The High History of the Holy Graal





SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY:

ORIGINAL TEXT --

Potvin, Ch. (Ed.): "Perceval le Gallois ou le conte du Graal",
Vol. I (Soc. Bibl. Belges., Mons., 1866).

RECOMMENDED READING --

Anonymous (Trans. P.M. Matarasso): "The Quest for the Holy Graal"
(Penguin Classics, London, 1969).

DeTroyes, Chretien (Trans. William W. Kibler & Carleton W.
Carroll): "Arthurian Romances" (Penguin Classics, London, 1991). 
Contains the unfinished work "Perceval".

Eschenbach, Wolfram von (Trans. A.T. Hatto): "Parzival" (Penguin
Classics, London, 1980).

Malory, Sir Thomas (Ed. Janet Cowen): "Le Morte D'Arthur", Vol. I
& II (Penguin Classics, London, 1969).

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INTRODUCTION

This book is translated from the first volume of "Perceval le
Gallois ou le conte du Graal"; edited by M. Ch. Potvin for `La
Societe des Bibliophiles Belges' in 1866, (1) from the MS.
numbered 11,145 in the library of the Dukes of Burgundy at
Brussels.  This MS. I find thus described in M. F. J. Marchal's
catalogue of that priceless collection: `"Le Roman de Saint
Graal", beginning "Ores lestoires", in the French language; date,
first third of the sixteenth century; with ornamental capitals.'
(2)  Written three centuries later than the original romance, and
full as it is of faults of the scribe, this manuscript is by far
the most complete known copy of the "Book of the Graal" in
existence, being defective only in Branch XXI. Titles 8 and 9,
the substance of which is fortunately preserved elsewhere.  Large
fragments, however, amounting in all to nearly one-seventh of the
whole, of a copy in handwriting of the thirteenth century, are
preserved in six consecutive leaves and one detached leaf bound
up with a number of other works in a MS. numbered 113 in the City
Library at Berne.  The volume is in folio on vellum closely
written in three columns to the page, and the seven leaves follow
the last poem contained in it, entitled "Duremart le Gallois".
The manuscript is well known, having been lent to M. de Sainte
Palaye for use in the Monuments of French History issued by the
Benedictines of the Congregation of St Maur.  Selections from the
poems it contains are given in Sinner's "Extraits de Poesie du
XIII. Siecle", (3) and it is described, unfortunately without any
reference to these particular leaves, by the same learned
librarian in the "Catalogus Codicum MSS. Bibl. Bernensis", J.R.
Sinner. (4)

M. Potvin has carefully collated for his edition all that is
preserved of the Romance in this manuscript, comprising all the
beginning of the work as far as Branch III. Title 8, about the
middle, and from Branch XIX. Title 23, near the beginning, to
Branch XXX. Title 5, in the middle.  Making allowance for
variations of spelling and sundry minor differences of reading,
by no means always in favour of the earlier scribe, the Berne
fragments are identical with the corresponding portions of the
Brussels manuscript, and it is therefore safe to assume that the
latter is on the whole an accurate transcript of the entire
original Romance.

The only note of time in the book itself is contained in the
declaration at the end.  From this it appears that it was written
by order of the Seingnor of Cambrein for Messire Jehan the
Seingnor of Neele.  M. Potvin, without giving any reason for so
doing, assumes that this Lord of Cambrein is none other than the
Bishop of Cambrai.  If this assumption be correct, the person
referred to was probably either John of Berhune, who held the see
from 1200 till July 27, 1219, or his successor Godfrey of
Fontaines (Conde), who held it till 1237.  To me, however, it
seems more likely that the personage intended was in reality the
'Seingnor' of Cambrin, the chef-lieu of a canton of the same
name, on a small hill overlooking the peat-marshes of Bethune,
albeit I can find no other record of any such landed proprietor's
existence.

Be this as it may, the Messire Jehan, Seingnor of Neele, can
hardly be other than the John de Nesle who was present at the
battle of Bouvines in 1214, and who in 1225 sold the lordship of
Bruges to Joan of Flanders. (5)  These dates therefore may be
regarded as defining that of the original Romance within fairly
narrow limits.

This conclusion is confirmed by other evidence.  An early Welsh
translation of the story was published with an English version
and a glossary by the Rev. Robert Williams in the first volume of
his "Selections from the Hengwrt MSS". (6)  The first volume of
this work is entitled "Y Seint Greal, being the adventures of
King Arthur's knights of the Round Table, in the quest of the
Holy Grail, and on other occasions.  Originally written about the
year 1200".  The volume, following the manuscript now in the
library of W.W.E. Wynne, Esq., at Peniarth, is divided into two
parts.  The first, fol. 1-109 of the manuscript, represents the
thirteenth to the seventeenth book of Sir Thomas Malory's "Morte
d'Arthur".  Of the second, which represents the Romance here
translated, Mr Williams writes: "The second portion of the Welsh
Greal, folios 110-280, contains the adventures of Gwalchmei
Peredur and Lancelot, and of the knights of the Round Table; but
these are not found in the "Morte d'Arthur".  The Peniarth MS. is
beautifully written on vellum, and in perfect preservation, and
its date is that of Henry VI., the early part of the fifteenth
century.  The orthography and style of writing agrees literally
with that of the "Mabinogion of the Llyvr Coch Hergest", which is
of that date.  This, of course, is a transcript of an earlier
copy; but there is no certainty when it was first translated into
Welsh, though Aneurin Owen in his "Catalogue of the Hengwrt MSS."
assigns it to the sixth year of Henry I.  It is mentioned by
Davydd ab Gwilym, who died in 1368."

Whatever may be the date of the Welsh version, the translator had
no great mastery of French, and is often at fault as to the
meaning both of words and sentences, and when in a difficulty is
only too apt to cut the knot by omitting the passage bodily.  The
book itself, moreover, is not entire.  On page 275, all between
Branch IX. Title 16 and Branch XI. Title 2, twenty-two chapters
in all, is missing.  Again, on page 355, Titles 10-16 in Branch
XXI. are left out, while the whole of the last Branch, containing
28 Titles, is crumpled up into one little chapter, from which it
would seem that the Welshman had read the French, but thought it
waste of pains to translate it.  In all, not to speak of other
defects, there are fifty-six whole chapters in the present book,
of which there is not a word in the Welsh.

In one matter, however, Mr Williams' English translation has
stood me in good stead.  In Branch XXI., as I have said, the
French manuscript makes default of two Titles, but almost the
whole of their substance is supplied by the Welsh version.  By an
unlucky accident, before the hiatus in the French is fully filled
up, the Welsh version itself becomes defective, though the gap
thus left open can hardly extend beyond a very few words. 
Without this supplement, incomplete as it is, it would have been
impossible to give the full drift of one of the Romancer's best
stories, which is equally unintelligible in both the French and
Welsh texts in their present state.

As the Welsh version gives a number of names both of persons and
places widely differing from those in the French, it may be
useful here to note the principal changes made.  Perceval in the
Welsh is called Peredur, which is said to mean "steel suit".  The
Welshman, however, adds that the name in French is "Peneffresvo
Galief", which, unless it be a misreading or miswriting for
Perceval le Galois, is to me wholly unintelligible.  Perceval's
father, Alain li Gros, is in the Welsh Earl Evrawg, and his
sister Dindrane, Danbrann.  King Arthur is Emperor Arthur, his
Queen Guenievre, Gwenhwyvar, and their son Lohot, Lohawt or
Llacheu.  Messire Gawain is Gwalchmei; Chaus, son of Ywain li
Aoutres, Gawns, son of Owein Vrych; Messire Kay or Kex is Kei the
Long; Ahuret the Bastard, Anores; Ygerne, wife of Uther
Pendragon, Eigyr; Queen Jandree, Landyr; and King Fisherman for
the most part King Peleur.  Of places, Cardoil is Caerlleon on
Usk, Pannenoisance, Penvoisins; Tintagel, Tindagoyl; and Avalon,
Avallach.

By a double stroke of ill-luck, the complete and wholly
independent Romance here translated has thus been printed by its
two former editors as if it were only a part of some other story.
M. Potvin describes it as the "First Part, the Romance in Prose,"
of his "Perceval le Gallois", and Mr Williams accepts it as the '
"Second Portion" of his "Y Seint Greal".  This unhappy
collocation has led not a few of M. Potvin's readers to neglect
his First Part, under the impression that the story is retold in
the other volumes containing the Romance in verse; while not a
few of Mr Williams' readers have neglected his Second Portion
under the impression that there could be nothing of any special
importance in an adjunct referred to by the Editor in so
perfunctory a manner.  In very truth, however, the Story of the
Holy Graal here told is not only the most coherent and poetic of
all the many versions of the Legend, but is also the first and
most authentic.

This seems to be proved beyond doubt by a passage in the History
of Fulke Fitz-Warine, originally written apparently between the
years 1256 and 1264.  The passage occurs at the end of the
History, and is printed in verse of which I give a literal prose
translation:

     "Merlin saith that in Britain the Great a Wolf shall come
     from the White Launde.  Twelve sharp teeth shall he have,
     six below and six above.  He shall have so fierce a look
     that he shall chase the Leopard forth of the White Launde,
     so much force shall he have and great virtue.  We now know
     that Merlin said this for Fulke the son of Waryn, for each
     of you ought to understand of a surety how in the time of
     the King Arthur that was called the White Launde which is
     now named the White Town.  For in this country was the
     chapel of S. Austin that was fair, where Kahuz, the son of
     Ywein, dreamed that he carried off the candlestick and that
     he met a man who hurt him with a knife and wounded him in
     the side.  And he, on sleep, cried out so loud that King
     Arthur hath heard him and awakened from sleep.  And when
     Kahuz was awake, he put his hand to his side.  There hath he
     found the knife that had smitten him through.  SO TELLETH US
     THE GRAAL, THE BOOK OF THE HOLY VESSEL.  There the King
     Arthur recovered his bounty and his valour when he had lost
     all his chivalry and his virtue.  From this country issued
     forth the Wolf as saith Merlin the Wise, and the twelve
     sharp teeth have we known by his shield.  He bore a shield
     indented as the heralds have devised.  In the shield are
     twelve teeth of gules and argent.  By the Leopard may be
     known and well understood King John, for he bore in his
     shield the leopards of beaten gold." (7)

The story of Kahuz or Chaus here indicated by the historian is
told at length in the opening chapters of the present work and,
so far as is known, nowhere else.  The inference is therefore
unavoidable that we have here "The Graal, the Book of the Holy
Vessel" to which the biographer of Fulke refers.  The use,
moreover, of the definite article shows that the writer held this
book to be conclusive authority on the subject.  By the time he
retold the story of Fulke, a whole library of Romances about
Perceval and the Holy Graal had been written, with some of which
it is hard to believe that any historian of the time was
unacquainted.  He nevertheless distinguishes this particular
story as "The Graal", a way of speaking he would scarce have
adopted had he known of any other "Graals" of equal or nearly
equal authority.

Several years later, about 1280, the trouveur Sarrazin also cites
"The Graal" ("li Graaus") in the same manner, in superfluous
verification of the then-accepted truism that King Arthur was at
one time Lord of Great Britain.  This appeal to "The Graal" as
the authority for a general belief shows that it was at that time
recognised as a well-spring of authentic knowledge; while the
fact that the trouveur was not confounding "The Graal" with the
later version of the story is further shown by his going on
presently to speak of "the Romance that Chrestien telleth so
fairly of Perceval the adventures of the Graal." (8)

Perhaps, however, the most striking testimony to the fact that
this work is none other than the original "Book of the Graal" is
to be found in the "Chronicle of Helinand", well known at the
time the Romance was written not only as a historian but as a
troubadour at one time in high favour at the court of Philip
Augustus, and in later years as one of the most ardent preachers
of the Albigensian Crusade.  The passage, a part of which has
been often quoted, is inserted in the Chronicle under the year
720, and runs in English thus:

     "At this time a certain marvellous vision was revealed by an
     angel to a certain hermit in Britain concerning S. Joseph,
     the decurion who deposed from the cross the Body of Our
     Lord, as well as concerning the paten or dish in the which
     Our Lord supped with His disciples, whereof the history was
     written out by the said hermit and is called "Of the Graal"
     (de Gradali).  Now, a platter, broad and somewhat deep, is
     called in French "gradalis" or "gradale", wherein costly
     meats with their sauce are wont to be set before rich folk
     by degrees ("gradatim") one morsel after another in divers
     orders, and in the vulgar speech it is called "graalz", for
     that it is grateful and acceptable to him that eateth
     therein, as well for that which containeth the victual, for
     that haply it is of silver or other precious material, as
     for the contents thereof, to wit, the manifold courses of
     costly meats.  I have not been able to find this history
     written in Latin, but it is in the possession of certain
     noblemen written in French only, nor, as they say, can it
     easily be found complete.  This, however, I have not
     hitherto been able to obtain from any person so as to read
     it with attention.  As soon as I can do so, I will translate
     into Latin such passages as are more useful and more likely
     to be true." (9)

A comparison of this passage with the Introduction to the present
work (10) leaves no doubt that Helinand here refers to this "Book
of the Graal", which cannot therefore be of a later date than
that at which he made this entry in his "Chronicle".  At the same
time, the difficulty he experienced in obtaining even the loan of
the volume shows that the work had at that time been only lately
written, as in the course of a few years, copies of a book so
widely popular must have been comparatively common.  The date,
therefore, at which Helinand's "Chronicle" was written determines
approximately that of the "Book of the Graal".

In its present state, the "Chronicle" comes to an end with a
notice of the capture of Constantinople by the French in 1204,
and it has been hastily assumed that Helinand's labours as a
chronicler must have closed in that year.  As a matter of fact
they had not then even begun.  At that time Helinand was still a
courtly troubadour, and had not yet entered on the monastic
career during which his "Chronicle" was compiled.  He was
certainly living as late as 1229, and preached a sermon, which
assuredly shows no signs of mental decrepitude, in that year at a
synod in Toulouse. (11)

Fortunately a passage in the "Speculum Historiale" of Vincent of
Beauvais, himself a younger contemporary and probably a personal
acquaintance of Helinand, throws considerable light on the real
date of Helinand's "Chronicle".  After recounting certain matters
connected with the early years of the thirteenth century, the
last date mentioned being 1209, Vincent proceeds: --

     "In those times, in the diocese of Beauvais, was Helinand
     monk of Froid-mont, a man religious and distinguished for
     his eloquence, who also composed those verses on Death in
     our vulgar tongue which are publicly read, so elegantly and
     so usefully that the subject is laid open clearer than the
     light.  He also diligently digested into a certain huge
     volume a Chronicle from the beginning of the world down to
     his own time.  But in truth this work was dissipated and
     dispersed in such sort that it is nowhere to be found
     entire.  For it is reported that the said Helinand lent
     certain sheets of the said work to one of his familiars, to
     wit, Guarin, Lord Bishop of Senlis of good memory, and thus,
     whether through forgetfulness or negligence or some other
     cause, lost them altogether.  From this work, however, as
     far as I have been able to find it, I have inserted many
     passages in this work of mine own also."

It will thus be seen that about 1209, Helinand became a monk at
Froid-mont, and it is exceedingly improbable that any portion of
his "Chronicle" was written before that date.  On the other hand,
his `familiar' Guarin only became Bishop of Senlis in 1214, and
died in 1227, (12) so that it is certain Helinand wrote the last
part of his "Chronicle" not later than the last-mentioned year.
The limits of time, therefore, between which the "Chronicle" was
written are clearly circumscribed; and if it is impossible to
define the exact year in which this particular entry was made, it
is not, I fancy, beyond the legitimate bounds of critical
conjecture.

On the first page of the Romance, Helinand read that an Angel
had appeared to a certain hermit in Britain and revealed to him
the history of the Holy Graal.  In transferring the record of
this event to his "Chronicle", he was compelled by the exigencies
of his system, which required the insertion of every event
recorded under some particular year, to assign a date to the
occurrence.  A vague "five hundred years ago" would be likely to
suggest itself as an appropriate time at which the occurrence
might be supposed to have taken place; and if he were writing in
1220, the revelation to the hermit would thus naturally be
relegated to the year 720, the year under which the entry
actually appears. This, of course, is pure guesswork, but the
fact remains that the "Chronicle" was written in or about 1220,
and the "Book of the Graal" not long before it.

The name of the author is nowhere recorded.  He may possibly be
referred to in the "Elucidation" prefixed to the rhymed version
of "Percival le Gallois" under the name of "Master Blihis", but
this vague and tantalising pseudonym affords no hint of his real
identity. (13)  Whoever he may have been; I hope that I am not
misled by a translator's natural partiality for the author he
translates in assigning him a foremost rank among the masters of
medieval prose romance.

With these testimonies to its age and genuineness, I commend the
"Book of the Graal" to all who love to read of King Arthur and
his knights of the Table Round.  They will find here printed in
English for the first time what I take to be in all good faith
the original story of Sir Perceval and the Holy Graal, whole and
incorrupt as it left the hands of its first author.

-- Sebastian Evans,
Coombe Lea, Bickley, Kent


ENDNOTES:
(1)  6 vols. 8vo.  Mons, 1866-1871.
(2)  Marchal "Cat.", 2 vols. Brussels, 1842.  Vol i.p. 223.
(3)  Lausanne, 1759.
(4)  3 vols. 8vo.  Berne, 1770, etc.  Vol. ii., Introduc. viii.
     and p. 389 et seq.
(5)  Rigord. "Chron." 196, p. 288.  Wm. le Breton, "Phil." xi.
     547.  See also Birch-Hirschfeld, "Die Gralsage", p. 143.
(6)  2 vols. 8vo.  London, Richards, 1876-1892.
(7)  "L'histoire de Foulkes Fitz-Warin". Ed. F. Michel, Paris,
     1840; p. 110.  Ed. T. Wright (Warton Club), London, 1855; p.
     179.  Ed. J. Stevenson ("Roll, Pub. Chron." of R.
     Coggeshall), London, 1875; p. 412.  The MS. containing the
     history (MS. Reg. 12. c. XII.) was first privately printed
     for the late Sir T. Duffus Hardy from a transcript by A.
     Berbrugger.
(8)  "Le Roman de Ham", in the Appendix to F. Michel's "Histoire
     des Ducs de Normandie".  Soc. de l'Hist. de France, 1840,
     pp. 225, 230.
(9)  Helinandi Op. Ed. Migne. "Patrol." Vol. ccxii. col. 814. 
     The former part of the passage is quoted with due
     acknowledgment by Vincent of Beauvais, "Spec. Hist." B.
     xxiii. c. 147.  Vincent, however, spells the French word
     "grail", and, by turning Helinand's "nec" into "nune", makes
     him say that the French work can now easily be found
     complete.  Vincent finished his "Speculum Historialz in 1244
     B. xxi. c. 105.
(10) Vol. i. p. 1, etc.
(11) Sermon xxvi., printed in Minge, u.s. col. 692.  It has been
     doubted whether this sermon, preached in the church of S.
     Jacques, was addressed to the Council held at Toulouse in
     1219, or to the one held in 1229, but a perusal of the
     sermon itself decides the question.  It is wholly irrelevant
     to the topics discussed at the former gathering, while it is
     one continued commentary on the business transacted at the
     latter.  See also Dom Brial, "Hist. Litt. de la France",
     xviii. 92.
(12) "De Mas Latrie. Tres. de Chron.", col. 1488.
(13) Cf. Potvin, "P. le G." ii. 1 and 7, with vol. i. p. 131 and
     vol. ii. p. 112 of the present work (See also the
     Proceedings of the "Hon. Soc. of Cymmrodorion", 1908-9. Ed.)



THE HIGH HISTORY OF THE HOLY GRAAL


BRANCH I.


INCIPIT.

Hear ye the history of the most holy vessel that is called Graal,
wherein the precious blood of the Saviour was received on the day
that He was put on rood and crucified in order that He might
redeem His people from the pains of hell.  Josephus set it in
remembrance by annunciation of the voice of an angel, for that
the truth might be known by his writing of good knights, and good
worshipful men how they were willing to suffer pain and to
travail for the setting forward of the Law of Jesus Christ, that
He willed to make new by His death and by His crucifixion.


TITLE I.

The High Book of the Graal beginneth in the name of the Father
and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.  These three Persons are
one substance, which is God, and of God moveth the High Story of
the Graal.  And all they that hear it ought to understand it, and
to forget all the wickednesses that they have in their hearts.
For right profitable shall it be to all them that shall hear it
of the heart.  For the sake of the worshipful men and good
knights of whose deeds shall remembrance be made, doth Josephus
recount this holy history, for the sake of the lineage of the
Good Knight that was after the crucifixion of Our Lord.  Good
Knight was he without fail, for he was chaste and virgin of his
body and hardy of heart and puissant, and so were his conditions
without wickedness.  Not boastful was he of speech, and it seemed
not by his cheer that he had so great courage; Natheless, of one
little word that he delayed to speak came to pass so sore
mischances in Greater Britain, that all the islands and all the
lands fell thereby into much sorrow, albeit thereafter he put
them back into gladness by the authority of his good knighthood.
Good knight was he of right, for he was of the lineage of Joseph
of Abarimacie.  And this Joseph was his mother's uncle, that had
been a soldier of Pilate's seven years, nor asked he of him none
other guerdon of his service but only to take down the body of
Our Saviour from hanging on the cross.  The boon him seemed full
great when it was granted him, and full little to Pilate seemed
the guerdon; for right well had Joseph served him, and had he
asked to have gold or land thereof, willingly would he have given
it to him.  And for this did Pilate make him a gift of the
Saviour's body, for he supposed that Joseph should have dragged
the same shamefully through the city of Jerusalem when it had
been taken down from the cross, and should have left it without
the city in some mean place.  But the Good Soldier had no mind
thereto, but rather honoured the body the most he might, rather
laid it along in the Holy Sepulchre and kept safe the lance
whereof He was smitten in the side and the most Holy Vessel
wherein they that believed on Him received with awe the blood
that ran down from His wounds when He was set upon the rood.  Of
this lineage was the Good Knight for whose sake is this High
History treated.  Yglais was his mother's name: King Fisherman
was his uncle, and the King of the Lower Folk that was named
Pelles, and the King that was named of the Castle Mortal, in whom
was there as much bad as there was good in the other twain, and
much good was there in them; and these three were his uncles on
the side of his mother Yglais, that was a right good Lady and a
loyal; and the Good Knight had one sister, that hight Dindrane.
He that was head of the lineage on his father's side was named
Nichodemus.  Gais li Gros of the Hermit's Cross was father of
Alain li Gros.  This Alain had eleven brethren, right good
knights, like as he was himself.  And none of them all lived in
his knighthood but twelve years, and they all died in arms for
their great hardiment in setting forward of the Law that was made
new.  There were twelve brethren.  Alain li Gros was the eldest;
Gorgalians was next; Bruns Brandnils was the third; Bertholez 1i
Chauz the fourth; Brandalus of Wales was the fifth; Elinant of
Escavalon was the sixth; Calobrutus was the seventh; Meralis of
the Palace Meadow was the eighth; Fortunes of the Red Launde was
ninth; Melaarmaus of Abanie was the tenth; Galians of the White
Tower the eleventh; Alibans of the Waste City was the twelfth.
All these died in arms in the service of the Holy Prophet that
had renewed the Law by His death, and smote His enemies to the
uttermost of their power.  Of these two manner of folk, whose
names and records you have heard, Josephus the good clerk telleth
us was come the Good Knight of whom you shall well hear the name
and the manner presently.


II.

The authority of the scripture telleth us that after the
crucifixion of Our Lord, no earthly King set forward the Law of
Jesus Christ so much as did King Arthur of Britain, both by
himself and by the good knights that made repair to his court.
Good King Arthur after the crucifixion of Our Lord, was such as I
tell you, and was a puissant King, and one that well believed in
God, and many were the good adventures that befel at his court.
And he had in his court the Table Round that was garnished of the
best knights in the world.  King Arthur after the death of his
father led the highest life and most gracious that ever king led,
in such sort that all the princes and all the barons took
ensample of him in well-doing.  For ten years was King Arthur in
such estate as I have told you, nor never was earthly king so
praised as he, until that a slothful will came upon him and he
began to lose the pleasure in doing largesse that he wont to
have, nor was he minded to hold court neither at Christmas-tide
nor at Easter nor at Pentecost.  The knights of the Table Round
when they saw his well-doing wax slack departed thence and began
to hold aloof from his court, insomuch as that of three hundred
and three-score knights and six that he wont to have of his
household, there were now not more than a five-and-twenty at
most, nor did no adventure befal any more at his court.  All the
other princes had slackened of their well-doing for that they saw
King Arthur maintain so feebly.  Queen Guenievre was so sorrowful
thereof that she knew not what counsel to take with herself, nor
how she might so deal as to amend matters so God amended them
not.  From this time beginneth the history.


III.

It was one Ascension Day that the King was at Cardoil.  He was
risen from meat and went through the hall from one end to the
other, and looked and saw the Queen that was seated at a window.
The King went to sit beside her, and looked at her in the face
and saw that the tears were falling from her eyes.

"Lady," saith the King, "What aileth you, and wherefore do you
weep?"

"Sir," saith she, "And I weep, good right have I; and you
yourself have little right to make joy."

"Certes, Lady, I do not."

"Sir," saith she, "You are right.  I have seen on this high day,
or on other days that were not less high than this, when you have
had such throng of knights at your court that right uneath might
any number them.  Now every day are so few therein that much
shame have I thereof, nor no more do no adventures befal therein.
Wherefore great fear have I lest God hath put you into
forgetfulness."

"Certes, Lady," saith the King, "No will have I to do largesse
nor aught that turneth to honour.  Rather is my desire changed
into feebleness of heart.  And by this know I well that I lose my
knights and the love of my friends."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "And were you to go to the chapel of S.
Augustine, that is in the White Forest, that may not be found
save by adventure only, methinketh that on your back-repair you
would again have your desire of well-doing, for never yet did
none discounselled ask counsel of God but he would give it for
love of him so he asked it of a good heart."

"Lady," saith the King, "And willingly will I go, forasmuch as
that you say have I heard well witnessed in many places where I
have been."

"Sir," saith she, "The place is right perilous and the chapel
right adventurous.  But the most worshipful hermit that is in the
Kingdom of Wales hath his dwelling beside the chapel, nor liveth
he now any longer for nought save only the glory of God."

"Lady," saith the King, "It will behove me go thither all armed
and without knights."

"Sir," saith she, "You may well take with you one knight and a
squire."

"Lady," saith the King, "That durst not I, for the place is
perilous, and the more folk one should take thither, the fewer
adventures there should he find."

"Sir," saith she, "One squire shall you take by my good will nor
shall nought betide you thereof save good only, please God!"

"Lady," saith the King, "At your pleasure be it, but much dread I
that nought shall come of it save evil only."

Thereupon the King riseth up from beside the Queen, and looketh
before him and seeth a youth tall and strong and comely and
young, that was hight Chaus, and he was the son of Ywain li
Aoutres.

"Lady," saith he to the Queen, "This one will I take with me and
you think well."

"Sir," saith she, "It pleaseth me well, for I have heard much
witness to his valour."

The King calleth the squire, and he cometh and kneeleth down
before him.  The King maketh him rise and saith unto him,
"Chaus," saith he, "You shall lie within to-night, in this hall,
and take heed that my horse be saddled at break of day and mine
arms ready.  For I would be moving at the time I tell you, and
yourself with me without more company."

"Sir," saith the squire, "At your pleasure."

And the evening drew on, and the King and Queen go to bed.  When
they had eaten in hall, the knights went to their hostels.  The
squire remained in the hall, but he would not do off his clothes
nor his shoon, for the night seemed him to be too short, and for
that he would fain be ready in the morning at the King's
commandment.  The squire was lying down in such sort as I have
told you, and in the first sleep that he slept, seemed him the
King had gone without him.  The squire was sore scared thereat,
and came to his hackney and set the saddle and bridle upon him,
and did on his spurs and girt on his sword, as it seemed him in
his sleep, and issued forth of the castle a great pace after the
King.  And when he had ridden a long space he entered into a
great forest and looked in the way before him and saw the slot of
the King's horse and followed the track a long space, until that
he came to a launde of the forest whereat he thought that the
King had alighted.  The squire thought that the hoof-marks on the
way had come to an end and so thought that the King had alighted
there or hard by there.  He looketh to the right hand and seeth a
chapel in the midst of the launde, and he seeth about it a great
graveyard wherein were many coffins, as it seemed him.  He
thought in his heart that he would go towards the chapel, for he
supposed that the King would have entered to pray there.  He went
thitherward and alighted.  When the squire was alighted, he tied
up his hackney and entered into the chapel.  None did he see
there in one part nor another, save a knight that lay dead in the
midst of the chapel upon a bier, and he was covered of a rich
cloth of silk, and had around him waxen tapers burning that were
fixed in four candlesticks of gold.  This squire marvelled much
how this body was left there so lonely, insomuch that none were
about him save only the images, and yet more marvelled he of the
King that he found him not, for he knew not in what part to seek
him.  He taketh out one of the tall tapers, and layeth hand on
the golden candlestick, and setteth it betwixt his hose and his
thigh and issueth forth of the chapel, and remounteth on his
hackney and goeth his way back and passeth beyond the grave-yard
and issueth forth of the launde and entereth into the forest and
thinketh that he will not cease until he hath found the King.


IV.

So, as he entereth into a grassy lane in the wood, he seeth come
before him a man black and foul-favoured, and he was somewhat
taller afoot than was himself a-horseback.  And he held a great
sharp knife in his hand with two edges as it seemed him.  The
squire cometh over against him a great pace and saith unto him,
"You, that come there, have you met King Arthur in this forest?"

"In no wise," saith the messenger, "But you have I met, whereof
am I right glad at heart, for you have departed from the chapel
as a thief and a traitor.  For you are carrying off thence the
candlestick of gold that was in honour of the knight that lieth
in the chapel dead.  Wherefore I will that you yield it up to me
and so will I carry it back, otherwise, and you do not this, you
do I defy!"

"By my faith," saith the squire, "Never will I yield it you! 
rather will I carry it off and make a present thereof to King
Arthur."

"By my faith," saith the other, "Right dearly shall you pay for
it, and you yield it not up forthwith."

Howbeit, the squire smiteth with his spurs and thinketh to pass
him by, but the other hasteth him, and smiteth the squire in the
left side with the knife and thrusteth it into his body up to the
haft.  The squire, that lay in the hall at Cardoil, and had
dreamed this, awoke and cried in a loud voice: "Holy Mary!  The
priest!  Help!  Help, for I am a dead man!"

