The Story of the Grail and the Passing of Arthur

So Sir Galahad saluted them and rode away, and anon he came to where the bridge crossed the stream, and there he beheld the post of stone and from it, hanging by a chain, he beheld the horn of iron. This horn he set to his lips and blew very loud and shrilly upon it, so that the walls of the castle echoed back the bleat of that horn.

Soon after that the gates of the castle were opened and the portcullis let fall, and there came thundering forth from that place ten knights, armed cap-a-pie in shining armor.

The foremost of those knights rode up to Sir Galahad and said to him, “Sir, art thou shriven?” “Why ask you that?” said Sir Galahad. “Because,” said that knight, “thou art presently to die, therefore thou shouldst be shriven.” “So far as that is concerned,” said Sir Galahad, “I am not unready to die.” “Then,” said the other, “thou shalt presently awaken in paradise, since thou art ready for it.”

So each knight assumed such stand as appeared to him to be fitting, and each set his spear in rest, and then each dashed at the other with might and main. So they met in the middle of the course with such violence and uproar as was wonderful to see and to hear.

In that encounter the spear of the knight of the castle slipped from the shield of Sir Galahad, and was broken into many pieces, but the spear of Sir Galahad held, wherefore he overthrew that knight with such terrible violence that his neck was broken in his fall, and he lay dead upon the earth.

Then when the other knights beheld the fall of that knight, they cried out, “Hah! A rescue! a rescue!” Therewith they all nine made at Sir Galahad to overwhelm him with numbers. All nine of them struck him upon the shield at one time, but their spears glanced from the shield of Sir Galahad and could not penetrate it, nor was he overthrown by their assault, nor did he lose even a foot from his stirrup.

Then Sir Galahad cast aside his spear and drew his bright, shining sword, and he rode at those nine knights and he rode in amongst them, striking with his blade to the right hand and to the left. Nor could their blows harm him, for in that short time he struck down to the ground three of those knights, so that there were but six of them left.

Then the hearts of those six knights began to fail them, and they bore back across the bridge with intent to enter the castle once more. But meantime the people of the castle, seeing how affairs went with them, had raised the bridge and had closed the castle gates against them. Nor would they lower the bridge nor open the gates again, wherefore those knights wist not what to do in their hour of need. Then Sir Galahad was upon them and smote down two more of them and with that the four who were left fled with great speed and he pursued them back across the bridge. And Sir Galahad still pursued them, and he struck once and again, now to the right and now to the left, so that ere they could escape from him and in those two blows Sir Galahad had struck down two more of them. Then the two who were left made their escape and they fled from that place with might and main. And Sir Galahad pursued them also with might and main, but their horses were fresher than his, and so they escaped away from him.

So Sir Galahad rode back again slowly to the castle, and at his coming the gates were opened with great sound of rejoicing. For the streets were full of people of all sorts and conditions, and these lifted up their voices with loud and prolonged applause. And of those eight whom he had overthrown, all of them were dead. For those who had not died by their fall, the people had put to death upon their own account.

Then Sir Galahad said to the chief magistrate of that town, “Where are those ten maidens who bespoke me ere I came to this place?” And the chief magistrate answered him, “Sir, we will bring them to you.” So anon came those ladies, and when they had come to Sir Galahad they kneeled before him and kissed his hand and gave him great praise and loud acclaim. Sir Galahad said to them, “Why do you kneel to me, and why do you kiss my hand?” They say to him, “Because of your strength and your prowess.” He said, “Nay, that strength and that prowess I gave not to myself; therefore, if I have shown strength and prowess, give praise therefor unto the God who gave them to me, and not to me who am their continent.” And he said, “Where is the chief lord of this town?”

The ten maidens said, “Sir, he is our father, and he is a prisoner now in the dungeon of this place. For those ten knights overthrew him and made him prisoner, wherefore he now lieth in duress.” Sir Galahad said, “Bring him forth that I may behold him.” So several ran to where he was, and anon they returned with him, and the chains that bound him were still upon his hands and feet. Sir Galahad said, “Let these chains be removed.” And when they were taken off of that knight, he said to him, “Take back that which is thine own and oppress not thy people. For so have they been oppressed of late by their ten masters, who were the ten knights whom I have overthrown. But now thine enemies are either slain or put to flight, so that thou art free. Nor shall you ever be put to such pain again.”

