THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT
By MICHAEL DRAYTON[1]
[Footnote 1: Michael Drayton was an English poet who lived from 1563 to 1631. Little is known of his life beyond the fact that he served as a page in the household of some nobleman, and that he tried in vain to gain the patronage of King James I. This Ballad of Agincourt is one of the finest of the English martial ballads.]
Fair stood the wind for France,[2]
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,
Landed King Harry.[3]
[Footnote 2: From 1337 to 1453 the French and the English were engaged
in a series of struggles to which the name of The Hundred Years'
War has been given. The cause of the conflict was the attempt of the
English kings to establish their rule over France.]
[Footnote 3: This was Henry V, king of England from 1413 to 1422. He was a general of great ability, and the battle described in this ballad was one of his chief victories.]
And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marched towards Agincourt[4]
In happy hour,—
Skirmishing day by day.
[Footnote 4: The English army numbered but 14,000, while the French were about 50,000 strong. Henry, to save his men, was willing to make terms with the French, who, however, demanded unconditional surrender. The two armies met for battle near the little village of Agincourt.]
With those that stopped his way,
Where the French general lay
With all his power,
Which in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
To the king sending;
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,
Yet, with an angry smile,
Their fall portending.
And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then:
"Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed;
Yet have we well begun,—
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun
By fame been raised.
"And for myself," quoth he,
"This my full rest shall be;
England ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me.
Victor I will remain,
Or on this earth lie slain;
Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.
"Poitiers[5] and Cressy[6] tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell;
No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire[7] great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat
Lopped the French lilies." [8]
[Footnote 5: The Battle of Poitiers was fought in 1356. The English under the Black Prince, son of Edward III of England, defeated the French under King John, though the French outnumbered them more than five to one.]
[Footnote 6: In the Battle of Cressy, which was fought in 1346, 35,000
English under King Edward III defeated 75,000 French under Philip VI.
About 30,000 of the French army were slain.]
[Footnote 7: The great-grandfather of Henry V was Edward III, the hero of the early part of the Hundred Years' War.]
[Footnote 8: The lily, or fleur-de-lis, is the national flower of France. Lopped the French lilies is a poetical way of saying defeated the French.]
[Illustration: "VICTOR I WILL REMAIN"]
The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward[9] led;
With the main Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen.
Excester had the rear,—
A braver man not there:
O Lord! how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!
[Footnote 9: Vaward is an old word for vanward, or advance-guard.]
They now to fight are gone;
Armor on armor shone;
Drum now to drum did groan,—
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.
Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham!
Which did the signal aim
To our hid forces;
When, from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,
The English archery
Struck the French horses,
With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts
Stuck close together.
When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilboes[10] drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;
Arms were from shoulders sent;
Scalps to the teeth were rent;
Down the French peasants went;
Our men were hardy.
[Footnote 10: Bilboes is a poetical word for swords.]
This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding,[11]
As to o'erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruiséd his helmet.
[Footnote 11: To ding is to strike.]
Glo'ster, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,
With his brave brother,—
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.
Warwick in blood did wade;
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made,
Still as they ran up.
Suffolk his axe did ply;
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.
Upon Saint Crispin's[12] day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry;
O, when shall Englishmen
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry!
[Footnote 12: Crispin was a Christian saint who suffered martyrdom in the third century. The 25th of October was made sacred to him. It was on Saint Crispin's day, 1415, that the Battle of Agincourt was fought.]
SOME CHILDREN'S BOOKS OF THE PAST
By GRACE E. SELLON
Probably somewhere about your home, put away so far from sight that you never think of them any more, are some of the ABC books and the alphabet blocks and the brightly colored story books about horses, dogs and other familiar animals that used to amuse you when you were just learning to say the alphabet and to spell a few three-letter words. Perhaps you can remember how much you liked to have the stories read to you and how much fun there was in repeating your A B C's when you could point out the big, colored letters in your book or on your blocks. But have you ever thought that you were any more fortunate than other children of other ages in having these interesting things to help you? Have you ever wondered whether, far back in history before our country was discovered and settled by white men, boys and girls had the same kinds of picture books and drawing-slates, alphabet games and other playthings that used to delight you in the days when you were going to kindergarten or learning your first simple lessons from your mother?
If you have never thought enough about this matter to ask some older person about it, you will find the lesson books and story books used by children of even a hundred years ago very curious. Suppose we go farther back, to 1620, the year of the Mayflower, let us say. You could never imagine what a child then living in England was given to learn his letters from. As soon as he was able to remember the first little things that children are taught, his mother would fasten to his belt a string from which was suspended what she would call his hornbook. This was not at all what we think of to-day as a book, for it was made of a piece of cardboard covered on one side with a thin sheet of horn, and surrounded by a frame with a handle. Through the covering of horn the little boy could see the alphabet written on the cardboard in both large and small letters. After these would come rows of syllables to help him in learning to pronounce simple combinations of sounds. Probably last on the sheet there would be the Lord's Prayer, which he must be taught to say without a mistake. As he went about he could easily take up his hornbook once in a while and say over to himself the letters and the rows of syllables. Sometimes—especially if he had been obedient and had studied well—he was given a hornbook made of gingerbread; and then, of course, he would find that the tiresome lines of letters had all at once become very attractive.
The hornbook must have done its work well, or at least no better way of teaching the alphabet had been found when the Puritans came to America, for it was not many years before little folks in the New World were being taught from the famous New England Primer, which joined to what had been in the hornbook a catechism and various moral teachings. With its rude illustrations and its dry contents, this little book would probably be laughed at by school-children of to-day, if they did not stop to think how very many of the writers, statesmen and soldiers who have made our country great learned their first lessons from its pages. Somewhere between 1687 and 1690 it was first published, and for a hundred years from that time it was the schoolbook found in almost every New England home and classroom.
[Illustration: CHILDREN WITH HORNBOOKS]
Can you imagine what kind of reading lessons were in this primer? If you think they were like the lively little stories and the pleasing verses printed in your readers, you will he a good deal surprised to find that they are stern and gloomy tales that were meant to frighten children into being good, rather than to entertain them.