The King and the Queen heard the cry, and the chamberlain leapt
up and said to the King: "sir, you may well be moving, for it is
day!"

The King made him be clad and shod.  And the squire crieth with
such strength as he hath: "Fetch me the priest, for I die!"

The King goeth thither as fast as he may, and the Queen and the
chamberlain carry great torches and candles.  The King asketh him
what aileth him, and he telleth him all in such wise as he had
dreamed it.  "Ha," saith the King, "Is it then a dream?"

"Yea, sir," saith he, "But a right foul dream it is for me, for
right foully hath it come true!" He lifted his left arm. "Sir,"
saith he, "Look you there!  Lo, here is the knife that was run
into my side up to the haft!"  After that, he setteth his hand to
his hose where the candlestick was.  He draweth it forth and
showeth it to the King.  "Sir," saith he, "For this candlestick
that I present to you, am I wounded to the death!"

The King taketh the candlestick, and looketh thereat in
wonderment for none so rich had he never seen tofore.  The King
showeth it to the Queen.  "Sir," saith the squire, "Draw not
forth the knife of my body until that I be shriven."

The King sent for one of his own chaplains that made the squire
confess and do his houselling right well.  The King himself
draweth forth the knife of the body, and the soul departed
forthwith.  The King made do his service right richly and his
shrouding and burial.  Ywain li Aoutres that was father to the
squire was right sorrowful of the death of his son.  King Arthur,
with the good will of Ywain his father, gave the candlestick to
S. Paul in London, for the church was newly founded, and the King
wished that this marvellous adventure should everywhere be known,
and that prayer should be made in the church for the soul of the
squire that was slain on account of the candlestick.


V.

King Arthur armed himself in the morning, as I told you and began
to tell, to go to the chapel of S. Augustine.  Said the Queen to
him. "Whom will you take with you?"

"Lady," saith he, "No company will I have thither, save God only,
for well may you understand by this adventure that hath befallen,
that God will not allow I should have none with me."

"Sir," saith she, "God be guard of your body, and grant you
return safely so as that you may have the will to do well,
whereby shall your praise be lifted up that is now sore cast
down."

"Lady," saith he, "May God remember it."

His destrier was brought to the mounting-stage, and the King
mounted thereon all armed.  Messire Ywain li Aoutres lent him his
shield and spear.  When the King had hung the shield at his neck
and held the spear in his hand, sword-girt, on the tall destrier
armed, well seemed he in the make of his body and in his bearing
to be a knight of great pith and hardiment.  He planteth himself
so stiffly in the stirrups that he maketh the saddlebows creak
again and the destrier stagger under him that was right stout and
swift, and he smiteth him of his spurs, and the horse maketh
answer with a great leap.  The Queen was at the windows of the
hall, and as many as five-and-twenty knights were all come to the
mounting-stage.  When the King departed, "Lords," saith the
Queen, "How seemeth you of the King?  Seemeth he not a goodly
man?"

"Yea, certes, Lady, and sore loss is it to the world that he
followeth not out his good beginning, for no king nor prince is
known better learned of all courtesy nor of all largesse than he,
so he would do like as he was wont."  With that the knights hold
their peace, and King Arthur goeth away a great pace.  And he
entereth into a great forest adventurous, and rideth the day long
until he cometh about evensong into the thick of the forest.  And
he espied a little house beside a little chapel, and it well
seemed him to be a hermitage.  King Arthur rode thitherward and
alighteth before this little house, and entereth thereinto and
draweth his horse after him, that had much pains to enter in at
the door, and laid his spear down on the ground and leant his
shield against the wall, and hath ungirded his sword and unlaced
his ventail.  He looked before him and saw barley and provender,
and so led his horse thither and smote off his bridle, and
afterwards hath shut the door of the little house and locked it.
And it seemed him that there was a strife in the chapel.  The
ones were weeping so tenderly and sweetly as it were angels, and
the other spake so harshly as it were fiends.  The King heard
such voices in the chapel and marvelled much what it might be. 
He findeth a door in the little house that openeth on a little
cloister whereby one goeth to the chapel.  The King is gone
thither and entereth into the little minster, and looketh
everywhere but seeth nought there, save the images and the
crucifixes.  And he supposeth not that the strife of these voices
cometh of them.  The voices ceased as soon as he was within.  He
marvelleth how it came that this house and hermitage were
solitary, and what had become of the hermit that dwelt therein.
He drew nigh the altar of the chapel and beheld in front thereof
a coffin all discovered, and he saw the hermit lying therein all
clad in his vestments, and seeth the long beard down to his
girdle, and his hands crossed upon his breast.  There was a cross
above him, whereof the image came as far as his mouth, and he had
life in him yet, but he was nigh his end, being at the point of
death.  The King was before the coffin a long space, and looked
right fainly on the hermit, for well it seemed him that he had
been of a good life.  The night was fully come, but within was a
brightness of light as if a score of candles were lighted.  He
had a mind to abide there until that the good man should have
passed away.  He would fain have sate him down before the coffin,
when a voice warned him right horribly to begone thence, for that
it was desired to make a judgment within there, that might not be
made so long as he were there.  The King departed, that would
willingly have remained there, and so returned back into the
little house, and sate him down on a seat whereon the hermit wont
to sir.  And he heareth the strife and the noise begin again
within the chapel, and the ones he heareth speaking high and the
others low, and he knoweth well by the voices, that the ones are
angels and the others devils.  And he heareth that the devils are
distraining on the hermit's soul, and that judgment will
presently be given in their favour, whereof make they great joy.
King Arthur is grieved in his heart when he heareth that the
angels' voices are stilled.  The King is so heavy, that no desire
hath he neither to eat nor to drink.  And while he sitteth thus,
stooping his head toward the ground, full of vexation and
discontent, he heareth in the chapel the voice of a Lady that
spake so sweet and clear, that no man in this earthly world, were
his grief and heaviness never so sore, but and he had heard the
sweet voice of her pleading would again have been in joy.  She
saith to the devils: "Begone from hence, for no right have ye
over the soul of this good man, whatsoever he may have done
aforetime, for in my Son's service and mine own is he taken, and
his penance hath he done in this hermitage of the sins that he
hath done."

"True, Lady," say the devils, "But longer had he served us than
he hath served you and your Son.  For forty years or more hath he
been a murderer and robber in this forest, whereas in this
hermitage but five years hath he been.  And now you Wish to
thieve him from us."

"I do not.  No wish have I to take him from you by theft, for had
he been taken in your service in suchwise as he hath been taken
in mine, yours would he have been, all quit."

The devils go their way all discomfit and aggrieved; and the
sweet Mother of our Lord God taketh the soul of the hermit, that
was departed of his body, and so commendeth it to the angels and
archangels that they make present thereof to Her dear Son in
Paradise.  And the angels take it and begin to sing for joy "Te
Deum laudamus".  And the Holy Lady leadeth them and goeth her way
along with them.  Josephus maketh remembrance of this history and
telleth us that this worthy man was named Calixtus.


VI.

King Arthur was in the little house beside the chapel, and had
heard the voice of the sweet Mother of God and the angels.  Great
joy had he, and was right glad of the good man's soul that was
borne thence into Paradise.  The King had slept right little the
night and was all armed.  He saw the day break clear and fair,
and goeth his way toward the chapel to cry God mercy, thinking to
find the coffin discovered there where the hermit lay; but so did
he not!  Rather, was it covered of the richest tomb-stone that
any might ever see, and had on the top a red cross, and seemed it
that the chapel was all incensed.  When the King had made his
orison therein, he cometh back again and setteth on his bridle
and saddle and mounteth, and taketh his shield and spear and
departeth from the little house and entereth into the forest and
rideth a great pace, until he cometh at right hour of tierce to
one of the fairest laundes that ever a man might see.  And he
seeth at the entrance a spear set bar-wise, and looketh to the
right or ever he should enter therein, and seeth a damsel sitting
under a great leafy tree, and she held the reins of her mule in
her hand.  The damsel was of great beauty and full seemly clad.
The King turneth thitherward and so saluteth her and saith: 
"Damsel," saith he, "God give you joy and good adventure."

"Sir," saith she, "So may He do to you!"

"Damsel," saith the King, "Is there no hold in this launde?"

"Sir," saith the damsel, "No hold is there save a most holy
chapel and a hermit that is beside S. Augustine's chapel."

"Is this then S. Augustine's chapel?" saith the King.

"Yea, Sir, I tell it you for true, but the launde and the forest
about is so perilous that no knight returneth thence but he be
dead or wounded; but the place of the chapel is of so great
worthiness that none goeth thither, be he never so discounselled,
but he cometh back counselled, so he may thence return on live.
And Lord God be guard of your body, for never yet saw I none
aforetime that seemed more like to be good knight, and sore pity
would it be and you were not, and never more shall I depart me
hence and I shall have seen your end."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Please God, you shall see me repair
back thence."

"Certes," saith the damsel, "Thereof should I be!  right fain,
for then should I ask you tidings at leisure of him that I am
seeking."

The King goeth to the bar whereby one entereth into the launde,
and looketh to the right into a combe of the forest and seeth the
chapel of S. Augustine and the right fair hermitage.  Thitherward
goeth he and alighteth, and it seemeth him that the hermit is
apparelled to sing the mass.  He reineth up his horse to the
bough of a tree by the side of the chapel and thinketh to enter
thereinto, but, had it been to conquer all the kingdoms of the
world, thereinto might he not enter, albeit there was none made
him denial thereof, for the door was open and none saw he that
might forbid him.  Sore ashamed is the King thereof.  Howbeit, he
beholdeth an image of Our Lord that was there within and crieth
Him of mercy right sweetly, and looketh toward the altar.  And he
looketh at the holy hermit that was robed to sing mass and said
his "Confiteor", and seeth at his right hand the fairest Child
that ever he had seen, and He was clad in an alb and had a golden
crown on his head loaded with precious stones that gave out a
full great brightness of light.  On the left hand side, was a
Lady so fair that all the beauties of the world might not compare
them with her beauty.  When the holy hermit had said his
"Confiteor" and went to the altar, the Lady also took her Son and
went to sit on the right hand side towards the altar upon a right
rich chair and set her Son upon her knees and began to kiss Him
full sweetly and saith:  "Sir," saith she, "You are my Father and
my Son and my Lord, and guardian of me and of all the world."

King Arthur heareth the words and seeth the beauty of the Lady
and of the Child, and marvelleth much of this that She should
call Him her Father and her Son.  He looketh at a window behind
the altar and seeth a flame come through at the very instant that
mass was begun, clearer than any ray of sun nor moon nor star,
and evermore it threw forth a brightness of light such that and
all the lights in the world had been together it would not have
been the like.  And it is come down upon the altar.  King Arthur
seeth it who marvelleth him much thereof.  But sore it irketh him
of this that he may not enter therewithin, and he heareth, there
where the holy hermit was singing the mass, right fair responses,
and they seem him to be the responses of angels.  And when the
Holy Gospel was read, King Arthur looked toward the altar and saw
that the Lady took her Child and offered Him into the hands of
the holy hermit, but of this King Arthur made much marvel, that
the holy hermit washed not his hands when he had received the
offering.  Right sore did King Arthur marvel him thereof, but
little right would he have had to marvel had he known the reason.
And when the Child was offered him, he set Him upon the altar and
thereafter began his sacrament.  And King Arthur set him on his
knees before the chapel and began to pray to God and to beat his
breast.  And he looked toward the altar after the preface, and it
seemed him that the holy hermit held between his hands a man
bleeding from His side and in His palms and in His feet, and
crowned with thorns, and he seeth Him in His own figure.  And
when he had looked on Him so long and knoweth not what is become
of Him, the King hath pity of Him in his heart of this that he
had seen, and the tears of his heart come into his eyes.  And he
looketh toward the altar and thinketh to see the figure of the
man, and seeth that it is changed into the shape of the Child
that he had seen tofore.


VII.

When the mass was sung, the voice of a holy angel said "Ite,
missa est".  The Son took the Mother by the hand, and they
evanished forth of the chapel with the greatest company and the
fairest that might ever be seen.  The flame that was come down
through the window went away with this company.  When the hermit
had done his service and was divested of the arms of God, he went
to King Arthur that was still without the chapel.  "Sir," saith
he to the King, "Now may you well enter herein and well might you
have been joyous in your heart had you deserved so much as that
you might have come in at the beginning of the mass."

King Arthur entered into the chapel without any hindrance. 
"Sir," saith the hermit to the King, "I know you well, as did I
also King Uther Pendragon your father.  On account of your sins
and your deserts might you not enter here while mass was being
sung.  Nor will you to-morrow, save you shall first have made
amends of that you have misdone towards God and towards the saint
that is worshipped herewithin.  For you are the richest King of
the world and the most adventurous, wherefore ought all the world
to take ensample of you in well-doing and in largesse and in
honour; whereas you are now an ensample of evil-doing to all rich
worshipful men that be now in the world.  Wherefore shall right
sore mishap betide you and you set nor back your doing to the
point whereat you began.  For your court was the sovran of all
courts and the most adventurous, whereas now is it least of
worth.  Well may he be sorry that goeth from honour to shame, but
never may he have reproach that shall do him ill, that cometh
from shame to honour, for the honour wherein he is found rescueth
him to God, but blame may never rescue the man that hath
renounced honour for shame, for the shame and wickedness wherein
he is found declare him guilty."


VIII.

"Sir," saith King Arthur, "To amend me have I come hither, and to
be better counselled than I have been.  Well do I see that the
place is most holy, and I beseech you that you pray God that He
counsel me and I will do my endeavour herein to amend me."

"God grant you may amend your life," saith the holy hermit, "in
such sort that you may help to do away the evil Law and to exalt
the Law that is made new by the crucifixion of the Holy Prophet.
But a great sorrow is befallen in the land of late through a
young knight that was harboured in the hostel of the rich King
Fisherman, for that the most Holy Graal appeared to him and the
Lance whereof the point runneth of blood, yet never asked he to
whom was served thereof nor whence it came, and for that he asked
it not are all the lands commoved to war, nor no knight meeteth
other in the forest but he runneth upon him and slayeth him and
he may, and you yourself shall well perceive thereof or ever you
shall depart of this launde."

"Sir," saith King Arthur, "God defend me from the anguish of an
evil death and from wickedness, for hither have I come for none
other thing but to amend my life, and this will I do, so God
bring me back in safety."

"Truly," saith the hermit, "He that hath been bad for three years
out of forty, he hath not been wholly good."

"Sir," saith the King, "You speak truth."

The hermit departeth and so commendeth him to God.  The King
cometh to his horse and mounteth the speediest that ever he may,
and setteth his shield on his neck, and taketh his spear in his
hand and turneth him back a great pace.  Howbeit, he had not gone
a bowshot's length when he saw a knight coming disorderly against
him, and he sate upon a great black horse and he had a shield of
the same and a spear.  And the spear was somewhat thick near the
point and burned with a great flame, foul and hideous, and the
flame came down as far as over the knight's fist.  He setteth his
spear in rest and thinketh to smite the King, but the King
swerveth aside and the other passeth beyond.  "Sir knight,
wherefor hate you me?"

"Of right ought I not to love you," saith the knight.

"Wherefore?" saith the King.

"For this, that you have had my brother's candlestick that was
foully stolen from him!"

"Know you then who I am?" saith the King.

"Yea," saith the knight; "You are the King Arthur that aforetime
were good and now are evil.  Wherefore I defy you as my mortal
enemy."

He draweth him back so that his onset may be the weightier.  The
King seeth that he may not depart without a stour.  He setteth
his spear in rest when he seeth the other come towards him with
his own spear all burning.  The King smiteth his horse with his
spurs as hard as he may, and meeteth the knight with his spear
and the knight him.  And they melled together so stoutly that the
spears bent without breaking, and both twain are shifted in their
saddles and lose their stirrups.  They hurtle so strongly either
against other of their bodies and their horses that their eyes
sparkle as of stars in their heads and the blood rayeth out of
King Arthur by mouth and nose.  Either draweth away from other
and they take their breath.  The King looketh at the Black
Knight's spear that burneth, and marvelleth him right sore that
it is not snapped in flinders of the great buffet he had received
thereof, and him thinketh rather that it is a devil and a fiend. 
The Black Knight is not minded to let King Arthur go so soon, but
rather cometh toward him a great career.  The King seeth him come
toward him and so covereth him of his shield for fear of the
flame.  The King receiveth him on the point of his spear and
smiteth him with so sore a shock that he maketh him bend backward
over his horse croup.  The other, that was of great might,
leapeth back into the saddle-bows and smiteth the King upon the
boss of his shield so that the burning point pierceth the shield
and the sleeve of his habergeon and runneth the sharp iron into
his arm.  The King feeleth the wound and the heat, whereof is he
filled with great wrath, and the knight draweth back his spear to
him, and hath great joy at heart when he feeleth the King
wounded.  The King was rejoiced not a whit, and looked at the
spear that was quenched thereof and burned no longer.

"Sir," saith the knight,"I cry you mercy.  Never would my spear
have been quenched of its burning, save it were bathed in your
blood."

"Now may never God help me," saith King Arthur, "whenever I shall
have mercy on you, and I may achieve!"

He pricketh towards him a great run, and smiteth him in the broad
of the breast and thrusted his spear half an ell into his body,
and beareth him to the ground, both him and his horse all in a
heap, and draweth his spear back to him and looketh at the knight
that lay as dead and leaveth him in the launde, and draweth him
towards the issue incontinent.  And so as the King went, he heard
a great clashing of knights coming right amidst the forest, so as
it seemed there were a good score or more of them, and he seeth
them enter the launde from the forest, armed and well horsed. 
And they come with great ado toward the knight that lay dead in
the midst of the launde.  King Arthur was about to issue forth,
when the damsel that he had left under the tree cometh forward to
meet him.

"Sir," saith she, "For God's sake, return back and fetch me the
head of the knight that lieth there dead."

The King looketh back, and seeth the great peril and the
multitude of knights that are there all armed. "Ha, damsel,"
saith he, "You are minded to slay me."

"Certes, Sir, that I am not, but sore need will there be that I
should have it, nor never did knight refuse to do the thing I
asked nor deny me any boon I demanded of him.  Now God grant you
be not the most churlish."

"Ha, damsel, I am right sore wounded in the arm whereon I hold my
shield."

"Sir," saith she, "I know it well, nor never may you be heal
thereof save you bring me the head of the knight."

"Damsel," he saith, "I will essay it whatsoever may befal me
thereof."


IX.

King Arthur looketh amidst the launde and seeth that they that
have come thither have cut the knight to pieces limb by limb, and
that each is carrying off a foot or a thigh or an arm or a hand
and are dispersing them through the forest.  And he seeth that
the last knight beareth on the point of his spear the head.  The
King goeth after him a great gallop and crieth out to him: "Ha,
Sir knight, abide and speak to me!"

"What is your pleasure?" saith the knight.

"Fair Sir," saith the King, "I beseech you of all loves that you
deign to give me the head of this knight that you are carrying on
the point of your lance."

"I will give it you," saith the knight, "on condition."

"What condition?" saith the King.

"That you tell me who slew the knight whose head I carry that you
ask of me."

"May I not otherwise have it?" saith the King.

"In no wise," saith he.

"Then will I tell you," saith the King.  "Know of a very truth
that King Arthur slew him."

"And where is he?" saith the knight.

"Seek him until you shall have found him," saith King Arthur,
"For I have told you the truth thereof.  Give me the head." 

"Willingly," saith the knight.  He lowereth his spear and the
King taketh the head.  The knight had a horn at his neck.  He
setteth it to his mouth and soundeth a blast right loud.  The
knights that were set within the forest hear the horn and return
back a great gallop, and King Arthur goeth his way toward the
oak-tree at the issue of the launde where the damsel is awaiting
him.  And the knights come presently to him that had given the
head to the King and ask him wherefore he hath sounded the horn.

"For this," saith he, "That this knight that is going away yonder
hath told me that King Arthur slew the Black Knight, and I was
minded you should know it that we may follow him."

"We will not follow him," say the knights, "For it is King Arthur
himself that is carrying off the head, and no power have we to do
evil to him nor other sith that he hath passed the bar.  But you
shall aby it that let him go when he was so nigh you!"

They rush in upon him and slay him and cut him up, and each one
carrieth off his piece the same as they had done with the other.
King Arthur is issued forth of the bar, and cometh to the maiden
that is waiting for him and presenteth her the head.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Gramercy."

"Damsel," saith he, "With a good will!"

"Sir," saith the damsel, "You may well alight, for nought have
you to fear on this side the bar."  With that, the King
alighteth.

"Sir," saith she, "Do off your habergeon heedfully and I will
bind up the wound in your arm, for of none may you be made whole
save of me only."

The King doeth off his habergeon, and the damsel taketh of the
blood of the knight's head that still ran all warm, and therewith
washeth King Arthur his wound, and thereafter maketh him do on
his habergeon again.

"Sir," saith she, "Never would you have been whole save by the
blood of this Black Knight.  And for this carried they off the
body piecemeal and the head, for that they well knew you were
wounded; and of the head shall I have right sore need, for
thereby shall a castle be yielded up to me that was reft from
me by treason, so I may find the knight that I go seek, through
whom it ought to be yielded up to me."

"Damsel," saith the King, "And who is the knight?"

"Sir," saith she, "He was the son of Alain li Gros of the Valleys
of Camelot, and is named Perlesvax."

"Wherefore Perlesvax?" saith the King.

"Sir," saith she, "When he was born, his father was asked how he
should be named in right baptism, and he said that he would he
should have the name Perlesvax, for the Lord of the Moors had
reft him of the greater part of the Valleys of Camelot, and
therefore he would that his son should by this name be reminded
thereof, and God should so multiply him as that he should be
knight.  The lad was right comely and right gentle and began to
go by the forests and launch his javelins, Welsh-fashion, at hart
and hind.  His father and his mother loved him much, and one day
they were come forth of their hold, whereunto the forest was
close anigh, to enjoy them.  Now, there was between the hold and
the forest, an exceeding small chapel that stood upon four
columns of marble; and it was roofed of timber and had a little
altar within, and before the altar a right fair coffin, and
thereupon was the figure of a man graven.  Sir," saith the damsel
to the King, "The lad asked his father and mother what man lay
within the coffin.  The father answered: `Fair son,' saith he,
`Certes, I know not to tell you, for the tomb hath been here or
ever that my father's father was born, and never have I heard
tell of none that might know who it is therein, save only that
the letters that are on the coffin say that when the Best Knight
in the world shall come hither the coffin will open and the
joinings all fall asunder, and then will it be seen who it is
that lieth therein.'"


X.

"Damsel," saith the King, "Have many knights passed thereby
sithence that the coffin was set there?"

"Yea, sir, so many that neither I nor none other may tell the
number.  Yet natheless hath not the coffin removed itself for
none.  When the lad heareth his father and mother talking thus,
he asketh what a knight may be?  `Fair son,' saith his mother,
`Of right ought you well to know by your lineage.'  She telleth
the lad that he had eleven uncles on his father's side that had
all been slain in arms, and not one of them lived knight but
twelve years.  Sir," saith she to the King, "The lad made answer
that this was nor that he had asked, but how knights were made? 
And the father answered that they were such as had more valour
than any other in the world.  After that he said, `Fair son, they
are clad in habergeons of iron to protect their bodies, and helms
laced upon their heads, and shields and spears and swords girded
wherewithal to defend their bodies.'"


XI.

"Sir," saith the damsel to the King, "When that the father had
thus spoken to the lad, they returned together to the castle.
When the morrow morning came, the lad arose and heard the birds
sing and bethought him that he would go for disport into the
forest for the day sith that it was fair.  So he mounted on one
of his father's horses of the chase and carried his javelins
Welshman-fashion and went into the forest and found a stag and
followed him a good four leagues Welsh, until that he came into a
launde and found two knights all armed that were there doing
battle, and the one had a red shield and the other a white.  He
left of tracking the stag to look on at the melly and saw that
the Red Knight was conquering the White.   He launched one of his
javelins at the Red Knight so hard that he pierced his habergeon
and made it pass through the heart.  The knight fell dead. 

"Sir," saith the damsel, "The knight of the white shield made
great joy thereof, and the lad asked him, `were knights so easy
to slay?  Methought,' saith the lad, `that none might never
pierce nor damage a knight's armour, otherwise would I not have
run him through with my javelin,' saith the lad.  Sir, the lad
brought the destrier home to his father and mother, and right
grieved were they when they heard the tidings of the knight he
had slain.  And right were they, for thereof did sore trouble
come to them thereafter.  Sir, the squire departed from the house
of his father and mother and came to the court of King Arthur.
Right gladly did the King make him knight when he knew his will,
and afterward he departed from the land and went to seek
adventure in every kingdom.  Now is he the Best Knight that is in
the world.  So go I to seek him, and full great joy shall I have
at heart and I may find him.  Sir, and you should meet him by any
adventure in any of these forests, he beareth a red shield with a
white hart.  And so tell him that his father is dead, and that
his mother will lose all her land so he come not to succour her;
and that the brother of the knight of the Red shield that he slew
in the forest with his javelin warreth upon her with the Lord
of the Moors."

"Damsel," saith the King, "And God grant me to meet him, right
fain shall I be thereof, and right well will I set forth your
message."

"Sir," saith she, "Now that I have told you him that I seek, it
is your turn to tell me your name."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Willingly.  They that know me call me
Arthur."

"Arthur?  Have you indeed such name?"

"Yea, damsel," saith he.

"So help me God," saith she, "Now am I sorrier for you than
tofore, for you have the name of the worst King in the world, and
I would that he were here in such sort as you are now.  But never
again will he move from Cardoil, do what he may, such dread hath
the Queen lest any should take him from her, according as I have
heard witness, for never saw I neither the one nor the other.  I
was moved to go to his court, but I have met full a score knights
one after other, of whom I asked concerning him, and one told me
the same tale as another, for each told me that the court of King
Arthur is the vilest in the world, and that all the knights of
the Table Round have renounced it for the badness thereof."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Hereof may he well be sorry, but at
the beginning I have heard say he did right well."

"And who careth," saith the damsel, "for his good beginning when
the end is bad?  And much it misliketh me that so seemly knight
and so worshipful man as are you should have the name of so evil
a king."

"Damsel," saith the King, "A man is not good by his name, but by
his heart."

"You say true," saith the damsel, "But for the King's name have I
despite of yours.  And whitherward are you going?"

"I shall go to Cardoil, where I shall find King Arthur when I
shall come thither."

"Go to, then, and bestir!" saith she.

"One bad man with another!  No better hope have I of you, sith
that you go thither!"

"Damsel, you may say your pleasure, for thither I go!  God be
with you!"

"And may never God guide you," saith she, "and you go the court
of King Arthur!"


XII.

With that the King mounted again and departed, and left the
damsel under the tree and entered into the deep forest and rode
with much ado as fast as he might to come to Cardoil.  And he had
ridden a good ten leagues Welsh when he heard a Voice in the
thick of the forest that began to cry aloud: "King Arthur of
Great Britain, right glad at heart mayst thou be of this that God
hath sent me hither unto thee.  And so He biddeth thee that thou
hold court at the earliest thou mayst, for the world, that is now
made worse of thee and of thy slackness in well-doing, shall
thereof be greatly amended!"

With that the Voice is silent, and the King was right joyous in
his heart of that he had heard.  The story speaketh no more here
of other adventure that befel King Arthur in his returning nor on
his arriving.  Anyway, he hath ridden so long that he is come
back to Cardoil.  The Queen and the knights made great feast of
him and great joy.  The King was alighted on the mounting-stage
and went up into the hall and made him be disarmed.  And he
showed the Queen the wound that he had on his arm, that had been
right great and painful, but it was healing full fairly.  The
King goeth into the chamber and the Queen with him, and doeth the
King be apparelled in a robe of cloth of silk all furred of
ermine, with coat, surcoat and mantle.

"Sir," saith the Queen, "Sore pain and travail have you had."

"Lady, in such wise behoveth worshipful man to suffer in order
that he may have honour, for hardly shall none without travail
come to honour."  He recounteth to the Queen all the adventures
that have befallen him sithence that he was departed, and in what
manner he was wounded in the arm, and of the damsel that had so
blamed him of his name.

"Sir," saith the queen, "Now may you well know how meet it is
that a man high and rich and puissant should have great shame of
himself when he becometh evil."

"Lady," saith the King, "So much did the damsel do me well to
wot, but greatly did a Voice recomfort me that I heard in the
forest, for it told me that God bade me hold court presently, and
that I shall see there the fairest adventure befal that ever I
may see."

"Sir," saith she, "Right joyous ought you to be that your Saviour
hath had you in remembrance.  Now, therefore, fulfil His
commandment."

"Certes, Lady, so will I do.  For never had none better desire of
well-doing than have I as at this time, nor of honour nor of
largesse."

"Sir," saith she, "God be praised thereof."



BRANCH II.

Now beginneth here the second branch of the Holy Graal the name
of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I

King Arthur was at Cardoil with the Queen and right few knights.
By God's pleasure, the wish and the will had come back to him to
win honour and to do largesse as most he might.  He made seal his
letters and sent them throughout all his lands and all the
islands, and gave notice to the barons and knights that he would
hold court at Pannenoisance, that is situate the sea of Wales, at
the feast of S. John after Whitsuntide.  And he was minded to put
it off until that day, for that suntide was already too nigh, and
they that should be thereat might not all come by the earlier
day.  The tidings went through all lands, so that knights come in
great plenty thereunto, for well-doing had so waxed feeble in all
the kingdoms, that every one had avoided King Arthur as one that
should do nought more for ever.  Wherefore all began now to
marvel whence his new desire had come.  The knights of the Table
Round that were scattered through the lands and the forests, by
God's will learnt the tidings and right great joy had they
thereof, and came back to the court with great ado.  But neither
Messire Gawain nor Lancelot came thither on that day.  But all
the other came that were then on live.  S. John's day came, and
the knights were come from all parts, marvelling much that the
King had not held the court at Whitsuntide, but they knew not the
occasion thereof.  The day was fair and clear and the air fresh,
and the hall was wide and high and garnished of good knights in
great plenty.  The cloths were spread on the tables whereof were
great plenty in the hall.  The King and the Queen had washen and
went to sit at the head of one table and the other knights sate
them down, whereof were full five score and five as the story
telleth.  Kay the Seneschal and Messire Ywain the son of King
Urien served that day at the tables at meat, and five-and-twenty
knights beside.  And Lucan the Butler served the golden cup
before the King.  The sun shone through the windows everywhere
amidst the hall that was strown of flowers and rushes and sweet
herbs and gave out a smell like as had it been sprinkled of balm.
And straightway after the first meat had been served, and while
they were yet awaiting the second, behold you three damsels where
they enter into the hall!  She that came first sate upon a mule
white as driven snow and had a golden bridle and a saddle with a
bow of ivory banded with precious stones and a saddle-cloth of a
red samite dropped of gold.  The damsel that was seated on the
mule was right seemly of body but scarce so fair of face, and she
was robed in a rich cloth of silk and gold and had a right rich
hat that covered all her head.  And it was all loaded of costly
stones that flamed like fire.  And great need had she that her
head were covered, for she was all bald without hair, and carried
on her neck her right arm slung in a stole of cloth of gold.  And
her arm lay on a pillow, the richest that ever might be seen, and
it was all charged of little golden bells, and in this hand held
she the head of a King sealed in silver and crowned with gold.
The other damsel that came behind rode after the fashion of a
squire, and carried a pack trussed behind her with a brachet
thereupon, and at her neck she bore a shield banded argent and
azure with a red cross, and the boss was of gold all set with
precious stones.  The third damsel came afoot with her kirtle
tucked up like a running footman; and she had in her hand a whip
wherewith she drove the two steeds.  Each of these twain was
fairer than the first, but the one afoot surpassed both the
others in beauty.  The first cometh before the King, there where
he sitteth at meat with the Queen.

