.
"Lord, I thank thee deeply," he said; "for through thy infinite grace I am healed of my affliction."
Then the holy vessel returned to the chapel, and Lancelot strove hard to rise and follow it. But his limbs were powerless, and he lay like one chained to the ground.
He now fell into deep slumber, and waked not till near morning. And as he raised himself and sat on the ground he heard a voice in the air, that seemed to come from no earthly lips.
"Sir Lancelot," it said, "more hard than is the stone, more bitter than the wood, more bare than the barren fig-tree, arise and go from hence, and withdraw thyself from this holy place."
Lancelot arose with a heavy heart, for the sense of these words sank deeply within him. But when he sought his horse and helm and sword he found they were gone, for they had been taken by the knight whose healing he had seen.
Deeply depressed and unhappy at this misfortune, he left the cross on foot, and wandered onward till he came to a hermitage on a high hill.
Here he told the hermit what had happened to him, and confessed all the evil deeds of his life, saying that he had resolved to be a different man from what he had been, and to live a higher life than that of doing deeds of arms that men might applaud.
Then the holy man gave him absolution, with injunctions of penance, and prayed that he would abide with him all that day. This Lancelot did, talking much with him upon his sins, and repenting sincerely the worldly life he had led.
Meanwhile Percivale had returned to the recluse, and questioned her as to how he should find Galahad.
"That I cannot surely tell," she said. "Ride hence to a castle which is called Goothe, where he has a cousin-german. If he can give you no tidings, then ride straight to the castle Carbonek, where the maimed king lies, and there you shall hear sure tidings of him."
Percivale, leaving her, rode onward till eventide, and as he looked around him for shelter he heard a clock strike loud and clear. He now perceived before him a mansion, with lofty walls and deep ditches. Here he knocked loudly, and was let in without delay.
After laying off his armor, he was led to the supper hall, where he was well served, and afterwards spent the night in comfort. When morning dawned he entered the chapel for the mass, and found there a priest ready at the altar. On the right side was a pew closed with iron, and behind the altar a rich bed, covered with cloth of silk and gold. On this bed lay a person with covered visage, so that he could not tell if it were man or woman.
After the service was over the occupant of the bed sat up and threw back the covering, and then Percivale saw that it was a man of very great age, on whose head was a crown of gold. But his shoulders and body to the middle were unclad, and were covered with wounds, as were also his arms and face.
To all seeming he might have been three hundred years of age, for so venerable a face Percivale had never gazed upon, and as he sat up he prayed fervently, with joined hands. When the mass was over the priest bore the sacrament to the sick king. And when he had used it, he took off his crown and commanded it to be set on the altar. Then he lay down again.
Percivale now asked one of the attendants who this venerable man was.
"You have heard of Joseph of Arimathea," was the reply, "and how he came into this land to convert the heathen. With him came a king named Evelake, whom he had converted in the city of Sarras, in Palestine. This king afterwards had an earnest desire to be where the Sangreal was, and on one occasion he ventured so nigh it that God was displeased with him, and struck him almost blind. Then King Evelake prayed for mercy and pardon, and begged that he might not die until he who was to achieve the Sangreal should come, that he might see him and kiss him. There answered him a voice that said: 'Thy prayers are heard; thou shalt not die till he has kissed thee. And when he comes thy eyes shall be opened to see clearly, and thy wounds shall be healed; but not until then.' So King Evelake has lived in this mansion for three hundred winters, waiting for the coming of the knight who shall heal him. Now, sir, will you tell me what knight you are, and if you are of the Round Table fellowship?"
"That am I, and my name is Percivale de Galis."
On hearing this the good man welcomed Percivale warmly, and pressed him to remain. But the knight replied that he could not, for his duty led him onward.
Percivale now left the chapel, and, arming himself, he took his horse and rode onward. And that day more strange things happened to him than we have space to tell. Not far had he ridden when he met twenty men-at-arms, who bore on a bier a dead knight. On learning that he was from King Arthur's court, they assailed him fiercely, killed his horse, and would have slain him; but when he was at the worst strait a knight in red armor came hastily to his rescue, and rode fiercely on the assailants.