First of all in the little book came the alphabet and the lists of syllables, as in the hornbook. There was this difference, however. At the beginning of the first line of letters in the hornbooks was placed a cross, as the symbol of Christianity, and from this fact the first line was called the Christ-cross, or criss-cross row. But the Puritans strictly kept the cross out of the Primer, for to them it stood in a disagreeable way for the older churches from which they had separated themselves.
Then came a series of sentences from the Bible teaching moral lessons and illustrating the use of the letters of the alphabet, one being made prominent in each verse. The Lord's Prayer and the Apostle's Creed might appear next, followed by twenty-four alphabet rhymes with accompanying pictures. Most of these verses were upon Bible subjects, as in the case of the letter R, for example, illustrated by the lines:
"Young pious Ruth
Left all for Truth."
One of the best-loved rhymes was one put into the series after the Revolution to stir the pride of every young American by reminding him that
"Great Washington brave
His country did save."
In the pages that followed were to be found an illustrated poem telling of the awful fate of John Rogers, burned at the stake while his wife and their ten children looked on, and a dialogue between Christ, a youth and the devil, in which the youth was finally overcome by Satan's temptations.
This story of the terrifying fate of the youth was placed after the shorter Westminster catechism, possibly as a warning to all children who would not obey their religious teachings. The one hundred seven questions of the catechism must be answered correctly, even though the five-syllable words were even harder to understand than to pronounce.
Religious songs and pictures and descriptions of good and of bad children were also scattered through the book, and in some copies is to be found the little prayer beginning: "Now I lay me down to sleep," which was probably published for the first time in the Primer.
As the years went on, pictures and verses and little articles about the objects of nature and the everyday things that children are interested in began to take the place of the Bible verses and subjects; and at length when people saw how well children liked this new way of teaching, better books than the Primer took its place.
While the young folks in New England families were thus being warned in story and verse against the awful temptations that lay all around them, the children in old England were being entertained by popular penny-books that treated of all kinds of subjects, from the History of Joseph and his Brother to The Old Egyptian Fortune Teller's Last Legacy. These books were of a size scarcely larger than that of the letter-paper made for little folks, and they contained usually from sixteen to twenty-four pages. Illustrations that looked a good deal like the pictures made by a small boy in his schoolbooks adorned the rough little volumes.
In every city and town and even in the villages peddlers went along the streets selling these chapbooks, as they were called. Imagine how the children, and the grown people too, must have flocked around the peddler as he began taking out one after another of his queer little books, for he had something to please every one. The boys might choose stories like The Mad Pranks of Tom Tram, A Wonderful and Strange Relation of a Sailor or The True Tale of Robin Hood, and we can see them almost getting into a brawl over the possession of The Merry Life and Mad Exploits of Captain James Hind, the Great Robber of England. Probably the girls would choose Patient Grissel, The History of Mother Bunch or Cinderella. For the small children there were, for example, the History of Two Children in the Wood, The Pleasant History of Jack Horner and Tom Thumb. Most likely it was only the pennies of much-tried mothers and fathers that were spent for A Timely Warning to Rash and Disobedient Children.
The chapman or peddler we may well believe did not stand silently looking on as he disposed of his stock. He had at the tip of his tongue such a fair-sounding advertisement for every book that everybody, young and old, came under the spell of his words and bought of his wares.
After he had departed with his traveling library, we can picture the children taking themselves off to quiet places with their new chapbooks. Perhaps you are wondering why it was that they were so eager to read them. If so, you may like to look into a few of these rare old story books. As you read, notice how quaint the wording seems when compared with that of the stories of to-day.
(Extract from The History of Tom Long the Carrier.)
As Tom Long the Carrier was travelling between Dover and Westchester, he fortuned to pass something near a House, where was kept a great Mastiff Dog, who, as soon as he espied Tom, came running open-mouthed at him, and so furiously assaulted him, as if he meant to devour him at a bite. But Tom, having in his Hand a good Pikestaff, most valiantly defended himself like a Man, and to withstand the danger he thrust the Pike-end of his Staff into his Throat and so killed him. Whereupon the Owner thereof, seeing the Dog lost, comes earnestly unto Tom, and between threatening and chiding, asking him why he struck him not with the great End of the staff. 'Marry,' quoth he, 'because your Dog runs not at me with his tail.'
(Extract from The Kentish Miracle, or, A Seasonable Warning to all Sinners.) Shewn in the Wonderful Relation of one Mary Moore whose Husband died some time ago, and left her with two children, and who was reduced to great want. How she wandered about the Country asking relief and went two Days without any Food—How the Devil appeared to her and the many great offers he made her to deny Christ and enter into his service, and how she confounded Satan by powerful Argument. How she came to a well of water when she fell down on her knees to pray to God that He would give that Vertue to the Water that it might refresh and satisfy her Children's Hunger, with an Account how an Angel appeared to her, and relieved her, also declared many Things that shall happen in the Month of March next. Shewing likewise what strange and surprising Accidents shall happen by means of the present War, and concerning a dreadful Earthquake, etc.
(Extract from A Timely Warning to Rash and Disobedient Children.)
As this Child went to School one Day
Through the Churchyard she took her Way
When lo, the Devil came and said
Where are you going to, my pretty Maid
To School I am going Sir, said she
Pish, Child, don't mind the same saith he,
But haste to your Companions dear
And learn to lie and curse and swear.
They bravely spend their Time in Play
God they don't value—no, not they.
It is a Fable, Child, he cry'd
At which his cloven Foot she spy'd.
I'm sure there is a God, saith she
Who from your Power will keep me free,
And if you should this Thing deny
Your cloven Foot gives you the Lie.
Satan, avaunt, hence, out of hand,
In Name of Jesus I command.
At which the Devil instantly
In Flames of Fire away did fly.
(Extract from Wonder of Wonders, being a strange and wonderful
Relation of a Mermaid that was seen and spoke with by one John Robinson,
Mariner, who was tossed on the Ocean for 6 Days and Nights. All the
other Mariners perished.)
