CHAPTER X
THE GIANT OF ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT

Having settled his own realm in peace and restored the kingdom to its ancient borders, he conquered Ireland, Norway, Denmark and Flanders; and, after a nine-years' war, added France to his dominions.

To him, thus flushed with victory, came ambassadors from the Emperor of Rome, bidding him to appear at that city and make restitution for his wrongful attacks on the empire's provinces, or to expect to be haled thither in bonds for judgment by the senate.

The king's answer was to summon a vast army, commit the realm to the care of his nephew Mordred, (who afterward wrought such bale to that noble company) and set out over sea for Rome—"not to carry tribute, but to seek it."

A puissant and well-armed host it was that set forth; and the warrior-monarch who led them was arrayed in harness that surpassed all his followers. His thigh-pieces were of steel, wrought strong and fairly by some cunning smith. His hauberk was stout and richly chased, even such a vesture as became so puissant a king. Upon him was girt his sword, Excalibur. Mighty was the glaive, and long in the blade. It was forged in the Isle of Avalon, and he who brandished it naked in his hand deemed himself a happy man.

His helmet gleamed upon his head. The nasal was of gold; circlets of gold adorned the head-piece, with many a clear stone; and a dragon was fashioned for its crest. This helm had once been worn by Uther his sire. The king was mounted upon a destrier (charger), passing fair, strong, and speedy, loving well the battle. About his neck was set his shield, all clean of elephant's bone (ivory), on which was painted in several colors the image of Our Lady of St. Mary. The lance he carried was named Ron: it was a strong shaft, tough and great, sharp at the head, and very welcome at need in the press of battle. It had been made in Caermarthen by a smith that hight Griffin, and King Uther had carried it before time.

Setting out from Southampton with his great host, the king sailed for France; and though the mariners, steering by the stars, "were very fearful of the dark," the ships came safely to haven very early in the morning at Barfleur in Normandy.

They had been but a little while in the land when tidings were brought to the king that a marvellously strong giant, newly come to that land, had carried off Helen the niece of his kinsman, Hoel.

This doleful lady the giant, named Dinabuc, had taken to a high place known as St. Michael's Mount, though in that day there was neither church nor monastery on the cliff, but all was shut close by the waves of the sea.

The adventure which followed was told many times in the old days, by Wace, Layamon and others. Let us listen to the unknown romancer of the 14th Century who left us Morte Arthure:

When they had reached the shore and raised their tents, a templar came and informed the king: "Here, too, is a tyrant that torments thy people, a great giant of Genoa engendered by fiends; he hath devoured more than five hundred people and also many infants and free-born children. This hath been his sustenance now for seven winters and yet is the glutton not sated so well it pleaseth him. In the country of Cotentin no people has he left outside the strong castle enclosed within walls—for he has completely destroyed all the children of the commons and carried them to his crag and devoured them there. The Duchess of Brittany he has taken to-day near Reynes as she rode with her fair knights, and led her to the mountain where he abideth. We followed afar off, more than five hundred barons and citizens and noble bachelors, but he reached the crag: she shrieked so loud: the horror of that creature I shall never forget. She was the flower of France or of five realms, and one of the fairest that was ever formed, the gentlest jewel accounted by lords from Genoa to Geron, by Jesus of Heaven! She was thy wife's cousin, as thou mayest know, and sprung from the noblest race that reign in this earth. As thou art a righteous king, take pity on the people and endeavor to avenge them that are thus affronted."

"Alas," said the king, "so long as I have lived had I known of this it had been well: it has not happened fairly but fallen foul that this fiend hath destroyed the fair lady. I had leifer than all France this fifteen winters that I had been before that fellow a furlong away when he laid hold of that lady and led her to the mountains; I had left behind my life ere she had suffered harm. But can you tell me the crag where lives that man? I will go to that place and speak with him, to deal with that tyrant for treason to his lord, and make a truce for a time till it may happen better."

"Sire, see ye yon foreland with yonder two fires? there lurks that fiend—ask when thou mayest, upon the crest of the crag by a cold well that encloses the cliff within its clear stream: there wilt thou find dead folk without number, more florins i' faith than in all the rest of France, and more treasure hath that traitor unlawfully got than there was in Troy, I trow, what time it was conquered."

Then the noble king sighed for pity of those people, went right to a tent and rested no longer, he welters and wrestleth with himself and wringeth his hands—there was no wight in the world that knew what he wanted. He called Sir Cayous that served with the cup and Sir Bedivere the bold that bore his great brand.

"Look to it that after evensong ye be armed full well and mounted on horses by yonder thicket—by yon blithe stream, for I will pass privately in pilgrimage that way at supper-time when the lords are served to seek a saint by yon salt streams on St. Michael's Mount where miracles are seen."

After evensong King Arthur himself went to his wardrobe and took out his clothes—he armed him in a jerkin with a rich golden fringe, and above that laid a jeryn of Acre right over, and above that a coat of gentle mail—a tunic of Jerodyn with edges frayed. He drew on a bacenett of burnished silver—the best that was in Basill with rich borders: the crest and the crown enclosed so fair with clasps of bright gold adorned with stones—the visor and the aventail equipped so fair without a flaw, with eyelets of silver; his gauntlets gaily gilded and engraven at the borders with grains and balls of most glorious hue; he bore a broad shield and calls for his sword, he jumped on a brown steed and waits on the heath. He rises in his stirrups and stands aloft, he strains himself stoutly and looks forth, then he spurs the bay steed and rides to the thicket and there his knights await him gallantly arrayed.

They rode by that river that runneth so swift where the trees overstretch with fair boughs, the roe and the reindeer run recklessly there in thickets and rose-gardens to feast themselves. The thickets were in blossom with may-flowers, with falcons and pheasants of fair hues—all the birds lived there which fly with wings, for there sang the cuckoo full loud on the bushes, with all birds of merriment they gladden themselves: the voice of the nightingale's notes was sweet, they strove with the throstles three hundred at once, that this murmur of water and singing of birds might cure him of ill who never was whole.

Then move these folk quickly and alighted on foot and fastened their fair steeds afar off; then the king sternly told his knights to abide with their horses and come no further, "For I will seek this saint by myself and speak with this master man that guards this mountain, and then shall ye partake of the Sacrament one after the other honourably at St. Michael's full mighty with Christ!"