He attacked these, indeed, with such fury that many of them were soon stretched on the ground; while the others fled into a thick forest, whither they were hotly pursued by their assailant.
On seeing him thus ride away, Percivale was deeply grieved, for he well knew his rescuer was Galahad, and he had no horse to follow him.
He went forward as fast as he could on foot, and had not gone far when he met a yeoman riding on a hackney, and leading a great war-horse, blacker than any bear.
Percivale begged that he would lend him this horse, that he might overtake a knight before him. But this the yeoman refused, saying that the owner of the horse would slay him if he should do so.
Not long afterwards, as Percivale sat woebegone beneath a tree, an armed knight came riding past on the black horse, pursued by the yeoman, who called him robber, and moaned bitterly that his master would kill him for the loss of his charge.
"Lend me your hackney," said Percivale; "I may get you your horse again."
This the yeoman gladly did, and Percivale pursued the robber knight, loudly bidding him to stand and deliver.
The knight at this turned and rode fiercely upon him, but directed his spear against the horse instead of the rider, striking it in the breast, so that it fell to the earth.
He now rode away, without heeding Percivale's angry demand that he should stop and fight it out on foot. When the dismounted knight found that his antagonist would not turn, he was so filled with chagrin that he threw away his helm and sword, and raved like one out of his wits. Thus he continued till night came on, when he lay down exhausted and fell into a deep slumber.
Near the midnight hour he suddenly awakened, and saw in the road before him a woman, who said,—
"Sir Percivale, what do you here?"
"I do neither good nor ill," he replied.
"You need a horse," she said. "If you will promise to do my will when I shall summon you, I will lend you mine. You will find him no common one."
"I promise that," cried Percivale. "I would do much for a horse just now."
"Wait, then; I shall fetch you the noblest animal you ever bestrode."
She departed, but quickly came again, leading a horse of midnight blackness, and richly apparelled for knightly service.
Percivale looked at it with admiration. He had not hoped for so great and noble a steed as this. Thanking her warmly, he sprang to his feet, leaped to the saddle, and put spurs to the horse, from whose nostrils fire seemed to glare.
Away went the black horse under the moonlight, making such marvellous strides that it seemed to leave the earth behind it in its magical progress. With such wondrous speed did it go that in an hour it had made a four days' journey. Then it came to the brink of a great body of water, whose waves foamed and leaped boisterously against the shore.
When Percivale saw the heaving waves, which stretched far away under the moonlight, he drew with all his force upon the rein; but the fiendish brute which he rode heeded not his hand, but bore him madly to the brink. Fear and doubt now filled the knight's mind, and with a hasty impulse he made the sign of the cross. At this the beast roared loudly in rage, while flame a foot long poured from its nostrils, and with a wild rear it shook off its rider, and plunged madly into the wild billows. And the showering drops which fell upon Percivale from the plunge burnt like sparks of fire.
"God be thanked that I am here alive," cried the knight, fervently. "I have ridden the foul fiend in the image of a horse, and barely have I escaped perdition."
Then he commended himself to God, and prayed earnestly to the Lord to save him from all such perils and temptations. He continued in prayer all the remainder of that night until the next day dawned upon the earth.
When sunrise came he looked needfully about him, anxious to learn whither he had been borne by the unholy brute. To his surprise and alarm he found himself in a wild waste, which was closed in on one side by the sea, and on the other by a range of rough and high mountains, impassable to human feet; a land that seemed without food or shelter, and the lurking-place of wild beasts.
He trembled with fear on seeing this, and went forward with doubtful steps. Not far had he gone before he saw a strange thing, for a great serpent passed near him, bearing a young lion by the neck. Fiercely after it came a great lion, roaring with rage, and fell upon the serpent, which turned in defence, so that a mighty battle was waged before the knight.
"By my faith," he cried, "the lion is the most natural beast of the two, and it fights for its young. The lion it is my duty to help."
He drew his sword with these words and struck the serpent so fierce a stroke that it fell dead. Then he turned his shield against the lion, but as the latter made no show of fighting him, but fawned upon him with every mark of joy and gratitude, he cast down his shield and removed his helm, and sat there stroking the neck and shoulders of the beast.