He was in great Fear and dreadful Fright in the main Ocean …… but to his great Amazement he espy'd a beautiful young Lady combing her Head and toss'd on the Billows, cloathed all in green (but by chance he got the first Word from her). Then She with a Smile came on Board and asked how he did. The young Man, being Something Smart and a Scholar reply'd—Madam, I am the better to see you in good Health, in great hopes trusting you will be a Comfort and Assistance to me in this my low Condition: and so caught hold of her Comb and Green Girdle that was about her Waist. To which she reply'd, Sir, you ought not to rob a young Woman of her Riches and then expect a Favour at her Hands, but if you will give me my Comb and Girdle again, what lies in my Power, I will do for you. She presents him with a Compass, told him to steer S.W., made an Appointment for following Friday, and jumped in the sea. He arrives safely home, and while musing on his promise She appeared to him with a smiling Countenance, and (by his Misfortune) she got the first Word of him, so that he could not speak one Word and was quite Dumb, and she began to sing, after which she departed, taking from him the Compass. She took a Ring from her Finger and gave him. (The young man went home, fell ill and died 5 days after), to the wonderful Admiration of all People who saw the young Man.
* * * * *
After the eighteenth century the chapbooks gradually went out of favor, and since then in England, as in America, more and more careful attention has been given to writing good stories for children and printing these attractively. These better books could not have come, however, had it not been that for generation after generation crude little primers and storybooks, such as the interesting kinds that have been described, helped to point out to people, little by little, how to make children's reading both instructive and pleasing.
LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT
By CARDINAL NEWMAN
Of this poem, Newman has written: "I was aching to get home; yet for want of a vessel, I was kept at Palermo for three weeks. At last I got off on an orange boat, bound for Marseilles. Then it was that I wrote the lines, Lead, Kindly Light, which have since become well known."
Again, he has said: "This is one full of light, rejoicing in suffering with our Lord. This is what those who like Lead, Kindly Light must come to—they have to learn it."
Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on;
The night is dark and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on;
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead thou me on;
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years.
So long thy power has blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost the while.
LET SOMETHING GOOD BE SAID[A]
[Footnote A: From Home-Folks, by James Whitcomb Riley. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.]
By JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
When over the fair fame of friend or foe
The shadows of disgrace shall fall; instead
Of words of blame, or proof of so and so,
Let something good be said.
Forget not that no fellow-being yet
May fall so low but love may lift his head;
Even the cheek of shame with tears is wet,
If something good be said.
No generous heart may vainly turn aside
In ways of sympathy; no soul so dead
But may awaken strong and glorified,
If something good be said.
And so I charge ye, by the thorny crown,
And by the cross on which the Saviour bled,
And by your own soul's hope for fair renown,
Let something good be said!
POLONIUS' ADVICE
Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous choice in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
SHAKESPEARE (Hamlet, Act I, Scene 3).
KING ARTHUR
I. ARTHUR MADE KING
Uther Pendragon was one of the kings who ruled in Britain so long ago that many marvelous legends have sprung up about him and his more famous son, Arthur. They lived in the days when magicians and witches were believed to be common, and the stories of the time are filled with deeds of magic and with miraculous events.
Merlin was the greatest of magicians, and it was only by his power that King Uther won the wife he wanted and that his son was protected and nurtured during his childhood and youth. Many of the knights of King Uther aspired to his throne, and so to protect the baby Arthur, Merlin carried him to the good knight Sir Ector, who brought him up with his own son Kay; but none knew that the boy was Uther's son.
When Arthur had grown to be a tall, manly youth and was skilled in the use of arms, the Archbishop of Canterbury called together all the men-at-arms and the great ladies of the land, for Merlin had declared that at Christmas-tide great wonders should be done. King Uther had been long dead, and there was much wrangling over his successor, although he had declared on his death bed that his son Arthur was living and should reign in his stead.
From all sides, barons, knights and ladies, with long retinues of servants, crowded into London and gathered into the greatest church. When the people came forth from the service there was seen in the churchyard a great marble stone, four square, and having in the midst of it a steel anvil a foot high. Through the middle of this anvil a beautiful sword was sticking, with the point projecting beyond. Around the sword in letters of gold was written,
"WHOSO PULLETH THIS SWORD OUT OF THIS STONE AND ANVIL IS THE TRUE-BORN KING OF BRITAIN."
The excitement was great and for some time difficult to quell, for every man who hoped to be king wished to be the first to try to draw the sword; but the Archbishop arranged the men in order, and one after another they made their attempts. Not even the strongest man in the kingdom could move the sword the fraction of a single inch.
When it became certain that no one could draw the sword, the Archbishop set ten knights to guard it and decreed that on New Year's Day the people should meet for other attempts; in the meantime, word should be sent abroad that all in the kingdom might know of the marvelous sword and the reward that awaited the successful knight. A great tournament was called and many rich prizes were offered.
Among those who came to the jousts were Sir Ector and his son, Sir Kay, and the young man Arthur, not yet a knight. In the morning when they rode to the field where the multitude were gathered to watch the jousting, Sir Kay discovered that he had left his sword at his lodgings.
"Arthur, I beg you to ride back and bring me my sword," said Sir Kay.
[Illustration: ARTHUR DRAWS THE SWORD]
Arthur willingly rode back, but when he came to the lodging he could not enter, because every one had gone out to see the jousting. Arthur loved Sir Kay dearly, and could not bear to think of his brother being kept out of the tourney because he had no sword. And so, as he rode by the churchyard and saw the magic sword unguarded in the stone, he thought how fine a weapon it would be for Sir Kay.
"How fortunate that the guards have gone to see the tourney. I'll take this sword to Kay," he said.
When Arthur laid his hand on the jewelled hilt the sword came free from its resting place, and the boy bore it joyously to his brother.
As soon as Sir Kay saw the sword he knew it was the one that had been in the magic stone. Hastily riding to Sir Ector he said, "See, here is the sword of the stone. It must be that I am to be king."
Sir Ector answered, "Give me the weapon and come with me to the church."