The king climbs the crag with cliffs full high, to the top of the crag he climbs aloft; lifts up his umbrer and looks about him keenly, receiving the cold wind on his face to comfort him; two fires he finds flaming full high—for a quarter of a furlong he thus walks between them: along the way by the well he wanders on to get to know of the warlock and where he abides.

He moves to the port fire and even there he finds a very woeful widow wringing her hands and weeping with painful tears on a grave newly marked in the soil since midday it seemed. He saluted her sorrowfully with becoming words and straightway asked after the fiend. Then this woeful widow joylessly greets him, rose up on her knees and clasped her hands, saying: "Unhappy man, thou speakest too loudly; if yon warlock heareth he will devour us both. Cursed be the wight that directed thee hither, that made thee to travel here in these wild parts. I warn thee for thy honour thou seekest sorrow. Whither hastenest thou, man? thou seem'st unhappy, goest thou to slay him with thy bright sword? Wert thou wightier than Wade or Gawayn thou shouldest win no honour. I warn thee beforehand: thou crossedst thyself unsafely to seek these mountains; six such as thou were not sufficient to cope with him alone. For an thou seest him alone, thy heart will fail thee to cross thyself safely, so huge he seemeth.

"Thou art noble and fair and in the flower of thy manhood, but thou art doomed already, by my fay, and that I foretell thee. Were there fifty such as thee in the field or on the fair earth—the monster with his fist would fell you all. Lo! here the dear duchess—to-day was she taken—deep buried in the ground—he murdered this mild lady e'er midday was rung—without any mercy I wot not why, he slew her churlishly, and here have I embalmed her and buried her afterwards. For the grief of this incurable woe I shall never be happy again. Of all the friends she had, none followed after her but I, her foster-mother of fifteen winters: to move from this foreland I shall never attempt, but shall be found in this field till I am left dead."

Then answere Sir Arthur to that old wife: "I am come from the conqueror courteous and noble, as one of the most noble of Arthur's knights, a messenger to this vile wretch for the benefit of the people, to speak with this master man that guards this mountain: to treat with this tyrant for the treasure of lands and to make truce foretime till it may turn out better."

"Fie, thy words are but wasted," quoth that wife then, "for he sets but little by both lands and people. Nor of rents of red gold he troubles, but he will break the law when he chooses himself, without the permission of any, as lord of his own.

"But he hath a mantle which he keeps for himself that was spun in Spain by special women and afterwards adorned in Greece full fairly: it is covered all over with hair and embroidered with the beards of valiant kings, woven and combed that knights may know each king by his colour, in his home there he abides. Here he seizes the revenues of fifteen kingdoms each Easter evening, however it so happens that they send it themselves for the safety of the people—at that season with certain knights, and he has asked Arthur all these seven winters. Therefore he herds here to outrage his people until the King of Britain has fed his lips and sent his beard to that bold monster with his best knights; unless thou hast brought that beard go thou no further, for it is bootless that thou shouldst stay for aught else: for he has more treasure to take when he likes than ever had Arthur or any of his forefathers. If thou hast brought the beard, he will be more pleased than if thou gavest him Burgundy or Britain: but take care for love's sake that thou keep thy lips silent so that no word escape from them whatever betides; see that thy present be ready and trouble him but little, for he is at his supper and will be easily angered. And now take my advice and remove thy clothes and kneel in thy mantle and call him thy lord. He sups all this season on seven children of the commons, chopped up on a charger of pure white silver with pickles and finely ground spices and wines of Portugal mixed with honey. Three luckless damsels turn his spits."

"Ha! I have brought the beard," quoth he, "for thus it pleaseth me, forth then will I go and bear it myself. But, pray, if thou wilt tell me where this monster abideth, I shall commend thee an I live, so help me our Lord!"

"Go straight to the fire," quoth she, "that flames so high: there lurks that fiend as thou wilt discover: but thou must go somewhat to the south, sidling a little, for his power of smelling extends over six miles."

The source of the smoke he sought speedily, crossed himself safely with certain words, and going to the side he caught sight of the fiend as she said, unseemly supping alone. He lay at full length reposing foully, the thigh of a man's limb he lifted up by the haunch, his back and the lower parts and his broad loins he baked at the dreadful fire, and he was breechless: there were roasting full rudely dreadful meats of men and cattle bound together, a large pot crammed with anointed children, some spitted like birds, and women turned them.

And then this comely king's heart was sorely grieved because of his people at the place where he stood. Then he girded on his shield and hesitates no longer, he brandishes his bright sword by its bright hilt, goes forth to the fiend with a rough determination, and loudly hails that giant with fierce words:

"Now may Almighty God that ruleth us all give thee sorrow and trouble, thou glutton, that liest there for the foulest monster that was ever formed—foully thou feedest thyself—the devil take thy soul! Here is unclean quarry, fellow, by my troth—refuse of all creatures—thou cursed wretch, because thou hast killed anointed children thou hast made martyrs and taken away the lives of those who are broached here on spits in this place and slaughtered by thy hand. I shall work thee thy punishment as thou greatly deservest, by the might of St. Michael who guardeth this mountain: and for this fair lady that thou hast left dead; gird thyself, thou son of a dog, the devil take thy soul, for thou shalt die to-day through the force of my arm."

Then was the glutton dismayed and glared unseemly; he grinned like a greyhound with grisly teeth; he gaped and groaned aloud with grievous gestures for wrath with the good king who spake to him in anger. His hair and his forelock were matted together and hung before his face for about half a foot. His brow and forehead were all like the skin of a frog and seemed freckled, hooknosed like a hawk and a fierce bird, and hairy round his hollow eyes with overhanging brows: rough as a dog-fish—hardly could he be seen, so was he hid in that mass of hair: ears he had full huge and ugly to see, with horrible eyes and burning withal: flat-mouthed like a flounder with grinning lips, and the flesh in his front teeth as foul as a bear. His beard was rough and black and reached to his breast, fat like a porpoise with a huge carcass, and flesh still hung in shreds from his foul lips. Bull necked was that giant and broad of shoulders, with a streaked breast like a boar with long bristles. Rough arms like oak-branches with gnarled sides—limbs and loins right hateful to see, believe ye in truth; shovel-footed was that man and he seemed to straddle, with unshapely shanks shuffling together: thick thighs like a giant and thicker in the haunch—fat as a hog, full terrible he looked. Whoever might reckon faithfully the full length of this man, from the face to the foot, he was five fathoms long.