Then, again, was there great applause.

Then the eldest of those ten maidens said to him, “Sir, will you not rest here awhile with us?” Sir Galahad said, “I may not rest with you, for my time is short and there is much to do in that time; wherefore I must be again upon my way.”

So he bade them farewell, and after that he departed from that place, taking with him the thanks and the blessings of all the people dwelling therein. Yet for many long years afterward, the memory of Sir Galahad was held at that place, and parents told to their children, and those children to their children for several generations, how that Sir Galahad of the Grail had come thither and had done those great and redoubtable actions at arms that are herein told of and recounted. For it was not until afterward that he became known as the greatest knight that the world had ever beheld until that time.

Such is the story of Sir Galahad and of the Castle of the Maidens; so he, one knight, overcame the ten knights of that castle, and thus he departed thereafter.

Now turn we from Sir Galahad and take we up the adventures of Sir Launcelot at this time. Wherefore I pray you to read that which followeth.

Chapter Fourth

Then Sir Launcelot held up his hand, and he cried out, “Messire, I pray you for to wait until we have crossed the bridge, for three of us cannot cross it at the same time.”

“Nay, sir,” quoth Sir Galahad, “my business does not allow me to wait, so I pray you to let me pass.”

“Not so,” quoth Sir Launcelot, “I cannot let you pass until you have proven your right to pass. You must run a tilt with me, and if I overthrow you, then will you wait to let us pass; but if you overthrow me, then will we wait to let you pass.” So said Sir Launcelot, for it did not seem to him to be possible that the strange knight could overthrow him.

So each knight set his spear in rest, and anon each charged with great violence at each other. Thus they swept together like a hurricane, and so met in the centre of the bridge. In that encounter the spear of Sir Launcelot struck the shield of Sir Galahad, directly in the centre thereof; but the blow that he gave glanced aside as if the shield had been a polished mirror. But the spear of Sir Galahad struck Sir Launcelot in the middle of the shield and it held, and so violent was the blow of Sir Galahad that both Sir Launcelot and his steed were overthrown upon the planking of the bridge.

Sir Percival looked with great amazement at the overthrow of Sir Launcelot. Then, crying out in a great voice, “Sir, what have you done? Defend yourself from me!” he drew his sword and rushed forward upon the bridge. And Sir Galahad, when he beheld Sir Percival approach in that manner, cast aside his spear and drew his sword likewise. So, when they met in the middle of the bridge, Sir Percival smote Sir Galahad a great buffet with his sword, which stroke Sir Galahad turned with his shield. Then Sir Galahad rose up in his stirrups and he launched a blow like a thunderbolt against Sir Percival. Sir Percival endeavored to turn that blow with his shield, but he could not turn it, for it smote through his shield and it smote through his helmet and it smote through the iron cap beneath the helmet, and, had the blade not turned in the hand of Sir Galahad, it would have slain Sir Percival. As it was, Sir Percival’s head swam beneath that blow and he swooned away, swaying from side to side in his saddle until he fell from his saddle and lay upon the bridge without life or motion, like one who was dead.

But Sir Galahad did not stop to inquire who were those two knights whom he had overthrown, nor did he pause to inquire how badly he had hurt them; but regaining his spear and setting spurs to his horse he rode away from that place, leaving them lying upon the bridge.

Anon Sir Launcelot aroused himself, and he beheld Sir Percival where he lay. Then Sir Launcelot arose and went to Sir Percival, and removed his helmet. And he cast water into the face of Sir Percival so that, in a little while, Sir Percival was aroused from his swoon. Then Sir Launcelot said, “I would God I knew who that knight was, for never have I felt such a blow as I just now received, nor have I ever been so shamed as I was shamed this day.” Said Sir Percival, “Wit ye not who that knight was?” and he said, “Meseems it was none other than your son, Sir Galahad.” Quoth Sir Launcelot, “At that I would take comfort were he my son, but not at anything else.”