Together with Arthur they rode to the church, and all three alighted from their horses and saw that the sword was gone from the stone.
"Now, my son, swear by the holy book to tell me honestly how you got the sword."
"My brother Arthur brought it to me—this I swear," said Sir Kay.
"How did you get this sword?" said Sir Ector, turning to Arthur.
"Sir," said Arthur, "when I could not find my brother's sword and returned by this place I saw the sword sticking in the stone. So I came and pulled at it and it yielded easily, and I took it to Sir Kay, for I would not have my brother sword-less."
"Were there any knights about the stone?" asked Sir Ector.
"None," said Arthur.
"Now I understand," said Sir Ector; "you, Arthur, are to be king of
Britain."
[Illustration: KING ARTHUR Statue by Peter Vischer, in the Hofkirche, Innsbruck]
"Why should I be king of Britain?" asked the boy.
"I know not why, except that God wills it so, for it has been ordained that the man who should draw the sword from the stone is the true-born king of Britain. Now let me see whether you can put the sword where it was and draw it forth again."
"That is not difficult," said Arthur, as he thrust the sword back into the stone.
Sir Ector tried to pull it out again, but he could not move it.
"Now you try," he said to Sir Kay.
Although Sir Kay pulled with all his might the sword remained immovable.
"Now you try it," said Sir Ector to Arthur.
"I will," said Arthur, as he grasped the hilt and drew the sword out without any difficulty.
Then Sir Ector and Sir Kay knelt down before Arthur and said, "Now we know you for our king and swear allegiance to you."
"Now my own dear father, and Kay, my brother, do not kneel to me."
"Arthur," said Sir Ector, "I must now tell you that you are not my son, nor is Sir Kay your brother. I do not know who you are, but I did not think you were of kingly lineage."
Then Arthur wept, for he loved Ector and Kay as though they were father and brother to him.
"When you are king," asked Sir Ector, "will you be kind to me and my family?"
"Indeed I will," said Arthur, "or I shall be much to blame, for I am more deeply in debt to you than to any other man in all the world, and to your wife, whom I have always thought my mother and who has cared for me as for her own son. If it ever is the will of God that I be king of Britain, ask what you desire and it will be my pleasure to accord it."
The three then went to the Archbishop and told him all that had happened. He counseled them to remain quiet till after the tournament, when Arthur should make the trial in public. At that time, after all had struggled madly to pull out the sword and had failed, Arthur drew it out easily before the astonished eyes of the onlookers.
The barons and knights laughed in derision and said, "Shall Britain be ruled over by a boy? Let us have another trial at Twelfth Day."
At Twelfth Day and at Easter were the trials again held with the same results, but the fierce barons would not recognize Arthur until the people grew angry and shouted, "Arthur is our king. We will have no one but Arthur for our king."
Even the fierce knights who aspired to the throne could not resist the call of the people combined with that of the many barons who sided with Sir Ector. When the Archbishop placed the crown upon the head of the young king all there did homage to Arthur though many scowled and threatened the life of the new ruler. Arthur did not forget his promises, but made Sir Kay his seneschal and gave broad lands and rich presents to his foster parents.
II. ARTHUR WEDS GUINEVERE. THE ROUND TABLE
Arthur's reign began with savage wars with his neighbors and with sedition and rebellion in his kingdom. In every conflict he was successful, and every victory made him friends, for he was a noble man and administered his affairs with justice to all. Moreover, he cut roads through the forests and made it possible for his husbandmen to cultivate the lands without danger from wild beasts or fear of marauders. He established justice everywhere so that even the poor felt sure of his protection. If treachery or oppression appeared among his nobles he punished them severely, but he forgave personal injuries freely.
Many of the rulers of petty kingdoms near Arthur had occasion to bless him for brave assistance, and among them was Leodegrance, king of Cameliard, whom Arthur, in a fierce battle in which ten thousand men were slain, freed from the tyranny of King Rience. After the battle, Leodegrance entertained Arthur and his friends at a great feast, at which Guinevere, the beautiful young daughter of the host, served the table. At the sight of the fair maid Arthur's heart was won, and ever after he loved her faithfully.
Merlin, the great magician, had always been the friend and counselor of Arthur, and to his sound advice and wonderful enchantments the king was indebted for much of his power and renown. Before Arthur proposed to marry Guinevere, he took counsel of Merlin, who looked sorrowful and dismayed at the young king's words.
"If indeed your heart is set on the fair Guinevere, you may not change it. Yet it had been better for you to have loved another."
Delighted at even this guarded advice Arthur went at once to Leodegrance and asked for the hand of his young daughter. Leodegrance consented with joy, for he loved Arthur greatly, and welcomed him as a son-in-law.
In the great cathedral of Canterbury the two were married by the Archbishop, while without, the people reflected in wild celebrations the joys of the king and his fair bride.
Among the gifts which King Arthur received was one from King Leodegrance which pleased him most. "This gift," said Leodegrance, "is the Table Round which King Uther Pendragon gave to me and around which can sit a hundred and fifty knights. This table the great Merlin made, as he made also the hundred and fifty sieges which surround it."
The day of his marriage Arthur chose one hundred and twenty-eight knights to found his famous Order of the Round Table, and to each he gave one of the sieges or carved chairs, upon the back of which, as each knight took his seat, appeared his name in magical letters of gold. Soon all the seats were filled excepting one, the Siege Perilous, in which no man might sit under peril of his life, unless he were blameless and free from all sin. When by death or otherwise any of the other sieges became vacant, a new knight was chosen to occupy it, and the magic letters changed to spell his name.
[Illustration: THE WEDDING OF ARTHUR AND GUINEVERE]
Camelot, the lordly castle of Arthur, with its vast halls and beautiful grounds, was all raised by Merlin's magic power without the aid of human hands. Here at Christmas, at Easter and at Pentecost great festivals were held, and Arthur's knights would gather to feast, to joust in tournament and to tell the stories of the wonderful adventures which had befallen them since the last meeting; and great was their knightly pleasure in these gatherings.