Then he started up sturdily on two stiff shanks and soon caught up a club of bright iron. He would have killed the king with his keen weapon, but through the wisdom of Christ, the carle failed. The crest and the coronal and the silver clasps cleanly with his club he crashed down to the earth.

The king raises his shield and covers himself completely, and with his fierce weapon reaches him a blow, right full in the face he struck him so that the burnished blade reached to his brains—he wiped his face with his foul hands and strikes fast at Arthur's face fiercely thereafter. The king changes his foot and withdraws a little; had he not escaped that blow he had fared evil; he follows up fiercely and strikes a blow high up on the haunch with his hard weapon, that half a foot of the weapon is hidden in the flesh: the monster's hot blood runs down the hilt; even to the entrails he strikes the giant.

Then he groaned and he roared and roughly strikes full eagerly at Arthur, and on the earth strikes a sword's length within the sward, he smites at once so that the king nearly swooned from the force of his blow. But yet the king nimbly and swiftly strives, he smites with the sword so that it gashed the giant's loins; and the blood gushes out so that it makes all the ground slimy on which he stands.

Then he cast down his club and seizes the king—on the top of the crag he caught him in his arms and enfolds him securely to crush his ribs: so tightly holds he him that his heart is near to bursting. Then the doleful damsels fall down on the earth, kneeling and crying and wringing their hands, "Christ deliver yonder knight and keep him from grief, and never let that fiend take his life."

Yet the warlock is so mighty that he crushes him under; fiercely they wrung and wrestled together, they weltered and wallowed on those rushes, they tumble and turn about and tear their clothes—roughly from the top they tumble down together, Arthur sometimes on top and sometimes beneath—from the crest of the hill right down to the hard rock—they cease not until they reach the brink of the sea. But Arthur with his dagger smites the giant until it sinks right up to the hilt in him. The thief in his death-struggle grasped him so fiercely that three ribs in the king's side were thrust asunder.

Then Sir Cayous the Keen, moved in sorrow for the king, said, "Alas, we are undone, my lord is overthrown—fallen down with a fiend—it is all over! We must be forfeit and banished for ever." They lift up his hauberk and feel beneath—his stern and his haunches, too, right up to his shoulders, his flanks and his loins and his fair sides, both his back and his breast and his bright arms. They were glad when they found no flesh wounds, and for that they were joyed, these gentle knights.

"Now certes," says Sir Bedivere, "it seemeth by my Lord! He seeketh saints but seldom, wherefore he grips the tighter that thus seizes this saint's body out of these high cliffs, to carry forth such a man to clothe him in silver. By Michael, of such a fellow I have great wonder than ever our Sovereign Lord should suffer him in Heaven: if all saints be such who serve our Lord, I shall no saint be ever, by my father's soul!"

Then laughs the bold king at Bedivere's words—"This saint have I sought, so help me our Lord! Wherefore draw out thy sword and pierce him to the heart; make certain of this fellow, he hath angered me sorely. I have not fought with such a wight these fifteen winters, but in the mountains in Wales I met such another. He was the strongest by far that I ever met, and had not my fortune been favourable, dead would I be now."

The other whom the king had in mind was Ryence (or Riton) a Welsh giant who in his day made war on divers kings. Of these some were slain in battle, and others remained captive in his hand. Alive or dead, Ryence used them despitefully; for it was his wont to shave the beards of these kings, and purfle therewith a cloak of furs that he wore, very rich. Vainglorious beyond measure was Ryence of his embroidered cloak. Now by reason of folly and lightness, Ryence sent messages to Arthur, bidding him shave his beard, and send it forthwith to the giant, in all good will. Since Arthur was a mightier lord and a more virtuous prince than his fellows, Ryence made covenant to prefer his beard before theirs, and hold it in honour as the most silken fringe of his mantle. Should Arthur refuse to grant Ryence the trophy, then nought was there to do, but that body to body they must fight out their quarrel, in single combat, alone. He who might slay his adversary, or force him to own himself vanquished, should have the beard for his guerdon, together with the mantle of furs, fringes and garniture and all. An old ballad describes the scene at Camelot when this impudent message arrived:

King Arthur met this upstart in battle on a high mountain, and there the king slew Ryence with the sword, spoiling him of that rich garment of furs, with its border of dead men's beards.

And now as he looked down at the loathly Dinabuc he realized that he had this time conquered a monster more loathly and misshapen, a giant more horrible, bigger and mightier than was Ryence, even in the prime of his youth and strength.

When he had thought upon these things the king said to his comrades:

"Anon strike off his head and put it on a stake, give it to thy squire, for he is well mounted: bear it to Sir Howel, that is in sore straits, and bid him take heart, for his enemy is destroyed: then bear it to Barfleur and fasten it on iron and set it on the barbican for men to see: my sword and my broad shield lie upon the moor on the crest of the crag where first we fought, and the club thereby all of bright iron, that hath killed many a Christian in the land of Cotentin: go to the foreland and fetch me that weapon, and let us go back to our fleet where it lays in the water. If thou wilt have any treasure take whatever thou likest: I will have the mantle and the club, I covet naught else."

Now they go to the crag, these comely knights, and brought him the broad shield and his bright weapon, the club and the cloak too. Sir Cayous himself goes with the conqueror to show the kings whom the king had with him in secret, while bright day climbed up above through the clouds.

By that time a great noise was there at the court, and in front of the comely king they kneeled all together, "Welcome, our liege lord, too long hast thou fought, our governor under God, ablest and most noble, to whom grace is granted and given at his will. Now thy happy arrival hath comforted us all, thou hast in thy royalty revenged they people. Through help of thy hand thine enemy is destroyed that overcame thy people and reft them of their children: never was there kingdom so readily relieved of its troubles."

Then the conqueror speaks Christianlike to his people, "Thank ye God," quoth he, "for his grace and no man, for man's deed it never was but His own might, or a miracle of His Mother's, who is so mild to all." He called then the boatmen sharply at once to hasten with the shoremen to shift the goods.

"All that great treasure which the traitor won, see it be given to the commons, clergy, and others of the country; see it be dealt out to my dear people so that none may complain, under penalty of your lives." He ordered his cousin with knightly words to build a church on the rock where the body lay, and a convent therein for service to Christ, in memory of that martyr who rests in the mountain.