Then each knight mounted his horse, and so together they presently rode away from that place. But Sir Launcelot’s head hung down upon his breast, for the memory of that blow which had overthrown him, and for the shame thereof; for never had he been overthrown from his horse before this day in all of his life. And, somewhiles, he thought that he who had overthrown him was, maybe, Sir Galahad, and at that he took comfort, because Sir Galahad was his son. But otherwhiles he thought that it was not Sir Galahad, and then he was filled with shame because of his overthrow.

So riding in that wise they, by and by, came to where the road divided into two ways, and here Sir Launcelot said, “Sir, let us part company, for you shall take one road and I will take the other.” Quoth Sir Percival, “Are you then weary of riding with me?” “Nay,” said Sir Launcelot, “but I have been overthrown and I am ashamed.” Said Sir Percival, “What shame do you take in that, seeing it was your own son that overthrew you?” But to this Sir Launcelot made no reply.

Then, seeing that Sir Launcelot was determined to quit him, Sir Percival took the left-hand road, and Sir Launcelot took the right-hand road, and so they parted.

Now follow we Sir Launcelot after they had thus separated.

Sir Launcelot rode for the rest of that day without meeting further adventure, until about evening time, when he came to a bare and naked knoll covered with furze bushes. Here, in the midst of that wild, he beheld an ancient ruined chapel, and he said to himself, “Here will I rest me for the night.” So he rode around that chapel, seeking for the door thereof, but he could find no door upon any side of the chapel, but only windows, very high raised from the ground. And he could not enter that chapel by any of its windows, because they were built in the wall so far beyond his reach that he could not attain to them. Then Sir Launcelot said, “This is a very strange chapel that it should have no doors, but only windows so high that I cannot enter by them. Now I will rest here and see what is the meaning of this place.”

So saying, he dismounted from his horse, and lay down beneath a thornbush that was not far distant from the chapel.

Now, as Sir Launcelot lay there, a drowsiness began to descend upon him, and though he could not sleep yet it was as though he did sleep, for he could move nor hand nor foot. Yet was he conscious of all that passed about him as though he had been wide awake. For he was conscious of the dark and silent vaults of sky, sprinkled all over with an incredible number of stars, and he was conscious of his horse cropping the herbage beside him in the darkness, and he was conscious of the wind that blew across his face, and that moved the corner of his cloak in the silence of the night time. Of all these things was he conscious, and yet he could not move of his own will so much as a single hair.

Anon, whilst he lay in that wise he was presently aware that some people were approaching the chapel in the darkness, for he heard the sound of voices and of the feet of horses moving upon the road. So, in a little while, there came to that place a knight and an esquire. And the knight was very sorely wounded, for his armor was broken and shattered by battle, and the esquire sustained him in the saddle so that, except for the upholding of the esquire’s arm and hand, he would have fallen prostrate down upon the ground.

Then Sir Launcelot, as he lay in that waking sleep, heard the knight say to the esquire, “Floradaine, is the chapel near at hand, for mine eyes are failing and I cannot see.” And the esquire wept and he said, “Yea, Lord, it is here. Sustain yourself but for a little and you will be there.”

To this the knight made answer, “Floradaine, I cannot sustain myself for long.” And the esquire said, “It is here.” The knight said, “Give thanks to God for that, for had it been a little farther I would have fallen from my horse. Now, Floradaine, lift me to earth.”

Therewith the esquire drew rein and he dismounted from his horse and he lifted the knight down from his charger, and the knight groaned very dolorously as the esquire lifted him down. Then, breathing very heavily and with great labor, the knight said, “Floradaine, is there a light?” And the esquire said, “Not yet, Messire.” Again, after a little, the knight said, “Is there yet a light?” And again the esquire answered, “Not yet, Messire.” And again, after awhile, the knight said for the third time, “Floradaine, is there yet a light?” And this time the knight breathed the words as in a whisper of death. Then of a sudden the esquire called out in a loud and joyful voice, “Yea, Lord, now I behold a light!”