III. ARTHUR AND PELLINORE
One day Arthur dressed himself in his best armor, mounted his best horse and rode forth alone to seek adventure. He had started before dawn and had ridden slowly along.
Just at day-break he saw Merlin running toward him in deadly peril, for three fierce vagabonds brandishing huge clubs were close at his heels. Arthur rode toward the robbers, and they turned and fled at the sight of an armed knight.
"O, Merlin," said Arthur, "this time certainly you would have been killed in spite of your magic if I had not appeared to rescue you."
"No," said Merlin, "I could have saved myself if I had wished; but you are nearer death than I am, for now you are certainly traveling toward death unless God befriend you."
Arthur asked the magician what he meant, but the wily man would give no explanation. However, he turned and accompanied Arthur.
As they rode along they came across a beautiful wayside spring, near which, under a wide-spreading tree, a rich tent was set. In front of it sat a sturdy knight full armed for battle.
"Sir Knight," said Arthur, "why do you sit here in full armor thus watching the road?"
"It is my custom," said the knight, "and no man may pass by unless he fight with me."
"That is a vile custom," said the king, "and I bid you give it up."
"That will I not do," said the knight. "If any man does not like my custom, let him change it."
"I will change it," said Arthur.
"I will defend myself," answered the knight.
Then the knight arose, took shield and spear, mounted the war-horse tethered near and rode at Arthur, who spurred his horse to meet the shock. They came together with such force that their horses were thrown back upon their haunches and their spears were shivered against their shields. Arthur recovered himself and pulled out his sword.
"No, no," said the knight, "I pray you let us fight again with spears.
It is the fairer way."
"I would be very willing," assented Arthur, "if I had another spear."
"But I have spears for both," declared the knight, as he called to a squire to bring him two good spears.
When the weapons were brought Arthur selected one and the knight took the other. Drawing apart they again charged together, and again their spears were both broken at the hand. Again Arthur put his hand to his sword, but the knight protested a second time.
"Nay, not so," he said, "for the honor of our knighthood let us joust once more. You are the strongest knight and the best jouster I have ever met."
"I am willing," said Arthur, "if you will let me have another spear."
Two more spears were brought—heavy ones such as only the best of knights could handle. Again Arthur chose the one he liked, and again they drew apart.
This time they ran together with greater force than ever, and once more Arthur shivered his spear on the shield of his opponent. But this time the spear of the unknown knight struck Arthur's shield full in the center and drove both horse and rider to the earth.
The king sprang free from his horse, recovered his shield, drew his sword and cried, "Now will I fight you on foot, for I have lost the honor on horseback."
"No, I will fight only on horseback," said the knight.
Then Arthur grew very angry and rushed afoot at the knight. Seeing how determined the king was, and thinking it dishonorable to keep his seat while Arthur fought on foot, the knight alighted and dressed his shield against his foe.
Long and fierce was the battle, for both were full of anger and resentment. They charged and fell back; they hacked and hewed until shields and armor were bent and broken in many places. Both were sorely wounded, and the blood ran until the trampled ground was stained with it. Then, out of breath and weary from the terrible exertion, they both rested for a few moments, but they soon began the duel again, rushing together like two fierce wild animals and striking such blows that both were many times brought to their knees. Every time, however, they recovered themselves and renewed the terrific struggle. At last the swords met full in the air, and Arthur's was broken at the hilt.
[Illustration: MERLIN SAVES ARTHUR]
"Now yield," said the strange knight, "for you are wholly in my power and I can slay or release you as I will. Yield now to me as a recreant knight or I will slay you as you stand."
"As for death," said Arthur, "let it come when it will. I would rather die than shame my manhood by yielding."
And then like lightning Arthur leaped upon the knight, clasped him round the middle and threw him to the ground. But the knight was a powerful man, and throwing Arthur off he hurled him to the ground, struck off his helm and raised his sword to behead the king.
All the time Merlin had stood and watched the fray, but when he saw the deadly peril in which Arthur lay, he called out, "Knight, hold your hand! If you slay this knight you put this kingdom in the greatest peril, for this is a more worshipful knight than you dream of."
"Why, who is he?" asked the knight.
"It is King Arthur," Merlin replied.
Then was the knight fearful of the vengeance of the King, if he should survive the encounter. He raised his sword again and would have killed Arthur as he lay, but Merlin cast an enchantment over him and he fell into a deep sleep.
The magician caught up the king and rode forth on the knight's horse.
"Alas!" said Arthur, "what have you done, Merlin? Have you slain this good knight by your crafts? There is no braver knight in the world than he was. I would give half my kingdom if he were alive again."
"Do not trouble yourself," replied Merlin. "He is in less danger than you are, for he lies asleep and will awake whole and refreshed in three hours. I told you how powerful a knight he was, and you would have certainly been slain here if I had not been by to help. This same knight shall live to do you great service."
"Who is the knight?" asked Arthur.
"It is King Pellinore; and he shall have two sons, both of whom shall be good men; and one shall have no equal in strength, courage and goodness."
IV. ARTHUR GETS EXCALIBUR
After his battle with King Pellinore, Arthur was three days with a hermit, who by magic salves healed him of his wounds and set him again upon his way.
As they rode along, Arthur turned to Merlin and said, "Behold, I have no sword."
"That does not matter," replied Merlin; "there is a good sword near here that shall be yours if I can get it for you."
They turned aside and rode till they came to a beautiful little lake, now quiet in the afternoon light. As Arthur looked he saw in the middle of the lake an arm clothed in white samite, "mystic, wonderful," stretched up and holding in its hand a flashing sword.
"Lo!" said Merlin. "Yonder is the sword of which I spoke."
As Arthur looked he saw a fair maid coming toward him over the water.
"What damsel is that?" he inquired of Merlin. "That is the Lady of the Lake," answered the magician. "Speak kindly to her and ask her to give you the sword."
As the beautiful maid came nearer she saluted Arthur and he returned the courtesy.
"Damsel," said Arthur, "what rich sword is that which yonder hand holds above the water? I would it were mine, for I have no sword."