"Sir," saith she, "The Saviour of the world grant you honour and
joy and good adventure and my Lady the Queen and all them of this
hall for love of you!  Hold it not churlishness and I alight not,
for there where knights be may I not alight, nor ought I until
such time as the Graal be achieved."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Gladly would I have it so."

"Sir," saith she, "That know I well, and may it not mislike you
to hear the errand whereon I am come,"

"It shall not mislike me," saith the King, "say your pleasure!" 

"Sir," saith she, "The shield that this damsel beareth belonged
to Joseph, the good soldier knight that took down Our Lord of
hanging on the rood.  I make you a present thereof in such wise
as I shall tell you, to wit, that you keep the shield for a
knight that shall come hither for the same, and you shall make
hang it on this column in the midst of your hall, and guard it in
such wise as that none may take it and hang at his neck save he
only.  And of this shield shall he achieve the Graal, and another
shield shall he leave here in the hall, red, with a white hart;
and the brachet that the damsel carrieth shall here remain, and
little joy will the brachet make until the knight shall come."

"Damsel," saith the King, "The shield and the brachet will we
keep full safely, and right heartily we thank you that you have
deigned to bring them hither."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "I have not yet told you all that I have
in charge to deliver.  The best King that liveth on earth and the
most loyal and the most righteous, sendeth you greeting; of whom
is sore sorrow for that he hath fallen into a grievous
languishment."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Sore pity is it and it be so as you
say; and I pray you tell me who is the King?"

"Sir," saith she, "It is rich King Fisherman, of whom is great
grief."

"Damsel," saith the King, "You say true; and God grant him his
heart's desire!"

"Sir," saith she, "Know you wherefore he hath fallen into
languishment?"

"Nay, I know not at all, but gladly would I learn."

"And I will tell you," saith she.  "This languishment is come
upon him through one that harboured in his hostel, to whom the
most Holy Graal appeared.  And, for that he would not ask unto
whom one served thereof, were all the lands commoved to war
thereby, nor never thereafter might knight meet other but he
should fight with him in arms without none other occasion.  You
yourself may well perceive the same, for your well-doing hath
greatly slackened, whereof have you had much blame, and all the
other barons that by you have taken ensample, for you are the
mirror of the world alike in well-doing and in evil-doing.  Sir,
I myself have good right to plain me of the knight, and I will
show you wherefore."

She lifteth the rich hat from her head and showeth the King and
Queen and the knights in the hall her head all bald without hair.

"Sir," saith she, "My head was right seemly garnished of hair
plaited in rich tresses of gold at such time as the knight came
to the hostel of the rich King Fisherman, but I became bald for
that he made not the demand, nor never again shall I have my hair
until such time as a knight shall go thither that shall ask the
question better than did he, or the knight that shall achieve the
Graal.  Sir, even yet have you not seen the sore mischief that
hath befallen thereof.  There is without this hall a car that
three white harts have drawn hither, and lightly may you send to
see how rich it is. I tell you that the traces are of silk and
the axletrees of gold, and the timber of the car is ebony.  The
car is covered above with a black samite, and below is a cross of
gold the whole length, and under the coverlid of the car are the
heads of an hundred and fifty knights whereof some be sealed in
gold, other some in silver and the third in lead.  King Fisherman
sendeth you word that this loss I hath befallen of him that
demanded not unto whom one serveth of the Graal.  Sir, the damsel
that beareth the shield holdeth in her hand the head of a Queen
that is sealed in lead and crowned with copper, and I tell you
that by the Queen whose head you here behold was the King
betrayed whose head I bear, and the three manner of knights whose
heads are within the car.  Sir, send without to see the
costliness and fashion of the car."

The King sent Kay the Seneschal to see.  He looked straitly
thereat within and without and thereafter returned to the King.
"Sir," saith he, "Never beheld I car so rich, and there be three
harts withal that draw the car, the tallest and fattest one might
ever see.  But and you will be guided by me, you will take the
foremost, for he is scarce so far, and so might you bid make
right good collops thereof."

"Avoid there, Kay!" saith the King.  "Foul churlishness have you
spoken!  I would not such a deed were done for another such
kingdom as is this of Logres!"

"Sir," saith the damsel, "He that hath been wont to do
churlishness doth right grudgingly withdraw himself therefrom.
Messire Kay may say whatsoever him pleaseth, but well know I that
you will pay no heed to his talk.  Sir," saith the damsel,
"Command that the shield be hung on this column and that the
brachet be put in the Queen's chamber with the maidens.  We will
go on our way, for here have we been long enough."

Messire Ywain laid hold on the shield and took it off the
damsel's neck by leave of the King, and hung it on the column in
the midst of the hall, and one of the Queen's maidens taketh the
brachet and carrieth him to the Queen's chamber.  And the damsel
taketh her leave and turneth again, and the King commendeth her
to God.  When the King eaten in hall, the Queen with the King and
the knights go to lean at the windows to look at the three
damsels and the three white harts that draw the car, and the more
part said that the damsel afoot that went after the two that were
mounted should have the most misease.  The bald damsel went
before, and set not her hat on her head until such time as
behoved her enter into the forest; and the knights that were at
the windows might see them no longer.  Then set she her hat again
upon her head.  The King, the Queen, and the knights when they
might see them no more, came down from the windows, and certain
of them said that never until this time had they seen bald-headed
damsel save this one only.


II.

Hereupon the story is silent of King Arthur, and turneth again to
speak of the three damsels and the car that was drawn by the
three white harts.  They are entered into the forest and ride on
right busily.  When they had left the castle some seven leagues
Welsh behind them, they saw a knight coming toward them on the
way they had to go.  The knight sat on a tall horse, lean and
bony.  His habergeon was all rusty and his shield pierced in more
than a dozen places, and the colour thereon was so fretted away
that none might make out the cognizance thereof.  And a right
thick spear bore he in his hand.  When he came anigh the damsel,
he saluted her right nobly.

"Fair welcome, damsel, to you and your company."

"Sir," saith she, "God grant you joy and good adventure!"

"Damsel," saith the knight, "Whence come you?"

"Sir, from a court high-plenary that King Arthur holdeth at
Pannenoisance.  Go you thither, sir knight," saith the damsel,
"to see the King and the Queen and the knights that are there?"

"Nay, not so!" saith he.  "Many a time have I seen them, but
right glad am I of King Arthur that he hath again taken up his
well-doing, for many a time hath he been accustomed thereof."

"Whitherward have you now emprised your way?" saith the damsel.

"To the land of King Fisherman, and God allow me."

"Sir," saith she, "Tell me your name and bide awhile beside me."

The knight draweth bridle and the damsels and the car come to a
stay.  "Damsel," saith he, "Well behoveth me tell you my name.
Messire Gawain am I called, King Arthur's nephew."

"What?  are you Messire Gawain?  my heart well told me as much."

"Yea, damsel," saith he, "Gawain am I."

"God be praised thereof, for so good knight as are you may well
go see the rich King Fisherman.  Now am I fain to pray you of the
valour that is in you and the courtesy, that you return with me
and convoy me beyond a certain castle that is in this forest
whereof is some small peril."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Willingly, at your pleasure."

He returneth with the damsel through the midst of the forest that
was tall and leafy and little haunted of folk.  The damsel
relateth to him the adventure of the heads that she carried and
that were in the car, like as she did at the court of King
Arthur, and of the shield and the brachet she had left there, but
much it misliked Messire Gawain of the damsel that was afoot
behind them.  "Damsel,"  saith Messire Gawain, "Wherefore doth
not this damsel that goeth afoot mount upon the car?"

"Sir," saith she, "This shall she not, for behoveth her go not
otherwise than afoot.  But and you be so good knight as men say,
betimes will she have done her penance."

"How so?" saith Gawain.

"I will tell you," saith she.  "And it shall so be that God bring
you to the hostel of rich King Fisherman, and the most Holy Graal
appear before you and you demand unto whom is served thereof,
then will she have done her penance, and I, that am bald, shall
receive again my hair.  And so you also make not demand thereof,
then will it behove us suffer sore annoy until such time as the
Good knight shall come and shall have achieved the Graal.  For on
account of him that first was there and made not the demand, are
all the lands in sorrow and warfare, and the good King Fisherman
is yet in languishment."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "God grant me courage and will
herein that I may come to do this thing according to your wish,
whereof may I win worship both of God and of the world."


III.

Messire Gawain and the damsels go on their way a great pace
through the high forest, green and leafy, where the birds are
singing, and enter into the most hideous forest and most horrible
that any might ever see, and seemed it that no greenery never
there had been, so bare and dry were all the branches and all the
trees black and burnt as it had been by fire, and the ground all
parched and black atop with no green, and full of great cracks.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Right loathly is this forest and
right hideous.  Goeth it on far like this?"

"Sir." saith she, "For nine leagues Welsh goeth it on the same,
but we shall pass not through the whole thereof."

Messire Gawain 1ooketh from time to time on the damsel that
cometh arbor, and sore it irketh him that he may not amend her
estate.  They ride on until that they come to a great valley and
Messire Gawain looketh along the bottom and seeth appear a black
castle that was enclosed within a girdle of wall, foul and
evilseeming.  The nigher he draweth to the castle the more
hideous it seemeth him, and he seeth great halls appear that were
right foully mis-shapen, and the forest about it he seeth to be
like as he had found it behind.  He seeth a water come down from
the head of a mountain, foul and horrible and black, that went
amidst the castle roaring so loud that it seemed to be thunder.
Messire Gawain seeth the entrance of the gateway foul and
horrible like as it had been hell, and within the castle heard he
great outcries and lamentations, and the most part heard he
saying: "Ha, God!  What hath become of the Good Knight, and when
will he come?"

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "What is this castle here that is
so foul and hideous, wherein is such dolour suffered and such
weary longing for the coming of the Good Knight?"

"Sir, this is the castle of the Black Hermit.  Wherefore am I
fain to pray you that you meddle not herein for nought that they
within may do to me, for otherwise it may well be that your death
is at hand, for against them will you have no might nor power." 

They come anigh the castle as it were a couple of bow-shots, and
behold, through the gateway come knights armed on black horses
and their arms all black and their shields and spears, and there
were a hundred and fifty and two, right parlous to behold.  And
they come a great gallop toward the damsel, and toward the car,
and take the hundred and fifty-two heads, each one his own, and
set them upon their spears and so enter into the castle again
with great joy.  Messire Gawain seeth the insolence that the
knights have wrought, and right great shame hath he of himself
that he hath not moved withal.

"Messire Gawain," saith the damsel, "Now may you know how little
would your force have availed you herein."

"Damsel, an evil castle is this where folk are robbed on such
wise."

"Sir, never may this mischief be amended, nor this outrage be
done away, nor the evil-doer therein be stricken down, nor they
that cry and lament within the prison there be set free until
such time as the Good Knight shall come for whom are they
yearning as you have heard but now."

"Damsel, right glad may the knight be that by his valour and his
hardiment shall destroy so many evil folk!"

"Sir, therefore is he the Best Knight in the world, and he is yet
young enough of age, but right sorrowful am I at heart that I
know not true tidings of him; for better will have I to see him
than any man on live."

"Damsel, so also have I," saith Messire Gawain, "For then by your
leave would I turn me again."

"Not so, sir, but and you shall come beyond I the castle, then
will I teach you the way whereby you ought to go."


IV.

With that they go toward the castle all together.  Just as they
were about to pass beyond the castle wall, behold you where a
knight cometh forth of a privy postern of the castle, and he was
sitting upon a tall horse, his spear in his fist, and at his neck
had he a red shield whereon was figured a golden eagle. "Sir
knight," saith he to Messire Gawain, "I pray you bide."

"What is your pleasure?"

"You must needs joust with me," saith he "and conquer this
shield, or otherwise I shall conquer you.  And full precious is
the shield, insomuch as that great pains ought you to take to
have it and conquer it, for it belonged to the best knight of his
faith that was ever, and the most puissant and the wisest."

"Who, then, was he?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Judas Machabee was he, and he it was that first wrought how by
one bird to take another."

"You say true," saith Messire Gawain; "A good knight was he." 

"Therefore right joyful may you be," saith he, "and you may
conquer the same, for your own is the poorest and most battered
that ever saw I borne by knight.  For hardly may a man know the
colour thereof."

"Thereby may you well see," saith the damsel to the knight, "that
his own shield hath not been idle, nor hath the horse whereon he
sitteth been stabled so well as yours."

"Damsel," saith the knight, "No need is here of long pleading.
Needs must he joust with me, for him do I defy."

Saith Messire Gawain, "I hear well that you say."

He draweth him back and taketh his career and the knight
likewise, and they come together as fast as their horses may
carry them, spear in rest.  The knight smiteth Messire Gawain on
the shield whereof he had no great defence, and passeth beyond,
and in the by-pass the knight to-brake his spear; and Messire
Gawain smiteth him with his spear in the midst of his breast and
beareth him to the ground over the croup of his horse, all pinned
upon his spear, whereof he had a good full hand's breadth in his
breast.  He draweth his spear back to him, and when the knight
felt himself unpinned, he leaped to his feet and came straight to
his horse and would fain set his foot in the stirrup when the
damsel of the car crieth out: "Messire Gawain, hinder the knight!
for and he were mounted again, too sore travail would it be to
conquer him!"

When the knight heard name Messire Gawain, he draweth him back:
"How?" saith he; "Is this then the good Gawain, King Arthur's
nephew?"

"Yea," saith the damsel, "He it is without fail!"

"Sir," saith the knight to Messire Gawain, "Are you he?"

"Yea," saith he, "Gawain I am!"

"Sir, so please you," saith he, "I hold me conquered, and right
sorry am I that I knew you not or ever I had ado with you."

He taketh the shield from his neck and holdeth it to him.  "Sir,"
saith he, "Take the shield that belonged to the best knight that
was in his time of his faith, for none know I of whom it shall be
better employed than of you.  And of this shield were vanquished
all they that be in prison in this castle."  Messire Gawain
taketh the shield that was right fair and rich.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Now give me yours, for you will not
bear two shields."

"You say true," saith Messire Gawain.

He taketh the guige from his neck and would have given him the
shield, when the damsel afoot: "Hold, sir knight, you that are
named Messire Gawain!  What would you do?  And he bear your
shield into the castle there, they of the castle will hold you
recreant and conquered, and will come forth thence and carry you
into the castle by force, and there will you be cast into his
grievous prison; for no shield is borne thereinto save of a
vanquished knight only."

"Sir knight," saith Messire Gawain, "No good you wish me,
according to that this damsel saith."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I cry you mercy, and a second time I
hold me conquered, and right glad should I have been might I have
borne your shield within yonder, and right great worship should I
have had thereof, for never yet hath entered there the shield of
knight so good.  And now ought I to be right well pleased of your
coming, sith that you have set me free of the sorest trouble that
ever knight had."

"What is the trouble?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith he, "I will tell you.  Heretofore many a time hath
there been a passing by of knights both of hardy and of coward,
and it was my business to contend and joust with them and do
battle, and I made them present of the shield as did I you.  The
more part found I hardy and well able to defend themselves, that
wounded me in many places, but never was knight so felled me to
the ground nor dealt me so sore a buffet as have you.  And sith
that you are carrying away the shield and I am conquered, never
here-after shall knight that passeth before this castle have no
dread of me nor of no knight that is herein."

"By my head," saith Messire Gawain, "Now am I gladder of my
conquest than I was before."

"Sir," saith the knight, "By your leave will I go my way, for,
and I may hide not my shame in the castle, needs must I show it
openly abroad."

"God grant you do well!" saith Messire Gawain.

"Messire Gawain," saith the Damsel of the Car, "give me your
shield that the knight would fain have carried off."

"Willingly, damsel," saith he.  The damsel that went afoot taketh
the shield and setteth it in the car.  Howbeit, the knight that
was conquered mounted again upon his horse, and entered again
into the castle, and when he was come thereinto, arose a noise
and great outcry so loud that all the forest and all the valley
began to resound thereof.  "Messire Gawain," saith the Damsel of
the Car, "the knight is shamed and there cast in prison another
time.  Now haste, Messire Gawain!  for now may you go!"

With that they all set forward again upon their way together, and
leave the castle an English league behind.  "Damsel," saith
Messire Gawain, "When it shall please you, I shall have your
leave to go."

"Sir," saith she, "God be guard of your body, and right great
thanks of your convoy."

"Lady," saith he, "My service is always ready at your command."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Gramercy, and your own way see you
there by yonder great cross at the entrance of yonder forest. 
And beyond that, will you find the fairest forest and most
delightsome when you shall have passed through this that sore is
wearisome."

Messire Gawain turneth him to go, and the damsel afoot crieth out
to him: "Sir, not so heedful are you as I supposed."

Messire Gawain turneth his horse's head as he that was startled:
"Wherefore say you so, damsel?" saith he.

"For this," saith she, "That you have never asked of my Damsel
wherefore she carrieth her arm slung at her neck in this golden
stole, nor what may be the rich pillow whereon the arm lieth. 
And no greater heed will you take at the court of the rich King
Fisherman."

"Sweet, my friend," saith the Damsel of the Car, "blame not
Messire Gawain only, but King Arthur before him and all the
knights that were in the court.  For not one of them all that
were there was so heedful as to ask me.  Go your ways, Messire
Gawain, for in vain would you now demand it, for I will tell you
not, nor shall you never know it save only by the most coward
knight in the world, that is mine own knight and goeth to seek me
and knoweth not where to find me."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "I durst not press you further."

With that the Damsel departeth, and Messire Gawain setteth him
forward again on the way that she had taught him.



BRANCH III.

INCIPIT.

Here beginneth another branch of the Graal in the name of the
Father, and in the name of the Son, and in the name of the Holy
Ghost.


TITLE I

Here is the story silent of the three damsels and the Car and
saith that Messire Gawain hath passed throughout the evil forest
and is entered into the forest passing fair, the broad, the high,
the plenteous of venison.  And he rideth a great pace, but sore
abashed is he of that the damsel had said to him, and misdoubteth
him but he shall have blame thereof in many places.  He rode hard
the day long till that it was evensong and the sun was about to
set.  And he looketh before him and seeth the house of a hermit
and the chapel in the thick of the forest; and a spring flowed
forth in front of the chapel right clear and fresh, and above it
was a tree full broad and tall that threw a shadow over the
spring.  A damsel sate under the tree and held a mule by the
reins and at the saddle-bow had she the head of a knight hanging.
And Messire Gawain cometh thitherward and alighteth.

"Damsel," saith he, "God give you good adventure!"

"Sir," saith she, "And you always."

When she was risen up over against him, "Damsel," saith he, "For
whom are you a-waiting here?"

"Sir," saith she, "I am waiting for the hermit of this holy
chapel, that is gone into the forest, and I would fain ask him
tidings of a knight."

"Think you he will tell you them and he knoweth any?"

"Yea, sir, I think so, according to that I have been told."

Therewithal behold you the hermit that was coming, and saluteth
the damsel and Messire Gawain and openeth the door of the house
and setteth the two steeds within and striketh off the bridles
and giveth them green-meat first and barley after, and fain would
he have taken off the saddles when Messire Gawain leapeth before:
"Sir," saith he, "Do not so!  This business is not for you!"

"Hermit though I be," saith he, "yet well know I how to deal
withal, for at the court of King Uther Pendragon have I been
squire and knight two-score years, and a score or mort have I
been in this hermitage."

And Messire Gawain looketh at him in wonderment. "Sir," saith he,
"Meseemeth you are not of more than forty years."

"That know I well of a truth," saith the hermit, and Messire
Gawain taketh off the saddles and bethinketh him more of the
damsel's mule than of his own horse.  And the hermit taketh
Messire Gawain by the hand and the damsel and leadeth them into
the chapel.  And the place was right fair.

"Sir," saith the hermit to Messire Gawain, "You will disarm you
not," saith he, "for this forest is passing adventurous, and no
worshipful man behoveth be disgarnished."

He goeth for his spear and for his shield and setteth them within
the chapel.  He setteth before them such meat as he hath, and
when they have eaten giveth them to drink of the spring.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Of a knight that I go seek am I come to
ask you tidings."

"Who is the knight?" saith the hermit.

"Sir, he is the Chaste Knight of most holy lineage.  He hath a
heart of gold, the look of a lion, the navel of a virgin maid, a
heart of steel, the body of an elephant, and without wickedness
are all his conditions."

"Damsel," saith the hermit, "Nought will I tell you concerning
him, for I know not of a certainty where he is, save this, that
he hath lain in this chapel twice, not once only, within this
twelvemonth."

"Sir," saith she, "Will you tell me no more of him, nor none
other witting?"

"In no wise," saith the hermit.

"And you, Messire Gawain?" saith she.

"Damsel," saith he, "As fainly would I see him as you, but none
find I that may tell me tidings of him."

"And the damsel of the Car, Sir, have you seen her?"

"Yea, lady," saith he, "It is but just now sithence that I left
her."

"Carried she still her arm slung at her neck?"

"Yea," saith Messire Gawain, "in such wise she carried it."

"Of a long while," saith the damsel, "hath she borne it thus." 

"Sir," saith the hermit, "how are you named?"

"Sir," saith he, "Gawain am I called, King Arthur's nephew." 

"Thereof I love you the better," saith the hermit.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "You are of kindred to the worst King
that is."

"Of what King speak you?" saith Messire Gawain.

"I speak," saith she, "of King Arthur, through whom is all the
world made worser, for he began doing well and now hath become
evil.  For hatred of him hate I a knight that found me nigh S.
Augustine's Chapel, and yet was he the comeliest knight that saw
I ever.  He slew a knight within the bar right hardily.  I asked
him for the head of the knight and he went back for the same and
set himself in sore peril.  He brought it me, and I made him
great joy, but when he told me his name was Arthur I had no
fainness of the bounty he had done me, for that he had the name
of that evil King."


II.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "You may say your pleasure.  I
tell you that King Arthur hath held the richest court that he
hath held ever, and these evil conditions whereof you blame him
is he minded to put away for evermore, and more will he do of
good and more of largesse than was ever known aforetime so long
as he shall live; nor know I none other knight that beareth his
name."

"You are right," saith the damsel, "to come to his rescue, for
that he is your uncle, but your rescue will scarce avail him and
he deliver not himself."

"Sir," saith the hermit to Messire Gawain, "The damsel will say
her pleasure.  May God defend King Arthur, for his father made me
knight.  Now am I priest, and in this hermitage ever sithence
that I came hither have I served King Fisherman by the will of
Our Lord and His commandment, and all they that serve him do well
partake of his reward, for the place of his most holy service is
a refuge so sweet that unto him that hath been there a year, it
seemeth to have been but a month for the holiness of the place
and of himself, and for the sweetness of his castle wherein have
I oftentimes done service in the chapel where the Holy Graal
appeareth.  Therefore is it that I and all that serve him are so
youthful of seeming."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "By what way may a man go to his
castle?"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "None may teach you the way, save the
will of God lead you therein.  And would you fain go thither?" 

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "It is the most wish that I have."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Now God give you grace and courage to
ask the question that the others to whom the Graal hath appeared
would ask not, whereof have many mischances sithence befallen
much people."


III.

With that, they left of talking, and the hermit led Messire
Gawain into his house to rest, and the damsel abode still in the
chapel.  On the morrow when dawn appeared, Messire Gawain that
had lain all armed, arose and found his saddle ready and the
damsel, and the bridles set on, and cometh to the chapel and
findeth the hermit that was apparelled to sing mass, and seeth
the damsel kneeling before an image of Our Lady, and she prayed
God and the sweet Lady that they would counsel her that whereof
she had need, and wept right tenderly so that the tears ran down
her face.  And when she had prayed of a long space she ariseth,
and Messire Gawain biddeth her God give her good day, and she
returneth his salute.

"Damsel," saith he, "Meseemeth you are not over joyous."

"Sir," saith she, "I have right, for now am I nigh unto my
desolation, sith that I may not find the Good Knight.  Now must I
needs go to the castle of the Black Hermit, and bear thither the
head that hangeth at my saddle-bow, for otherwise shall I not be
able to pass through the forest but my body should there be cast
in prison or shamed, and this shall be the quittance for my
passing.  Then will I seek the Damsel of the Car and so shall I
go in safer through the forest."

With that the hermit had begun the mass and Messire Gawain and
the damsel heard it.  When mass was sung, Messire Gawain took
leave of the hermit and the damsel also.  And Messire Gawain
goeth one way and the damsel the other, and either biddeth other
to God.


IV.

Hereupon the story is now silent of the damsel, and saith that
Messire Gawain goeth through the high forest and rideth a great
pace, and prayeth God right sweetly that He will set him in such
way as that thereby he may go to the land of the rich King
Fisherman.  And he rideth until the hour of noon, and cometh into
the fulness of the forest and seeth under a tree a squire
alighted of a horse of the chase.  Messire Gawain saluteth him,
and the squire saith: "Sir, right welcome may you be!"

"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Whither go you?"

"Sir, I go to seek the lord of this forest."

"Whose is the forest?" saith Messire Gawain. "Sir, it belongeth
to the best knight in the world."

"Can you tell me tidings of him?"

"He ought to bear a shield banded azure and argent with a red
cross thereon and a boss of gold.  I say that he is good knight,
but little call have I to praise him, for he slew my father in
this forest with a javelin.  The Good Knight was squire what time
he slew him, and fain would I avenge my father upon him and I may
find him, for he reft me of the best knight that was in the realm
of Logres when he slew my father.  Well did he bereave me of him
what time he slew him with his javelin without defiance, nor
shall I never be at ease nor at rest until I shall have avenged
him."

"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Sith that he is
knight so good take heed you increase not your wrong of your own
act, and I would fain that you had found him, so as that no evil
had befallen him thereof."


V.

"So would not I," saith the squire, "for never shall I see him in
this place but I shall run upon him as my mortal enemy!"

"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "you may say your
pleasure, but tell me is there no hold in this forest wherein I ú
may harbour me the night?"

"Sir," saith the squire, "No hold know I within twenty league of
your way in any quarter.  Wherefore no leisure have you to tarry,
for it is high noon already."

So Messire Gawain saluteth the squire and goeth a great pace as
he that knoweth neither highway nor byway save only as adventure
may lead him.  And the forest pleaseth him well for that it is so
fair and that he seeth the deer pass by before him in great
herds.  He rode on until it drew toward evensong at a corner of
the forest.  The evening was fair and calm and the sun was about
to set.  And a score league Welsh had he ridden sithence that he
parted from the squire, and sore he misdoubted him that he should
find no hold.  He found the fairest meadow-land in the world, and
looked before him when he had ridden a couple of bow-shot lengths
and saw a castle appear nigh the forest on a mountain.  And it
was enclosed of high walls with battlements, and within were fair
halls whereof the windows showed in the outer walls, and in the
midst was an ancient tower that was compassed round of great
waters and broad meadow-lands.  Thitherward Messire Gawain
draweth him and looketh toward the gateway of the castle and
seeth a squire issue forth a great pace upon a hackney, and he
came the way that Messire Gawain was coming.  And when the squire
seeth him, and hath drawn somewhat anigh, he saluteth him right
nobly.


VI.

"Sir, right welcome may you be!"

"Good adventure may you have!" saith Messire Gawain.  "Fair sweet
friend, what is this castle here, sir?"

"Sir, it is the castle of the Widow Lady."

"What is the name thereof;"

"Camelot; and it belonged to Alain li Gros, that was a right
loyal knight and worshipful man.  He is dead this long time, and
my Lady hath remained without succour and without counsel.
Wherefore is the castle warred upon of them that would fain reave
her thereof by force.  The Lord of the Moors and another knight
are they that war upon her and would fain reave her of this
castle as they have reft he of seven other already.  Greatly
desireth she the return of her son, for no counsel hath she save
only of her one daughter and of five old knights that help her to
guard the castle.  Sir," saith he, "The door is made fast and the
bridge drawn up, for they guard the castle closely, but, so
please you, you will tell me your name and I will go before and
make the bridge be 1owered and the gate unfastened, and will say
that you will lodge within to-night."

"Gramercy," saith Messire Gawain, "right well shall my name be
known or ever I depart from the castle."

The squire goeth his way a great pace, and Messire Gawain tided
softly at a walk for he had yet a long way to go.  And he found a
chapel that stood between the forest and the castle, and it was
builded upon four columns of marble and within was a right fair
sepulchre.  The chapel had no fence of any kind about it so that
he seeth the coffin within full clearly, and Messire Gawain
bideth awhile to look thereon.  And the squire entered into the
castle and hath made the bridge be lowered and the door opened.
He alighteth and is come into the hall when was the Widow Lady
and her daughter.  Saith the Lady to the squire: "Wherefore have
you returned from doing my message?  Lady, for the comeliest
knight that I have seen ever, and fain would he harbour within
to-night, and he is garnished of all arms and rideth without
company."

"And what name hath he?" saith the Lady.

"Lady, he told me you should know it well or ever he depart
from this castle."