Until noon he comforted himself with the fellowship of the lion. Then it took up its whelp and bore it away, leaving Percivale alone. But he was not unhappy, for he believed fervently in God, and prayed with all earnestness that he might be saved from unholy things, and chosen as a champion of right and truth.
When night came, Percivale, to his joy, saw the lion coming towards him. It crouched at his feet like a spaniel, and all that night the lion and the knight slept in company, his head being pillowed on the shoulder of the beast.
But during the night a strange dream came to him. He seemed to see two women, one of whom was young, and rode upon a lion, and the other was old, and sat upon a gliding serpent. And the younger spoke to him as follows,—
"Sir Percivale," she said, "my lord salutes you, and sends a warning to you to make ready, for to-morrow you will have to fight with the strongest champion in the world. And if overcome you will be shamed to the world's end."
"Who is your lord?" he asked.
"The greatest lord in all the world," she said; and then suddenly vanished.
Then came the lady upon the serpent, and said,—
"Sir Percivale, I have done you no harm, and yet you have worked me injury."
"What have I done? I have been always heedful to offend no lady."
"I have long nourished here a great serpent, and yesterday you killed it for seeking its prey. Why did you this? The lion was not in your care."
"I aided the lion because it was a nobler beast than the serpent. In that I did nothing against you."
"You did me a great wrong, and in return for this injury I demand that you become my man."
"That shall I never be," he answered.
"Beware, then, proud knight, who pride yourself on your piety. You have robbed me of that which I loved; take heed that I catch you not unawares, or mine you shall be, body and soul."
With these words she departed, and Percivale finished his sleep without further vision. In the morning, when he awoke, he felt feeble. And as he rose and blessed himself he saw not far off in the sea a ship that sailed towards him. As it came near he perceived it to be covered within and without with white samite, while on the deck stood an old man dressed in a surplice like a priest.
"Sir," said Percivale, "you are welcome."
"God keep you," said the old man; "whence come you?"
"I am of King Arthur's court, and a Knight of the Round Table, and am in quest of the Sangreal. But here I find myself in a wilderness, with no hope of escape."
"Doubt not, if you be a true knight."
"Who are you?" asked Percivale.
"I have come hither from a strange country to comfort you," said the old man.
"Then, sir, can you tell me what my dream signifies?" and Percivale related what had befallen him.
"That can I," said the old man. "She that rode on the lion betokens the new law of holy church, and she came through love, to warn you of the great battle that is before you."
"With whom shall I fight?" asked Percivale.
"With the strongest champion of the world, and if you fail in the fight you shall not escape with the loss of a limb, but shall be shamed to the world's end. As for her that rode on the serpent, she betokens the old law. Heed her not. The serpent you slew betokens the devil that you rode hither, and whom you overcame by the sign of the cross. Yield not to her or any of her kindred, or worse will befall you."
Then the ship turned and sailed away, leaving Percivale again alone. But when he went up the rocks he found there the lion, which he stroked and made joyful fellowship with.
And thus time went on till midday. Then Percivale saw a ship approaching with such speed as if all the winds in the world had driven it. On it kept till it reached land at the beach below him. He hurried hopefully to meet it, and saw that it was covered with black silk, while on the deck stood a lady of great beauty, who was dressed in the richest apparel.
"What brought you into this wilderness?" she cried to the knight. "Here you are likely to die of hunger, for no man may cross yonder rocks and escape."
"I serve the best master in the world," said Percivale. "He will not suffer harm to come to me."
"Sir Percivale," said she, "know you who I am?"
"Who taught you my name?" he answered.
"I know you better than you deem," she replied, laughing. "This much I may tell you, that not long since I was in the waste forest, where I saw the red knight with the white shield."
"Ah! is that so? Fain would I meet with him."
"I shall bring you to him; but only on covenant that you will come to my aid when I summon you."
"If it be in reason and uprightness, you may trust me," he replied.
"I saw him," she continued, "chase two knights into the stream that is called Mortaise, and follow them into the water. But they passed over, and his horse was drowned, and only by his great strength he got safe to land again."