[Illustration: ARTHUR RECEIVES EXCALIBUR]
"That is my sword, Excalibur," answered the maid, "and I will give it to you if you will give me a gift when I ask it."
"Right willingly will I give you what you ask, so that I may have the sword."
"Well, take the boat and row yourself out to the sword. When the time comes I will ask the gift."
So Arthur got down from his horse, tied it to a tree and entered the boat. When he had come to the arm Arthur reached up and grasped the sword and scabbard. Immediately both were released, and the white-clothed arm sank back into the waters.
When he returned to the land the maiden had disappeared, and the two rode on their way. Arthur kept looking at his sword, for he admired it very much.
"Which do you prefer," asked Merlin, "the sword or the scabbard?"
"I like the sword the better," replied Arthur.
"That is not wise," rejoined the magician. "The scabbard is worth ten of the swords, because while you have the scabbard on you, you cannot lose a drop of blood no matter how severe your wound. Therefore keep the scabbard always by you."
The number of King Arthur's Knights varies from twelve to several hundred, according to the different poets or romancers. Here is one account:
"The fellowship of the Table Round,
Soe famous in those dayes;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights
And thirty sat alwayes;
Who for their deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations
Wer feared through the world."
Legend of King Arthur (Old Ballad)
BALIN AND BALAN
When Arthur was at one time in Camelot with his knights, a messenger came to him from Rience, king of North Wales and Ireland, saying, "My Lord, the king Rience has conquered eleven kings, and all of them do homage to him.
"Moreover, each gave to the king his heard, shaved clean from his face, and my master has used the eleven beards to trim his mantle. One place on the mantle is still vacant, and Rience demands that you send your beard at once to fill the vacant place or he will come with sword and spear, lay waste your land and take your beard and your head with it."
Then was Arthur terribly enraged, and would have killed the messenger on the spot, but that he remembered the knightly usage and spared the herald.
"Now this is the most insulting message ever sent from one man to another. Return to your king and tell him that my beard is yet too young to trim a mantle with, and that, moreover, neither I nor any of my lieges owe him homage. On the other hand I demand homage from him, and unless he render it, I will assemble my knights and take both his head and his kingdom."
The messenger departed, and soon Arthur heard that Rience had invaded the kingdom with a great host, and had slain large numbers of people. Arthur then hurriedly summoned his barons, knights and men-at-arms to meet him at Camelot for council.
When Arthur and his followers had gathered at Camelot a damsel richly clothed in a robe of fur rode among them, and as she came before the king she let fall the mantle from her shoulders, and lo! there was girt at her side a noble sword.
Arthur wondered, and said, "Why do you come before me in this unseemly manner, girt with a great sword?"
The damsel answered, "I am girt with this great sword against my will and may not remove it until it is drawn from its scabbard, a thing that can be done only by a knight, and that a passing good one, without treachery or villainy of any sort. I have been with King Rience, and many of his knights have tried to draw the sword from its scabbard, but no one succeeded. I have heard that here you have many good knights, and perchance one may be found who can pull the blade."
"This is marvelous," said Arthur. "I will myself make the first attempt, not because I think myself the best knight, but to give my knights an example."
Then Arthur seized the sword by the scabbard and the hilt and pulled at it eagerly, but it would not move.
"Sir," said the damsel, "you need not pull the half so hard, for he who is fit can pull it with little strength."
Then one after another the knights all tried, but none could draw the sword.
"Alas," said the maiden, "I had thought that in this court there would be found at least one man of gentle blood on both his father's and his mother's side, himself without treason or guile."
There was then at the court a poor knight born in Northumberland who had been in prison for slaying the king's cousin, but who had been released at the request of the barons, for he was known to be a good man and well born.
Balin, for that was the knight's name, wished to try the sword, but was afraid to come forward because of his appearance. As the damsel was departing from the court, Balin called to her and said:
"Fair maid, I beg you to let me try to draw the sword, for though I am poorly clad I feel in my heart that I am as good as many who have tried, and I think I can succeed."
The damsel looked at Balin, and though she saw that he was a strong and handsome man, yet she looked at his poor raiment and thought that he could not be a noble knight without treachery and villainy. So she said to him, "Sir, put me to no more trouble, for I cannot think you will succeed where so many others have failed."
"Ah, fair damsel," said Balin, "perchance good deeds are not in a man's clothing, but manliness and bravery are hid within the person, and many a worshipful knight is not known to all the people. Therefore honor and greatness are not in raiment."
"By the Lord," said the damsel, "you speak well and say the truth.
Therefore shall you try the sword."
And Balin grasped the scabbard and drew the sword out easily, and when he saw the sword he was greatly pleased, for it was a marvelous weapon of finest steel.
[Illustration: THE DAMSEL LET FALL HER MANTLE]
"Certainly," said the damsel, "this is a good knight, the best I have ever found, without treason, treachery or villainy; and many noble deeds shall he do. Now, gentle and gracious knight, give back the sword to me."
"No," said Balin, "this sword will I keep unless it be taken from me by force."
"Well," said the damsel, "you are unwise to hold the sword from me, for with it you shall slay the best friend that you have, the man you best love in all the world; and the sword shall also be your destruction."
"Nevertheless," replied Balin, "I shall take the event as God gives it me. But the sword you shall not have."
"Within a very short time," said the damsel, "you shall repent it. I ask the sword more on your account than mine, for I am sad for your sake. It is a great pity that you will not believe that the sword will be your destruction."
Speaking thus the damsel departed from the court, sorrowing as she went. As soon as the damsel had gone, Balin sent for his horse and his armor and made ready to depart from the court.
"Do not leave us so lightly," said King Arthur, "for though I have in ignorance misused thee, I know now that thou art a noble knight, and if thou wilt stay, I will advance thee much to thy liking."
"God bless your highness," said Balin. "Though no man may ever value your kindness and bounty more, yet at the present time I must thank you for your kindness and beseech your good grace."
"If you must go," said Arthur, "I pray you not to tarry long, for right welcome will you be on your return, and then I shall take pains to make right what I did amiss before."
"God reward your lordship," said Balin, as he made ready to depart.