Therewithal the Lady gan weep for joy and her daughter also, and,
lifting her hands towards heaven, "Fair Lord God!" saith the
Widow Lady, "And this be indeed my son, never before have I had
joy that might be likened to this!  Now shall I not be disherited
of mine honour, neither shall I lose my castle whereof they would
fain reave me by wrong, for that no Lord nor champion have I!"


VII.

Thereupon the Widow Lady ariseth up and her daughter likewise,
and they go over the bridge of the castle and see Messire Gawain
that was yet looking on the coffin within the chapel.

"Now haste!" saith the Lady; "At the tomb shall we be well able
to see whether it be he!"

They go to the chapel right speedily, and Messire Gawain seeth
them coming and alighteth. "Lady, saith he, "Welcome may you be,
you and your company."

The Lady answereth never a word until that they are come to the
tomb.  When she findeth it not open she falleth down in a swoon.
And Messire Gawain is sore afraid when he seeth it.  The Lady
cometh back out of her swoon and breaketh out into great
lamentation.

"Sir," saith the damsel to Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be!
But now sithence my mother supposed that you had been her son and
made great joy thereof, and now seeth she plainly that you are
not he, whereof is she sore sorrowful, for so soon as he shall
return, this coffin behoveth open, nor until that hour shall none
know who it is that lieth therein."

The Lady riseth up and taketh Messire Gawain by the hand. "Sir,"
saith she, "What is your name?"

"Lady," saith he, "I am called Gawain, King Arthur's nephew."

"Sir," saith she, "You shall be he that is welcome both for the
sake of my son and for your own sake."

The Lady biddeth a squire lead his horse into the castle and
carry his shield and spear.  Then they enter into the castle and
lead Messire Gawain into the hall, and make disarm him.  After
that, they fetch him water to wash his hands and his face, for he
was distained of the rust of his habergeon.  The Lady maketh
apparel him in a rich robe of silk and gold, and furred of
ermine.  The Widow Lady cometh forth of her chamber and maketh
Messire Gawain sit beside her.  "Sir," saith she, "Can you tell
me any tidings of my son that I have not seen of this long time
past, and of whom at this present am I sore in need?"


VIII.

"Lady," saith he, "No tidings of him know I to tell you, and
right heavy am I thereof, for he is the knight of the world that
fainest I would see and he be your son as I am told.  What name
hath he?"

"Sir," saith she, "His name in right baptism is Perceval, and a
right comely squire was he when he departed hence.  Now as at
this time is it said that he is the comeliest knight on live and
the most hardy and the cleanest of all wickedness.  And sore need
have I of his hardiment, for what time that he departed hence he
left me in the midst of a great warfare on behalf of the Knight
of the Red Shield that he slew.  Within the se'nnight thereafter
he went away, nor never once have I seen him sithence, albeit a
full seven year hath passed already.  And now the brother of the
knight that he slew and the Lord of the Moors are warring upon me
and are fain to reave me of my castle and God counsel me not. 
For my brothers are too far away from me, and King Pelles of the
Lower Folk hath renounced his land for God's sake and entered
into a hermitage.  But the King of Castle Mortal hath in him as
much of wickedness and felony as these twain have in them of
good, and enough thereof have they.  But neither succour nor help
may they give me, for the King of Castle Mortal challengeth my
Lord King Fisherman both of the most Holy Graal and of the Lance
whereof the point bleedeth every day, albeit God forbid he should
ever have them."


IX.

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "There was at the hostel of King
Fisherman a knight before whom the Holy Graal appeared three
times, yet never once would he ask whereof it served nor whom it
honoured."

"Sir," saith the Widow Lady's daughter, "You say true, and the
Best Knight is he of the world.  This say I for love of my
brother, and I love all knights for the love of him, but by the
foolish wit of the knight hath mine uncle King Fisherman fallen
into languishment."

"Sir," saith the Lady, "Behoveth all good knights go see the rich
King Fisherman.  Will you not therefore go?"

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "Yea, that will I, so speedily as I
may, for not elsewhither have I emprised my way."

"Sir," saith she, "Then are you going to see my son, wherefore
tell my son, and you see him, of mine evil plight and my misease,
and King Fisherman my brother.  But take heed, Messire Gawain,
that you be better mindful than was the knight."

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "I shall do as God shall teach me." 

In the meanwhile as they were speaking thus together, behold you
therewithal the Widow Lady's five knights that were come in from
the forest and make bring harts and hinds and wild swine.  So
they alighted and made great joy of Messire Gawain when they knew
who he was.


X.

When the meat was ready they sate to eat, and full plenteously
were they provided and right well were they served.  Thereupon,
behold, cometh the squire that had opened the door for Messire
Gawain, and kneeleth before the Widow Lady.

"And what tidings?" saith she.

"Lady, there is to be a right great assembly of tourney in the
valleys that aforetime were ours.  Already have they spread the
Welsh booths, and thither are come these two that are warring
upon you and great store other knights.  And they have ordained
that he which shall do best at the assembly shall undertake the
garrison of this castle in such sort as that he shall hold it for
his own alone against all other."

The Widow Lady beginneth to weep: "Sir," saith she to Messire
Gawain, "Now may you understand that the castle is not mine own,
sith that these knights say it is theirs as you hear."

"Certes, Lady," saith he, "Herein do they great dishonour and a
sin."


XI.

When the table was removed the damsel fell at Messire Gawain's
feet, weeping.  He raiseth her forthwith and saith to her,
"Damsel, herein do you ill."

"For God's sake, Sir, take pity on my Lady mother and me!"

"Certes, damsel, great pity have I of you."

"Sir, now shall it be seen in this strait whether you be good
knight, for good is the knighthood that doeth well for God's
sake."

The Widow Lady and her daughter go into the chamber, and Messire
Gawain's bed was made in the midst of the hall.  So he went and
lay down as did also the five knights.  All the night was Messire
Gawain in much thought.  The morrow, when he was risen, he went
to hear mass in a chapel that was within and ate thereafter three
sops in wine and then armed him, and at the same time asked the
five knights that were there in the hall whether they would go
see the assembly.

"Yea, Sir," say they, "and you be going thither."

"In faith, thither verily will I go!" saith Messire Gawain.

The knights are armed forthwith, and their horses brought and
Messire Gawain's, and he goeth to take leave of the Widow Lady
and her daughter.  But great joy make they of this that they have
heard say that he will go with their knights to the assembly.


XII.

Messire Gawain and the five knights mounted and issued forth of
the castle and rode a great gallop before a forest.  Messire
Gawain looketh before him about the foreclose of the forest, and
seeth the fairest purlieus that he had seen ever, and so broad
they be that he may not see nor know the fourth part thereof.
They are garnished of tall forests on one hand and on the other,
and there are high rocks in the midst with wild deer among.

"Sir," say the knights, "Lo, these be the Valleys of Camelot
whereof my Lady and her daughter have been bereft, and bereft
also hath she been of the richest castles that be in Wales to the
number of seven."

"A wrong is it and a sin!" saith Messire Gawain.

So far have they ridden that they see the ensigns and the shields
there where the assembly is to be held, and they see already
mounted the more part of the knights all armed and running their
horses down the meadow-land.  And they see the tents stretched on
the one hand and on another.  And Messire Gawain bideth, and the
five knights under a tree, and see the knights assembling on one
hand and on another.  One of the five knights that were with him
gave him witting of the Lord of the Moors and the brother of the
knight of the Red Shield that had to name Chaos the Red.  So soon
as the tournament was assembled, Messire Gawain and the knights
come to the assembly, and Messire Gawain goeth to a Welsh knight
and beareth him to the ground, both him and his horse, all in a
heap.  And the five come after at a great gallop and each
overthroweth his own, and greatly pride they themselves of
Messire Gawain.  Chaos the Red seeth Messire Gawain but knoweth
him not.  He goeth toward him a full career, and Messire Gawain
receiveth him on the point of his spear and hurtleth against him
so sore that he all to-brast his collarbone and maketh the spear
fly from his fist.  And Messire Gawain searcheth the fellowships
of one part and the other, and findeth not nor encountereth no
knight before him in his way but he putteth him off his horse or
woundeth him, either by himself or by one of the five knights,
that make right great joy of that they see him do.  They show him
the Lord of the Moors that was coming with a full great
fellowship of folk.  He goeth thitherward a great gallop.  They
mell together either upon other of their spears that they bent
and all to-brast in flinders, and hurtle together so stoutly both
of their horses and their bodies that the Lord of the Moors
loseth his stirrups and hath the hinder saddlebow to-frushed, and
falleth down to the ground over his horse croup in such sort that
the peak of his helm dinteth a full palm's breadth into the turf.
And Messire Gawain taketh the horse that was right rich and good,
maugre all of his fellowship, and giveth it to one of the five
knights that maketh it be led to Camelot of a squire.  Messire
Gawain searcheth the ranks on the one hand and on the other, and
doeth such feats of arms as never no knight might do the same
again.  The five knights also showed great hardiment, and did
more of arms that day than ever had they done tofore, for not one
of them but had overthrown at least a single knight and won his
horse.  The Lord of the Moors was mounted again on another rich
horse and had great shame for that Messire Gawain had overthrown
him.  He espieth Messire Gawain and goeth toward him a great
gallop and thinketh to avenge his shame.  They come together
either on other with a great shock, and Messire Gawain smiteth
him with the truncheon of his spear that he had still left, in
the midst of his breast, so that it was all to-splintered.  The
Lord of the Moors likewise again to-brast his spear upon him.
Messire Gawain draweth his sword and flingeth the truncheon to
the ground.  The Lord of the Moors doth likewise and commandeth
his folk not to mell betwixt them twain, for never yet had he
found no knight that he had not conquered.  They deal them great
buffets on the helms, either upon other, in such sort that the
sparks fly thereout and their swords are blunted.  The buffets of
Messire Gawain are heavier than the other's, for he dealeth them
so mighty and horrible that the blood rayeth out from the Lord of
the Moors by the mouth and the nose so that his habergeon is all
bloody thereof and he may no more endure.  Thereupon he yieldeth
him prisoner to Messire Gawain, that is right glad thereof and
his live knights likewise.  The Lord of the Moors goeth to his
tent to alight, and Messire Gawain with him and alighteth.  And
Messire Gawain taketh the horse and saith to one of the knights,
"Keep this for me."

And all the knights are repaired to their tents, and with one
accord say they all that the knight of the Red Shield with the
eagle of gold thereon hath done better than we, and they ask the
Lord of the Moors whether he accordeth with them, and he saith
"Aye."

" Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "You, then, are the warden of
this castle of Camelot."

"Gramercy, lord!" saith Messire Gawain.  He calleth the five
knights and saith unto them: "Lords, my will is that you be there
on my behalf and that you shall safeguard the same by consent of
the knights that are here present."

"Sir, right gladly do we agree thereto."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain to the Lord of the Moors, "I give you
moreover as my prisoner to the Widow Lady that harboured me last
night."

"Sir," saith he, "This have you no right to do.  Assembly of
tourney is not war.  Hence have you no right to imprison my body
in castle, for well am I able to pay my ransom here.  But tell
me, what is your name?"

"I am called Gawain."

"Ha, Messire Gawain, many a time have I heard tell of you albeit
never tofore have I seen you.  But sith that the castle of
Camelot is in your keeping, I promise you loyally that before a
year and a day neither the castle nor none of the Lady's land
need fear nought from me nor from any other so far forth as I may
hinder him, and hereto do I pledge me in the presence of all
these knights that are here.  And, so you would have of me gold
or silver, thereof will I give you at your will."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Gramercy!  I consent freely to as
much as you have said."

Messire Gawain taketh leave and turneth him again toward the
castle of Camelot, and sendeth by a squire the horse of the Lord
of the Moors to the daughter of the Widow Lady, that made great
joy thereof.  And the five knights drive before them the horses
they have taken booty.  Whereof great also was the joy.  No need
to wonder whether Messire Gawain were well harboured that night
at the castle.  He recounted to the Lady how the castle was in
the keeping of these knights.  When it came to morning-tide,
Messire Gawain took leave and departed from the castle, but not
before he had heard mass, for such was his custom.  The Widow
Lady and her daughter commend him to God, and the castle
remaineth in better keeping than he had found it.



BRANCH IV.


INCIPIT.

Here beginneth another branch of the Graal in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

And the story is silent here of the mother of the Good Knight,
and saith that Messire Gawain goeth so as God and adventure lead
him toward the land of the rich King Fisherman.  And he entereth
into a great forest, all armed, his shield at his neck and his
spear in his hand.  And he prayeth Our Lord that He counsel him
of this holy errand he hath emprised so as that he may honourably
achieve it.  He rode until that he came at evensong to a hold
that was in the midst of the forest.  And it was compassed about
of a great water, and had about it great clumps of trees so as
that scarce with much pains might he espy the hall, that was
right large.  The river that compassed it about was water royal,
for it lost not its right name nor its body as far as the sea.
And Messire Gawain bethought him that it was the hold of a
worshipful man, and draweth him thitherward to lodge.  And as he
drew anigh the bridge of the hold, he looketh and seeth a dwarf
sitting on a high bench.  He leapeth up: "Messire Gawain," saith
he, "Welcome may you be!"

"Fair, sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "God give you good
adventure!  You know me, then?" saith he.

"Well do I know you," saith the dwarf, "For I saw you at the
tournament.  At a better moment could you not have come hither,
for my lord is not here.  But you will find my lady, the fairest
and most gentle and most courteous in the realm of Logres, and as
yet is she not of twenty years."

"Fair friend," saith Messire Gawain, "What name hath the lord of
the hold?"

"Sir, he is called of Little Gomeret.  I will go tell my lady
that Messire Gawain is come, the good knight, and bid her make
great joy."

Howbeit, Messire Gawain marvelleth much that the dwarf should
make him such cheer, for many knaveries hath he found in many
places within the bodies of many dwarfs.  The dwarf is come into
the chamber where the lady was.

"Now, haste, Lady!" saith he, "Make great joy, for Messire Gawain
is come to harbour with you."

"Certes," saith she, "Of this am I right glad and right sorry;
glad, for that the good knight will lie here to-night, sorry, for
that he is the knight that my lord most hateth in the world.
Wherefore he warneth me against him for love of him, for
oftentimes hath he told me that never did Messire Gawain keep
faith with dame nor damsel but he would have his will of them." 

"Lady," saith the dwarf, "It is not true albeit it is so said."


II.

Thereupon Messire Gawain entereth into the courtyard and
alighteth, and the lady cometh to meet him and saith to him: "May
you be come to joy and good adventure."

"Lady," saith he, "May you also have honour and good adventure."

The lady taketh him by the hand and leadeth him into the hall and
maketh him be seated on a cushion of straw.  And a squire leadeth
his horse to stable.  And the dwarf summoneth two other squires
and doeth Messire Gawain be disarmed, and helpeth them right
busily, and maketh fetch water to wash his hands and his face.

"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Your fists are still all swollen of the
buffets you gave and received at the tournament."

Messire Gawain answered him nought.  And the dwarf entereth into
the chamber and bringeth a scarlet robe furred of ermine and
maketh it be done on Messire Gawain.  And meat was made ready and
the table set, and the lady sate to eat.  Many a time looked he
upon the lady by reason of her great beauty, and, had he been
minded to trust to his heart and his eyes, he would have all
to-changed his purpose; but so straitly was his heart bound up,
and so quenched the desires thereof, that nought would he allow
himself to think upon that might turn to wickedness, for the sake
of the high pilgrimage he had emprised.  Rather 'gan he withdraw
his eyes from looking at the lady, that was held to be of passing
great beauty.  After meat Messire Gawain's bed was made, and he
apparelled himself to lie down.  The lady bade him God give him
good adventure, and he made answer the like.  When the lady was
in her chamber, the dwarf said to Messire Gawain: "Sir, I will
lie before you, so as to keep you company until you be asleep." 

"Gramercy," saith he, "And God allow me at some time to reward
you of the service."

The dwarf laid himself down on a mattress before Messire Gawain,
and when he saw that he slept, he ariseth as quickly as he may,
and cometh to a boat that was on the river that ran behind the
hall, and entereth thereinto and roweth up-stream of the river.
And he cometh to a fishery, where was a right fair hall on a
little eyot enclosed by a marshy arm of the river.  The jealous
knight was come thither for disport, and lay in the midst of the
hall upon a couch.  The dwarf cometh forth of his boat thereinto,
and lighteth a great candle in his fist and cometh before the
couch.  "What ho, there!" saith the dwarf, "Are you sleeping?"

And the other waketh up sore startled, and asketh what is the
matter and wherefore is he come?

"In God's name," saith he, "You sleep not so much at your ease as
doth Messire Gawain!"

"How know you that?" saith he.

"Well know I," saith the dwarf, "For I left him but now in your
hall, and methinketh he and your lady are abed together arm to
arm."

"How?" saith he, "I forbade her she should ever harbour Messire
Gawain."

"In faith," said the dwarf, "She hath made him greater cheer than
ever saw I her make to none other!  But haste you and come, for
great fear have I lest he carry her away!"

"By my head!" saith the knight; "I will go not, howsoever it be!
But she shall pay for it, even though she go!"

"Then of wrong will it be!" saith the dwarf, "as methinketh!"


III.

Messire Gawain lay in the hall that was ware of nought of this.
He seeth that day hath broken fair and clear, and ariseth up. 
The lady cometh to the door of the hall and seeth not the dwarf,
whereby well she understandeth his treachery.  She saith to
Messire Gawain, "Sir, for God's sake have pity upon me, for the
dwarf hath betrayed me!  And you withdraw yourself forth of our
forest and help not to rescue me from the smart that my lord
will make me suffer, great sin will you have thereof.  For well
know you. that of right ought I not to be held guilty toward my
lord nor toward any other, for aught that you have done toward me
or I toward you."

"You say true," saith Messire Gawain.  Thereupon is he armed, and
taketh leave of the lady and issueth forth of the fair hold and
setteth him in an ambush in the forest nigh thereby.  Straightway
behold the jealous knight where he cometh, he and his dwarf.  He
entereth into the hall.  The lady cometh to meet him.

"Sir," saith she, "Welcome may you be!"

"And you," saith he, "Shame and evil adventure may you have, as
the most disloyal dame on live, for that this night have you
harboured in my hostel and in my bed him that most have I warned
you against!"

"Sir," saith she, "In your hostel did I harbour him, but never
hath your bed been shamed by me, nor never shall be!"

"You lie!" saith he, "like a false woman!"

He armeth himself all incontinent and maketh his horse be armed,
then maketh the lady go down and despoil her to her shirt, that
crieth him mercy right sweetly and weepeth.  He mounteth his
horse and taketh his shield and his spear, and maketh the lady be
taken of the dwarf by her tresses and maketh her be led before
him into the forest.  And he bideth above a pool where was a
spring, and maketh her enter into the water that flowed forth
full cold, and gathereth saplings in the forest for rods and
beginneth to smite and beat her across upon her back and her
breast in such sort that the stream from the spring was all
bloody therewithal.  And she began to cry out right loud, until
at last Messire Gawain heareth her and draweth forth of the
ambush wherein he was, and cometh thitherward a great gallop.

"By my faith," saith the dwarf, "Look you here where Messire
Gawain cometh!"

"By my faith," saith the knight, "Now know I well that nought is
there here but treachery, and that the matter is well proven!"

By this time, Messire Gawain is come, and saith: "Avoid, Sir
knight!  Wherefore slay you the best lady and most loyal that
ever have I seen?  Never tofore have I found lady that hath done
me so much honour, and this ought you to be well pleased to know,
for neither in her bearing, nor in her speech, nor in herself
found I nought save all goodness only.  Wherefore I pray you of
franchise and of love that you forbear your wrath and that you
set her forth of the water.  And so will I swear on all the
sacred hallows in this chapel that never did I beseech her of
evil nor wantonness nor never had I no desire thereof."

The knight was full of great wrath when he saw that Messire
Gawain had not gone his way thence, and an anguish of jealousy
burneth him heart and body and overburdeneth him of folly and
outrage, and Messire Gawain that is still before him moveth him
to yet further transgression.  Natheless, for the fear that he
hath of him he speaketh to him: "Messire Gawain," saith he, "I
will set her forth thence on one condition, that you joust at me
and I at you, and, so you conquer me, quit shall she be of
misdoing and of blame, but and if I shall conquer you, she shall
be held guilty herein.  Such shall be the judgment in this
matter."

"I ask no better," saith Messire Gawain.


IV.

Thereupon, the knight biddeth the dwarf make set the lady forth
of the pool of the spring and make her sit in a launde whereas
they were to joust.  The knight draweth him back the better to
take his career, and Messire Gawain cometh as fast as his horse
may carry him toward Marin the Jealous.  And when Marin seeth him
coming, he avoideth his buffet and lowereth his spear and cometh
to his wife that was right sore distraught, and wept as she that
suffered blameless, and smote her through, out the body and slew
her, and then turneth him again so fast as his horse might carry
him toward his hold.  Messire Gawak seeth the damsel dead and the
dwarf that fleeth full speed after his lord.  He overtaketh him
and trampleth him under his horses feet so that he bursteth his
belly in the midst.  Then goeth he toward the hold, for he
thinketh to enter therein.  But he found the bridge shut up and
the gate barred.  And Marin crieth out upon him.

"This shame and misadventure hath befallen me along of you, but
you shall pay for it yet and I may live."

Messire Gawain hath no mind to argue with him, but rather draweth
him back and cometh again to where the lady lay dead, and setteth
her on the neck of his horse all bleeding, and then beareth her
to a chapel that was without the entrance of the hold.  Then he
alighted and laid her within the chapel as fairly as most he
might, as he that was sore grieved and wrathful thereof.  After
that, he shut the door of the chapel again as he that was afeared
of the body for the wild beasts, and bethought him that one
should come thither to set her in her shroud and bury her after
that he was departed.


V.

Thereupon Messire Gawain departeth, sore an-angered, for it
seemed him that never had no thing tofore befallen him that
weighed so heavy on his heart.  And he rideth thoughtful and
down-cast through the forest, and seeth a knight coming along the
way he came.  And in strange fashion came he.  He bestrode his
horse backwards in right outlandish guise, face to tail, and he
had his horse's reins right across his breast and the base of his
shield bore he topmost and the chief bottommost, and his spear
upside down and his habergeon and chausses of iron trussed about
his neck.  He seeth Messire Gawain coming beside the forest, that
hath great wonderment of him when he seeth him.  Natheless, when
they draw nigh, he turneth him not to look at Messire Gawain, but
crieth to him aloud: "Gentle knight, you that come there, for
God's sake do me no hurt, for I am the Knight Coward."

"By God," saith Messire Gawain, "You look not like a man to whom
any ought to do hurt!"  And, but for the heaviness of his heart
and the sore wrath that he had, he would have laughed at his
bearing with a right good will.

"Sir Knight," saith Messire Gawain, "nought have you to be afeard
of from me!"

With that he draweth anigh and looketh on him in the face and the
Knight Coward on him.  "Sir," saith he, "Welcome may you be!"

"And you likewise!" saith Messire Gawain.  "And whose man are
you, Sir knight?"

"The Damsel's man of the Car."

"Thereof I love you the better," saith Messire Gawain.

"God be praised thereof," saith the Knight Coward, "For now shall
I have no fear of you."

"Nay, truly," saith Messire Gawain, "Thereof be well assured!"

The Knight Coward seeth Messire Gawain"s shield and knoweth it.
"Ha, Sir," saith he, "Now know I well who you are.  Now will I
alight and ride the right way and set my arms to rights.  For you
are Messire Gawain, nor hath none the right to claim this shield
but only you."

The knight alighteth and setteth his armour to rights, and
prayeth Messire Gawain abide until he be armed.  So he abideth
right willingly, and helpeth him withal.  Thereupon behold you a
knight where he cometh a great gallop athwart the forest like a
tempest, and he had a shield party black and white. "Abide,
Messire Gawain!" saith he, "For on behalf of Marin the Jealous do
I defy you, that hath slain his wife on your account."

"Sir knight," saith Messire Gawain, "Thereof am I right heavy of
heart, for death had she not deserved."

"That availeth nor," saith the Party Knight, "For I hold you to
answer for the death.  So I conquer you, the wrong is yours; but,
and you conquer me, my lord holdeth his blame and shame for known
and will hold you to forfeit and you allow me to escape hence on
live."

"To this will I not agree," saith Messire Gawain, "For God well
knoweth that no blame have I herein."

"Ha, Messire Gawain," saith the Knight Coward, "Fight him not as
having affiance in me, for of me will you have neither succour
nor help!"

"Heretofore," saith Messire Gawain, "have I achieved adventures
without you, and this also, and God help me, will I yet achieve."

They come together a full career and break their lances on their
shields, and Messire Gawain hurtleth against the horse and
passeth beyond and overthroweth him and his horse together.  Then
draweth he his sword and runneth upon him.  And the knight crieth
out: "Hold, Messire Gawain!  Are you minded to slay me?  I yield
me conquered, for no mind have I to die for another's folly, and
so I cry you mercy hereof."

Messire Gawain thinketh that he will do him no further harm, for
that of right behoveth him do his lord's bidding.  Messire Gawain
holdeth his hands, and he doth him homage on behalf of his lord
for his hold and all of his land and becometh his man.


VI.

Thereupon the knight departeth and Messire Gawain remaineth
there.

"Sir," saith the Knight Coward to Messire Gawain, "I have no mind
to be so hardy as are you; for, so God help me, had he defied me
in such-wise as he defied you, should have fled away forthwith,
or elsewise I should hay fallen at his feet and cried him of
mercy."

"You wish for nought but peace," saith Messire Gawain.

"By S. James," saith the Coward, "Therein are you quite right,
for of war cometh nought but evil; nor never have I had no hurt
nor wound saw some branch of a tree or the like gave it me, and I
see your face all seamed and scarred in many places.  So God help
me, of such hardiesse make I but small account, and every day I
pray God that He defend me.  And so to God I commend you, for I
am going after my Damsel of the Car."

"Not thus shall you go," saith Messire Gawain, "save you tell me
first wherefore your Damsel of the Car beareth her arm slung to
her neck in such-wise."

"Sir, this may I will tell you.  With this hand serve she of the
most Holy-Graal the knight that was in the hostel of King
Fisherman that would not ask whereof the Graal served; for that
she held therein the precious vessel whereinto the glorious blood
fell drop by drop from the point of the lance, so that none other
thing is she minded to hold therein until such time as she shall
come back to the holy place where it is.  Sir," saith the Knight
Coward, "Now, so please you, may I well go hence, and see, here
is my spear that I give you, for nought is there that I have to
do therewithal."

Messire Gawain taketh it, for his own was broken short, and
departeth from the knight and commendeth him to God.  And he
goeth his way a great pace, and Messire Gawain also goeth amidst
the forest, and full weary is he and forspent with travail.  And
he rode until the sun was due to set.  And he meeteth a knight
that was coming athwart the forest and came toward Messire Gawain
a great gallop like as he were smitten through the body, and
crieth over all the forest: "What is your name, Sir knight?"

"My name is Gawain."

"Ha, Messire Gawain," saith the other, "In your service am I
wounded thus!"

"How in my service?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, I was minded to bury the damsel that you bare into the
chapel, and Marin the Jealous ran upon me and wounded me in many
places in such manner as you see.  And I had already dug a grave
with my sword to bury the body when he seized it from me and
abandoned it to the wild beasts.  Now go I hence yonder to the
chapel of a hermit that is in this forest to confess me, for well
know I that I have not long to live for that the wound lieth me
so nigh my heart.  But I shall die the more easily now that I
have found you and shown you the hurt that hath been done me for
your sake."

"Certes," saith Messire Gawain, "this grieveth me."


VII.

Therewithal the knights depart asunder, and Messire Gawain rode
on until he found in the forest a castle right fair and rich, and
met an ancient knight that was issued forth of the castle for
disport, and held a bird on his fist.  He saluteth Messire Gawain
and he him again, and he asked him what castle is this that he
seeth show so fair?  And he telleth him it is the castle of the
Proud Maiden that never deigned ask a knight his name.

"And we, that are her men, durst not do it on her behalf.  But
right well will you be lodged in the castle, for right courteous
is she otherwise and the fairest that ever any may know.  Nor
never hath she had any lord, nor deigned to love no knight save
she heard tell that he was the best knight in the world.  And I
will go to her with you of courtesy."

"Gramercy, Sir," saith Messire Gawain.  They enter into the
castle both twain together, and alight at the mounting-stage
before the hall.  The knight taketh Messire Gawain by the hand
and leadeth him up, and maketh disarm him, and bringeth him a
surcoat of scarlet purfled of vair and maketh him do it on.  Then
leadeth he the lady of the castle to Messire Gawain, and he
riseth up to meet her.

"Lady," saith he "Welcome may you be!"

"And you, Sir, be welcome!" saith she, "Will you see my chapel?"

"Damsel," saith he, "At your pleasure."

And she leadeth him and taketh Messire Gawain by the hand, and he
looketh at the chapel and it well seemeth him that never before
had he come into none so fair nor so rich, and he seeth four
tombs within, the fairest that he had seen ever.  And on the
right hand side of the chapel were three narrow openings in the
wall that were wrought all about with gold and precious stones,
and beyond the three openings he seeth great circlets of lighted
candles that were before three coffers of hallows that were
there, and the smell thereof was sweeter than balm.

"Sir knight," saith the damsel, "See you these tombs?"

"Yea, damsel," saith Messire Gawain.

"These three are made for the three best knights in the world and
the fourth for me.  The one hath for name Messire Gawain and the
second Lancelot of the Lake.  Each of them do I love for love's
sake, by my faith!  And the third hath for name Perceval.  Him
love I better than the other two.  And within these three
openings are the hallows set for love of them.  And behold what I
would do to them and their three heads were therein; and so I
might not do it to the three together, yet would I do it to two,
or even to one only."

She setteth her hand toward the openings and draweth forth a pin
that was fastened into the wall, and a cutting blade of steel
droppeth down, of steel sharper than any razor, and closeth up
the three openings.

"Even thus will I cut off their heads when they shall set them
into those three openings thinking to adore the hallows that are
beyond.  Afterward will I make take the bodies and set them in
the three coffins, and do them be honoured and enshrouded right
richly, for joy of them in their life may I never have.  And when
the end of my life shall be come as God will, even so will I make
set me in the fourth coffin, and so shall I have company of the
three good knights."

Messire Gawain heard the word. whereof he marvelled right sore,
and would right fain that the night were overpassed.  They issue
forth of the chapel.  The damsel maketh Messire Gawain be greatly
honoured that night, and there was great company of knights
within that served him and helped guard the castle.  They show
Messire Gawain much worship, but they knew not that it was he,
nor did none ask him, for such was the custom of the castle.  But
well she knew that he oftentimes passed to and fro amidst the
forest, and four of the knights that watched the forest and the
passers-by had she commanded that and if any of these three
knights should pass they should bring him to her without gainsay,
and she would increase the land of each for so doing.