"That I am very glad to hear. It would have been a sad day had that good knight been drowned."
"You look pale and thin," she remarked. "Have you eaten lately?"
"Not these three days," he answered. "Yet I spoke of late with a good man, whose words refreshed me as if I had partaken of rich viands."
"Ah, sir knight," she said, "beware of that old man. I know him better than you. He is a false enchanter, who seeks your harm. If you heed his words shame will be your lot, and you will die on this rock and be devoured by wild beasts. I am here to help you in your need, for I am not content to see so good a knight come to harm and disgrace."
"Who are you," asked Percivale, "that proffer me so great a kindness?"
"Once I was the richest woman in the world," she answered. "Now I am disinherited and in want."
"Then I pity you greatly. Who is it that has disinherited you?"
"I dwelt with the greatest man in the world," she answered, "and to him I owe my beauty,—a beauty of which I was, alas! too proud. Then I said that which offended him deeply, and he drove me away from him, and robbed me of my heritage, and has never since had pity for me nor for my friends. Since this has happened I have done my best to wean his men from him, and many of them now cling to me, and I and they war against him day and night. I know no good knight, nor good man, but that I strive to win him to my side, and all such I repay well for their services. For he against whom I wage war is strong, and I need all the aid to be had. Therefore, since I know you for a valiant knight, I beseech you to help me. A fellow of the Round Table cannot, under his vow, fail any woman that is disinherited, and that seeks his aid."
"That is true, indeed," said Percivale, "and I shall do all I can for you."
"You have my earnest thanks," she said.
Then, as the weather was hot, she called some of her attendants, and bade them bring a pavilion and set it up on the gravel near the sea-line.
"Sir knight," she said, "I pray you to rest here in the heat of the day, while my attendants prepare food for you."
He thanked her and laid aside his helm and shield, and fell asleep within the pavilion, where he slumbered long. When he awoke he asked her if the food was ready.
"Yes," she answered; "I have worked while you slumbered."
Then a table was set within the pavilion, and covered with a rich array of meats and drinks, of which Percivale ate with great appetite, while the lady sat opposite him with a very gracious aspect. The wine he drank was the strongest that had ever passed his lips, and its strength soon got into his veins and heated his brain.
The lady now smiled graciously upon him, and it seemed to him that he had never beheld so fair a creature. Her beauty so worked upon his heated blood, indeed, that he proffered her his love, and prayed earnestly for hers in return.
When she saw his loving ardor, and that the wine worked like fire in his blood, she said, with a smile of witchery,—
"Sir Percivale, if I become yours, you must become mine. I shall not grant you my love unless you swear that henceforth you will be my true servant, and do nothing but what I shall command. Will you thus bind yourself, as you are a true knight?"
"That will I, fair lady, by the faith of my body."
"Then this I will say, that of all the knights in the world you are he whom I most love. And you may seal upon my lips the compact we have made."
But when Percivale came towards her, to claim the proffered kiss, which she offered with such bewitching grace, by chance or through God's aid he saw his sword, which lay on the ground at his feet, and in its pommel a red cross, with the sign of the crucifix therein. Then came to his mind the promise he had made to the old man, and his knightly vows, and with a pious impulse he raised his hand and made the sign of the cross on his forehead, the while his eyes were fixed on the lovely face of the tempter before him.
As he did so her smile changed to a look of deadly hate, and the loveliness of her face to a hideous aspect, while in the same moment the pavilion fell as before a great wind, and then vanished in smoke and cloud.
Over the sea the wind rose and roared, and as he looked he saw the ship battling with heaving waves, while the water seemed to burn behind it. On the deck stood the lady, who cried,—
"Sir Percivale, you have betrayed me! Beware, proud knight, I shall have my revenge." Then the ship drove out to sea, and vanished from his sight.
But in a passion of remorse Percivale snatched up the sword that lay before him, and crying, "Since my flesh has been my master I will punish it," he drove the naked blade through his thigh, till the blood spouted out like a fountain.
"Wretch that I am, how nearly was I lost!" he cried, in a torment of conscience. "Fair sweet Father, Jesus Christ my Lord, let me not be shamed, as I would now have been but for thy good grace. Take this wound in recompense for what I have done against thee, and forgive me my deep transgression, I humbly pray thee."