And that beautiful pinnacled church, thrusting up from the island's rocky cliffs toward the sky, you may see at this very day.

CHAPTER XI
SIR LAUNCELOT AND TARQUIN

Then Sir Lionel espied a great apple tree that stood by an hedge, and said: "Brother, yonder is a fair shadow, there may we rest us and our horses."

"It is well said, fair brother," said Sir Launcelot; "for of all this seven year I was not so sleepy as now."

And as they there alighted and tied their horses under sundry trees, and so Sir Launcelot laid him down under the apple tree, and his helm he laid under his head. And Sir Lionel waked while he slept. So Sir Launcelot was asleep passing fast. And in the meanwhile there came three knights riding, fleeing as fast as ever they might ride. And there followed them three but one knight.

When Sir Lionel saw him, him thought he saw never so great a knight nor so well faring a man, neither so well apparelled unto all rights. (For he was truly a giant in size.) So within a while this strong knight had overtaken one of these knights, and then he smote him to the cold earth that he lay still. Then he rode unto the second knight and smote him as that man and horse fell down. And then straight to the third knight he rode, and he smote him behind his horse's tail a spear's length. And he alighted down, and reined his horse on the bridle, and bound all the three knights fast with the reins of their own bridles.

When Sir Lionel saw him do this, he thought to assay him, and made him ready, and stilly and privily he took his horse, and thought not for to awake Sir Launcelot. And when he was mounted on his horse he overtook this strong knight and bade him turn: and the other smote Sir Lionel so hard that horse and man he bare to the earth, and so he alighted and bound him fast, and threw him overthwart his own horse, and so he served them all four, and rode with them away to his own castle. And when he came there he made unarm them, and beat them with thorns all naked, and after put them in a deep prison where there were many more knights that made great dolor.

When Sir Ector de Maris wist that Sir Launcelot was past out of the court to seek adventures he was wroth with himself, and made him ready to seek Sir Launcelot, and as he had ridden long in a great forest, he met with a man that was like a forester. "Fair fellow," said Sir Ector, "knowest thou in this country any adventures that be here nigh hand?"

"Sir," said the forester, "this country know I well, and hereby within this mile is a strong manor, and well diked, and by that manor, on the left hand, there is a fair ford for horses to drink of, and over that ford there groweth a fair tree, and thereon hangeth many fair shields that wielded sometime good knights: and at the bole of the tree hangeth a basin of copper and brass. Strike upon that basin with the butt of thy spear thrice, and soon after thou shall hear new tidings, and else hast thou the fairest grace that many a year had ever knight that passed through this forest."

"Gramercy," said Sir Ector, and departed and came to the tree, and saw many fair shields, and among them he saw his brother's shield, Sir Lionel, and many more that he knew that were his fellows of the Round Table, the which grieved his heart, and he promised to revenge his brother. Then anon Sir Ector beat upon the basin as he were wood, and then he gave his horse drink at the ford: and there came a very tall knight behind him and bade him come out of the water and make him ready; and Sir Ector anon turned him shortly and in rest placed his spear, and smote the knight a great buffet that his horse turned twice about.

"This was well done," said the huge knight, "and knightly thou hast stricken me."

Therewith he rushed his horse on Sir Ector and caught him under his right arm, and bare him clean out of the saddle, and rode with him away into his own hall, and threw him down in the midst of the floor. The name of this strong knight was Sir Tarquin.

Then he said to Sir Ector: "For thou hast done this day more unto me than any knight did these twelve years, now I will grant thee thy life, so thou wilt be sworn to be my prisoner all thy life days."

"Nay," said Sir Ector, "that will I never promise thee, but that I will do mine advantage."

"That me repenteth," said Sir Tarquin.

And then he made to unarm him, and beat him with thorns all naked, and after put him down in that same deep dungeon, where he knew many of his fellows. But when Sir Ector saw Sir Lionel, then made he great sorrow.

"Alas, brother," said Sir Ector, "where is my brother Sir Launcelot?"

"Fair brother, I left him on sleep when that I from him went, under an apple tree; and what is become of him I cannot tell you."

"Alas," said the knights, "but Sir Launcelot help us we may never be delivered, for we know now no knight that is able to match our master Tarquin."

While these knights were thus prisoners Sir Launcelot du Lake lay under the apple tree sleeping.

Even about the noon, there came by him four queens of great estate; and, for the heat of the sun should not annoy them, there rode four knights about them and bare a cloth of green silk on four spears, betwixt them and the sun, and the queens rode on four white mules.

Thus as they rode they heard by them a great horse grimly neigh, and then they were ware of a sleeping knight that lay all armed under an apple tree; anon as these queens looked on his face they knew that it was Sir Launcelot. Then they began to strive for that knight; every one said she would have him to her love.

"We shall not strive," said Morgan le Fay that was King Arthur's sister; "I shall put an enchantment upon him that he shall not awake in six hours, and then I will lead him away unto my castle, and when he is surely within my hold I shall take the enchantment from him, and then let him choose which of us he will have for his love."

So this enchantment was cast upon Sir Launcelot, and then they laid him upon his shield, and bare him so on horseback betwixt two knights, and brought him unto the castle Chariot, and there they laid him in a chamber cold, and at night they sent unto him a fair damsel with his supper ready dight. By that the enchantment was past, and when she came she saluted him, and asked him what cheer?

"I cannot say, fair damsel," said Sir Launcelot, "for I wot not how I came into this castle but it be by an enchantment."

"Sir," said she, "ye must make good cheer, and if ye be such a knight as it is said ye be. I shall tell you more tomorn by prime of the day."

"Gramercy, fair damsel," said Sir Launcelot, "of your good will I requite you."

And so she departed. And there he lay all that night without comfort of anybody.

And on the morn early came these four queens, passingly well beseen, all they bidding him good morn, and he them again.

"Sir knight," the four queens said, "thou must understand thou art here our prisoner; and we here know thee well, that thou art Sir Launcelot du Lake, King Ban's son. And truly we understand your worthiness that thou art the noblest knight living; and therefore thee behoveth now to choose one of us four. I am the queen Morgan le Fay, queen of the land of Gore, and here is the queen of Northgalis, and the queen of Eastland, and the queen of the Out Isles; now choose ye one of us which thou wilt have to thy love, for thou mayst not but choose or else in this prison to die."