Ere he could leave, however, there came riding into the court the Lady of the Lake, from whom King Arthur had received his sword. She was richly clothed, and as she entered she saluted Arthur royally and said, "I come now to ask the gift you promised me when I gave you the sword."
"That is right," said Arthur; "a gift I certainly promised you, but I have forgotten the name of the sword you gave me."
"The name of the sword is Excalibur. That is to say, 'Cut Steel.'"
"That is right," said the king. "Now ask what you will and you shall have it if it lies in my power to give it."
"I ask," returned the Lady, "the head of the knight that to-day has won the other sword, or else the head of the damsel who brought the sword. By right I should have the heads of both, for he slew my brother, a good and true knight, and that woman caused my father's death."
"Indeed," said Arthur, "I cannot grant such a request as that with any justice to myself. Therefore, ask what else you will and I will grant it."
"I want nothing else," said the Lady; "I will ask no other thing."
Now when Balin was leaving the court he saw this Lady of the Lake. Three years before she had slain Balin's mother, and all this time he had been searching for the wicked woman. Then some one told him that she had asked his head of Arthur.
On hearing this, Balin went straight to the woman and said, "It is unlucky for you that I have found you to-day. You asked my head of King Arthur, and therefore you shall lose yours."
With these words Balin drew his sword, and before any one could interfere struck off her head, even before the face of King Arthur.
"Alas," said Arthur, "why have you done this deed? You have shamed me and all my court, for this was a lady to whom I was indebted, and she came here under my safe conduct. I shall never forgive you this vile deed."
"Sire," said Balin, "withdraw your displeasure, for this same lady was the falsest lady living, and by enchantment and sorcery she has destroyed many good knights. She it was who through falsehood and treachery caused my mother to be burned."
"No matter what cause you had," replied the king, "you should have waited till she left my presence. You shall certainly repent this deed, for such another insult I never had in my court. Therefore, withdraw from my presence with all the haste you may."
Balin took up the head of the Lady and carried it to his hostelry, where he met his squire.
"Now," said Balin, as the two rode out of the town, "much I regret to have displeased King Arthur. You must, however, take this head and carry it to my friends in Northumberland, and tell them that my most bitter enemy is dead. Tell them, too, that I am out of prison, and how I came to get this sword."
"Alas," said the squire, "you were greatly to blame for so displeasing
King Arthur."
"As for that," said Balin, "I will go with all the haste I can to meet King Rience that I may destroy him or die myself. If perchance I may happen to overthrow him, then Arthur will forgive me and be my gracious lord."
"Where shall I meet you?" said the squire.
"In King Arthur's court," answered Balin.
When Balin left King Arthur's court, Lanceor, a proud and arrogant knight who counted himself the best of Arthur's followers, went and offered to ride after Balin and bring him back dead or alive.
"Go," said King Arthur, "for I am wroth with Balin and would have revenge for the insult he has shown me."
So Lanceor departed to arm himself, and in the meantime, Merlin arrived, and hearing of the death of the Lady of the Lake, by the sword of Balin, went in to King Arthur.
"Now," said Merlin, "you should know that this damsel who brought the sword to the court is the falsest woman living. She has a brother whom she hates beyond measure, and it was to compass his death that she came hither, for it had been decreed that whoso drew the sword should slay her brother. This I know to be true. Would to God she had never come to this court, for the knight that drew the sword shall die by that sword, and this shall be a great reproach to you and your court; for no man liveth of greater ability and prowess than this same knight Balin, and much good will he do you. It is a great pity he may not live to serve you with his strength and hardiness."
In the meantime Lanceor, armed at all points, rode at full speed after Balin, and when he caught sight of him he called in a loud voice, "Stop, you false knight, for you shall return with me whether you will or not, and your shield and your sword shall not help you."
When Balin heard the voice he turned his horse fiercely and said, "What is it you will with me? Will you joust with me?"
"Yes," said the Irish knight. "For that reason have I followed you."
"Perchance," said Balin, "it would have been better if you had remained at home, for many a man who strives to overthrow his enemy falls himself in the struggle. From what court do you come?"
"I am from the court of King Arthur," said Lanceor, "and I came to seek revenge for the insult you showed Arthur and his court this day."
"I see," said Balin, "that I must fight with you, but I much regret that I have done wrong before King Arthur and his court. Your quarrel with me is foolish, for the lady that I slew did me, through falsehood and treachery, the greatest harm on earth, else would I have been as loath as any knight that lives to slay a lady."
"Cease talking," said Lanceor, "and face me, for only one of us shall remain alive."
Then they levelled their spears and clashed together as hard as their horses could. The spear of the Irish knight struck Balin on the shield and broke all in pieces, but Balin's spear pierced the shield of Lanceor, passed through his hauberk and body and even into his horse, so that Lanceor fell, a dead man.
Regretting much that he had slain one of Arthur's knights, Balin buried
Lanceor and proceeded on his way.
He had not ridden far into the forest when he saw a knight coming towards him whom by his arms he recognized as his brother Balan. When they met they dismounted and kissed each other and wept for pure joy.
When they had calmed themselves a little, Balan said, "I had no thought of meeting you here; I had supposed you were still in prison, for a knight that I met at the castle of Four Stones told me how you had been imprisoned by the king. I came this way hoping to serve you."
Balin in reply told him of his adventures until the time they met, and added, "Truly I am very sad that King Arthur is displeased with me, for he is the most worshipful knight that reigneth on this earth. Now I mean to regain his love or perish in the attempt. King Rience is even now besieging the Castle Terrabil, and thither do I ride to see what I can do against him."
"I will go with you," said Balan, "and we will help each other as true knights and good brethren ought to do."
As they talked they saw coming toward them a misshapen old man. This was
Merlin in a strange disguise, though the brothers did not know him.
"Ah, Balin," said the old dwarf, "too ready are you to strike in anger, for here you have slain one of the noblest knights of Arthur's court, and his kinsmen will follow you through the world till they have slain you."
"As for that," said Balin, "I have little fear, but I regret beyond words that I have displeased my lord, King Arthur."