VIII.

Messire Gawain was in the castle that night until the morrow, and
went to hear mass in the chapel or ever he removed thence. 
Afterward, when he had heard mass and was armed, he took leave of
the damsel and issued forth of the castle as he that had no
desire to abide there longer.  And he entereth into the forest
and rideth a long league Welsh and findeth two knights sitting by
a narrow path in the forest.  And when they see him coming they
leap up on their horses all armed and come against Messire
Gawain, shields on sides and spears in fists.

"Bide, Sir knight!" say they, "And tell us your name without
leasing!"

"Lords," saith he, "Right willingly!  never hath my name been
withholden when it hath been asked for.  I am called Gawain, King
Arthur"s nephew."

"Nay, then, Sir, welcome may you be!  One other demand have we to
make of you.  Will you come with us to the lady in the world who
most desireth you, and will make much joy of you at Castle
Orguelleux where she is?"

"Lord," saith Messire Gawain, "No leisure have I at this time,
for I have emprised my way else-whither."

"Sir," say they, "Needs must you come thither without fail, for
in such wise hath she commanded us that we shall take you thither
by force an you come not of your own good-will."

"I have told you plainly that thither will I not go," saith
Messire Gawain.  With that, they leap forward and take him by the
bridle, thinking to lead him away by force.  And Messire Gawain
hath shame thereof, and draweth his sword and smiteth one of them
in such wrath that he cutteth off his arm.  And the other letteth
the bridle go and turneth him full speed; and his fellow with him
that was maimed.  And away go they toward Castle Orguelleux and
the Proud Maiden of the castle and show her the mischief that
hath befallen them.

"Who hath mis-handled you thus?" saith she.

"Certes, lady, Messire Gawain."

"Where found you him?"

"Lady," say they, "In the forest, where he came toward us a full
gallop, and was minded to pass by the narrows of the way, when we
bade him abide and come to you.  But come he would not.  We
offered him force, and he smote my fellow"s arm off."

She biddeth a horn be sounded incontinent, and the knights of the
castle arm, and she commandeth them follow Messire Gawain, and
saith that she will increase the land and the charge of him that
shall bring him to her.  They were a good fifteen knights armed.
Just as they were about to issue out of the castle, behold you
forthwith two keepers of the forest where they come, both twain
of them smitten through the body. The damsel and the knights ask
who hath done this to them, and they say it was Messire Gawain
that did it, for that they would have brought him to the castle.

"Is he far away?" saith the damsel.

"Yea," say they, "Four great leagues Welsh."

"Wherefore the greater folly would it be to follow him," saith
one of the sixteen knights, "For nought should we increase
thereby save only our own shame and hurt, and my Lady hath lost
him through her own default, for well know we that he it was that
lay within, for that he beareth a shield sinople with a golden
eagle."

"Yea," saith the wounded knight, "Without fail."

"Is this then he?" saith the damsel.  "I know him well now that I
have lost him by my pride and by my outrage; nor never more will
knight lie in my hostel sith that he will be estranged for that I
ask not his name.  But it is too late!  Herein have I failed of
this one for ever and ever save God bring him back to me, and
through this one shall I lose the other two!"


IX.

Herewithal cometh to a stay the pursuit of Messire Gawain, that
goeth his way and prayeth God that He send him true counsel of
that he hath emprised, and that He allow him to come into some
place where he may hear true witting of the hostel of King
Fisherman.  And while he was thus thinking, he heareth a brachet
questing, and he cometh toward him a great pace.  When he is come
anigh Messire Gawain he setteth his nose to the ground and
findeth a track of blood through a grassy way in the forest, and
when Messire Gawain was minded to leave the way where the track
of blood was, the brachet came over against him and quested.
Messire Gawain is minded not to abandon the track, wherefore he
followeth the brachet a great pace until he cometh to a marish in
the midst of the forest, and seeth there in the marish a house,
ancient and decayed.  He passeth with the brachet over the
bridge, that was right feeble, and there was a great water under
it, and cometh to the hall, that was wasted and old.  And the
brachet leaveth of his questing.  Messire Gawain seeth in the
midst of house a knight that was stricken right through the
breast unto the heart and there lay dead.  A damsel was issuing
forth of the chamber and bare the winding-sheer wherein to
enshroud him.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Good adventure may you have!"

The damsel that was weeping right tenderly, saith to him: "Sir, I
will answer you not."

She cometh toward the dead knight, thinking that his wounds
should have begun to bleed afresh, but they did not.

"Sir," saith she to Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be!"

"Damsel," saith he. "God grant you greater joy than you have!"

And the damsel saith to the brachet: "It was not this one I sent
you back to fetch, but him that slew this knight."

"Know you then, damsel, who hath slain him?" saith Messire
Gawain.

"Yea," saith she, "well!  Lancelot of the Lake slew him in this
forest, on whom God grant me vengeance, and on all them of King
Arthur's court, for sore mischief and great hurt have they
wrought us!  But, please God, right well shall this knight yet be
avenged, for a right fair son hath he whose sister am I, and so
hath he many good friends withal."

"Damsel, to God I commend you!" saith Messire Gawain.  With that,
he issueth forth of the Waste Manor and betaketh him back to the
way he had abandoned, and prayeth God grant he may find Lancelot
of the Lake.



BRANCH V.

INCIPIT.

Here beginneth again another branch of the Graal in the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

Messire Gawain goeth his way and evening draweth on; and on his
right hand was there a narrow pathway that seemed him to be
haunted of folk.  Thitherward goeth he, for that he seeth the sun
waxeth low, and findeth in the thick of the forest a great
chapel, and without was a right fair manor.  Before the chapel
was an orchard enclosed of a wooden fence that was scarce so high
as a tall man.  A hermit that seemed him a right worshipful man
was leaning against the fence, and looked into the orchard and
made great cheer from time to time.  He seeth Messire Gawain, and
cometh to meet him, and Messire Gawain alighteth.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Welcome may you be."

"God grant you the joy of Paradise," saith Messire Gawain.  The
hermit maketh his horse be stabled of a squire, and then taketh
him by the hand and maketh him sit beside him to look on the
orchard.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Now may you see that whereof I was
making cheer."

Messire Gawain looketh therewithin and seeth two damsels and a
squire and a child that were guarding a lion.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Here see my joy, which is this child.
Saw you ever so fair a child his age?"

"Never," saith Messire Gawain.  They go into the orchard to sit,
for the evening was fair and calm.  He maketh disarm him, and
thereupon the damsel bringeth him a surcoat of right rich silk
furred of ermine.  And Messire Gawain looketh at the child that
rode upon the lion right fainly.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "None durst guard him or be master over
him save this child only, and yet the lad is not more than six
years of age.  Sir, he is of right noble lineage, albeit he is
the son of the most cruel man and most felon that is.  Marin the
Jealous is his father, that slew his wife on account of Messire
Gawain.  Never sithence that his mother was dead would not the
lad be with his father, for well knoweth he that he slew her of
wrong.  And I am his uncle, so I make him be tended here of these
damsels and these two squires, but no one thing is there that he
so much desireth to see as Messire Gawain.  For after his
father's death ought he of right to be Messire Gawain's man. Sir,
if any tidings you know of him, tell us them."

"By my faith, Sir," saith he, "Tidings true can I give you.  Lo,
there is his shield and his spear, and himself shall you have
this night for guest."

"Fair sir, are you he?" saith the hermit.

"So men call me," saith Messire Gawain, "And the lady saw I slain
in the forest, whereof was I sore an-angered."


II.

"Fair nephew," saith the hermit, "See here your desire.  Come to
him and make him cheer."

The lad alighteth of the lion and smiteth him with a whip and
leadeth him to the den and maketh the door so that he may not
issue forth, and cometh to Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain
receiveth him between his arms. "Sir," saith the child, "Welcome
may you be!"

"God give you growth of honour!" saith Messire Gawain.  He
kisseth him and maketh cheer with him right sweetly.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "He will be of right your man, wherefore
ought you to counsel him and help him, for through you came his
mother by her death, and right sore need will he have of your
succour."  The child kneeleth before him and holdeth up his
joined hands.

"Look, Sir," saith the hermit, "Is he not right pitiful?  He
offereth you his homage."

And Messire Gawain setteth his hands within his own: "Certes,"
saith Messire Gawain, "Both your honour and your homage receive I
gladly, and my succour and my counsel shall you have so often as
you shall have need thereof.  But fain would I know your name?"

"Sir, I am called Meliot of Logres."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "He saith true, for his mother was
daughter of a rich earl of the kingdom of Logres."


III.

Messire Gawain was well harboured the night and lay in a right
fair house and right rich.  In the morning, when Messire Gawain
had heard mass, the hermit asked him, "Whitherward go you?" and
he said, "Toward the land of King Fisherman, and God allow me."

"Messire Gawain," saith the hermit, "Now God grant you speed your
business better than did the other knight that was there before
you, through whom are all the lands fallen into sorrow, and the
good King Fisherman languisheth thereof."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God grant me herein to do His
pleasure."

Thereupon he taketh his leave and goeth his way, and the hermit
commendeth him to God.  And Messire Gawain rideth on his journeys
until he hath left far behind the forest of the hermitage, and
findeth the fairest land in the world and the fairest meadowlands
that ever had he seen, and it lasted a good couple of great
leagues Welsh.  And he seeth a high forest before him, and
meeteth a squire that came from that quarter, and seeth that he
is sore downcast and right simple.

"Fair friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Whence come you?"

"Sir," saith he, "I come from yonder forest down below."

"Whose man are you?" saith Messire Gawain.

"I belong to the worshipful man that owneth the forest."

"You seem not over joyful," saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, I have right to be otherwise," saith the squire, "For he
that loseth his good lord ought not to be joyful."

"And who is your lord?"

"The best in the world."

"Is he dead?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Nay, of a truth, for that would be right sore grief to the
world, but in joy hath he not been this long time past."

"And what name hath he?"

"They call him Parlui there where he is."

"And where then, is he, may I know?"

"In no wise, Sir, of me; but so much may I well tell you that he
is in this forest, but I ought not to learn you of the place more
at large, nor ought I to do any one thing that may be against my
master's will."

Messire Gawain seeth that the squire is of passing comeliness and
seeth him forthwith bow his head toward the ground and the tears
fall from his eyes.  Thereupon he asketh what aileth him.

"Sir," saith he, "Never may I have joy until such time as I be
entered into a hermitage to save my soul.  For the greatest sin
that any man may do have I wrought; for I have slain my mother
that was a Queen, for this only that she told me I should not be
King after my father's death, for that she would make me monk or
clerk, and that my other brother, who is younger-born than I,
should have the kingdom.  When my father knew that I had slain my
mother, he withdrew himself into this forest, and made a
hermitage and renounced his kingdom.  I have no will to hold the
land for the great disloyalty that I have wrought, and therefore
am I resolved that it is meeter I should set my body in
banishment than my father."

"And what is your name?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, my name is Joseus, and I am of the lineage of Joseph of
Abarimacie.  King Pelles is my father, that is in this forest,
and King Fisherman mine uncle, and the King of Castle Mortal, and
the Widow Lady of Camelot my aunt, and the Good Knight Par-lui-
fet is of this lineage as near akin as I."


IV.

With that, the squire departeth and taketh leave of Messire
Gawain, and he commendeth him to God and hath great pity of him,
and entereth into the forest and goeth great pace, and findeth
the stream of a spring that ran with a great rushing, and nigh
thereunto was a way that was much haunted.  He abandoneth his
high-way, and goeth all along the stream from the spring that
lasteth a long league plenary, until that he espieth a right fair
house and right fair chapel well enclosed within a hedge of wood.
He looketh from without the entrance under a little tree and
seeth there sitting one of the seemliest men that he had ever
seen of his age.  And he was clad as a hermit, his head white and
no hair on his face, and he held his hand to his chin, and made a
squire hold a destrier right fair and strong and tail, and a
shield with a sun thereon; and he was looking at a habergeon and
chausses of iron that he had made bring before him.  And when he
seeth Messire Gawain he dresseth him over against him and saith:
"Fair sir," saith he, "Ride gently and make no noise, for no need
have we of worse than that we have."

And Messire Gawain draweth rein, and the worshipful man saith to
him: "Sir, for God's sake take it not of discourtesy; for right
fainly would I have besought you to harbour had I not good cause
to excuse me, but a knight lieth within yonder sick, that is held
for the best knight in the world.  Wherefore fain would I he
should have no knight come within this close, for and if he
should rise, as sick as he is, none might prevent him nor hold
him back, but presently he should arm him and mount on his horse
and joust at you or any other; and so he were here, well might we
be the worse thereof.  And therefore do I keep him so close and
quiet within yonder, for that I would not have him see you nor
none other, for and he were so soon to die, sore loss would it be
to the world."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "What name hath he?"

"Sir," saith he, "He hath made him of himself, and therefore do I
call him Par-lui-fer, of dearness and love."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "May it not be in any wise that I
may see him?"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I have told you plainly that nowise may
it not be.  No strange man shall not see him within yonder until
such time as he be whole and of good cheer."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Will you in nowise do nought for me
whatsoever I may say?"

"Certes, sir, no one thing is there in the world that I would
tell him, save he spake first to me."

Hereof is Messire Gawain right sorrowful that he may not speak to
the knight.  "Sir," saith he to the hermit, "Of what age is the
knight, and of what lineage?"

"Of the lineage of Joseph of Abarimacie the Good Soldier."


V.

Thereupon behold you a damsel that cometh to the door of the
chapel and calleth very low to the hermit, and the hermit riseth
up and taketh leave of Messire Gawain, and shutteth the door of
the chapel; and the squire leadeth away the destrier and beareth
the arms within door and shutteth the postern door of the house.
And Messire abideth without and knoweth not of a truth whether it
be the son of the Widow Lady, for many good men there be of one
lineage.  He departeth all abashed and entereth again into the
forest.  The history telleth not all the journeys that he made.
Rather, I tell you in brief words that he wandered so far by
lands and kingdoms that he found a right fair land and a rich,
and a castle seated in the midst thereof.  Thitherward goeth he
and draweth nigh the castle and seeth it compassed about of high
walls, and he seeth the entrance of the castle far without.  He
looketh and seeth a lion chained that lay in the midst of the
entrance to the gate, and the chain was fixed in the wall.  And
on either side of the gate he seeth two serjeants of beaten
copper that were fixed to the wall, and by engine shot forth
quarrels from their cross-bows with great force and great wrath.
Messire Gawain durst not come anigh the gate for that he seeth
the lion and these folk.  He looketh above on the top of the wall
and seeth a sort of folk that seemed him to be of holy life, and
saw there priests clad in albs and knights bald and ancient that
were clad in ancient seeming garments.  And in each crenel of the
wall was a cross and a chapel.  Above the wall, hard by an issue
from a great hall that was in the castle, was another chapel, and
above the chapel was a tall cross, and on either side of this
cross another that was somewhat lower, and on the top of each
cross was a golden eagle.  The priests and the knights were upon
the walls and knelt toward this chapel, and looked up to heaven
and made great joy, and well it seemed him that they beheld God
in Heaven with His Mother.  Messire Gawain looketh at them from
afar, for he durst not come anigh the castle for these that shoot
their arrows so strongly that none armour might defend him.  Way
seeth he none to right nor left save he go back again.  He
knoweth not what to do. He looketh before him and seeth a priest
issue forth of the gateway.  "Fair sir," saith Messire Gawain,
"Welcome may you be!"

"Good adventure to you also," saith the good man, "What is your
pleasure?"

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "So please you, I would fain ask you
to tell me what castle is this?"

"It is," saith he, "the entrance to the land of the rich King
Fisherman, and within yonder are they beginning the service of
the Most Holy Graal."

"Allow me then," saith Messire Gawain, "that I may pass on
further, for toward the land of King Fisherman have I emprised my
way."

"Sir," saith the priest, "I tell you of a truth that you may not
enter the castle nor come nigher unto the Holy Graal, save you
bring the sword wherewith S. John was beheaded."

"What?" saith Messire Gawain, "Shall I be evilly entreated and I
bring it not?"

"So much may you well believe me herein," saith the priest, "And
I tell you moreover that he who hath it is the fellest
misbelieving King that lives.  But so you bring the Sword, this
entrance will be free to you, and great joy will be made of you
in all places wherein King Fisherman hath power."

"Then must I needs go back again," saith Messire Gawain, "Whereof
I have right to be sore sorrowful."

"So ought you not to be," saith the priest, "For, so you bring
the sword and conquer it for us, then will it be well known that
you are worthy to behold the Holy Graal.  But take heed you
remember him who would not ask whereof it served."

Thereupon Messire Gawain departeth so sorrowful and full of
thought that he remembereth not to ask in what land he may find
the sword nor the name of the King that hath it.  But he will
know tidings thereof when God pleaseth.


VI.

The history telleth us and witnesseth that he rode so far that he
came to the side of a little hill, and the day was right fair and
clear.  He looketh in front of him before a chapel and seeth a
tall burgess sitting on a great destrier that was right rich and
fair.  The burgess espieth Messire Gawain and cometh over against
him, and saluteth him right courteously and Messire Gawain him.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God give you joy."

"Sir," saith the goodman, "Right sorrowful am I of this that you
have a horse so lean and spare of flesh.  Better would it become
so worshipful man as you seem to be that he were better horsed."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I may not now amend it, whereof am
I sorry; another shall I have when it shall please God."

"Fair sir," saith the burgess, "Whither are you bound to go?"

"I go seek the sword wherewith the head of S. John Baptist was
cut off."

"Ha, sir," saith the burgess, "You are running too sore a peril.
A King hath it that believeth not in God, and is sore fell and
cruel.  He is named Gurgalain, and many knights have passed
hereby that went thither for the sword, but never thence have
they returned.  But, and you are willing to pledge me your word
that so God grant you to conquer the sword, you will return
hither and show it me on your return, I will give you this
destrier, which is right rich, for your own."

"Will you?" saith Messire Gawain, "Then are you right courteous,
for you know me not."

"Certes, sir," saith he, "So worshipful man seem you to be, that
you will hold well to this that you have covenanted with me."

"And to this do I pledge you my word," saith Messire Gawain,
"that, so God allow me to conquer it, I will show it to you on my
return."


VII.

Thereupon the burgess alighteth and mounteth upon Messire
Gawain's horse, and Messire Gawain upon his, and taketh leave of
the burgess and goeth his way and entereth into a right great
forest beyond the city, and rideth until sundown and findeth
neither castle nor city.  And he findeth a meadow in the midst of
the forest, right broad, and it ran on beyond, like as there were
the stream of a spring in the midst.  He looketh toward the foot
of the meadow close by the forest, and seeth a right large tent,
whereof the cords were of silk and the pegs of ivory fixed in the
ground, and the tops of the poles of gold and upon each was a
golden eagle.  The tent was white round about, and the hanging
above was of the richest silk, the same as red samite. 
Thitherward goeth Messire Gawain and alighteth before the door of
the tent, and smiteth off the bridle of his horse, and letteth
him feed on the grass, and leaneth his spear and his shield
without the tent, and looketh narrowly within"and seeth a right
rich couch of silk and gold, and below was a cloth unfolded as it
were a feather-bed, and above a coverlid of ermine and vair
without any gold, and at the head of the couch two pillows so
rich that fairer none ever saw, and such sweet smell gave they
forth that it seemed the tent was sprinkled of balm.  And round
about the couch were rich silken cloths spread on the ground. 
And at the head of the couch on the one side and the other were
two seats of ivory, and upon them were two cushions stuffed with
straw, right rich, and at the foot of the couch, above the bed,
two candlesticks of gold wherein were two tall waxen tapers.  A
table was set in the midst of the tent, that was all of ivory
banded of gold, with rich precious stones, and upon the table was
the napkin spread and the basin of silver and the knife with an
ivory handle and the rich set of golden vessels.  Messire Gawain
seeth the rich couch and setteth him down thereon all armed in
the midst, and marvelleth him wherefore the tent is so richly
apparelled and yet more that therein he seeth not a soul. 
Howbeit, he was minded to disarm him.


VIII.

Thereupon, behold you, saluteth a dwarf that entereth the tent
and saluteth Messire Gawain.  Then he kneeleth before him and 
would fain disarm him.  Then Messire Gawain remembereth him of
the dwarf through whom the lady was slain.

"Fair sweet friend, withdraw yourself further from me, for as at
this time I have no mind to disarm."

"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Without misgiving may you do so, for
until to-morrow have you no occasion to be on your guard, and
never were you more richly lodged than to-night you shall be, nor
more honourably."

With that Messire Gawain began to disarm him, and the dwarf
helpeth him.  And when he was disarmed, he setteth his arms nigh
the couch and his spear and sword and shield lying within the
tent, and the dwarf taketh a basin of silver and a white napkin,
and maketh Messire Gawain wash his hands and his face.  
Afterward, he unfasteneth a right fair coffer, and draweth forth
a robe of cloth of gold furred of ermine and maketh Messire
Gawain be clad therewithal.

"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Be not troubled as touching your
destrier, for you will have him again when you rise in the
morning.  I will lead him close hereby to be better at ease, and
then will I return to you."

And Messire Gawain giveth him leave.  Thereupon, behold you, two
squires that bear in the wine and set the meats upon the table
and make Messire Gawain sit to eat, and they have great torches
lighted on a tall cresset of gold and depart swiftly.  Whilst
Messire Gawain was eating, behold you, thereupon, two damsels
that come into the tent and salute him right courteously.  And he
maketh answer, the fairest he may.

"Sir," say the damsels, "God grant you force and power tomorrow
to destroy the evil custom of this tent."

"Is there then any evil custom herein, damsel?" saith he.

"Yea, sir, a right foul custom, whereof much it grieveth me, but
well meseemeth that you are the knight to amend it by the help of
God."


IX.

Therewith he riseth from the table, and one of the squires was
apparelled to take away the cloths.  And the two damsels take him
by the hand and lead him without the tent, and they set them down
in the midst of the meadow.  "Sir," saith the elder damsel, "What
is your name?"

"Damsel," saith he, "Gawain is my name."

"Thereof do we love you the better, for well we know that the
evil custom of the tent shall be done away on condition that you
choose to-night the one of us two that most shall please you."

"Damsel, gramercy," saith he.  Thereupon he riseth up, for he was
weary, and draweth him toward the couch, and the damsels help him
and wait upon his going to bed.  And when he was lien down, they
seated themselves before him and lighted the taper and leant over
the couch and prospered him much service.  Messire Gawain
answered them naught save "Gramercy," for he was minded to sleep
and take his rest.

"By God," saith the one to the other, "And this were Messire
Gawain, King Arthur's nephew, he would speak to us after another
sort, and more of disport should we find in him than in this one.
But this is a counterfeit Gawain, and the honour we have done him
hath been ill bestowed.  Who careth?  To-morrow shall he pay his
reckoning."


X.

Thereupon, lo you, the dwarf where he cometh.  "Fair friend," say
they, "Keep good watch over this knight that he flee not away,
for he goeth a-cadging from, hostel to hostel and maketh him be
called Messire Gawain, but Messire Gawain meseemeth is he not. 
For, and it were he, and we had been minded to watch with him two
nights, he would have wished it to be three or four."

"Damsel," saith the dwarf, "He may not flee away save he go
afoot, for his horse is in my keeping."

And Messire Gawain heareth well enough that which the damsels
say, but he answereth them never a word.  Thereupon they depart,
and say: God give him an ill night, for an evil knight and a
vanquished and recreant, and command the dwarf that he move not
on any occasion.  Messire Gawain slept right little the night,
and so soon as he saw the day, arose and found his arms ready and
his horse that had been led all ready saddled before the tent. 
He armed himself as swiftly as he might, and the dwarf helpeth
him and saith to him: "Sir, you have not done service to our
damsels as they would fain you should, wherefore they make sore
complaint of you."

"That grieveth me," saith Messire Gawain, "if that I have
deserved it."

"It is great pity," saith the dwarf, "when knight so comely as be
you is so churlish as they say."

"They may say their pleasure," saith he, "for it is their right.
I know not to whom to render thanks for the good lodging that I
have had save to God, and if I shall see the lord of the tent or
the lady I shall con them much thanks thereof."


XI.

Thereupon, lo you, where two knights come in front of the tent on
their horses, all armed, and see Messire Gawain that was mounted
and had his shield on his neck and his spear in his fist, as he
that thinketh to go without doing aught further.  And the knights
come before him: "Sir," say they, "Pay for your lodging!  Last
night did we put ourselves to misease on your account and left
you the tent and all that is therein at your pleasure, and now
you are fain to go in this fashion."

"What pleaseth it you that I should do?" saith Messire Gawain.

"It is meet I should requite you of my victual and the honour of
the tent."

Thereupon, lo you, where the two damsels come that were of right
great beauty.  "Sir Knight," say they, "Now shall we see whether
you be King Arthur's nephew!"

"By my faith," saith the dwarf, "Methinketh this is not he that
shall do away the evil custom whereby we lose the coming hither
of knights!   Albeit if he may do it, I will forego mine ill will
toward him."

Messire Gawain thus heard himself mocked by day as well as by
night and had great shame thereof.  He seeth that he may not
depart without a fight.  One of the knights drew to backward and
was alighted; the other was upon his horse all armed, his shield
on his neck and grasping his spear in his fist.  And he cometh
toward Messire Gawain full career and Messire Gawain toward him,
and smiteth him so wrathfully that he pierceth his shield and
pinneth his shield to his arm and his arm to his rib and
thrusteth his spear into his body, and hurtleth against him so
sore that he beareth him to the ground, him and his horse
together at the first blow.

"By my head!  Look at Messire Gawain the counterfeit!  Better
doth he to-day than he did last night!"

He draweth back his spear, and pulleth forth his sword and
runneth upon him, when the knight crieth him mercy and saith that
he holdeth himself vanquished.  Messire Gawain bethinketh him
what he shall do and whether the damsels are looking at him.

"Sir knight," saith the elder, "Need you not fear the other
knight until such time as this one be slain, nor will the evil
custom be done away so long as this one is on live.  For he is
the lord of the other and because of the shameful custom hath no
knight come hither this right long space."

"Hearken now," saith the knight, "the great disloyalty of her!
Nought in the world is there she loved so well in seeming as did
she me, and now hath she adjudged me my death!"

"Again I tell you plainly," saith she, "that never will it be
done away unless he slay you."

Thereupon Messire Gawain lifteth the skirt of his habergeon and
thrusteth his sword into his body.  Thereupon, lo you, the other
knight, right angry and sorrowful and full of wrath for his
fellow that he seeth dead, and cometh in great rage to Messire
Gawain and Messire Gawain to him, and so stoutly they mell
together that they pierce the shields and pierce the habergeons
and break the flesh of the ribs with the points of their spears,
and the bodies of the knights and their horses hurtle together so
stiffly that saddle-bows are to-frushed and stirrups loosened and
girths to-brast and fewtres splintered and spears snapped short,
and the knights drop to the ground with such a shock that the
blood rayeth forth at mouth and nose.  In the fall that the
knight made, Messire Gawain brake his collar-bone in the hurtle.
Thereupon the dwarf crieth out: "Damsel, your counterfeit Gawain
doth it well!"

"Our Gawain shall he be," say they, "so none take him from us!"

Messire Gawain draweth from over the knight and cometh toward his
horse, and right fain would he have let the knight live had it
not been for the damsels.  For the knight crieth him mercy and
Messire Gawain had right great pity of him.  Howbeit the damsels
cry to him; "And you slay him not, the evil custom will not be
overthrown."

"Sir," saith the younger damsel, "And you would slay him, smite
him in the sole of his foot with your sword, otherwise will he
not die yet."

"Damsel," saith the knight, "Your love of me is turned to shame!
Never more ought knight to set affiance nor love on damsel.  But
God keep the other that they be not such as you!"

Messire Gawain marvelleth at this that the damsel saith to him,
and draweth him back, and hath great pity of the knight, and
cometh to the other side whither the horses were gone, and taketh
the saddle of the knight that was dead and setteth it on his own
horse and draweth him away.  And the wounded knight was
remounted, for the dwarf had helped him, and fleeth toward the
forest a great gallop.  And the damsels cry out, "Messire Gawain,
your pity will be our death this day!  For the Knight without
Pity is gone for succour, and if he escape, we shall be dead and
you also!"


XII.

Thereupon Messire Gawain leapeth on his horse and taketh a spear
that was leaning against the tent and followeth the knight in
such sort that he smiteth him to the ground.  Afterward he saith
to him: "No further may you go!"

"That grieveth me," saith the knight, "For before night should I
have been avenged of you and of the damsels."

And Messire Gawain draweth his sword and thrusteth it into the
sole of his foot a full palm's breadth, and the knight stretcheth
himself forth and dieth.  And Messire Gawain returneth back, and
the damsels make great joy of him and tell him that never
otherwise could the evil custom have been done away.  For, and he
had gone his way, all would have been to begin over again, for he
is of such kind seeing that he was of the kindred of Achilles,
and that all his ancestors might never otherwise die.  And
Messire Gawain alighteth, and the damsels would have searched the
wound in his side, and he telleth them that he taketh no heed
thereof.

"Sir," say they, "Again do we proffer you our service, for well
we know that you are a good knight.  Take for your lady-love
which of us you will."

"Gramercy, damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Your love do I refuse
not and to God do I commend you."

"How?" say the damsels, "Will you go your way thus?  Certes,
meeter were it to-day for you to sojourn in this tent and be at
ease."

"It may not be," saith he, "for leisure have I none to abide
here."

"Let him go!" saith the younger, "for the falsest knight is he of
the world."

"By my head," saith the elder, "it grieveth me that he goeth, for
stay would have pleased me well."

Therewithal Messire Gawain departeth and is remounted on his
horse.  Then he entereth into the forest.



BRANCH VI.

INCIPIT.

Another branch that Josephus telleth us recounteth and witnesseth
of the Holy Graal, and here beginneth for us in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

Messire Gawain rode until he came to a forest, and seeth a land
right fair and rich in a great enclosure of wall, and round the
land and country-side within, the wall stretched right far away.
Thitherward he cometh and seeth but one entrance thereinto, and
he seeth the fairest land that ever he beheld and the best
garnished and the fairest orchards.  The country was not more
than four leagues Welsh in length, and in the midst thereof was a
tower on a high rock.  And on the top was a crane that kept watch
over it and cried when any strange man came into the country.
Messire Gawain rode amidst the land and the crane cried out so
loud that the King of Wales heard it, that was lord of the land.
Thereupon, behold you, two knights that come after Messire Gawain
and say to him: "Hold, Sir knight, and come speak with the king
of this country, for no strange knight passeth through his land
but he seeth him."