"This is an hard case," said Sir Launcelot, "that either I must die or else choose one of you, yet had I liever to die in this prison with worship, than to have one of you to my love maugre my head. And therefore ye be answered, for I will have none of you, for ye be false enchantresses."

"Well," said the queens, "is this your answer, that you will refuse us?"

"Yea, upon my life," said Sir Launcelot, "refused ye be of me."

So they departed and left him there alone that made great sorrow!

Right so at noon came the damsel to him, and brought him his dinner, and asked him what cheer.

"Truly, fair damsel," said Sir Launcelot, "in all my life-days never so ill."

"Sir," said she, "that me repenteth; but an ye will be ruled by me, I shall keep you out of this distress, and ye shall have no shame nor villainy, so that ye hold me a promise."

"Fair damsel, that I will grant you, and sore I am afeared of these queen's witches, for they have destroyed many a good knight."

"Sir," said she, "that is sooth, and for the renoun and bounty they hear of you they would have your love, and, sir, they say that your name is Sir Launcelot du Lake, the flower of all the knights that been living, and they been passing wroth with you that ye have refused them; but, sir, an ye would promise me for to help my father on Tuesday next coming, that hath made a tournament between him and the king of Northgalis; for the Tuesday last past my father lost the field through three knights of King Arthur's court, and if ye will be there upon Tuesday next coming and help my father, tomorrow or prime, by the grace of God, I shall deliver you clean."

"Fair maiden," said Sir Launcelot, "tell me what is your father's name, and then I shall give you an answer."

"Sir Knight," said the damsel, "my father is King Bagdemagus, that was foully rebuked at the last tournament."

"I know your father well," said Sir Launcelot, "for a noble king and a good knight, and by the faith of my body, ye shall have my body ready to do your father and you service that day."

"Sir," said the damsel, "gramercy; tomorrow await that ye be ready betimes, and I shall deliver you; and take you your armor and your horse, shield and spear; and hereby within these ten miles is an abbey of white monks, and there I pray you to abide, and thither shall I bring my father unto you."

"All this shall be done," said Launcelot, "as I am a true knight."

And so she departed, and came on the morrow early and found him ready. Then she brought him out of twelve locks, and brought him unto his armor. And when he was all armed and arrayed, she brought him unto his own horse, and lightly he saddled him, and took a great spear in his hand, and so rode forth, and said, "Fair damsel, I shall not fail you, by the grace of God."

So the knight rode forth and performed that adventure, according as he had promised; and Sir Launcelot overthrew the three knights of King Arthur's court, one after the other; and with one great spear he bare down sixteen knights of the king of Northgalis' party, and with another spear he smote down twelve knights. Then the knights of Northgalis would joust no more, and the prize was given unto King Bagdemagus.

And so Sir Launcelot departed, and by adventures he came into the same forest where he was taken sleeping. And in the midst of an highway he met a damsel riding on a white palfrey, and there either saluted other.

"Fair damsel," said Launcelot, "know ye in this country any adventures?"

"Sir knight," said the damsel, "here are adventures near hand, an thou durst prove them."

"Why should I not prove adventures?" said Sir Launcelot; "for that cause came I hither."

"Well," said she, "thou seemest well to be a good knight, and if thou dare meet with a good knight, I shall bring thee where is the best knight and the mightiest that ever thou foundest, so thou wilt tell me what is thy name, and what knight thou art."

"Damsel, as for to tell thee my name, I take no great force: truly my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake."

"Sir, thou beseemest well, here he adventures by that fall for thee, for hereby dwelleth a knight that will not be overmatched for no man that I know, unless ye overmatch him, and his name is Sir Tarquin. And, as I understand, he hath in his prison of Arthur's court good knights three-score and four that he hath won with his own hands. But when ye have done that day's work ye shall promise me as ye are a true knight for to go with me, and to help me and other damsels that are distressed daily with a false knight."

"All your intent, damsel, and desire I will fulfill, so ye will bring me unto this knight."

"Now, fair knight, come on your way."

And so she brought him unto the ford, and unto the tree where hung the basin. So Sir Launcelot let his horse drink, and then he beat on the basin with the butt of his spear so hard with all his might till the bottom fell out, and long he did so, but he saw nothing.

Then he rode along the gates of that manor nigh half an hour. And then he was ware of a great knight that drove on horse before him, and overthwart the horse there lay an armed knight bound. And ever as they came near and near, Sir Launcelot thought he should know him; then he was ware that it was Sir Gaheris, Gawain's brother, a knight of the Table Round.

"Now, fair damsel," said Sir Launcelot, "I see yonder cometh a knight fast bound that is a fellow of mine. And at the first beginning I promise you, by the leave of God, to rescue that knight; and unless his master sit better in the saddle I shall deliver all the prisoners that he hath out of danger, for I am sure that he hath two brethren of mine prisoners with him."

By that time that either had seen other they gripped their spears unto them.

"Now, fair knight," said Sir Launcelot, "put that wounded knight off the horse, and let him rest awhile, and let us two prove our strengths. For as it is informed me, thou doest and hast done great despite and shame unto knights of the Round Table, and therefore now defend thee."

"And thou be of the Table Round," said Tarquin, "I defy thee and all thy fellowship."

"That is overmuch said," said Sir Launcelot.

Then they put their spears in the rests, and came together with their horses as fast as they might run, and either smote other in the midst of their shields, that both their horses' backs brast under them; and the knights were both astonied, and as soon as they might avoid their horses they took their shields afore them, and drew out their swords and came together eagerly, and either gave other many strong strokes, for there might neither shields nor harness hold their strokes. And so they had both grimly wounds, and bled passing grievously.

Thus they fared two hours or more, trasing and rasing each other where they might hit any bare place. Then at the last they were breathless both, and stood leaning on their swords.

"Now, fellow," said Sir Tarquin, "hold thy hand awhile, and tell me what I shall ask thee."

"Say on."

Then Tarquin said: "Thou art the stoutest man that ever I met withal, and the best breathed, and like one knight that I hate above all other knights; so be it that thou be not he I will lightly accord with thee, and for thy love I will deliver all the prisoners that I have, that is three-score and four, so thou wilt tell me thy name. And thou and I will be fellows together, and never to fail the while that I live."