All this Sir Launcelot beheld in that waking dream, and though it was in the darkness of night, yet he beheld it very clearly, as though it were by the sun of noonday. For he beheld the face of the knight that it was white as of pure wax, and that the sweat of death stood in beads upon his forehead. And he beheld that the esquire was young and fair, and that he had long ringlets of yellow hair that curled down upon his shoulder. Then when the esquire said that he beheld a light, Sir Launcelot beheld the windows of the chapel that they were illuminated from within with a pale blue lustre, as though the dawn were shining in that chapel. And he heard the sound of chaunting voices, at first very faint and far away, but anon ever growing stronger and stronger as the light from the chapel grew stronger. And those voices chaunted a melody that was so sweet and ravishing that it caused the heart to melt as with an agony.

Then the walls of that chapel opened like a door and a light shone forth with a remarkable lustre so that it illuminated the face of that dying knight, and of the page who upheld him. And at the same time the song burst forth in great volume, as it were a thunder of chaunting.

Then forthwith there came out of the chapel a bright shining spear, and two fair hands held the spear by the butt, yet Sir Launcelot could not behold the body to whom those two hands belonged. And after the spear there came forth a chalice, and two fair, white hands held that chalice, but neither could Sir Launcelot behold any body to which those hands belonged. And the chalice seemed to send forth a light of such dazzling radiance that it was as though one looked at the bright and shining sun in his glory.

Then Sir Launcelot was aware that this was the Holy Grail of which he was in search, and he strove with all his might to arouse himself, but he could not do so. Then the tears burst out from his eyes and traced down his cheeks in streams, but still he could not arouse himself, but lay chained in that waking sleep.

So the chalice advanced toward that knight, but the knight had not strength to reach forth and touch it. Then the esquire took the arm of the knight and raised it, and he raised the hand of the knight so that the hand touched the chalice.

Then it was as though Sir Launcelot beheld the virtue of the Grail go forth from it, and that it passed through the hand of the wounded knight, and that it passed through his arm and penetrated into his body. For he beheld that the blood ceased to flow from that wounded knight, and that the color flooded back into his cheeks and that the light came back into his eyes and that the strength returned to his body.

Then the knight arose and he kneeled down before the Grail, and he set his palms together and he prayed before the Grail.

Then, slowly, the light that had been so bright from the Grail began to wane. First the spear disappeared, and then the hands that held it disappeared. Then, for awhile, the Grail glowed with a faint, pallid light, and then it, too, vanished, and all was dark as it had been before.

So Sir Launcelot beheld the vision of the Grail, but as in the vision of a dream as I have told it here to you. And still the tears rained from his eyes, for he could not rouse himself to behold it with his waking eyes.

After this the knight and the esquire approached to the place where Sir Launcelot lay asleep, and the esquire said to the knight, “Messire, who is this man, and why sleepeth he here whilst all these wonders pass him by?” And the knight said, “This knight is a very sinful man, and his name is Sir Launcelot of the Lake.” Quoth the esquire, “How hath he sinned?” To which the knight replied, “He hath sinned in this way. He had a beautiful and gentle lady, and he deserted that wife for the sake of Queen Guinevere. So his lady went away and left him, and anon she gave birth to Galahad, and in that birth she also gave her life. So Sir Launcelot betrayed his wife, and because of that betrayal he now lieth sleeping, and he cannot waken until after we are gone away from this place.”

Then the esquire said to the knight, “Messire, behold; here this knight hath a good, strong horse. Take thou this horse and leave thine own in its stead. For this horse is fresh and full of life, and thine is spent and weary with battle.” And the knight said, “I will take that horse.”

So the knight took the horse of Sir Launcelot instead of his own. And he left his own horse behind him. Then he mounted the horse of Sir Launcelot and the esquire mounted his horse, and after that the knight and the esquire rode away from that place.

Then, after they had gone, Sir Launcelot bestirred himself and awoke. And he would have thought that all that he had beheld was a dream, but he beheld the worn and weary horse of the knight was there, and that his horse was gone. Then he cried aloud in great agony of soul, “Lord, my sin hath found me out!” And therewith he rushed about like a madman, seeking to find a way into that chapel, and finding no way.