"Lords," saith Messire Gawain, "I knew not of the custom.
Willingly will I go."

They led him thither to the hall where the King was, and Messire
Gawain alighteth and setteth his shield and his spear leaning
against a mounting stage and goeth up into the hall.  The King
maketh great joy of him and asketh him whither he would go? 

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Into a country where I was never."

"Well I know," saith the king, "where it is, for that you are
passing through my land.  You are going to the country of King
Gurgalain to conquer the sword wherewith S. John was beheaded."


II.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "You say true.  God grant me that I
may have it!"

"That may not be so hastily," saith the King, "For you shall not
go forth of my land before a year."

"Ha, Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "For God's sake, mercy!"

"None other mercy is here," saith the King.  Straightway he
maketh Messire Gawain be disarmed and afterward maketh bring a
robe wherewith to apparel him, and showeth him much honour.  But
ill is he at ease, wherefore he saith to him: "Sir, wherefore are
you fain to hold me here within so long?"

"For this, that I know well you will have the sword and will not
return by me."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I pledge you my word that, so God
give me to conquer it, I will return by you."

"And I will allow you to depart from me at your will.  For nought
is there that I so much desire to see."

He lay the night therewithin, and on the morrow departed thence
and issued forth of the land right glad and joyful.  And he goeth
toward the land of King Gurgalain.  And he entereth into a
noisome forest at the lower part and findeth at the right hour of
noon a fountain that was enclosed of marble, and it was
overshadowed of the forest like as it were with leaves down
below, and it had rich pillars of marble all round about with
fillets of gold and set with precious stones.  Against the
master-pillar hung a vessel of gold by a silver chain, and in the
midst of the fountain was an image so deftly wrought as if it had
been alive.  When Messire appeared at the fountain, the image set
itself in the water and was hidden therewith.  Messire Gawain
goeth down, and would fain have taken hold on the vessel of gold
when a voice crieth out to him: "You are not the Good Knight unto
whom is served thereof and who thereby is made whole."

Messire Gawain draweth him back and seeth a clerk come to the
fountain that was young of age and clad inú white garments, and
he had a stole on his arm and held a little square vessel of
gold, and cometh to the little vessel that was hanging on the
marble pillar and looketh therein, and then rinseth out the other
little golden vessel that he held, and then setteth the one that
he held in the place of the other.  Therewithal, behold, three
damsels that come of right great beauty, and they had white
garments and their heads were covered with white cloths, and they
carried, one, bread in a little golden vessel, and the other wine
in a little ivory vessel, and the third flesh in one of silver.
And they come to the vessel of gold that hung against the pillar
and set therein that which they have brought, and afterward they
make the sign of the cross over the pillar and come back again.
But on their going back, it seemed to Messire Gawain that only
one was there.  Messire Gawain much marvelled him of this
miracle.  He goeth after the clerk that carried the other vessel
of gold, and saith unto him: "Fair Sir, speak to me."

"What is your pleasure?" saith the clerk.

"Whither carry you this golden vessel and that which is therein?"

"To the hermits," saith he, "that are in this forest, and to the
Good knight that lieth sick in the house of his uncle King
Hermit."

"Is it far from hence?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Yea, Sir," saith the clerk, "to yourself.  But I shall be there
sooner than will you."

"By God," saith Messire Gawain, "I would fain I were there now,
so that I might see him and speak to him."

"That believe I well," saith the clerk, "But now is the place not
here."

Messire Gawain taketh leave and goeth his way and rideth until he
findeth a hermitage and seeth the hermit therewithout.  He was
old and bald and of good life.

"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "Whither go you?"

"To the land of King Gurgalain, Sir; is this the way?"

"Yea," saith the hermit, "But many knights have passed hereby
that hither have never returned."

"Is it far?" saith he.

"He and his land are hard by, but far away is the castle wherein
is the sword."

Messire Gawain lay the night therewithin.  On the morrow when he
had heard mass, he departed and rode until he cometh to the land
of King Gurgalain, and heareth the folk of the land making dole
right sore.  And he meeteth a knight that cometh a great pace to
a castle.


IV.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Wherefore make the folk of this
castle such dole, and they of all this land and all this country?
For I hear them weep and beat their palms together on every
side."

"Sir," saith he, "I will tell you.  King Gurgalain had one only
son of whom he hath been bereft by a Giant that hath done him
many mischiefs and wasted much of his land.  Now hath the King
let everywhere be cried that to him that shall bring back his son
and slay the Giant he will give the fairest sword of the world,
the which sword he hath, and of all his treasure so much as he
may be fain to take.  As at this time, he findeth no knight so
hardy that he durst go; and much more blameth he his own law than
the law of the Christians, and he saith that if any Christian
should come into his land, he would receive him."

Right joyous is Messire Gawain of these tidings, and departeth
from the castle and rideth on until he cometh to the castle of
King Gurgalain.  The tidings come to the King that there is a
Christian come into his castle.  The King maketh great joy
thereof, and maketh him come before him and asketh him of his
name and of what land he is.

"Sir," saith he, "My name is Gawain and I am of the land of King
Arthur."

"You are," saith he, "of the land of the Good Knight.  But of
mine own land may I find none that durst give counsel in a matter
I have on hand.  But if you be of such valour that you be willing
to undertake to counsel me herein, right well will I reward you.
A Giant hath carried off my son whom I loved greatly, and so you
be willing to set your body in jeopardy for my son, I will give
you the richest sword that was ever forged, whereby the head of
S. John was cut off.  Every day at right noon is it bloody, for
that at that hour the good man had his head cut off."

The King made fetch him the sword, and in the first place showeth
him the scabbard that was loaded of precious stones and the
mountings were of silk with buttons of gold, and the hilt in
likewise, and the pommel of a most holy sacred stone that Enax, a
high emperor of Rome, made be set thereon.  Then the King draweth
it forth of the scabbard, and the sword came forth thereof all
bloody, for it was the hour of noon.  And he made hold it before
Messire Gawain until the hour was past, and thereafter the sword
becometh as clear as an emerald and as green.  And Messire
looketh at it and coveteth it much more than ever he did before,
and he seeth that it is as long as another sword, albeit, when it
is sheathed in the scabbard, neither scabbard nor sword seemeth
of two spans length.


V.

"Sir Knight," saith the King, "This sword will I give you, and
another thing will I do whereof you shall have joy."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "And I will do your need, if God
please and His sweet Mother."

Thereupon he teacheth him the way whereby the Giant went, and the
place where he had his repair, and Messire Gawain goeth his way
thitherward and commendeth himself to God.  The country folk pray
for him according to their belief that he may back repair with
life and health, for that he goeth in great peril.  He hath
ridden until that he cometh to a great high mountain that lay
round about a land that the Giant had all laid waste, and the
enclosure of the mountain went round about for a good three
leagues Welsh, and therewithin was the Giant, so great and cruel
and horrible that he feared no man in the world, and for a long
time had he not been sought out by any knight, for none durst won
in that quarter.  And the pass of the mountain whereby he went to
his hold was so strait that no horse might get through; wherefore
behoveth Messire Gawain leave his horse and his shield and spear
and to pass beyond the mountain by sheer force, for the way was
like a cut between sharp rocks.  He is come to level ground and
looketh before him and seeth a hold that the Giant had on the top
of a rock, and espieth the Giant and the lad where they were
sitting on the level ground under a tree.  Messire Gawain was
armed and had his sword girt on, and goeth his way thitherward.
And the Giant seeth him coming and leapeth up and taketh in hand
a great axe that was at his side, and cometh toward Messire
Gawain all girded for the fight and thinketh to smite him a
two-handed stroke right amidst the head.  But Messire Gawain
swerveth aside and bestirreth him with his sword and dealeth him
a blow such that he cut off his arm, axe and all.  And the Giant
returneth backward when he feeleth himself wounded, and taketh
the King's son by the neck with his other hand and grippeth him
so straitly that he strangleth and slayeth him.  Then he cometh
back to Messire Gawain and falleth upon him and grippeth him sore
strait by the flanks, and lifteth him three foot high off the
ground and thinketh to carry him to his hold that was within the
rock.  And as he goeth thither he falleth, Messire Gawain and
all, and he lieth undermost.  Howbeit, he thinketh to rise, but
cannot, for Messire Gawain sendeth him his sword right through
his heart and beyond.  Afterward, he cut off the head and cometh
there where the King's child lay dead, whereof is he right
sorrowful.  And he beareth him on his neck, and taketh the
Giant's head in his hand and returneth there where he had left
his horse and shield and spear, and mounteth and cometh back and
bringeth the King's son before the King and the head of the Giant
hanging.


VI.

The King and all they of the castle come to meet him with right
great joy, but when they see the young man dead, their great joy
is turned into right great dole thereby.  And Messire Gawain
alighteth before the castle and presenteth to the King his son
and the head of the Giant.

"Certes," said he, "might I have presented him to you on live,
much more joyful should I have been thereof."

"This believe I well," saith the King, "Howbeit, of so much as
you have done am I well pleased, and your guerdon shall you
have."

And he looketh at his son and lamenteth him right sweetly, and
all they of the castle after him.  Thereafter he maketh light a
great show of torches in the midst of the city, and causeth a
great fire to be made, and his son be set thereon in a brazen
vessel all full of water, and maketh him be cooked and sodden
over this fire, and maketh the Giant's head be hanged at the
gate.


VII.

When his son was well cooked, he maketh him be cut up as small as
he may, and biddeth send for all the high men of his land and
giveth thereof to each so long as there was any left.  After that
he maketh bring the sword and giveth it to Messire Gawain, and
Messire Gawain thanketh him much thereof.

"More yet will I do for you," saith the King.  He biddeth send
for all the men of his land to come to his hall and castle. 

"Sir," saith he, "I am fain to baptize me."

"God be praised thereof," saith Messire Gawain.  The King biddeth
send for a hermit of the forest, and maketh himself be baptized,
and he had the name of Archis in right baptism; and of all them
that were not willing to believe in God, he commanded Messire
Gawain that he should cut off their heads.


VIII.

In such wise was this King baptized that was the lord of Albanie,
by the miracle of God and the knighthood of Messire Gawain, that
departeth from the castle with right great joy and rideth until
he has come into the land of the King of Wales and bethought him
he would go fulfil his pledge.  He alighted before the hall, and
the King made right great cheer when he saw him come.  And
Messire Gawain hath told him: "I come to redeem my pledge. 
Behold, here is the sword."

And the King taketh it in his hand and looketh thereon right
fainly, and afterward maketh great joy thereof and setteth it in
his treasury and saith: "Now have I done my desire."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Then have you betrayed me."

"By my head," saith the King, "That have I not, for I am of the
lineage of him that beheaded S. John, wherefore have I better
right to it than you."

"Sir," say the knights to the King, "Right loyal and courteous
knight is Messire Gawain, wherefore yield him that which he hath
conquered, for sore blame will you have of evil-treating him."

"I will yield it," saith the King "on such condition that
the first damsel that maketh request of him, what thing soever
she may require and whatsoever it be shall not be denied of him."

And Messire Gawain agreeth thereto, and of this agreement
thereafter did he suffer much shame and anguish and was blamed of
many knights.  And the King yielded him the Sword.  He lay the
night therewithin, and on the morrow so soon as he might, he
departed and rode until he came without the city where the
burgess gave him the horse in exchange for his own.  And he
remembered him of his covenant, and abideth a long space and
leaneth him on the hilt of his sword until the burgess cometh.
Therewithal made they great joy the one of the other, and Messire
showeth him the sword, and the burgess taketh it and smiteth his
horse with his spurs and goeth a great gallop toward the city.
And Messire Gawain goeth after a great pace and crieth out that
he doth great treachery.

"Come not after me into the city," saith the burgess, "for the
folk have a commune."

Howbeit, he followeth after into the city for that he might not
overtake him before, and therein he meeteth a great procession of
priests and clerks that bore crosses and censers.  And Messire
Gawain alighteth on account of the procession, and seeth the
burgess that hath gone into the church and the procession after.

"Lords," saith Messire Gawain, "Make yield me the sword whereof
this burgess that hath entered your church hath plundered me."

"Sir," say the priests, "Well know we that it is the sword
wherewith S. John was beheaded, wherefore the burgess hath
brought it to us to set with our hallows in yonder, and saith
that it was given him."

"Ha, lords!" saith Messire Gawain, "Not so!  I have but shown it
to him to fulfil my pledge.  And he hath carried it off by
treachery."

Afterward he telleth them as it had befallen him, and the priests
make the burgess give it up, and with great joy Messire Gawain
departeth and remounteth his horse and issueth forth of the city.
He hath scarce gone far before he meeteth a knight that came all
armed, as fast as his horse could carry him, spear in rest. 

"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "I have come to help you.  We
were told that you had been evil-entreated in the city, and I am
of the castle that succoureth all strange knights that pass
hereby whensoever they have need thereof."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Blessed be the castle!  I plain me
not of the trespass for that right hath been done me.  And how is
the castle named?"

"Sir, they call it the Castle of the Ball.  Will you return back
thither with me, since you are delivered, and lodge there the
night with Messire, that is a right worshipful man, and of good
conditions?"

Therewith they go together to the castle, that was right fair and
well-seeming.  They enter in, and when they were within, the
Lord, that sate on a mounting-stage of marble, had two right fair
daughters, and he made them play before him with a ball of gold,
and looked at them right fainly.  He seeth Messire Gawain alight
and cometh to meet him and maketh him great cheer.  Afterward, he
biddeth his two daughters lead him into the hall.


IX.

When he was disarmed, the one brought him a right rich robe, and
after meat the two maidens sit beside him and make him right
great cheer.  Thereupon behold you, a dwarf that issueth forth of
a chamber, and he holdeth a scourge.  And he cometh to the
damsels and smiteth them over their faces and their heads.

"Rise up," saith he, "ye fools, ill-taught!  Ye make cheer unto
him whom you ought to hate!  For this is Messire Gawain, King
Arthur's nephew, by whom was your uncle slain!"

Thereupon they rise, all ashamed, and go into the chamber, and
Messire Gawain remaineth there sore abashed.  But their father
comforteth him and saith: "Sir, be not troubled for aught that he
saith, for the dwarf is our master: he chastiseth and teacheth my
daughters, and he is wroth for that you have slain his brother,
whom you slew the day that Marin slew his wife on your account,
whereof we are right sorrowful in this castle."

"So also am I," saith Messire Gawain, "But no blame of her death
have I nor she, as God knoweth of very truth."


X.

Messire Gawain lay the night at the castle, and departed on the
morrow, and rode on his journeys until he cometh to the castle at
the entrance to the land of the rich King Fisherman, where he
seeth that the lion is not at the entrance nor were the serjeants
of copper shooting.  And he seeth in great procession the priests
and them of the castle coming to meet him, and he alighteth, and
a squire was apparelled ready, that took his armour and his
horse, and he showeth the sword to them that were come to meet
him.  It was the hour of noon.  He draweth the sword, and seeth
it all bloody, and they bow down and worship it, and sing `Te
Deum laudamus'.  With such joy was Messire Gawain received at the
castle, and he set the sword back in his scabbard, and kept it
right anigh him, and made it not known in all the places where he
lodged that it was such.  The priests and knights of the castle
make right great joy, and pray him right instantly that so God
should lead him to the castle of King Fisherman, and the Graal
should appear before him, he would not be so forgetful as the
other knights.  And he made answer that he would do that which
God should teach him.


XI.

"Messire Gawain," saith the master of the priests, that was right
ancient: "Great need have you to take rest, for meseemeth you
have had much travail."

"Sir, many things have I seen whereof I am sore abashed, nor know
I what castle this may be."

"Sir," saith the priest, "This Castle is the Castle of Inquest,
for nought you shall ask whereof it shall not tell you the
meaning, by the witness of Joseph, the good clerk and good hermit
through whom we have it, and he knoweth it by annunciation of the
Holy Ghost."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "I am much abashed of the
three damsels that were at the court of King Arthur.  Two of them
carried, the one the head of a king and the other of a queen, and
they had in a car an hundred and fifty heads of knights whereof
some were sealed in gold, other in silver, and the rest in lead."

"True," saith the priest, "For as by the queen was the king
betrayed and killed, and the knights whereof the heads were in
the car, so saith she truth as Joseph witnesseth to us, for he
saith of remembrance that by envy was Adam betrayed, and all the
people that were after him and the people that are yet to come
shall have dole thereof for ever more.  And for that Adam was the
first man is he called King, for he was our earthly father, and
his wife Queen.  And the heads of the knights sealed in gold
signify the new law, and the heads sealed in silver the old, and
the heads sealed in lead the false law of the Sarrazins.  Of
these three manner of folk is the world stablished."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I marvel of the castle of the Black
Hermit, there where the heads were all taken from her, and the
Damsel told me that the Good Knight should cast them all forth
when he should come.  And the other folk that are therewithin are
longing for him."

"Well know you," saith the priest, "that on account of the apple
that Eve gave Adam to eat, all went to hell alike, the good as
well as the evil, and to cast His people forth from hell did God
become man, and cast these souls forth from hell of His bounty
and of His puissance.  And to this doth Joseph make us allusion
by the castle or the Black Hermit which signifieth hell, and the
Good Knight that shall thence cast forth them that are within.
And I tell you that the Black Hermit is Lucifer, that is Lord of
hell in like manner as he fain would have been Lord of Paradise."

"Sir," saith the priest, "By this significance is he fain to draw
the good hermits on behalt of the new law wherein the most part
are not well learned, wherefore he would fain make allusion by
ensample."

"By God," saith Messire Gawain, "I marvel much of the Damsel that
was all bald, and said that never should she have her hair again
until such time as the Good Knight should have achieved the Holy
Graal."

"Sir," saith the good man, "Each day full bald behoveth her to
be, ever since bald she became when the good King fell into
languishment on account of the knight whom he harboured that made
not the demand.  The bald damsel signifieth Joseu Josephus, that
was bald before the crucifixion of Our Lord, nor never had his
hair again until such time as He had redeemed His people by His
blood and by His death.  The car that she leadeth after her
signifieth the wheel of fortune, for like as the car goeth on the
wheels, doth she lay the burden of the world on the two damsels
that follow her; and this you may see well, for the fairest
followeth afoot and the other was on a sorry hackney, and they
were poorly clad, whereas the third had costlier attire.  The
shield whereon was the red cross, that she left at the court of
King Arthur, signifieth the most holy shield of the rood that
never none durst lift save God alone."

Messire Gawain heareth these significances and much pleaseth him
thereof, and thinketh him that none durst set his hand to nor
lift the shield that hung in the King's hall, as he had heard
tell in many places; wherefore day by day were they waiting for
the Good Knight that should come for the shield.


XII.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "By this that you tell me you do me
to wit that whereof I was abashed, but I have been right
sorrowful of a lady that a knight slew on my account albeit no
blame had she therein, nor had I."

"Sir," saith the priest, "Right great significance was there in
her death, for Josephus witnesseth us that the old law was
destroyed by the stroke of a sword without recover, and to
destroy the old law did Our Lord suffer Himself to be smitten in
the side of a spear.  By this stroke was the old law destroyed,
and by His crucifixion.  The lady signifieth the old law.  Would
you ask more of me?" saith the priest.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I met a knight in the forest that
rode behind before and carried his arms upside down.  And he said
that he was the Knight Coward, and his habergeon carried he on
his neck, and so soon as he saw me he set his arms to rights and
rode like any other knight."

"The law was turned to the worse," saith the priest, "before Our
Lord's crucifixion, and so soon as He was crucified, was again
restored to right."

"Even yet have I not asked you of all," saith Messire Gawain,
"For a knight came and jousted with me party of black and white,
and challenged me of the death of the lady on behalf of her
husband, and told me and I should vanquish him that he and his
men would be my men.  I did vanquish him and he did me homage."

"It is right," saith the priest, "On account of the old law that
was destroyed were all they that remained therein made subject,
and shall be for ever more.  Wish you to enquire of aught
further?" saith the priest.

"I marvel me right sore," saith Messire Gawain, "of a child that
rode a lion in a hermitage, and none durst come nigh the lion
save the child only, and he was not of more than six years, and
the lion was right fell.  The child was the son of the lady that
was slain on my account."

"Right well have you spoken," saith the priest, "in reminding me
thereof.  The child signifieth the Saviour of the world that was
born under the old law and was circumcised, and the lion whereon
he rode signifieth the world and the people that are therein, and
beasts and birds that none may govern save by virtue of Him
alone."

"God!" saith Messire Gawain, "How great joy have I at heart of
that you tell me!  Sir, I found a fountain in a forest, the
fairest that was ever seen, and an image had it within that hid
itself when it saw me, and a clerk brought a golden vessel and
took another golden vessel that hung at the column that was
there, and set his own in place thereof.  Afterward, came three
damsels and filled the vessel with that they had brought thither,
and straightway meseemed that but one was there."

"Sir, saith the priest, "I will tell you no more thereof than you
have heard, and therewithal ought you to hold yourself well
apaid, for behoveth not discover the secrets of the Saviour, and
them also to whom they are committed behoveth keep them
covertly."


XIII.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I would fain ask you of a King.
When I had brought him his son back dead, he made him be cooked
and thereafter made him be eaten of all the folk of his land."

"Sir," saith the priest, "Already had he leant his heart upon
Jesus Christ, and would fain make sacrifice of his flesh and
blood to Our Lord, and for this did he make all those of his land
eat thereof, and would fain that their thoughts should be even
such as his own.  And therefore was all evil belief uprooted from
his land, so that none remained therein."

"Blessed be the hour," saith Messire Gawain, "that I came
herewithin!"

"Mine be it!" saith the priest.

Messire Gawain lay therewithin the night, and right well lodged
was he.  The morrow, when he had heard mass, he departed and went
forth of the castle when he had taken leave.  And he findeth the
fairest land of the world and the fairest meadow-grounds that
were ever seen, and the fairest rivers and forests garnished of
wild deer and hermitages.  And he rideth until he cometh one day
as evening was about to draw on, to the house of a hermit, and
the house was so low that his horse might not enter therein.  And
his chapel was scarce taller, and the good man had never issued
therefrom of forty years past.  The Hermit putteth his head out
of the window when he seeth Messire Gawain and saith, "Sir,
welcome may you be," saith he.

"Sir, God give you joy, Will you give me lodging to-night?" saith
Messire Gawain.

"Sir, herewithin none harboureth save the Lord God alone, for
earthly man hath never entered herewithin but me this forty year,
but see, here in front is the castle wherein the good knights are
lodged."

"What is the castle?"

"Sir, the good King Fisherman's, that is surrounded with great
waters and plenteous in all things good, so the lord were in joy.
But behoveth them harbour none there save good knights only."

"God grant," saith Messire Gawain, "that I may come therein."


XIV.

When he knoweth that he is nigh the castle, he alighteth and
confesseth him to the hermit, and avoweth all his sins and
repenteth him thereof right truly.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Now forget not, so God be willing to
allow you, to ask that which the other knight forgat, and be not
afeard for ought you may see at the entrance of the castle, but
ride on without misgiving and adore the holy chapel you will see
appear in the castle, there where the flame of the Holy Spirit
descendeth each day for the most Holy Graal and the point of the
lance that is served there."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God teach me to do His will!"

He taketh leave, and goeth his way and rideth until the valley
appeareth wherein the castle is seated garnished of all things
good, and he seeth appear the most holy chapel.  He alighteth,
and then setteth him on his knees and boweth him down and adoreth
right sweetly.  Thereafter he remounteth and rideth until he
findeth a sepulchre right rich, and it had a cover over, and it
lay very nigh the castle, and it seemed to be within a little
burial-ground that was enclosed all round about, nor were any
other tombs therein.  A voice crieth to him as he passeth the
burial-ground: "Touch not the sepulchre, for you are not the Good
Knight through whom shall it be known who lieth therein."

Messire Gawain passeth beyond when he had heard the voice and
draweth nigh the entrance of the castle, and seeth that three
bridges are there, right great and right horrible to pass. And
three great waters run below, and him seemeth that the first
bridge is a bowshot in length and in breadth not more than a
foot.  Strait seemeth the bridge and the water deep and swift and
wide.  He knoweth not what he may do, for it seemeth him that
none may pass it, neither afoot nor on horse.


XV.

Thereupon, lo you, a knight that issueth forth of the castle and
cometh as far as the head of the bridge, that was called the
Bridge of the Eel, and shouteth aloud: "Sir Knight, pass quickly
before it shall be already night, for they of the castle are
awaiting us."

"Ha," saith Messire Gawain, "Fair sir, but teach me how I may
pass hereby."

"Certes, Sir Knight, no passage know I to this entrance other
than this, and if you desire to come to the castle, pass on
without misgiving."

Messire Gawain hath shame for that he hath stayed so long, and
forthinketh him of this that the Hermit told him, that of no
mortal thing need he be troubled at the entrance of the castle,
and therewithal that he is truly confessed of his sins, wherefore
behoveth him be the less adread of death.  He crosseth and
blesseth himself and commendeth himself to God as he that
thinketh to die, and so smiteth his horse with his spurs and
findeth the bridge wide and large as soon as he goeth forward,
for by this passing were proven most of the knights that were
fain to enter therein.  Much marvelled he that he found the
bridge so wide that had seemed him so narrow.  And when he had
passed beyond, the bridge, that was a drawbridge, lifted itself
by engine behind him, for the water below ran too swiftly for
other bridge to be made.  The knight draweth himself back beyond
the great bridge and Messire Gawain cometh nigh to pass it, and
this seemed him as long as the other.  And he seeth the water
below, that was not less swift nor less deep, and, so far as he
could judge, the bridge was of ice, feeble and thin, and of a
great height above the water, and he looked at it with much
marvelling, yet natheless not for that would he any the more hold
back from passing on toward the entrance.  He goeth forward and
commendeth himself to God, and cometh in the midst thereof and
seeth that the bridge was the fairest and richest and strongest
he had ever beheld, and the abutments thereof were all full of
images.  When he was beyond the bridge, it lifted itself up
behind him as the other had done, and he looketh before him and
seeth not the knight, and is come to the third bridge and nought
was he adread for anything he might see.  And it was not less
rich than the other, and had columns of marble all round about,
and upon each a knop so rich that it seemed to be of gold.  After
that, he beholdeth the gate over against him, and seeth Our Lord
there figured even as He was set upon the rood, and His Mother of
the one side and S. John of the other, whereof the images were
all of gold, with rich precious stones that flashed like fire.
And on the right hand he seeth an angel, passing fair, that
pointed with his finger to the chapel where was the Holy Graal,
and on his breast had he a precious stone, and letters written
above his head that told how the lord of the castle was the like
pure and clean of all evil-seeming as was this stone.


XVI.

Thereafter at the entrance of the gate he seeth a lion right
great and horrible, and he was upright upon his feet.  So soon as
he seeth Messire Gawain, he croucheth to the ground, and Messire
Gawain passeth the entrance without gainsay and cometh to the
castle, and alighteth afoot, and setteth his shield and his spear
against the wall of the hall, and mounteth up a flight of marble
steps and cometh into a hall right fair and rich, and here and
there in divers places was it painted with golden images.  In the
midst thereof he findeth a couch right fair and rich and high,
and at the foot of this couch was a chess-board right fair and
rich, with an orle of gold all full of precious stones, and the
pieces were of gold and silver and were not upon the board.
Meanwhile, as Messire Gawain was looking at the beauty of the
chess-board and the hall, behold you two knights that issue forth
of a chamber and come to him.

"Sir," say the knights, "Welcome may you be."

"God give you joy and good. adventure," saith Messire Gawain.

They make him sit upon the couch and after that make him be
disarmed.  They bring him, in two basins of gold, water to wash
his face and hands.  After that, come two damsels that bring him
a rich robe of silk and cloth of gold.  Then they make him do on
the same.  Then say the two damsels to him, "Take in good part
whatsoever may be done to you therewithin, for this is the hostel
of good knights and loyal."

"Damsels," saith Messire Gawain, "So will I do. Gramercy of your
service."

He seeth well that albeit the night were dark, within was so
great brightness of light without candles that it was marvel. 
And it seemed him the sun shone there.  Wherefore marvelled he
right sore whence so great light should come.


XVII.

When Messire Gawain was clad in the rich robe, right comely was
he to behold, and well seemed he to be a knight of great valour.
"Sir," say the knights, "May it please you come see the lord of
this castle?"

"Right gladly will I see him," saith he, "For I would fain
present him with a rich sword."

They lead him into the chamber where lay King Fisherman, and it
seemed as it were all strown and sprinkled of balm, and it was
all strown with green herbs and reeds.  And King Fisherman lay on
a bed hung on cords whereof the stavs were of ivory; and therein
was a mattress of straw whereon he lay, and above a coverlid of
sables whereof the cloth was right rich.  And he had a cap of
sables on his head covered with a red samite of silk, and a
golden cross, and under his head was a pillow all smelling sweet
of balm, and at the four corners of the pillow were four stones
that gave out a right great brightness of light; and over against
him was a pillar of copper whereon sate an eagle that held a
cross of gold wherein was a piece of the true cross whereon God
was set, as long as was the cross itself; the which the good man
adored.  And in four tall candle sticks of gold were four tall
wax tapers set as often as was need.  Messire Gawain cometh
before the King and saluteth him.  And the King maketh him right
great cheer, and biddeth him be welcome.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, I present you with the sword whereof
John was beheaded."

"Gramercy." saith the King: "Certes, I knew well that you would
bring it, for neither you nor other might have come in hither
without the sword, and if you had not been of great valour you
would not have conquered it."

He taketh the sword and setteth it to his mouth and so kisseth it
right sweetly and maketh right great joy thereof.  And a damsel
cometh to sit at the head of the bed, to whom he giveth the sword
in keeping.  Two others sit at his feet that look at him right
sweetly.

"What is your name?" saith the King.

"Sir, my name is Gawain."