"Be that as it may," answered Merlin, "you have given the saddest blow ever struck; and yet worse is to come, for with that same sword will you slay your brother."
"If I believed that," the sad knight replied, "I should kill myself now to prove you a liar."
At that moment the crippled old man vanished suddenly, and the brothers saw Merlin in his own person riding toward them.
"Where are you going?" inquired Merlin.
"At present we have little to do and ride as we please."
"I can tell you where you are going," said the magician. "You go to meet King Rience, but your journey will be a failure unless you are guided by my counsel."
"Ah, Merlin," said Balin, "we will be ruled by you."
"Come on then; but see that you fight manfully, for you will need all your strength and valor."
"Fear not," they both exclaimed. "We will do all that men can do."
"Then," said the magician, "conceal yourselves here in the woods behind the leaves. Hide your horses and rest in patience, for soon will Rience with sixty of his best knights come this way. You can fall upon them from ambush and easily destroy them."
It happened just as Merlin had predicted, and the brothers soon saw the sixty knights riding down the lane.
"Which is Rience?" asked Balin.
"There," said he, "the knight that rides in the midst—that is Rience."
The brothers waited till Rience was opposite them, and then they rushed upon him and bore him down, wounding him severely. Wheeling from the charge they fell upon the followers of Rience and smote them to right and left, so that many fell dead or wounded and the remainder broke into flight.
Returning to King Rience the brothers would have killed him, but he cried, "Slay me not. By my death you will win nothing, but by my life you may win."
"That is so," the two agreed: and they made a litter, and Balan bore Rience to King Arthur, but Balin would not go to the court till he had done more for Arthur.
The tale of Balin's deeds is too long for recital here, but it may be read in the book of King Arthur's knights. At last, after many days of wandering and many exciting combats, Balin saw by the roadside a cross upon which in letters of gold was written, "No man must ride to this castle alone."
Then, too, an old man came toward him and said, "Balin le Savage, turn now before it is too late. You have already passed the bounds of prudence." With these words the old man vanished, and Balin heard the blast of a horn, like that blown when a huntsman kills an animal.
"That blast," said Balin to himself, "is for me, for I am the prize, yet am I not dead."
As the echoes of the horn died away, Balin saw coming toward him a hundred knights and ladies: who rode up to him and smilingly greeted him.
"Come with us to the castle," said they, "and there shall be music and dancing and feasting and much joy."
Balin followed them to the castle and was surprised at the good cheer that awaited him. In the midst of the feast, when joy was at its height, the chief lady of the feast looked at Balin and said, "Knight with the two swords, no man may pass this way unless he fight with a knight who keeps an island near by. Now must you joust with him."
"That is an unhappy custom," said Balin, "that a knight may not pass this way unless he fight."
"You need to fight with but one man," said the lady.
"Well," said Balin, "if I must fight, then must I fight, but a traveling man and his horse are oft-times weary. However, though my horse and my body are weary, my heart is not weary, and I will go where danger awaits me."
"Sir," said one of the knights to Balin, "it seems to me that your shield is not in good condition. Take mine; it is a larger one, and you are quite welcome to it."
So Balin took the strange shield and left his own, with his arms blazoned on it, at the castle, and rode forth to the island. On his way he met a maid who called to him, "O Balin, why have you left your own shield behind? You have now put yourself in the gravest danger, for by the arms upon your shield all men might know you. It is a great pity, indeed, that evil should befall you, for you are the peer of any knight now living."
"I repent exceedingly," said Balin, "that I ever came into this country, but now that I have set foot upon this adventure I may not turn back without shame to myself. Be it life or death, now will I take whatsoever God willeth."
Then he looked carefully at his armor and saw that it was all in good condition and that his shield and spear were in good trim, and then, blessing himself, he mounted his horse. Out of the castle there now came riding toward him a knight on a powerful charger. Red was the armor of the knight, red his shield, without any arms or device, and red were the trappings on his horse. Now this knight in red was Balan, and when he saw coming toward him a knight with two swords he thought it must be his brother Balin, but when he looked at the shield it was strange, and thus, neither brother knowing the other, they levelled their spears and dashed together at full speed.
The spear of each struck fair in the center of the shield of the other, and their spears were so strong and their charge so fierce that both horses were thrown to the ground and the men lay on the ground unconscious. Balin was sadly bruised by the fall of his horse, and besides he was weary of travel, so that Balan was the first to get up and draw his sword. Balin, however, was little behind him, and was ready with his weapon to meet the onset. Balan was first to strike, and though Balin put up his shield the sword passed through it and cut through his helm. Balin returned the blow with that unhappy sword that carried so much misery with it, and well-nigh killed his brother, but both recovered themselves and fought together, charging back and forth until their breath failed them.
As they rested for a moment Balin looked up to the castle walls and saw that the towers were filled with ladies. Inspired by the sight, both went into battle again, and both were wounded many times. Often they rested and often renewed the combat, until the ground around them was red with blood. Both had been wounded seven times or more, and each wound so serious that it would have been the death of any less mighty man. Both were weary and weak from their exertions, but still they fought on. Their helmets were hewed off and their armor fell to pieces till they were almost naked and defenseless.
At last Balan withdrew a little and lay down in utter exhaustion.
"What knight art thou?" said Balin le Savage. "Never have I found a knight that so well matched me."
"My name," he said, "is Balan, brother of the great knight Balin."
"Alas," said Balin, "that ever I should see this day." And with these words he fell back unconscious.
Balan, on his hands and knees, crept to his brother and took the helm from off his head, but even then he did not know him, so bloody and wounded was his face.
When a few minutes later Balin recovered consciousness, he cried, "Oh Balan, my brother, thou hast slain me and I thee. On this account all the world shall speak of us."
"Alas," said Balan, "that I ever saw this day, and shame on me that I knew you not, for I saw your two swords; but because you had a strange shield I thought you were some strange knight."
"There is a false knight in the castle," said Balin, "that got me to leave my own shield and gave me his, and for this reason are we both to die. Would that I might live to destroy the castle and prevent the foul customs that pertain here."