So when the day broke he mounted the worn and weary horse that the knight had left, and he rode away from that place and back into the forest; and his head hung low upon his breast. When he had come into the forest and to the cell of the hermit thereof, he laid aside his armor and he kneeled down before the Hermit of the Forest, and confessed all his sins to him. And the Hermit of the Forest gave him absolution for these sins, and he said, “Take peace, my son. For although thou shalt not behold the Grail in thy flesh, yet shall God forgive thee these sins of thine that lie so heavily upon thy soul.”

Then Sir Launcelot arose chastened from his confession. And he left his armor where it lay and assumed the garb of an anchorite. And he went away from that place, into the remoter recesses of the forest. There he dwelt in the caves and in the wilds, living upon berries and the fruits of the forest. And he dwelt there a long time until he felt assured that God had forgiven him. Then he returned to his kind again; but never after that day was he seen to smile.

So hath this been told to you that you may see how it is that the sins that one hath committed follow one through one’s life and in the end bring the soul such distress and failure as that which Sir Launcelot here suffered and endured. For it hath already been told in another volume than this book (which same is called “The Story of Sir Launcelot and His Companions”) how that Sir Launcelot of the Lake remained at the Court of King Arthur whilst his Lady, Elaine the Fair, quitted the court, and how that he remained at that court, being held there by the wiles and the charms of Queen Guinevere. Then it was told how that the Lady Elaine died for loneliness and grief in giving birth to Galahad, and it was told how that Sir Launcelot repented him for that death with deep and bitter remorse.

So it was because of that sin that he was not now permitted to behold the Grail with his waking eyes nor to touch it with his living hands. For a sin doth not quit a man because he hath remorse for it nor is it wiped from his soul because he repents him of it, but always it remaineth by him and by and by the time cometh when he must pay to the full the account of that sin which he hath one time committed.

For so it is with all of those who commit a sin, be it great or be it less. For they cannot correct that sin by remorse or by repentance, but only by so living a life of righteousness that that sin shall be removed away from them, so that it becometh as though it were not.

So it was with Launcelot, for he was to pay in full for that sin which he had committed. For never did he behold the Grail other than it was at that time and never did he touch it with his hand; nay; never did he touch it even with so much as a single finger; but otherwise he remained as a recluse in a cell coadjacent to the cell of the Hermit of the Forest, as aforesaid.

There leave we him to follow the other parts of this story, for here followeth the story of Sir Percival, which you are now to read if you would enter further into the history of these things herein told of.

Chapter Fifth

Here, passing by a small fountain of water, he beheld a fair damsel sitting beside the margin of that fountain, and the damsel was clad all in red, from top to toe. This damsel had with her a palfrey and a great black horse beside that palfrey, and the black horse was very remarkable for breadth and sinew, for his shoulders were deep and his legs were corded with muscles, and his fetlocks were adorned with long and curling hairs, and his eyes were very bright and shining as with fire beneath them, and his ears were sharp and pointed, as though they had been cut with a fine knife, and his mane and tail were thick and black, like the clouds of night, and there was not a white hair upon him, from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.

Quoth Sir Percival, “Hah, maiden, that is a fine horse that thou hast there.” Said she, “Yea, Messire; he is a very fine horse.” Said Sir Percival, “I would that thou wouldst sell me that horse; for mine own, as thou seest, is gone lame.” The maiden said, “Sir, are you not Sir Percival of Gales?” Then Sir Percival was greatly astonished that the damsel should know him, and he said, “Yea, damsel, that is my name.” “Then,” quoth she, “I cannot accept money from you for this horse. But if you will take him for your own, then you may have him. So leave you your lame horse here, and take this horse instead of it. For wit you I have been sent with this horse that you might have it to ride upon.”

Then was Sir Percival still more astonished at what the damsel said, and he knew not what to think that the damsel should be there at that place with a fresh, sound horse for his use when his own horse had fallen lame. So he thanked the damsel in great measure, and he handed her the reins of his horse, and took the reins of the black horse. Then he put his foot in the stirrup and mounted the black horse at one leap.