But as he lay moaning and bleeding the wild winds went down and the sea grew smooth, while he saw coming from the Orient the ship with the good man, on board, on beholding whom he fell into a swoon.
When he awoke he found that his wound had been dressed and the bleeding stopped. Beside him sat the good man, who asked him,—
"How hast thou done since I departed?"
"Weakly and wickedly enough," he answered. "A witch beguiled me, and I nearly fell a victim to her wiles."
"Knew you her not?"
"Only that I deem the foul fiend sent her here to shame me."
"Worse than that, good knight. Your victory is greater than you deem. That seeming woman who deceived you was no less an adversary than the master-fiend of hell, who has power over all the lesser devils, and, had you yielded you had been lost forever. For this is the mighty champion against whom you were forwarned; he who was once the brightest angel of heaven, and was driven out by our Lord Christ for his sins, and thus lost his heritage. But that the grace of God was on your side you would have fallen before this champion of evil. Take this, Sir Percivale, as a warning and an example."
With these words the good man vanished away. Then the mariners carried the wounded knight on board their ship, and set sail, bearing him rapidly away from that scene of temptation and victory.
CHAPTER V.
THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF SIR BORS.
When Sir Bors parted from his companions, on the quest of the Sangreal, not far had he gone when he met a religious man riding on an ass, whom he courteously saluted.
"Who are you?" asked the good man.
"I am one of those knights who have set out in quest of the Sangreal," said Bors. "I would fain have your counsel in this high duty, for great honor shall come to him who succeeds therein."
"That is true," said the good man. "He that wins the Sangreal will be counted the best knight and the purest soul among men. None can hope to attain it except through cleanness of spirit."
Then they rode together till they came to a hermitage. Here Bors went into the chapel with his companion, and confessed to him, and ate bread and drank water with him.
"Now," said the good man, "I charge you that you take no other food than bread and water till you sit at the table where the Sangreal shall be."
"To that I agree. But how know you that I shall ever sit there?"
"I know it, let that suffice; but few of your comrades shall have that honor."
"All that God sends me will be welcome," said Bors.
"Also, instead of a shirt, and in token of chastisement, you shall wear this garment," and the good man produced a scarlet coat, which Bors promised to wear next his skin till the Sangreal should be won.
Then, after further wholesome advice, he resumed his armor and departed. He had gone but a little way from the hermitage when he passed a tree that was little more than an old and leafless trunk, and on one of its boughs he saw a great bird, surrounded by young that were nearly dead with hunger. As, he continued to look at this strange sight, the bird smote itself in the breast with its sharp beak, and bled till it died among its young. Then the young birds fed on their mother's blood, and were revived thereby.
This to Bors seemed full of deep significance, and he pondered deeply upon it as he rode onward. By even-song he found himself near a strong and high tower, where he asked shelter for the night, and was hospitably welcomed.
When he had disarmed he was led to a richly furnished apartment, where he found a young and fair lady, who welcomed him gladly to her tower, and invited him to take supper with her.
The table was set with rich meats and many dainties, but Bors forgot not the hermit's charge, and bade an attendant to bring him water. In this he sopped bread and ate it.
"How is this?" asked the lady in surprise. "Like you not my meat?"
"Truly I do, madam; yet I may eat no other food this day."
Then the lady was silent, for she feared to displease him by questioning. After supper, while they sat talking, a squire came, who said,—
"Madam, you know well what is set for to-morrow. You must provide a champion to fight in your quarrel against Pridam le Noire, or your sister will have this castle and all your lands."
"I know that," she said, with a deep sigh. "May God save me from being robbed, for I see no earthly aid."
Her sorrow touched Bors, who asked,—
"What means this, madam?"
"Sir," she said, "I shall tell you. There was formerly a king named Aniause, who owned all these lands. By chance he loved my sister, who is much older than I,—and much wickeder also, I fear. He gave her this land to govern; but she brought into it many evil customs, and caused the death of many of his kinsmen. When the king saw how vilely she governed, he drove her away, and put me over this district. But he is now dead, and she is making war on me, and has destroyed many of my men, and turned others from me, so that I have little left but this tower, and the few men that guard it. Even this she now threatens to take from me, unless I can find a knight to fight her champion, who will appear before my gates to-morrow."