"It is well said," said Sir Launcelot; "but since it is so that I may have thy friendship, what knight is he that thou so hatest above all other?"

"Truly," said Sir Tarquin, "his name is Launcelot du Lake, for he slew my brother Sir Carados at the Dolorous Tower, which was one of the best knights then living; and therefore him I except of all knights, for an I may once meet with him, that one of us shall make an end of another, and to that I make a vow. And for Sir Launcelot's sake I have slain an hundred good knights, and as many I have utterly maimed, that never after they might help themselves, and many have died in my prison; and yet I have three-score and four, and all shall be delivered so thou wilt tell me thy name, and so it be that thou be not Sir Launcelot."

"Now see I well," said Sir Launcelot, "that such a man I might be I might have peace, and such a man I might be there should be between us two mortal war; and now, sir knight, at thy request, I will that thou wit and know that I am Sir Launcelot du Lake, King Ban's son of Berwick, and knight of the Round Table. And now I defy thee do thy best."

"Ah!" said Sir Tarquin. "Launcelot, thou art unto me most welcome, as ever was any knight, for we shall never depart till the one of us be dead."

Then hurtled they together as two wild bulls, rashing and lashing with their shields and swords, that sometime they fell both on their faces. Thus they fought still two hours and more, and never would rest, and Sir Tarquin gave Sir Launcelot many wounds that all the ground there as they fought was all besprinkled with blood.

Then at last Sir Tarquin waxed very faint, and gave somewhat back, and bare his shield full low for weariness.

That soon espied Sir Launcelot, and then leaped upon him fiercely as a lion, and got him by the banner of his helmet, and as he plucked him down on his knees, and anon he raised his helm, and then he smote his neck asunder.

Sir Launcelot freed all the prisoners from that loathsome prison; and despite his grievous wounds on the third day after he rode forth in quest of further adventures.

As he rode over a long bridge, there started upon him suddenly a passing foul churl, and he smote his horse on the nose that he turned about, and asked him why he rode over that bridge without his license.

"Why should I not ride this way?" said Sir Launcelot. "I may not ride beside."

"Thou shalt not choose," said the churl, and lashed at him with a great club shod with iron. Then Sir Launcelot drew a sword, and put the stroke aback, and clave his head unto the breast.

At the end of the bridge was a fair village, and all the people, men and women, cried on Sir Launcelot, and said: "A worse deed didst thou never for thyself, for thou hast slain the chief porter of our castle."

Sir Launcelot let them say what they would, and straight he went into the castle; and when he came into the castle he alighted, and tied his horse to a ring on the wall; and there he saw a fair green court, and thither he dressed himself, for there him thought was a fair place to fight in.

So he looked about, and saw much people in doors and windows, that said, "Fair knight, thou art unhappy."

Anon withal came there upon him two great giants, well armed all save the heads, with two horrible clubs in their hands.

Sir Launcelot put his shield afore him, and put the stroke away of the one giant, and with his sword he clave his head asunder. When his fellow saw that he ran away as he were wood, for fear of the horrible strokes; and Sir Launcelot after him with all his might, and smote him on the shoulder, and clave him to the middle.

Then Sir Launcelot went into the hall, and there came before him threescore ladies and damsels, and all kneeled unto him, and thanked God and him of their deliverance.

"For, sir," said they, "the most part of us have been here this seven year their prisoners, and we have worked all manner of silk works for our meat, and we are all great gentlewomen born; for thou hast done the most worship that ever knight did in the world, that will we bear record, and we all pray you to tell us your name, that we may tell our friends who delivered us out of prison."

"Fair damsels," he said, "my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake."

"Ah, sir," said they all, "well mayst thou be he, for else save yourself, as we deemed, there might never knight have the better of these two giants, for many fair knights have assayed it, and here have ended; and many times have we wished after you, and these two giants dread never knight but you."

"Now may you say," said Sir Launcelot, "unto your friends how and who hath delivered you, and greet them all for me; and if that I come in any of your marches show me such cheer as ye have cause; and what treasure that there is in this castle I give it you for a reward for your grievances. And the lord that is the owner of this castle I would that he received it as is right."

"Fair sir," said they, "the name of this castle is Tintagil, and a duke owned it that some time wedded fair Igraine, and after wedded her Uther Pendragon."

"Well," said Sir Launcelot, "I understand to whom this castle belongeth."

And so he departed and betaught them unto God. And then he mounted upon his horse and rode into many strange and wild countries and through many waters and valleys.

CHAPTER XII
THE ADVENTURES OF YVAIN

Senseless and deprived of speech, Yvain is unable to reply. And the damsel steps forth and takes the ring from his finger, commending to God the King and all the others except him, whom she leaves in deep distress. And his sorrow grows on him: he feels oppressed by what he hears, and is tormented by what he sees. He would rather be banished alone in some wild land, where no man or woman would know of his whereabouts any more than if he were in some deep abyss. He hates nothing so much as he hates himself, nor does he know to whom to go for comfort in the death he has brought upon himself. But he would rather go insane than not take vengeance upon himself, deprived, as he is, of joy through his own fault.

He rises from his place among the knights, fearing he will lose his mind if he stays longer in their midst. On their part, they pay no heed to him, but let him take his departure alone. They know well enough that he cares nothing for their talk or their society. And he goes away until he is far from the tents and pavilions. Then such a storm broke loose in his brain that he loses his senses; he tears his flesh and, stripping off his clothes, he flees across the meadows and fields, leaving his men quite at a loss, and wondering what has become of him. They go in search of him through all the country around—in the lodgings of the knights, by the hedge-rows, and in the gardens—but they seek him where he is not to be found.

Still fleeing, he rapidly pursued his way until he met close by a park a lad who had in his hand a bow and five barbed arrows, which were very sharp and broad. He had sense enough to go and take the bow and arrows which he held. However, he had no recollection of anything that he had done.

He lies in wait for the beasts in the woods, killing them, and then eating the venison raw. Thus he dwelt in the forest like a madman or a savage, until he came upon a little, low-lying house belonging to a hermit, who was at work clearing his ground. When he saw him coming with nothing on, he could easily perceive that he was not in his right mind; and such was the case, as the hermit very well knew. So, in fear, he shut himself up in his little house, and taking some bread and fresh water, he charitably set it outside the house on a narrow window-ledge.