So the horse stood quite still until Sir Percival had his seat and his feet in the stirrups. After that it bowed its head and took the bit in its teeth. Then immediately it rushed away to the southward with great speed like the wind, and its mane and tail stood out straight behind it because of its speed. Nor could Sir Percival control or guide it, for the horse held the bit between its teeth and it was as though blinded, rushing forward like the wind. And ever it ran toward the southward, without let or stay. And Sir Percival said to himself, “What sort of a beast is this upon which I am sitting, is it a horse or is it a lion or is it a dæmon?”

So the horse rushing onward began, by and by, to draw nigh to the sea, for now and then Sir Percival could catch glimpses of the sea across the uplands like a thread of bright silver against the distant horizon; for by this time night had fallen. And anon he could hear the roaring of the sea beating upon a place where there were a great many rocks, and where the water spouted and churned amongst the rocks as white as milk. Then, reaching this spot, the horse stopped all of a sudden, panting and trembling and all a lather with sweating foam.

Then Sir Percival dismounted from the horse, and as soon as his foot touched the earth the black horse vanished and Sir Percival stood there alone. And he wist not what to do, but stood there doubting and wondering.

Anon as he so stood he beheld something coming a great way off, and ever it came nearer and nearer, and by and by he perceived that it was a boat, and that it was approaching very rapidly the place where he stood, and that without either sails or oars to urge it upon its course. So Sir Percival stood there and watched the boat as it drew rapidly nearer to him, and by and by he perceived that there was someone in the boat, and then he perceived that it was a beautiful lady, and that there were seven beautiful damsels attendant upon her. And he beheld that this lady was clad all in red, and that her hair was red, the color of gold, and that it was emmeshed in a net of gold. And around her dress and her neck he beheld that there were chains and ornaments of gold, so that the lady sparkled and gleamed as though she had been an image of jewels and of gold. And the attendants of the lady were also clad in red and also wore ornaments of gold about their necks, wherefore the whole boat gleamed and shone as with a shine of golden light.

Thus that boat came to the beach where Sir Percival stood, and the lady stepped from the boat upon the sand, and Sir Percival came forward and assisted her to disembark. And the lady said, “Hail, Sir Percival, and give thee peace.” And all the attendants of that lady also said, “Give thee peace.”

Quoth Sir Percival, “Who are ye who know me and I know not you?” To the which the lady made reply, “We are fay and not of this earth, therefore we know many things that you wit not of.”

Then that lady bade her attendants to set up a pavilion and they did so, and the pavilion was of red samite, and above it was a great banner of white samite embroidered with the figure of a leopard in threads of gold. And in the pavilion they set a table of gold, and they covered the table with a napkin of finest linen, and the lady of the boat took Sir Percival by the hand and led him into the pavilion.

Then Sir Percival and the lady seated themselves at the table, and the damsels attendant upon the lady served them with food. And certain of these attendant maidens took harps into their hands, and they played upon the harps, and sang in unison to those two, and so sweet was the music they made that it melted the heart to listen to them.

And those who waited upon Sir Percival and the lady brought to them all manner of dishes, dressed with spices and condiments of all sorts, and Sir Percival and the damsel ate together. Then others brought wines of all sorts, both white wines and red, and this wine was very powerful and sweet, and Sir Percival and the lady drank together. And the wine flowed very strongly through the veins of Sir Percival so that his head swam with the strength of that wine and with the potency thereof.

Then, by and by, the lady grew very fond toward Sir Percival, and she put her arms about his shoulders and held him very close to her. With this the wine swam still more powerfully in Sir Percival’s head, and he knew not very well what he said or did. And he said, “Lady, tell me—what is this, and why am I here?” To this she answered, “Percival, thou glorious knight! this is the pavilion of Love, and I am the spirit of Venus who inhabits it. So yield thou to that spirit and take thou the joy of thy life whiles thou mayst.”

Therewith she reached her arms again to Sir Percival and he reached his arms toward her and he took her into his arms. And Sir Percival kissed her upon the lips and the fire from her lips passed into his heart and set his soul aflame.

Then, in that moment, he knew not why, he suddenly bethought him of that fair lady whom he had met in the tent when first he went forth as a knight, clad in his armor of wicker-work. And he thought of how he had kissed her that time; and he thought of how he had beheld her in that cold and windy room of the castle, lying dead and white before him; and he thought of how he had beheld the Spear and the Grail that time in the castle. Then it was as though a wind of ice struck across the flame of his passion, and he cried out thrice in a loud voice, “God! God! God! What is this I would do, and why should I sin in this wise?” And therewith he drew upon his forehead the sign of the cross.