"Is it so?" said Bors. "Who is this Pridam le Noire?"
"He is the most stalwart knight in this country, and has no equal among us."
"Madam," said Bors, "you have given me shelter; in return I shall aid you as far as I can in your trouble. You may send word that you have found a knight who will fight with this Pridam the Black, in God's quarrel and yours."
"Then may God's blessing rest upon you," she cried, gladly. And word was sent out that she had found a champion who would take on himself her quarrel.
That evening she did what lay in her power to make Bors welcome, and sent him at bedtime to a chamber whose bed was soft as down, and spread with silken coverings.
But in no bed would he rest, but laid himself on the floor, as he had vowed to do till he found the Sangreal.
As he lay there asleep there came to him a vision. He seemed to see two birds, one white as a swan, the other of smaller size, and shaped like a raven, with plumage of inky blackness. The white bird came to him and said, "If thou wilt give me meat and serve me, I shall give thee all the riches of the world, and make thee as fair and white as I am." Then the white bird departed, and the black bird came and said, "I beg that you will serve me to-morrow, and hold me in no despite; for this I tell you, that my blackness will avail you more than the other's whiteness." And this bird, too, departed.
But his dream continued, and he seemed to come to a great place, that looked like a chapel. Here he saw on the left side a chair, which was worm-eaten and feeble. And on the right hand were two flowers of the shape of a lily, and one would have taken the whiteness from the other but that a good man separated them, and would not let them touch. And out of each came many flowers and plentiful fruit. Then the good man said, "Would not he act with great folly that should let these two flowers perish to succor the rotten tree, and keep it from falling?" "Sir," said the dreamer, "it seems to me that the flower is of more value than the wood." "Then take heed that you never choose the false for the true."
With this Bors awoke, and made the sign of the cross on his forehead, and then rose and dressed. When he had come to the lady she saluted him, and led him to a chapel, where they heard the morning service. Quickly afterwards there came a company of knights that the lady had sent for, to lead her champion to battle. After he had armed, she begged him to take some strengthening food.
"Nay, madam," he answered, "that I shall not do till I have fought this battle, in which I ask but God's grace to aid me."
This said, he sprang upon his horse, and set out with the knights and men, closely followed by the lady and her train. They soon came to where the other party were encamped, and with them the lady of their choice.
"Madam," said the lady of the tower, "you have done me great wrong to take from me the lands which King Aniause gave me. And I am sorry that there should be any battle."
"You shall not choose," said the other, "unless you withdraw your knight and yield the tower."
"That I shall not do. You have robbed me enough already."
Then was the trumpet sounded, and proclamation was made that whichever champion won the battle, the lady for whom he fought should enjoy all the land. This done, the two champions drew aside, and faced each other grimly in their armor of proof.
But when the sound for the onset was blown they put spurs to their steeds, which rushed together like two lions, and the knights struck each other with such force that their spears flew to pieces and both fell to the earth.
They quickly rose and drew their swords, and hewed at each other like two woodmen, so that soon each was sorely wounded and bleeding profusely. Bors quickly found that he had a sturdier antagonist than he expected, for Pridam was a strong and hardy fighter, who stood up lustily to his work, and gave his opponent many a sturdy blow.
Bors, perceiving this, took a new course, and played with his antagonist till he saw that he was growing weary with his hard work. Then he advanced upon him fiercely, and drove him step by step backward, till in the end Pridam fell. Bors now leaped upon him and pulled so strongly upon his helm as to rend it from his head. Then he struck him with the flat of his sword upon the cheek, and bade him yield, or he would kill him.
"For God's love, slay me not!" cried the knight. "I yield me to thy mercy. I shall swear never to war against thy lady, but be henceforth her friend and protector."
With this assurance, Bors let him live; while the covetous old lady fled in fear, followed by all her knights. The victorious champion now called to him all those who held lands in that estate, and threatened to destroy them unless they would do the lady such service as belonged to their holdings. This they swore to do, and there and then paid homage to the lady, who thus came to her own again through the mighty prowess of Sir Bors de Ganis.