And thither the other comes, hungry for the bread—which he takes and eats. I do not believe that he ever before had tasted such hard and bitter bread. The measure of barley kneaded with the straw, of which the bread, sourer than yeast, was made, had not cost more than five sous; and the bread was musty and as dry as bark. But hunger torments and whets his appetite, so that the bread tasted to him like sauce. For hunger is itself a well mixed and concocted sauce for any food.

My lord Yvain soon ate the hermit's bread, which tasted good to him, and drank the cool water from the jar. When he had eaten, he betook himself again to the woods in search of stags and does. And when he sees him going away, the good man beneath his roof prays God to defend him and guard him lest he ever pass that way again. But there is no creature, with howsoever little sense, that will not gladly return to a place where he is kindly treated. So, not a day passed while he was in this mad fit that he did not bring to his door some wild game. Such was the life he led; and the good man took it upon himself to remove the skin and set a good quantity of the venison to cook; and the bread and the water in the jug was always standing on the window-ledge for the madman to make a meal. Thus he had something to eat and drink: venison without salt or pepper, and good cool water from the spring.

And the good man exerted himself to sell the hide and buy bread made of barley, or oats, or of some other grain; so, after that, Yvain had a plentiful supply of bread and venison, which sufficed him for a long time, until one day he was found asleep in the forest by two damsels and their mistress, in whose service they were.

When they saw the naked man, one of the three ran and dismounted and examined him closely, before she saw anything about him which would serve to identify him. If he had only been richly attired, as he had been many a time, and if she could have seen him then, she would have known him quickly enough. But she was slow to recognize him, and continued to look at him until at last she noticed a scar which he had on his face, and she recollected that my lord Yvain's face was scarred in this same way; she was sure of it, for she had often seen it. Because of the scar she saw that it was he beyond any doubt; but she marvelled greatly how it came about that she found him thus poor and stripped.

Often she crosses herself in amazement, but she does not touch him or wake him up; rather does she mount her horse again, and going back to the others, tells them tearfully of her adventure. I do not know if I ought to delay to tell you of the grief she showed; but thus she spoke weeping to her mistress: "My lady, I have found Yvain, who has proved himself to be the best knight in the world, and the most virtuous. I cannot imagine what sin has reduced the gentleman to such a plight. I think he must have had some misfortune, which causes him thus to demean himself, for one may lose his wits through grief. And any one can see that he is not in his right mind, for it would surely never be like him to conduct himself thus indecently unless he had lost his mind. Would that God had restored to him the best sense he ever had, and would that he might then consent to render assistance to your cause! For Count Alier, who is at war with you, has made upon you a fierce attack. I should see the strife between you two quickly settled in your favor if God favored your fortunes so that Yvain should return to his senses and undertake to aid you in this stress."

To this the lady made reply: "Take care now! For surely, if he does not escape, with God's help I think we can clear his head of all the madness and insanity. But we must be on our way at once! For I recall a certain ointment with which Morgan the Wise presented me, saying there was no delirium of the head which it would not cure."

Thereupon, they go off at once toward the town, which was hard by, for it was not any more than half a league of the kind they have in that country; and, as compared with ours, two of their leagues make one and four make two. And he remains sleeping all alone, while the lady goes to fetch the ointment.

The lady opens a case of hers, and, taking out a box, gives to the damsel, and charges her not to be too prodigal in its use: she should rub only his temples with it, for there is no use of applying it elsewhere; she should anoint only his temples with it, and the remainder she should carefully keep, for there is nothing the matter with him except in his brain. She sends him also a robe of spotted fur, a coat, and a mantle of scarlet silk.

The damsel takes them, and leads in her right hand an excellent palfrey. And she added to these, of her own store, a shirt, some soft hose, and some new drawers of proper cut. With all these things she quickly set out, and found him still asleep where she had left him.

After putting her horse in an enclosure where she tied him fast, she came with the clothes and the ointment to the place where he was asleep. Then she made so bold as to approach the madman, so that she could touch and handle him; taking the ointment she rubbed him with it until none remained in the box, being so solicitous for his recovery that she proceeded to anoint him all over with it; and she used it so freely that she heeded not the warning of her mistress, nor indeed did she remember it. She put more on than was needed, but in her opinion it was well employed. She rubbed his temples and forehead, and his whole body down to the ankles. She rubbed his temples and his whole body so much there in the hot sunshine that the madness and the depressing gloom passes completely out of his brain. But she was foolish to anoint his body, for of that there was no need. If she had had five measures of it she would doubtless have done the same thing.

She carries off the box, and takes hidden refuge by her horse. But she leaves the robe behind, wishing that, if God calls him back to life, he may see it all laid out, and may take it and put it on. She posts herself behind an oak-tree until he had slept enough, and was cured and quite restored, having regained his wits and memory.

Then he sees that he is as naked as ivory, and feels much ashamed; but he would have been yet more ashamed had he known what had happened. As it is, he knows nothing but that he is naked. He sees the new robe lying before him, and marvels greatly how and by what adventure it had come there. But he is ashamed and concerned because of his nakedness, and says that he is dead and utterly undone if any one has come upon him there and recognized him.

Meanwhile, he clothes himself and looks out into the forest to see if any one is approaching. He tries to stand up and support himself, but cannot summon the strength to walk away, for his sickness has so affected him that he can scarcely stand upon his feet.

Thereupon, the damsel resolves to wait no longer, but, mounting, she passed close by him, as if unaware of his presence. Quite indifferent as to whence might come the help, which he needed so much to lead him away to some lodging-place, where he might recruit his strength, he calls out to her with all his might.

And the damsel, for her part, looks about her as if not knowing what the trouble is. Confused, she goes hither and thither, not wishing to go straight up to him.

Then he begins to call again: "Damsel, come this way, here!" And the damsel guided toward him her soft-stepping palfrey. By this ruse she made him think that she knew nothing of him and had never seen him before; in so doing she was wise and courteous.

When she had come before him, she said: "Sir knight, what so you desire that you call me so insistently?"

"Ah," said he, "prudent damsel, I have found myself in this wood by some mishap—I know not what. For God's sake and your belief in Him, I pray you to lend me, taking my word as a pledge, or else to give me outright, that palfrey you are leading in your hand."