"Ha, Messire Gawain," saith he, "This brightness of light that
shineth there within cometh to us of God for love of you.  For
every time that a knight cometh hither to harbour within this
castle it appeareth as brightly as you see it now.  And greater
cheer would I make you than I do were I able to help myself, but
I am fallen into languishment from the hour that the knight of
whom you have heard tell harboured herewithin.  On account of
one single word he delayed to speak, did this languishment come
upon me.  Wherefore I pray you for God's sake that you remember
to speak it, for right glad should you be and you may restore me
my health.  And see here is the daughter of my sister that hath
been plundered of her land and disinherited in such wise that
never can she have it again save through her brother only whom
she goeth to seek; and we have been told that he is the Best
Knight of the world, but we can learn no true tidings of him."

"Sir," saith the damsel to her uncle the King, "Thank Messire
Gawain of the honour he did to my lady-mother when he came to her
hostel.  He stablished our land again in peace, and conquered the
keeping of the castle for a year, and set my lady-mother's
five knights there with us to keep it.  The year hath now passed,
wherefore will the war be now renewed against us and God succour
us not, and I find not my brother whom we have lost so long."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "I helped you so far as I might,
and so would I again and I were there.  And fainer am I to see
your brother than all the knights of the world.  But no true
tidings may I hear of him, save so much, that I was at a
hermitage where was a King hermit and he bade me make no noise
for that the Best Knight of the world lay sick therewithin, and
he told me that name was Par-lui-fet.  I saw his horse being led
by a squire before the chapel, and his arms and shield whereon
was a sun figured."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "My brother's name is not Par-lui-fet,
but Perlesvax in right baptism, and it is said of them that have
seen him that never comelier knight was known."

"Certes," saith the King, "Never saw I comelier than he that came
in hither nor better like to be good knight, and I know of a
truth that such he is, for otherwise never might he have entered
hereinto.  But good reward of harbouring him had I not, for I may
help neither myself nor other.  For God's sake, Messire Gawain,
hold me in remembrance this night, for great affiance have I in
your valour."

"Certes, Sir, please God, nought will I do within yonder, whereof
I may be blamed of right."


XVIII.

Thereupon Messire Gawain was led into the hall and findeth twelve
ancient knights, all bald, albeit they seemed not to be so old as
they were, for each was of a hundred year of age or more and yet
none of them seemed as though he were forty.  They have set
Messire Gawain to eat at a right rich table of ivory and seat
themselves all round about him.

"Sir," saith the Master of the Knights, "Remember you of that the
good King hath prayed of you and told you this night as you have
heard."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God remember it!"

With that bring they larded meats of venison and wild-boar's
flesh and other in great plenty, and on the table was rich array
of vessels of silver and great cups of gold with their covers,
and the rich candlesticks where the great candles were burning,
albeit their brightness was hidden of the great light that
appeared within.


XIX.

Thereon, lo you, two damsels that issue forth of a chapel,
whereof the one holdeth in her hands the most Holy Graal, and the
other the Lance whereof the point bleedeth thereinto.  And the
one goeth beside the other in the midst of the hall where the
knights and Messire Gawain sat at meat, and so sweet a smell and
so holy came to them therefrom that they forgat to eat.  Messire
Gawain looketh at the Graal, and it seemed him that a chalice was
therein, albeit none there was as at this time, and he seeth the
point of the lance whence the red blood ran thereinto, and it
seemeth him he seeth two angels that bear two candlesticks of
gold filled with candles.  And the damsels pass before Messire
Gawain, and go into another chapel.  And Messire Gawain is
thoughtful, and so great a joy cometh to him that nought
remembereth he in his thinking save of God only.  The knights are
all daunted and sorrowful in their hearts, and look at Messire
Gawain.  Thereupon behold you the damsels that issue forth of the
chamber and come again before Messire Gawain, and him seemeth
that he seeth three there where before he had seen
but two, and seemeth him that in the midst of the Graal he seeth
the figure of a child.  The Master of the Knights beckoneth to
Messire Gawain.  Messire Gawain looketh before him and seeth
three drops of blood fall upon the table.  He was all abashed to
look at them and spake no word.


XX.

Therewith the damsels pass forth and the knights are all adread
and look one at the other.  Howbeit Messire Gawain may not
withdraw his eyes from the three drops of blood, and when he
would fain kiss them they vanish away, whereof he is right
sorrowful, for he may not set his hand nor aught that of him is
to touch thereof.  Therewithal behold you the two damsels that
come again before the table and seemeth to Messire Gawain that
there are three, and he looketh up and it seemeth him to be the
Graal all in flesh, grid he seeth above, as him thinketh, a King
crowned, nailed upon a rood, and the spear was still fast in his
side.  Messire Gawain seeth it and hath great pity thereof, and
of nought doth he remember him save of the pain that this King
suffereth.  And the Master of the Knights summoneth him again by
word of mouth, and telleth him that if he delayeth longer, never
more will he recover it.  Messire Gawain is silent, as he that
heareth not the knight speak, and looketh upward.  But the
damsels go back into the chapel and carry back the most Holy
Graal and the Lance, and the knights make the tablecloths be
taken away and rise from meat and go into another hall and leave
Messire Gawain all alone.  And he looketh all around and seeth
the doors all shut and made fast, and looketh to the foot of the
hall and seeth two candlesticks with many candles burning round
about the chessboard, and he seeth that the pieces are set,
whereof the one sort are silver and the other gold.  Messire
Gawain sitteth at the game, and they of gold played against him
and mated him twice.  At the third time, when he thought to
revenge himself and saw that he had the worse, he swept the
pieces off the board.  And the damsel issued forth of a chamber
and made a squire take the chess-board and the pieces and so
carry them away.  And Messire Gawain, that was way-worn of his
wanderings to come thither where he now hath come, slept upon the
couch until the morrow when it was day, and he heard a horn sound
right shrill.


XXI.

Thereupon he armeth him and would fain go to take leave of King
Fisherman, but he findeth the doors bolted so that he may not get
forth.  And right fair service seeth he done in a chapel, and
right sorrowful is he for that he may not hear the mass.  A
damsel cometh into the hall and saith to him: "Sir, now may you
hear the service and the joy that is made on account of the sword
you presented to the good King, and right glad at heart ought you
to have been if you had been within the chapel.  But you lost
entering therein on account of a right little word.  For the
place of the chapel is so hallowed of the holy relics that are
therein that man nor priest may never enter therein from the
Saturday at noon until the Monday after mass."

And he heard the sweetest voices and the fairest services that
were ever done in chapel.  Messire Gawain answereth her not a
word so is he abashed.  Howbeit the damsel saith to him: "Sir,
God be guardian of your body, for methinketh that it was not of
your own default that you would not speak the word whereof this
castle would have been in joy."

With that the damsel departeth and Messire Gawain heareth the
horn sound a second time and a voice warning him aloud: "He that
is from without, let him go hence!  for the bridges are lowered
and the gate open, and the lion is in his den.  And thereafter
behoveth the bridge be lifted again on account of the King of the
Castle Mortal, that warreth against this castle, and therefore
of this thing shall he die."


XXII.

Thereupon Messire Gawain issueth forth of the hall and findeth
his horse all made ready at the mounting-stage, together with his
arms.  He goeth forth and findeth the bridges broad and long, and
goeth his way a great pace beside a great river that runneth in
the midst of the valley.  And he seeth in a great forest a mighty
rain and tempest, and so strong a thunderstorm ariseth in the
forest that it seemeth like all the trees should be uprooted.  So
great is the rain and the tempest that it compelleth him set his
shield over his horse's head lest he be drowned of the abundance
of rain.  In this mis-ease rideth he down beside the river that
runneth in the forest until he seeth in a launde across the river
a knight and a damsel right gaily appointed riding at pleasure,
and the knight carrieth a bird on his fist, and the damsel hath a
garland of flowers on her head.  Two brachets follow the knight.
The sun shineth right fair on the meadow and the air is right
clear and fresh.  Messire Gawain marvelleth much of this, that it
raineth so heavily on his way, whereas, in the meadow where the
knight and the damsel are riding, the sun shineth clear and the
weather is bright and calm.  And he seeth them ride joyously.  He
can ask them naught for they are too far away.  Messire Gawain 
looketh about and seeth on the other side the river a squire
nearer to him than is the knight.

"Fair friend" saith Messire Gawain, "How is this that it raineth
upon me on this side the river, but on the other raineth it not
at all?"

"Sir," saith the squire, "This have you deserved, for such is the
custom of the forest."

"Will this tempest that is over me last for ever?" saith Messire
Gawain.

"At the first bridge you come to will it be stayed upon you,"
saith the squire.


XXIII.

Therewith the squire departeth, and the tempest rageth
incontinent until he is come to the bridge; and he rideth beyond
and cometh to the meadow, and the storm is stayed so that he
setteth his shield to rights again upon his neck.  And he seeth
before him a castle where was a great company of folk that were
making great cheer.  He rideth until he cometh to the castle and
seeth right great throng of folk, knights and dames and damsels.
Messire Gawain alighteth, but findeth in the castle none that is
willing to take his reins, so busied are they making merry.
Messire Gawain presenteth himself on the one side and the other,
but all of them avoid him, and he seeth that he maketh but an ill
stay therewithin for himself, wherefore he departeth from the
castle and meeteth a knight at the gate.

"Sir," saith he, "What castle is this?"

"And see you not," saith the knight, "that it is a castle of
joy?"

"By my faith" saith Messire Gawain, "They of the castle be not
over-courteous, for all this time hath none come to take my
reins."

"Not for this lose they their courtesy," saith the knight, "For
this is no more than you have deserved.  They take you to be as
slothful of deed as you are of word, and they saw that you were
come through the Forest Perilous whereby pass all the
discomfited, as well appeareth by your arms and your horse."

Therewith the knight departeth, and Messire Gawain hath ridden a
great space sorrowful and sore abashed, until he cometh to a land
parched and poor and barren of all comfort, and therein findeth
he a poor castle, whereinto he cometh and seeth it much wasted,
but that within was there a hall that seemed haunted of folk. 
And Messire Gawain cometh thitherward and alighteth, and a knight
cometh down the steps of the hall right poorly clad.

"Sir," saith the knight to Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be!" 

After that, he taketh him by the hand and leadeth him upward to
the hall, that was all waste.  Therewithal issue two damsels from
a chamber, right poorly clad, that were of passing great beauty,
and make great cheer to Messire Gawain.  So, when he was fain to
disarm, behold you thereupon a knight that entereth into the
hall, and he was smitten with the broken end of a lance through
his body.  He seeth Messire Gawain, whom he knoweth.

"Now haste!" saith he, "and disarm you not!  Right joyful am I
that I have found you! I come from this forest wherein have I
left Lancelot fighting with four knights, whereof one is dead,
and they think that it is you, and they are of kindred to the
knight that you slew at the tent where you destroyed the evil
custom.  I was fain to help Lancelot, when one of the knights
smote me as you may see."

Messire Gawain goeth down from the hall and mounteth all armed
upon his horse.


XXIV.

"Sir," saith the knight of the hall, "I would go help you to my
power, but I may not issue forth of the castle until such time as
it be replenished of the folk that are wont to come therein and
until my land be again given up to me through the valour of the
Good Knight."

Messire Gawain departeth from the castle as fast as horse may
carry him, and entereth the forest and followeth the track of the
blood along the way the knight had come, and rideth so far in the
forest as that he heareth the noise of swords, and seeth in the
midst of the launde Lancelot and the three knights, and the
fourth dead on the ground.  But one of the knights had drawn him
aback, for he might abide the combat no longer, for the knight
that brought the tidings to Messire Gawain had sore wounded him.
The two knights beset Lancelot full sore, and right weary was he
of the buffets that he had given and received.  Messire Gawain
cometh to one of the knights and smiteth him right through the
body and maketh him and his horse roll over all of a heap.


XXV.

When Lancelot perceiveth Messire Gawain, much joy maketh he
thereof.  In the meanwhile as the one held the other, the fourth
knight fled full speed through the midst of the forest, and he
that the knight had wounded fell dead.  They take their horses,
and Messire Gawain telleth Lancelot he hath the most poverty-
stricken host that ever he hath seen, and the fairest damsels
known, but that right poorly are they clad. "Shall we therefore
take them of our booty?"

"I agree," saith Lancelot, "But sore grieveth me of the knight
that hath thus escaped us."

"Take no heed," saith Messire Gawain, "We shall do well enough
herein."

Thereupon they return back toward the poor knight's hostel and
alight before the hall, and the Poor Knight cometh to meet them,
and the two damsels, and they deliver to them the three horses of
the three knights that were dead.  The knight hath great joy
thereof, and telleth them that now is he a rich man and that
betimes will his sisters be better clad than are they now, as
well as himself.


XXVI.

Thereupon come they into the hall.  The knight maketh one of his
own squires stable the horses and the two damsels help disarm
Lancelot and Messire Gawain.

"Lords," saith the knight, "So God help me, nought have I to lend
you wherewith to clothe you, for robe have I none save mine own
jerkin."

Lancelot hath great pity thereof and Messire Gawain, and the two
damsels take off their kirtles that were made like surcoats of
cloth that covered their poor shirts, and their jackets that,
were all to-torn and ragged and worn, and present them to the
knights to clothe them.  They were fain not to refuse, lest the
damsels should think they held them not in honour, and did on the
two kirtles right poor as they were.  The damsels had great joy
thereof that so good knights should deign wear garments so poor. 

"Lords," saith the Poor Knight, "The knight that brought the
tidings hither, and was stricken through of a lance-shaft, is
dead and lieth on a bier in a chapel within the castle, and he
confessed himself right well to a hermit and bade salute you
both, and was right fain you should see him after that he were
dead, and he prayed me instantly that I would ask you to be
to-morrow at his burial, for better knights than be ye might not
be thereat, so he told me."

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "A good knight was he, and much
mischief is it of his death; and sore grieveth me that I know not
his name nor of what country he was."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "He said that you should yet know it
well."

The two good knights lay the night at the castle, and the Poor
Knight lodged them as well as he might.  When it cometh to
morning, they go to the chapel to hear mass and to be at the
burial of the body.  After that they take leave of the Poor
Knight and the two damsels and depart from the castle all armed.

"Messire Gawain," saith Lancelot, "They know not at court what
hath become of you, and they hold you for dead as they suppose."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "thitherward will I go, for
I have had sore travail, and there will I abide until some will
shall come to me to go seek adventure."

He recounteth to Lancelot how the Graal hath appeared to him at
the court of King Fisherman: "And even as it was there before me,
I forgat to ask how it served and of what?"

"Ha, Sir," saith Lancelot, "Have you then been there?"

"Yea," saith he, "And thereof am I right sorry and glad: glad for
the great holiness I have seen, sorry for that I asked not that
whereof King Fisherman prayed me right sweetly."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Right sorely ill have you wrought, nor is
there not whereof I have so great desire as I have to go to his
castle."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "Much shamed was I there,
but this doth somewhat recomfort me, that the Best Knight was
there before me that gat blame thereof in like manner as I." 

Lancelot departeth from Messire Gawain, and they take leave
either of other.  They issue forth of a forest, and each taketh
his own way without saying a word.



BRANCH VII.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Messire Gawain and beginneth to speak
of Lancelot, that entereth into a forest and rideth with right
great ado and meeteth a knight in the midst of the forest that
was coming full speed and was armed of all arms.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Whence come you?"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I come from the neighbourhood of King
Arthur's Court."

"Ha, Sir, can you tell me tidings of a knight that beareth a
green shield such as I bear?  If so, he is my brother."

"What name hath he?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith he, "His name is Gladoens, and he is a good knight
and a hardy, and he hath a white horse right strong and swift."

"Be there other knights in your country that bear such arms as
your shield and his besides you and he?"

"Certes, Sir, none."

"And wherefore do you ask?" saith Lancelot.

"For this, that a certain man hath reft him of one of his castles
for that he was not there.  Howbeit, I know well that he will
have it again through his good knighthood."

"Is he so good knight?" saith Lancelot.

"Certes, Sir, yea!  He is the best of the Isles of the Moors."

"Sir, of your mercy, lower your coif."

He quickly thereon lowereth his coif, and Lancelot looketh at him
in the face.  "Certes, Sir Knight," saith he, "you very much
resemble him."

"Ha, Sir," saith the knight, "Know you then any tidings of him?"

"Certes, Sir," saith he, "Yea!  and true tidings may I well say,
for he rode at my side five leagues Welsh, nor never saw I one
man so like another as are you to him."

"Good right hath he to resemble me," saith the knight, "for we
are twins, but he was born first and hath more sense and
knighthood than I; nor in all the Isles of the Moors is there
damsel that hath so much worth and beauty as she of whom he is
loved of right true love, and more she desireth to see him than
aught else that liveth, for she hath not seen him of more than a
year, wherefore hath she gone seek her prize, my brother, by all
the forests of the world. Sir," saith the knight, "Let me go seek
my brother, and tell me where I may find him."

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "I will tell you though it grieve me
sore."

"Wherefore?" saith the knight, "Hath he done you any mis-deed?"

"In no wise," saith Lancelot, "Rather hath he done so much for me
that I love you thereof and offer you my service."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I am going my way, but for God's sake
tell me where I shall find my brother."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I will tell you.  This morning did I bid
his body farewell and help to bury him."

"Ha, Sir," saith the knight, "Do you tell me true?"

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "True it is that I tell you."

"Is he slain then, my brother?" saith the knight.

"Yea, and of succouring me," saith Lancelot.

"Ha, sir," saith the knight, "For God's sake tell me nought that
is not right."

"By God, Sir," saith he, "Sore grieved am I to tell it you, for
never loved I knight so much in so brief a time as I loved him.
He helped to save me from death, and therefore will I do for you
according to that he did for me."

"Sir," saith the knight, "If he be dead, a great grief is it to
myself, for I have lost my comfort and my life and my land
without recovery."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "He helped me to save my life, and yours
will I help to save henceforth for ever and so be that I shall
know of your jeopardy."

The knight heareth that his brother is dead and well believeth
Lancelot, and beginneth to make dole thereof the greatest that
was ever heard.  And Lancelot saith to him, "Sir Knight, let be
this dole, for none recovery is there; but my body do I offer you
and my knighthood in any place you please, where I may save your
honour."

"Sir," saith the knight, "With good will receive I your help and
your love, sith that you deign to offer me the same, and now have
I sorer need of them than ever. Sir," saith the knight, "Sith
that my brother is dead, I will return back and bear with my
wrong, though well would he have amended it had he been on live."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "I will go with you, that so may I
reward you of that he hath done for me.  He delivered his body to
the death for me, and in like manner freely would I fain set mine
own in jeopardy for love of you and of him."


II.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Right good will do I owe you of this
that you say to me, so your deeds be but the same herein."

"Yea, so help me God," saith Lancelot, "The same shall they be,
if God lend me the power."

With that, they go on their way together, and the knight
comforteth him much of that which Lancelot hath said to him, but
of the death of his brother was he right sorrowful.  And they
ride until they come to the land of the Moors; then espy they a
castle upon a rock, and below was a broad meadow-land.

"Sir," saith the Knight of the Green Shield to Lancelot, "This
castle was my brother's and is now mine, and much it misliketh me
that it hath fallen to me on this wise.  And the knight that reft
it of my brother is of so great hardihood that he feareth no
knight on live, and you will presently see him issue forth of
this castle so soon as he shall perceive you."

Lancelot and the knight ride until they draw nigh the castle. 
And the knight looketh in the way before him, and seeth a squire
coming on a hackney, that was carrying before him a wild boar
dead.  The Knight of the Green Shield asketh him whose man he
is, and the squire maketh answer: "I am man of the Lord of the
Rock Gladoens, that cometh there behind, and my lord cometh all
armed, he and others, for the brother of Gladoens hath defied him
on behalf of his brother, but right little recketh my lord of his
defiance."


III.

Lancelot heareth how he that is coming is the enemy of him to
whom had he been alive, his love most was due.  The Knight of the
Green Shield pointed him out so soon as he saw him.

"Sir," saith he to Lancelot, "Behold him by whom I am disherited,
and yet worse would he do to me and he knew that my brother were
dead."

Lancelot, without saving more, so soon as he had espied the
Knight of the Rock, smiteth his horse with his spurs and cometh
toward him.  The Lord of the Rock, that was proud and hardy,
seeth Lancelot coming and smiteth with his spurs the horse
whereon he sitteth.  They come with so swift an onset either upon
other that they break their spears upon their shields, and hurtle
together so sore that the Knight of the Rock Gladoens falleth
over the croup of his horse.  Lancelot draweth his sword and
cometh above him, and he crieth him mercy and asketh him
wherefore he wisheth to slay him?  Lancelot saith for the sake of
Gladoens from whom he hath reft his land and his castle.  "And
what is that to you?" saith the knight.  "Behoveth his brother
challenge me thereof."

"As much it behoveth me as his brother," saith Lancelot.

"Wherefore you?"

"For this," saith Lancelot, "That as much as he did for me will I
do to you."

He cutteth off his head and giveth it incontinent to the Knight
of the Green Shield.

"Now tell me," saith Lancelot, "Sith that he is dead, is he
purged of that whereof you appeached him?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "I hold him rightly quit thereof, for,
sith that he is dead, all claim on behalf of his kindred is
abated by his death."

"And I pledge you my faith loyally," saith Lancelot, "as I am a
knight, that never shall you be in peril nor in jeopardy of aught
wherein I may help you, so I be in place and free, but my help
shall you have for evermore, for that your brother staked his
life to help me."


IV.

Lancelot and the knight lay the night at the Rock Gladoens, and
the Knight of the Green Shield had his land at his pleasure, and
all were obedient to him.  And the upright and loyal were right
glad, albeit when they heard the tidings of Gladoens' death they
were right sorrowful thereof.  Lancelot departed from the castle
on the morrow, and the knight remained therein, sorrowful for his
brother that he had lost, and glad for the land that he had
gotten again.  Lancelot goeth back right amidst the forest and
rideth the day long, and meeteth a knight that was coming,
groaning sore.  And he was stooping over the fore saddle-bow for
the pain that he had.  He meeteth Lancelot and saith to him:
"Sir, for God's sake, turn back, for you will find there the most
cruel pass in the world there where I have been wounded through
the body.  Wherefore I beseech you not go thither."

"What pass is it then?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith he, "It is the pass of the Castle of Beards, and it
hath the name of this, that every knight that passeth thereby
must either leave his beard there or challenge the same, and in
such sort have I challenged my beard that meseemeth I shall die
thereof."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "I hold not this of cowardize, sith
that you were hardy to set your life in jeopardy to challenge
your beard, but now would you argue me of cowardize when you
would have me turn back.  Rather would I be smitten through the
body with honour, so and I had not my death thereof, than lose
with shame a single hair of my beard."

"Sir," saith the knight, "May God preserve you, for the castle is
far more cruel than you think, and God guide the knight that may
destroy the evil custom of the castle, for right shameful is the
custom to strange knights that pass thereby."


V.

Lancelot departeth from the knight and cometh toward the castle.
Just as he had passed over a great bridge, he looketh about and
seeth two knights come all armed to the entrance of the castle,
and they made hold their horses before them, and their shields
and spears are before them leaning against the wall.  Lancelot
looketh at the gateway of the castle and seeth the great door all
covered with beards fastened thereon, and heads of knights in
great plenty hung thereby.  So, as he was about to enter the
gate, two knights issue therefrom over against him.

"Sir," saith the one, "Abide and pay your toll!"

"Do knights, then, pay toll here?" saith Lancelot.

"Yea!" say the knights, "All they that have beards, and they that
have none are quit.  Sir, now pay us yours, for a right great
beard it is, and thereof have we sore need."

"For what?" saith Lancelot.

"I will tell you," saith the knight.  "There be hermits in this
forest that make hair-shirts thereof."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Never shall they have hair-shirt
of mine, so I may help it."

"That shall they," say the knights, "Of yours as of the other, or
dearly shall you pay therefor!"


VI.

Right wroth waxeth Sir Lancelot, and cometh to the knight, and
smiteth him with his spear amidst the breast with such a thrust
that it passeth half an ell beyond, and overthroweth him and his
horse together.  The other knight seeth his fellow wounded to the
death, and cometh towards him with a great sweep and breaketh his
spear upon his shield.  Howbeit, Lancelot beareth him to the
ground right over his horse-croup and maketh him fall so heavily
that he breaketh one of his legs.  The tidings are come to the
Lady of the Castle that a knight hath come to the pass that hath
slain one of her knights and wounded the other.  The Lady is come
thither, and bringeth two of her damsels with her.  She seeth
Lancelot that is fain to slay the knight that lieth wounded on
the ground.

"Sir," saith the Lady to Lancelot, "Withdraw yourself back and
slay him not, but alight and speak to me in safety."

"Lady," saith one of the maidens, "I know him well.  This is
Lancelot of the Lake, the most courteous knight that is in the
court of King Arthur."

He alighteth and cometh before the Lady.  "Lady," saith he, "what
is your pleasure?"

"I desire," saith she, "that you come to my hostel to harbour,
and that you make me amends of the shame you have done me."


VII.

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "Shame have I never done you nor shall
do, but the knights took in hand too shameful a business when
they were minded to take the beards of stranger knights by
force."

"Sir," saith she, "I will forego mine ill-will on condition that
you harbour herewithin to-night."

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "I desire not your ill-will, wherefore
will I gladly do your pleasure."

He setteth him within the castle and maketh his horse be led in
after him, and the Lady hath the dead knight brought into the
chapel and buried.  The other she biddeth be disarmed and clothed
and commandeth that his wounds be searched.  Then maketh she
Lancelot be disarmed and clad right richly in a good robe, and
telleth him that she knoweth well who he is.

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "It is well for me."

Thereupon they sit to eat, and the first course is brought in by
knights in chains that had their noses cut off; the second by
knights in chains that had their eyes put out; wherefore they
were led in by squires.  The third course was brought in by
knights that had but one hand and were in chains.  After that,
came other knights that had each but one foot and brought in the
fourth course.  At the fifth course came knights right fair and
tall, and each brought a naked sword in his hand and presented
their heads to the Lady.


VIII.

Lancelot beheld the martyrdom of these knights, and sore
misliking had he of the services of such folk.  They are risen
from meat and the lady goeth to her chamber and sitteth on a
couch.

"Lancelot," saith the Lady, "you have seen the justice and the
lordship of my castle.  All these knights have been conquered at
the passing of my door."

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "foul mischance hath befallen them."

"The like mischance would have befallen you had you not been
knight so good.  And greatly have I desired to see you this long
time past.  And I will make you lord of this castle and myself."

"Lady," saith he, "the lordship of this castle hold I of yourself
without mesne, and to you have I neither wish nor right to refuse
it.  Rather am I willing to be at your service."

"Then," saith she, "you will abide with me in this castle, for
more do I love you than any other knight that liveth."

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "Gramercy, but in no castle may I abide
more than one night until I have been thither whither behoveth me
to go."

"Whither are you bound?" saith she.

"Lady, saith he, "to the Castle of Souls."

"Well know I the castle," saith she. "The King hath the name
Fisherman, and lieth in languishment on account of two knights
that have been at his castle and made not good demand.  Would you
fain go thither?" saith the Lady.

"Yea," saith Lancelot.

"Then pledge me your faith that you will return by me to speak to
me, so the Graal shall appear to you and you ask whereof it
serveth."

"Yea, truly, saith Lancelot, "were you beyond sea!"

"Sir," saith one of the damsels, "So much may you well promise,
for the Graal appeareth not to no knight so wanton as be ye.  For
you love the Queen Guenievre, the wife of your lord, King Arthur,
nor so long as this love lieth at your heart may you never behold
the Graal."


IX.

Lancelot heard the damsel and blushed of despite.

"Ha, Lancelot," saith the Lady, "Love you other than me?"

"Lady," saith he, "the damsel may say her pleasure."

Lancelot lay the night at the castle, and right wroth was he of
the damsel that calleth the love of him and the Queen disloyal.
And the morrow when he had heard mass, he took leave of the Lady
of the Castle, and she besought him over and over to keep his
covenant, and he said that so would he do without fail.
Therewithal he issueth forth of the castle and entereth into a
tall and ancient forest, and rideth the day long until he cometh
to the outskirt of the forest, and seeth a tall cross at the
entrance of a burying-ground enclosed all round about with a
hedge of thorns.  And the way lay through the burying ground.
Lancelot entered therein and the night was come.  He seeth the
graveyard full of tombs and sepulchres.  He looketh behind and
seeth a chapel wherein were candles burning.  Thitherward goeth
he, and passeth beyond without saying aught more by the side of a
dwarf that was digging a grave in the ground.

"Lancelot," saith the dwarf, "you are right not to salute me, for
you are the man of all the world that most I hate; and God grant
me vengeance of your body.  So will He what time you are stricken
down here within!"

Lancelot heard the dwarf, but deigned not to answer him of
nought.  He is come to the chapel, and alighteth and maketh fast
the bridle of his horse to a tree, and leaneth his shield and
spear without.  After that he entereth into the chapel, and
findeth a damsel laying out a knight in his winding-sheen.  As
soon as Lancelot was entered therewithin the wounds of the knight
were swollen up and began to bleed afresh.

"Ha, Sir Knight, now see I plainly that you slew him that I am
wrapping in his windingsheet!"


X.

Thereupon, behold you, two knights that are carrying other two
knights dead.  They alight and then set them in the chapel.  And
the dwarf crieth out to them: "Now shall it be seen how you
avenge your friends of the enemy that fell upon you!"

The knight that had fled from the forest when Messire Gawain came
thither where the three lay dead, was come therewithin and knew
Lancelot, whereupon saith he: "Our mortal enemy are you, for by
you were these three knights slain."

"Well had they deserved it," saith Lancelot, "and in this chapel
am I in no peril of you, wherefore as at this time will I depart
not hence, for I know not the ways of the forest."

He was in the chapel until the day broke, when he issued forth
thereof, and sore it weighed upon him that his horse was still
fasting.  He taketh his arms and is mounted. The dwarf crieth out
aloud: "What aileth you?" saith he to the two knights, "Will you
let your mortal enemy go thus?"

With that the two knights mount their horses and go to the two
issues of the grave-yard, thinking that Lancelot is fain to flee
therefrom; but no desire hath he thereof, wherefore he cometh to
the knight that was guarding the entrance whereby he had to issue
out, and smiteth him so stiffly that he thrusteth the point of
his spear right through his body.  The other knight that was
guarding the other entrance, that had fled out of the forest
before, had no mind to avenge his fellow, and fled incontinent so
fast as he might.  And Lancelot taketh the horse of the knight he
had slain and driveth him before him, for he thinketh that some
knight may haply have need thereof.  He rideth on until he cometh
to a hermitage in the forest where he alighteth and hath his
horses stabled, and the Hermit giveth them of the best he hath.
And Lancelot heard mass, and afterward are a little and fell on
sleep.  Thereafter, behold you, a knight that cometh to the
Hermit and seeth Lancelot that was about to mount.