Not until the country was well in peace did he take his leave, refusing the offers of wealth which the grateful lady pressed upon him, and receiving her warm thanks with a humility that well became him.
Hardly would she let him go; but at length he bade her farewell, and rode away from her tears and thanks. On he journeyed for all that day, and till midday of the next, when he found himself in a forest, where a strange adventure befell him.
For at the parting of two ways he met two knights who had taken prisoner his brother Lionel, whom they had bound all naked upon a hackney, while they beat him with thorns till the blood flowed from every part of his body. Yet so great of heart was he that no word came from his lips, and he made no sign of pain.
Bors, seeing this, was on the point of rushing to his rescue, when he beheld on the other side a knight who held as prisoner a fair lady, whom he was taking into the thickest part of the forest to hide her from those who sought her. And as they went she cried in a lamentable voice,—
"Saint Mary, rescue me! Holy mother, succor your maid!"
When she saw Bors she cried out to him grievously for aid and rescue.
"By the faith you owe to the high order of knighthood, and for the noble King Arthur's sake, who I suppose made you knight, help me, gracious sir, and suffer me not to come to shame through this felon knight!"
On hearing this appeal the distracted knight knew not what to do. On one side his brother in danger of his life; on the other a maiden in peril of her honor.
"If I rescue not my brother he will be slain; and that I would not have for the earth. Yet if I help not the maiden, I am recreant to my vows of knighthood, and to my duty to the high order of chivalry."
Tears ran from his eyes as he stood in cruel perplexity. Then, with a knightly resolution, he cried,—
"Fair sweet Lord Jesus, whose liegeman I am, keep Lionel my brother that these knights slay him not; since for your service, and for Mary's sake, I must succor this maid."
Then he turned to the knight who had the damsel, and loudly cried,—
"Sir knight, take your hands from that maiden and set her free, or you are a dead man."
On hearing this the knight released the maiden as bidden, but drew his sword, as he had no spear, and rode fiercely at the rescuer. Bors met him with couched spear, and struck him so hard a blow as to pierce his shield and his hauberk on the left shoulder, beating him down to the earth. On pulling out the spear the wounded knight swooned.
"You are delivered from this felon. Can I help you further?" said Bors to the maiden.
"I beg you to take me to the place whence he carried me away."
"That shall I do as my duty."
Then he seated her on the knight's horse, and conducted her back towards her home.
"You have done nobly, sir knight," she said. "If you had not rescued me, five hundred men might have died for this. The knight you wounded is my cousin, who yesterday stole me away from my father's house, no one mistrusting him. But if you had not overcome him, there would soon have been others on his track."
Even as she spoke there came a troop of twelve knights riding briskly forward in search of her. When they found her delivered their joy was great, and they thanked Bors profusely, begging him to accompany them to her father, who was a great lord, and would welcome him with gladness.
"That I cannot do," said Bors, "much as I should like to; for I have another matter of high importance before me. I can but say, then, farewell, and God be with you and this fair maiden."
So saying, he turned and rode briskly away, followed by their earnest thanks. Reaching the point where he had seen Lionel in custody, he took the trail of the horses, and followed them far by their hoof-marks in the road. Then he overtook a religious man, who was mounted on a strong horse, blacker than a berry.
"Sir knight," he asked, "what seek you?"
"I seek my brother," he replied, "who came this way beaten by two knights."
"Then seek no further, but be strong of heart, for I have sad tidings for you. Your brother is dead."
He then led Bors to a clump of bushes, in which lay a newly slain body, which seemed to be that of Lionel. Seeing this, Bors broke into such grief that he fell to the earth in a swoon, and long lay there. When he recovered he said, sadly,—
"Dear brother, I would have rescued you had not a higher duty called me. But since we are thus parted, joy shall never again enter my desolate heart. I can now but say, be He whom I have taken for my master my help and comfort."
Thus grieving, he took up the body in his arms, and put it upon his saddle-bow. Then he said to his companion,—
"Can you tell me of some chapel, where I may bury this body?"