Then in an instant the lady who sat beside him shrieked very loud and shrill, and all about him was confusion and turbulence. And Sir Percival looked, and behold! it was not a strange and beautiful lady who sat beside him like a wonderful goddess, but it was the Enchantress Vivien, clad in red and bedecked with her jewels. For it was she who had thus planned the undoing of Sir Percival by causing him to sin.

Then Sir Percival cried, “Hah! Is it thou who wouldst betray me?” And therewith he reached for his sword which he had laid aside. Then, seeing what he intended, the Enchantress Vivien shrieked again, and she smote her hands together, and in that instant she disappeared, and all her attendants disappeared, and the pavilion and the table and all of the feast and wine disappeared, and the boat in which she had come disappeared, and Sir Percival found himself sitting alone upon the seaside.

Then Sir Percival kneeled down and he set his hands together and he prayed. And he said, “O God! how hast thou saved thy servant by means of a floating thought? For the thought of that which was sacred and holy hath purged my sin that was very close to me.” And he said, “How shall I thank thee for this; for lo! I trod upon a crust so thin that, had I borne even a part of my weight upon it, I would have fallen through that crust as into a lake of fire.”

So he prayed for a long time and by and by he was comforted. Then he arose and stood up, and he girded his sword tight about him. And he cast his eyes all around and he beheld that he was alone and in a very desolate place. And, at that time, the full moon was shining very brightly.

Anon he beheld in the gloom of the distance an object that approached very rapidly. And this object also was a boat, but there was no one in it.

And when the boat approached nigh enough he beheld that there was a couch within it, and that the couch was covered with white linen. But no other thing was in the boat but that.

Then Sir Percival said, “What is this? Is there a sin also in this, or is it without sin?” And he said, “If this be sin, then let it declare itself,” and therewith he marked the sign of the cross upon his forehead.

But there followed not any malignant sign after that, but the boat remained there where it was.

Then Sir Percival perceived that it was intended for him to enter that boat, and he did enter it. And at that time the moon had arisen very full and round. And the moon shone down upon the earth with a wonderful radiance. So that what with the light in the sky from the moonlight, it was as though a strange and magical radiance embalmed the entire earth.

Then the boat moved away from the shore very rapidly and smoothly. And it ran past the sharp and treacherous rocks, and it went past all obstructions and so out into the broad and heaving surface of the sea beyond.

Here all was stillness and peace, for all about was the hush and silence of night time, and there was no sound whatsoever to mar that stillness, but only the moon and the stars shining above in the sky.

So Sir Percival laid him down upon the couch and anon he slept a very deep and dreamless sleep.

Now leave we Sir Percival lying in that boat, and turn we to the story of Sir Bors de Ganis and how it befell with him at this time.

Chapter Sixth

Quoth the Hermit, “There is but one thing, and that thing is that you finally purify yourself by refraining from eating any manner of meat, and that you fast upon bread and water until you have beheld and have touched the Grail.” Said Sir Bors, “Holy Father, so will I fast from meat and wine.” And the Hermit said, “And this also shall you do. You shall lay aside your armor and shall ride forth in leathern doublet and hose and shall wrap yourself in your red cloak against the inclemencies of the weather.” Said Sir Bors, “That also will I do.”

So Sir Bors laid aside his armor of defence, and he wrapped himself in his red cloak, and thus he rode forth into the world.

After that Sir Bors travelled for an entire day, and whensoever he came to a roadside cross, he kneeled down before it and recited a prayer. So against early eventide he came to a part of the country that was altogether strange and new to him, for here were bogs and marshes, and many pools and ponds of water where were heron and other water-fowl. So Sir Bors wist not where he should lodge that night. But anon he beheld in the distance before him a single tower standing upright upon that flat expanse, and the tower was like a finger of stone pointing up into the sky. So Sir Bors made his way toward the castle, and by and by he came to where the castle was.