"Gladly, sire; but you must accompany me whither I am going."

"Which way?" says he.

"To a town that stands near by, beyond the forest."

"Tell me, damsel, if you stand in need of me."

"Yes," she says, "I do; but I think you are not very well. For the next two weeks at least you ought to rest. Take this horse, which I hold in my right hand, and we shall go to our lodging-place."

And he, who had no other desire, takes it and mounts, and they proceed until they come to a bridge over a swift and turbulent stream. And the damsel throws into the water the empty box she is carrying thinking to excuse herself to her mistress for her ointment by saying that she was so unlucky as to let the box fall into the water; for, when her palfrey stumbled under her, the box slipped from her grasp, and she came near falling in too, which would have been still worse luck. It is her intention to invent this story when she comes into her mistress's presence.

Together they held their way until they came to the town, where the lady detained my lord Yvain and asked the damsel in private for her box and ointment; and the damsel repeated to her the lie as she had invented it, not daring to tell her the truth.

Then the lady was greatly enraged, and said: "This is certainly a very serious loss, and I am sure and certain that the box will never be found again. But since it has happened so, there is nothing more to be done about it. One often desires a blessing which turns out to be a curse; thus I, who looked for a blessing and joy from this knight, have lost the dearest and most precious of my possessions. However, I beg you to serve him in all respects."

"Ah, lady, how wisely now you speak! For it would be too bad to convert one misfortune into two."

Then they say no more about the box, but minister in every way they can to the comfort of my lord Yvain, bathing him and washing his hair, having him shaved and clipped, for one could have taken up a fist full of hair upon his face. His every want is satisfied: if he asks for arms, they are furnished him; if he wants a horse, they provide him with one that is large and handsome, strong and spirited.

He stayed there until, upon a Tuesday, Count Alier came to the town with his men and knights, who started fires and took plunder. Those in the town at once rose up and equipped themselves with arms. Some armed and some unarmed, they issued forth to meet the plunderers, who did not deign to retreat before them, but awaited them in a narrow pass. My lord Yvain struck at the crowd; he had had so long a rest that his strength was quite restored, and he struck a knight upon his shield with such force that he sent down in a heap, I think, the knight together with his horse. The knight never rose again, for his backbone was broken and his heart burst within his breast. My lord Yvain drew back a little to recover, then protecting himself completely with his shield, he spurred forward to clear the pass. One could not have counted up to four before one would have seen him cast down speedily four knights. Whereupon, those who were with him waxed more brave, for many a man of poor and timid heart, at the sight of some brave man who attacks a dangerous task before his eyes, will be overwhelmed by confusion and shame, which will drive out the poor heart in his body and give him another like to a hero's for courage. So these men grew brave and each stood his ground in the fight and attack.

And the lady was up in the tower, whence she saw the fighting and the rush to win and gain possession of the pass, and she saw lying upon the ground many who were wounded and many killed, both of her own party and of the enemy, but more of the enemy than of her own. For my courteous, bold, and excellent lord Yvain made them yield just as the falcon does the teal. And the men and women who had remained within the town declared as they watched the strife: "Ah, what a valiant knight! How he makes his enemies yield, and how fierce is his attack! He slays about him as a lion among the fallow deer, when he is impelled by need and hunger. Then, too, all our other knights are more brave and daring because of him, for, were it not for him alone, not a lance would have been splintered nor a sword drawn to strike. When such an excellent man is found he ought to be loved and dearly prized. See now how he proves himself, see how he maintains his place, see how he stains with blood his lance and bare sword, see how he presses the enemy and follows them up, how he comes boldly to attack then, then gives away and turns about; but he spends little time in giving away, and soon returns to the attack. See him in the fray again, how lightly he esteems his shield, which he allows to be cut in pieces mercilessly. Just see how keen he is to avenge the blows which are dealt at him. For, if some one should use all the forest of Argonne to make lances for him, I guess he would have none left by night. For he breaks all the lances that they place in his socket, and calls for more. And see how he wields the sword when he draws it! Roland never wrought such havoc with Durandal against the Turks at Ronceval or in Spain! If he had in his company some good companions like himself, the traitor, whose attack we are suffering, would retreat to-day discomfited, or would stand his ground only to find defeat."

Then they say that the woman would be blessed who should be loved by one who is so powerful in arms, and who above all others may be recognized as a taper among candles, as a moon among the stars, and as the sun above the moon. He so won the hearts of all that the prowess which they see in him made them wish that he had taken their lady to wife, and that he were master of the land.

Thus man and woman alike praised him, and in doing so they but told the truth. For his attack on his adversaries was such that they vie with one another in flight. But he presses hard upon their heels, and all his companions follow him, for by his side they feel as safe as if they were enclosed in a high and thick stone wall. The pursuit continues until those who flee become exhausted, and the pursuers slash at them and disembowel their steeds. The living roll over upon the dead as they wound and kill each other. They work dreadful destruction upon each other; and meanwhile the Count flees with my lord Yvain after him, until he comes up with him at the foot of a steep ascent, near the entrance of a strong place which belonged to the Count.

There the Count was stopped, with no one near to lend him aid; and without any excessive parley my lord Yvain received his surrender. For as soon as he held him in his hands, and they were left just man to man, there was no further possibility of escape, or of yielding, or of self-defence; so the Count pledged his word to go to surrender to the lady of Noroison as her prisoner, and to make such peace as she might dictate. And when he had accepted his word he made him disarm his head and remove the shield from about his neck, and the Count surrendered to him his sword. Thus he won the honor of leading off the Count as his prisoner, and of giving him over to his enemies, who make no secret of their joy.

But the news was carried to the town before they themselves arrived. While all come forth to meet him, the lady herself leads the way. My lord Yvain holds his prisoner by the hand, and presents him to her. The Count gladly acceded to her wishes and demands, and secured her by his word, oath, and pledges. Giving her pledges, he swears to her that he will always live on peaceful terms with her, and will make good to her all the loss which she can prove, and will build up again the houses which he had destroyed. When these things were agreed upon in accordance with the lady's wish, my lord Yvain asked leave to depart. But she would not have granted him this permission had he been willing to take her as his mistress, or to marry her. But he would not allow himself to be followed or escorted a single step, but rather departed hastily: in this case entreaty was of no avail.