"Sir," saith he, "Whither go you?"

"Sir Knight," saith Lancelot, "thither shall I go where God may
please; but you, whitherward are you bound to go?"

"Sir, I go to see one of my brethren and my two sisters, for I
have been told that he hath fallen on such mishap as that he is
called the Poor Knight, whereof am I sore sorrowful."

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "poor he is, the more the pity! 
Howbeit, will you do him a message from me?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "Right willingly!"

"Will you present him with this horse on my behalf, and tell him
how Lancelot that harboured with him hath sent it?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "Right great thanks, and blessed may you
be, for he that doth a kindness to a worshipful man loseth it
not."

"Salute the two damsels for me," saith Lancelot.

"Sir, right willingly!"

The knight delivereth the horse to his squire, and taketh leave
of Lancelot.


XI.

Thereupon, Lancelot departeth from the hermitage and rideth on
until he cometh forth of the forest, and findeth a waste land, a
country broad and long wherein wonned neither beast nor bird, for
the land was so poor and parched that no victual was to be found
therein.  Lancelot looketh before him and seeth a city appear far
away.  Thither rideth he full speed and seeth that the city is so
great that it seemeth him to encompass a whole country.  He seeth
the walls that are falling all around, and the gates ruined with
age.  He entereth within and findeth the city all void of folk,
and seeth the great palaces fallen down and waste, and the great
grave-yards full of sepulchres, and the tall churches all lying
waste, and the markets and exchanges all empty.  He rideth amidst
the streets, and findeth a great palace that seemeth him to be
better and more ancient than all the others.  He bideth awhile
before it and heareth within how knights and ladies are making
great dole.  And they say to a knight: "Ha, God, sore grief and
pity is this of you, that you must needs die in such manner, and
that your death may not be respited!  Sore hatred ought we to
bear toward him that hath adjudged you such a death."

The knights and ladies swoon over him as he departeth.  Lancelot
hath heard all this and much marvelleth he thereof, but nought
thereof may he see.


XII.

Thereupon, lo you, the knight that cometh down into the midst of
the hall, clad in a short red jerkin; and he was girt with a rich
girdle of gold, and had a rich clasp at his neck wherein were
many rich stones, and on his head had he a great cap of gold, and
he held great axe.  The knight was of great comeliness and young
of age.  Lancelot seeth him coming, and looketh upon him right
fainly when he seeth him appear.  And the knight saith to him,
"Sir, alight!"

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "Willingly."

He alighteth and maketh his horse fast to a ring of silver that
was on the mounting-stage, and putteth his shield from his neck
and his spear from his hand.

"Sir," saith he to the knight, "What is your pleasure?"

"Sir, needs must you cut me off my head with this axe, for of
this weapon hath my death been adjudged, but and you will not, I
will cut off your own therewith."

"Hold, Sir," saith Lancelot, "What is this you tell me?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "you must needs do even as I say, sith
that you are come into this city."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Right foolish were he that in such a
jeopardy should not do the best for himself, but blamed shall I
be thereof and I shall slay you when you have done me no wrong."

"Certes," saith the Knight, "In no otherwise may you go hence."

"Fair Sir," saith Lancelot, "So gentle are you and so well
nurtured, how cometh it that you take your death so graciously?
You know well that I shall kill you before you shall kill me,
sith that so it is."

"This know I well for true," saith the Knight, "But you will
promise me before I die, that you will return into this city
within a year from this, and that you will set your head in the
same jeopardy without challenge, as I have set mine."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Needeth no argument that I shall
choose respite of death to dying here on the spot.  But I marvel
me of this that you are so fairly apparelled to receive your
death."


XIII.

"Sir," saith the Knight, "He that would go before the Saviour of
the World ought of right to apparel him as fairly as he may.  I
am by confession purged of all wickedness and of all the misdeeds
that ever I have committed, and do repent me truly thereof,
wherefore at this moment am I fain to die."

Therewithal he holdeth forth the axe, and Lancelot taketh it and
seeth that it is right keen and well whetted.

"Sir," saith the Knight, "Hold up your hand toward the minster
that you see yonder."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Willingly."

"Thus, then, will you swear to me upon the holy relics that are
within this minster, that on this day year at the hour that you
shall have slain me, or before, you yourself will come back here
and place your head in the very same peril as I shall have placed
mine, without default?"

"Thus," saith Lancelot, "do I swear and give you thereto my
pledge."

With that, the Knight kneeleth and stretcheth his neck as much as
he may, and Lancelot taketh the axe in his hands, and then saith
to him, "Sir Knight, for God's sake, have mercy on yourself!"

"Let cut off my head!" saith the Knight, "For otherwise may I not
have mercy upon you!"

"In God's name," saith Lancelot, "fain would I deny you!"

With that, he swingeth the axe and cutteth off the head with such
a sweep that he maketh it fly seven foot high from the body.  The
Knight fell to the ground when his head was cut off, and Lancelot
flung down the axe, and thinketh that he will make but an ill
stay there for himself.  He cometh to his horse, and taketh his
arms and mounteth and looketh behind him, but seeth neither the
body of the Knight nor the head, neither knoweth he what hath
become of them all, save only that he heard much dole and a great
cry far off in the city of knights and ladies, saying that he
shall be avenged, please God, at the term set, or before.
Lancelot hath heard and understood all that the knights say and
the ladies, and issueth forth of the city.



BRANCH VIII.

Of the most Holy Graal here beginneth another branch in such wise
as the authority witnesseth and Joseph that made recoverance
thereof, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

This high history and profitable witnesseth us that the son of
the Widow Lady sojourned still with his uncle King Pelles in the
hermitage, and through distress of the evil that he had had since
he came forth of the house of King Fisherman, was he confessed to
his uncle and told him of what lineage he was, and that his name
was Perceval.  But the good Hermit the good King had given him
the name of Parluifet, for that he was made of himself.  King
Hermit was one day gone into the forest, and the good knight
Parluifet felt himself sounder of health and lustier than he wont
to be.  He heard the birds sing in the forest, and his heart
began to swell of knighthood, and he minded him of the adventures
he wont to find in the forest and of the damsels and knights that
he wont to meet, and never was he so fain of arms as was he at
that time, for that he had been sojourning so long within doors.
He felt courage in his heart and lustiness in his limbs and
fainness in his thought.  Right soon armeth he himself and
setteth the saddle on his horse and mounteth forthwith.  He
prayeth God give him adventure that he may meet good knight,
setteth himself forth of his uncle's hermitage and entereth into
the forest that was broad and shady.  He rideth until he cometh
into a launde that was right spacious, and seeth a leafy tree
that was at the head of the launde.  He alighteth in the shadow,
and thinketh to himself that two knights might joust on this bit
of ground fair and well, for the place was right broad.  And,
even as he was thinking on this wise, he heard a horse neigh full
loud in the forest three times, and right glad was he thereof and
said: "Ha, God, of your sweetness grant that there be a knight
with that horse, so may I prove whether there be any force or
valour or knighthood in me.  For I know not now what strength I
may have, nor even whether my heart be sound and my limbs whole.
For on a knight that hath neither hardihood nor valour in
himself, may not another knight that hath more force in him
reasonably prove his mettle, for many a time have I heard say
that one is better than other.  And for this pray I to the
Saviour and this be a knight that cometh there, that he may have
strength and hardihood and mettle to defend his body against mine
own, for great desire have I to run upon him.  Grant now that he
slay me not, nor I him!"


II.

Therewithal, he looketh before him, and seeth the knight issue
from the forest and enter into the launde.  The knight was armed
and had at his neck a white shield with a cross of gold.  He
carried his lance low, and sate upon a great destrier and rode at
a swift pace.  As soon as Perceval seeth him, he steadieth him in
his stirrups and setteth spear in rest and smiteth his horse with
his spurs, right joyous, and goeth toward the knight a great
gallop.  Then he crieth: "Sir Knight, cover you of your shield to
guard you as I do of mine to defend my body, for you do I defy on
this side slaying, and our Lord God grant that I find you so good
knight as shall try what hardihood of heart I may have, for I am
not such as I have been aforetime, and better may one learn of a
good knight than of a bad."

With that he smiteth the knight upon his shield with such a sweep
that he maketh him lose one of his stirrups and pierceth his
shield above the boss, and passeth beyond full speed.  And the
knight marvelleth much, and maketh demand, saying, "Fair Sir,
what misdeed have I done you?"

Perceval is silent, and hath no great joy of this that he hath
not overthrown the knight, but not so easy was he to overthrow,
for he was one of the knights of the world that could most of
defence of arms.  He goeth toward Perceval as fast as his horse
may carry him and Perceval toward him.  They mell together upon
their shields right stiffly, so that they pierce and batter them
with the points of their spears.  And Perceval thrusteth his
spear into the flesh two finger-breadths, and the knight doth not
amiss, for he passeth his spear right through his arm so that the
shafts of the lances were splintered.  They hurtle together
either against other at the passing so mightily, that the
flinders of iron from the mail of their habergeons stick into
their foreheads and faces, and the blood leapeth forth by mouth
and nose so that their habergeons were all bloody.  They drew
their swords with a right great sweep.  The knight of the white
shield holdeth Perceval's rein and saith: "Gladly would I know
who you are and wherefore you hate me, for you have wounded me
right sore, and sturdy knight have I found you and of great
strength."

Perceval saith not a word to him and runneth again upon him sword
drawn, and the knight upon him, and right great buffets either
giveth other on the helm, so that their eyes all sparkle of stars
and the forest resoundeth of the clashing of their swords.  Right
tough was the battle and right horrible, for good knights were
both twain.  But the blood that ran down from their wounds at
last slackened their sinews, albeit the passing great wrath that
the one had against the other, and the passing great heat of
their will, had so enchafed them they scarce remembered the
wounds that they had, and still dealt each other great buffets
without sparing.


III.

King Hermit cometh from labouring in the forest and findeth not
his nephew in the hermitage, whereof is he right sorrowful, and
he mounteth on a white mule that he had therewithin.  She was
starred in the midst of her forehead with a red cross.  Josephus
the good clerk witnesseth us that this same mule had belonged to
Joseph of Abarimacie at the time he was Pilate's soldier, and
that he bequeathed her to King Pelles.  King Hermit departeth
from the hermitage and prayeth God grant him to find his nephew.
He goeth through the forest and rideth until he draweth nigh the
launde where the two knights were.  He heareth the strokes of the
swords, and cometh towards them full speed and setteth him
between the twain to forbid them.

"Ha, sir," saith he to the Knight of the White Shield, "Right
great ill do you to combat against this knight that hath lain
sick this long time in this forest, and fight sorely have you
wounded him."

"Sir," saith the-knight, "As much hath he done by me, and never
would I have run upon him now had he not challenged me, and he is
not minded to tell me who he is nor whence ariseth his hatred of
me."

"Fair Sir," saith the Hermit, "And you, who are you?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "I will tell you. I am the son of King
Ban of Benoic."

"Ha, fair nephew," saith King Hermit to Perceval, "See here your
cousin, for King Ban of Benoic was your father's cousin-german.
Make him right great cheer!"

He maketh them take off their helmets and lower their ventails,
and then kiss one another, afterward he leadeth them to his
hermitage.  They alight together.  He calleth his own squire that
waited upon him, and made them be disarmed right tenderly.  There
was a damsel within that was cousin-german to King Pelles and had
tended Perceval within in his sickness.  She washeth their wounds
right sweetly and cleanseth them of the blood.  And they see that
Lancelot is sorer wounded than Perceval.

"Damsel," saith the Hermit, "How seemeth you?"

"Sir," saith she, "Needs must this knight sojourn here, for his
wound is in a right perilous place."

"Hath he danger of death?"

"Sir," saith she, "In no wise of this wound, but behoveth him
take good heed thereto."

"God be praised!" saith he, "and of my nephew how seemeth you?"

"Sir, the wound that he hath will be soon healed.  He will have
none ill thereof."


IV.

The damsel, that was right cunning of leech-craft, tended the
wounds of the knights, and made them whole as best she might, and
King Hermit himself gave counsel therein.  But and Perceval had
borne his shield that was there within, of sinople with a white
hart, Lancelot would have known him well, nor would there have
been any quarrel between them, for he had heard tell of this
shield at the court of King Arthur.  The authority of this story
recordeth that the two knights are in hermitage, and that
Perceval is well-nigh whole; but Lancelot hath sore pain of his
wound and is still far from his healing.



BRANCH IX.

TITLE I.

Now the story is silent about the two knights for a little time,
and speaketh of the squire that Messire Gawain meeteth in the
midst of the forest, that told him he went seek the son of the
Widow Lady that had slain his father.  And the squire saith that
he will go to avenge him, wherefore cometh he to the court of
King Arthur, for that he had heard tell how all good knights
repaired thither.  And he seeth the shield hang on the column in
the midst of the hall that the Damsel of the Car had brought
thither.  The squire knoweth it well, and kneeleth before the
King and saluteth him, and the King returneth his salute and
asketh who he is.

"Sir," saith he, "I am the son of the Knight of the Red Shield of
the Forest of Shadows, that was slain of the Knight that ought to
bear the shield that hangeth on this column, wherefore would I
right gladly hear tidings of him."

"As gladly would I," saith the King, "so that no evil came to him
thereof, for he is the knight of the world that I most desire."

"Sir," saith the Squire, "Well behoveth me to hate him for that
he slew my father.  He that ought to bear this shield was squire
when he slew him, wherefore am I the more sorrowful for that I
thought to be avenged upon him squire.  But this I may not do,
wherefore I pray you for God's sake that you will make me knight,
for the like favour are you accustomed to grant unto others."

"What is your name, fair friend?" saith the King.

"Sir," saith he, "I am called Clamados of the Shadows."

Messire Gawain that had repaired to court, was in the hall, and
said to the King: "If this squire be enemy of the Good Knight
that ought to bear this shield, behoveth you not set forward his
mortal enemy but rather set him back, for he is the Best Knight
of the world and the most chaste that liveth in the world and of
the most holy lineage, and therefore have you sojourned right
long time in this castle to await his coming.  I say not this for
the hindering of the squire's advancement, but that you may do
nought whereof the Good Knight may have cause of complaint
against you."

"Messire Gawain," saith Queen Guenievre, "well know I that you
love my Lord's honour, but sore blame will he have if he make not
this one knight, for so much hath he never refused to do for any;
nor yet will the Good Knight have any misliking thereof, for
greater shame should he have, and greater despite of the hatred
of a squire than of a knight; for never yet was good knight that
was not prudent and well-advised and slow to take offence.
Wherefore I tell you that he will assuredly listen to reason, and
I commend my Lord the rather that he make him knight, for much
blame would he have of gainsaying him."

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "So you are content, I am happy."

The King made him knight right richly, and when he was clad in
the robes, they of the court declare and witness that never this
long time past had they seen at the court knight of greater
comeliness.  He sojourned therein long time, and , was much
honoured of the King and all the barons.  He was every day on the
watch for the Good Knight that should come for the shield, but
the hour and the place were not as yet.


II.

When he saw that he did not come, he took leave of the King and
the Queen and all them of the court, and departed, thinking him
that he would go prove his knighthood in some place until he
should have heard tidings of his mortal enemy.  He rideth amidst
the great forests bearing a red shield like as did his father,
and he was all armed as for defending of his body.  And a long
space of time he rideth, until one day he cometh to the head of a
forest, and he espied his way that ran between two mountains and
saw that he had to pass along the midst of the valley that lay at
a great depth.  He looketh before him and seeth a tree far away
from him, and underneath were three damsels alighted, and one
prayed God right heartily aloud that He would send them betimes a
knight that durst convoy them through this strait pass.


III.

Clamodos heareth the damsel and cometh thitherward.  When they
espied him, great joy have they thereof and rise up to meet him. 
"Sir, say they, "Welcome may you be!"

"Damsels," saith he, "Good adventure may you have!  And whom
await you here?" saith he.

"We await," saith the Mistress of the damsels, "some knight that
shall clear this pass, for no knight durst pass hereby."

"What is the pass; then, damsel?" saith he.

"It is the one of a lion, and a lion, moreover, so fell and
horrible that never was none seen more cruel.  And there is a
knight with the lion between the two mountains that is right good
knight and hardy and comely.  Howbeit none durst pass without
great company of folk.  But the knight that hath repair with the
lion is seldom there, for so he were there we need fear no
danger, for much courtesy is there in him and valour."

And the knight looketh and seeth in the shadow of the forest
three fair stags harnessed to a car.

"Ha," saith he, "you are the Damsel of the Car, wherefore may you
well tell me tidings of the knight of whom I am in quest."

"Who is he?" saith the Damsel.

"It is he that should bear a shield banded argent and azure with
a red cross."

"Of him am I likewise in quest," saith the Damsel; "please God,
we shall hear tidings of him betimes."

"Damsel" saith the knight, "that would I.  And for that you are
in quest of him as am I likewise, I will convoy you beyond this
pass."

The Damsel maketh her Car go on before, and the damsels go before
the knight; and so enter they into the field of the lion, and
right fair land found they therewithin.  Clamados looketh and
seeth the hall within an enclosure and seeth the lion that lay at
the entrance of the gateway.  As soon as he espieth Clamados and
the damsels, he cometh toward them full speed, mouth open and
ears pricked up.

"Sir," saith the Damsel, "and you defend not your horse on foot,
he is dead at the first onset."


IV.

Clamados is alighted to his feet, by her counsel, and holdeth his
spear in his fist, and the lion rampeth toward him all in a fury.
Clamados receiveth him on the point of his spear, and smiteth him
therewith so stoutly that it passeth a fathom beyond his neck. 
He draweth back his spear without breaking it, and thinketh to
smite him again.  But the lion cheateth him, and arising himself
on his two hinder feet, setteth his fore feet on his shoulders,
then huggeth him toward him like as one man doth another.  But
the grip was sore grievous, for he rendeth his habergeon in twain
and so teareth away as much flesh as he can claw hold on.


V.

When Clamados felt himself wounded, he redoubled his hardihood,
and grippeth the lion so straitly to him that he wringeth a huge
roar out of him, and then flingeth him to the ground beneath him.
Then he draweth his sword and thrusteth it to the heart right
through the breast.  The lion roareth so loud that all the
mountains resound thereof.  Clamados cutteth off his head and
goeth to hang it at the door of the hall.  Then he cometh back to
his horse and mounteth the best he may.  And the Damsel saith to
him, "Sir, you are sore wounded."

"Damsel," said he, "please God, I shall take no hurt thereof." 

Thereupon, behold you a squire that issueth forth of the hall and
cometh after him full speed.  "Hold, Sir Knight," saith he; "Foul
wrong have you wrought, for you have slain the lion of the most
courteous knight that may be known, and the fairest and most
valiant of this kingdom, and in his despite have you hung the
head at his door!  Right passing great outrage have you done
hereby!"

"Fair sweet friend," saith Clamados, "it may well be that the
lord is right courteous, but the lion was rascal and would have
slain me and them that were passing by.  And your lord loved him
so much he should have chained him up, for better liketh me that
I slew him than that he should slay me."

"Sir," saith the squire, "there is no road this way, for it is a
forbidden land whereof certain would fain reave my lord, and it
was against the coming of his enemies that the lion was allowed
forth unchained."

"And what name hath your lord, fair friend?" saith Clamados. 

"Sir, he is called Meliot of Logres, and he is gone in quest of
Messire Gawain, of whom he holdeth the land, for right dear is
he to him."

"Messire Gawain," saith Clamados, "left I at the court of King
Arthur, but behoveth him depart thence or ever I return thither."

"By my head," saith the squire, "faith would I you might meet
them both twain, if only my lord knew that you had slain him his
lion."

"Fair friend," saith Clamados, "and he be as courteous as you
say, no misliking will he have of me thereof, for I slew him in
defending mine own body, and God forbid I should meet any that
would do me evil therefor."


VI.

Thereupon the knight and the damsels depart and pass the narrow
strait in the lion's field, and ride on until they draw nigh a
right rich castle seated in a meadowland surrounded of great
waters and high forests, and the castle was always void of folk.
And they were fain to turn thitherward, but they met a squire
that told them that in the castle was not a soul, albeit and they
would ride forward they would find great plenty of folk.  So far
forward have they ridden that they are come to the head of a
forest and see great foison of tents stretched right in the midst
of a launde, and they were compassed round of a great white sheet
that seemed from afar to be a long white wall with crenels, and
it was a good league Welsh in length.  They came to the entrance
of the tents and heard great joy within, and when they had
entered they saw dames and damsels, whereof was great plenty, and
of right passing great beauty were they.  Clamados alighteth,
that was right sore wounded.  The Damsel of the Car was received
with right great joy.  Two of the damsels come to Clamados, of
whom make they right great joy.  Afterward they lead him to a
tent and made disarm him.  Then they washed his wounds right
sweetly and tenderly.  Then they brought him a right rich robe
and made him be apparelled therein, and led him before the ladies
of the tents, that made right great joy of him.


VII.

"Lady," saith the Damsel of the Car, "This knight hath saved my
life, for he hath slain the lion on account of which many folk
durst not come to you, wherefore make great joy of him."

"Greater joy may I not make, than I do, nor the damsels that are
herein, for we await the coming of the Good Knight that is
healed, from day to day.  And now is there nought in the world I
more desire to see."

"Lady," saith Clamados, "Who is this Good Knight?"

"The son of the Widow Lady of the Valleys of Camelot," saith she.

"Tell me, Lady, do you say that he will come hither presently?"

"So methinketh," saith she.

"Lady, I also shall have great joy thereof, and God grant he come
betimes!"

"Sir Knight," saith she, "What is your name?"

"Lady" saith he, "I am called Clamados, and I am son of the lord
of the Forest of Shadows."

She throweth her arms on his neck and kisseth and embraceth him
right sweetly, and saith: "Marvel not that I make you joy
thereof, for you are the son of my sister-in-law, nor have I any
friend nor blood-kindred so nigh as are you, and fain would I you
should be lord of all my land and of me, as is right and reason."

The damsels of the tents make right great joy of him when they
know the tidings that he is so nigh of kin to the Lady of the
Tents.  And he sojourned therewithin until that he was whole and
heal, awaiting the coming of the knight of whom he had heard the
tidings.  And the damsels marvel them much that he cometh not,
for the damsel that had tended him was therewithin and telleth
them that he was healed of his arm, but that Lancelot is not yet
whole, wherefore he is still within the hermitage.


VIII.

This high history witnesseth us and recordeth that Joseph, who
maketh remembrance thereof, was the first priest that sacrificed
the body of Our Lord, and forsomuch ought one to believe the
words that come of him.  You have heard tell how Perceval was of
the lineage of Joseph of Abarimacie, whom God so greatly loved
for that he took down His body hanging on the cross, which he
would not should lie in the prison there where Pilate had set it.
For the highness of the lineage whereof the Good Knight was
descended ought one willingly to hear brought to mind and
recorded the words that are of him.  The story telleth us that he
was departed of the hermitage all sound and whole, albeit he hath
left Lancelot, for that his wound was not yet healed, but he hath
promised him that he will come back to him so soon as he may.  He
rideth amidst a forest, all armed, and cometh toward evensong to
the issue of the forest and seeth a castle before him right fair
and well seated, and goeth thitherward for lodging, for the sun
was set.  He entereth into the castle and alighteth.  The lord
cometh to meet him that was a tall knight and a red, and had a
felon look, and his face scarred in many places; and knight was
there none therewithin save only himself and his household.


IX.

When he seeth Perceval alighted, he runneth to bar the door, and
Perceval cometh over against him.  For all greeting, the knight
saluteth him thus: "Now shall you have," saith he, "such guerdon
as you have deserved.  Never again shall you depart hence, for my
mortal enemy are you, and right hardy are you thus to throw
yourself upon me, for you slew my brother the Lord of the
Shadows, and Chaos the Red am I that war upon your mother, and
this castle have I reft of her.  In like manner will I wring the
life out of you or ever you depart hence!"

"Already," saith Perceval, "have I thrown myself on this your
hostel to lodge with you, wherefore to blame would you be to do
me evil.  But lodge me this night as behoveth one knight do for
another, and on the morrow at departing let each do the best he
may."

"By my head!" saith Chaos the Red, "mortal enemy of mine will I
never harbour here save I harbour him dead."

He runneth to the hall above, and armeth himself as swiftly as he
may, and taketh his sword all naked in his hand and cometh back
to the place where Perceval was, right full of anguish of heart
for this that he said, that he would war upon his mother and had
reft her of this castle.  He flung his spear to the ground, and
goeth toward him on foot and dealeth him a huge buffet above the
helmet upon the coif of his habergeon, such that he cleaveth the
mail and cutteth off two fingers'-breadth of the flesh in such
sort that he made him reel three times round.


X.

When Chaos the Red felt himself wounded, he was sore grieved
thereof, and cometh toward Perceval and striketh him a great
buffet above in the midst of his helmet, so that he made the
sparks fly and his neck stoop and his eyes sparkle of stars.  And
the blow slippeth down on to the shield, so that it is cleft
right down to the boss.  Perceval felt his neck stiff and heavy,
and feeleth that the knight is sturdy and of great might.  He
cometh back towards him, and thinketh to strike him above in the
midst of his head, but Chaos swerved aside from him; howbeit
Perceval reached him and caught his right arm and cutteth it
sheer from his side, sword and all, and sendeth it flying to the
ground, and Chaos runneth upon him, thinking to grapple him with
his left arm, but his force was waning; nathless right gladly
would he have avenged himself and he might.  Howbeit, Perceval
setteth on him again that loved him not in his heart, and smiteth
him again above on the head, and dealeth him such a buffet as
maketh his brains be all to-scattered abroad.  His household and
servants were at the windows of the hall.  When they see that
their lord is nigh to the death, they cry to Perceval: "Sir, you
have slain the hardiest knight in the kingdom of Logres, and him
that was most redoubted of his enemies; but we can do no
otherwise; we know well that this castle is your mother's and
ought to be yours.  We challenge it not; wherefore may you do
your will of whatsoever there is in the castle; but allow us to
go to our lord that there lieth dead, and take away the body and
set it in some seemly place for the sake of his good knighthood,
and for that it behoveth us so to do."

"Readily do I grant it you," saith Perceval.

They bear the body to a chapel, then they disarm him and wind him
in his shroud.  After that they lead Perceval into the hall and
disarm him and say to him: "Sir, you may be well assured that
there be none but us twain herewithin and two damsels, and the
doors are barred, and behold, here are the keys which we deliver
up to you."

"And I command you," saith Perceval, "that you go straightway to
my mother, and tell her that she shall see me betimes and I may
get done, and so salute her and tell her I am sound and whole.
And what is the name of this castle?"

"Sir, it hath for name the Key of Wales, for it is the gateway
of the land."


XI.

Perceval lay the night in the castle he had reconquered for his
mother, and the morrow, when he was armed, he departed.  These
promised that they would keep the castle loyally and would
deliver it up to his mother at her will.  He rode until he came
to the tents where the damsels were, and drew rein and listened.
But there was not so great joy as when the damsel that rode like
a knight and led the Car came thither with Clamados.  Great dole
heard he that was made, and beating of palms.  Wherefore he
bethought him what folk they might be.  Natheless he was not
minded to draw back without entering.  He alighted in the midst
of the tents and set down his shield and his spear, and seeth the
damsels wringing their hands and tearing their hair, and much
marvelleth he wherefore it may be.  A damsel cometh forward that
had set forth from the castle where he had slain the knight:
"Sir, to your shame and ill adventure may you have come hither!"

Perceval looketh at her and marvelleth much of that she saith,
and she crieth out: "Lady, behold here him that hath slain the
best knight of your lineage!  And you, Clamados, that are within
there, he hath slain your father and your uncle!  Now shall it be
seen what you will do!"

The Damsel of the Car cometh thitherward and knoweth Perceval by
the shield that he bare of sinople with a white hart.

"Sir," saith she, "welcome may you be!  Let who will make dole, I
will make joy of your coming!"


XII.

Therewith the Damsel leadeth him into a tent and maketh him sit
on a right rich couch; afterward she maketh him be disarmed of
her two damsels and clad in a right rich robe.  Then she leadeth
him to the Queen of the Tents that was still making great dole.

"Lady," saith the Damsel of the Car, "Stint your sorrow, for
behold, here is the Good Knight on whose account were the tents
here pitched, and on whose account no less have you been making
this great joy right up to this very day!"

"Ha," saith she, "Is this then the son of the Widow Lady?"

"Yea, certes," saith the Damsel.

"Ha," saith the Lady, "He hath slain me the best knight of all my
kin, and the one that protected me from mine enemies."

"Lady," saith the Damsel, "this one will be better able to
protect and defend us, for the Best Knight is he of the world and
the comeliest."

The Queen taketh him by the hand and maketh him sit beside her.
"Sir," saith she, "Howsoever the adventure may have befallen, my
heart biddeth me make joy of your coming."

"Lady," saith he, "Gramercy!  Chaos would fain have slain me
within his castle, and I defended myself to my power."

The Queen looketh at him amidst his face, and is taken with a
love of him so passing strong and fervent that she goeth nigh to
fall upon him.  "Sir," saith she, "and you will grant me your
love, I will pardon you of all the death of Chaos the Red."

"Lady," saith he, "your love am I right fain to deserve, and mine
you have."

"Sir," saith she, "How may I perceive that you love me?"

"Lady," saith he, "I will tell you.  There is no knight in the
world that shall desire to do you a wrong, but I will help you
against him to my power."

"Such love," saith she, "is the common love that knight ought to
bear to lady.  Would you do as much for another?"

"Lady," saith he, "It well may be, but more readily shall a man
give help in one place than in another."

The Queen would fain that Perceval should pledge himself to her
further than he did, and the more she looketh at him the better
he pleaseth her, and the more is she taken with him and the more
desirous of his love.  But Perceval never once thought of loving
her or another in such wise.  He was glad to look upon her, for
that she was of passing great beauty, but never spake he nought
to her whereby she might perceive that he loved her of inward
love.  But in no wise might she refrain her heart, nor withdraw
her eyes, nor lose her desire.  The damsels looked upon her with
wonder that so soon had she forgotten her mourning.


XIII.

Thereupon, behold you Clamados, that had been told that this was
the knight that, as yet only squire, had slain his father and put
Chaos his uncle to death.  He cometh into the tent and seeth him
sitting beside the Queen, that looked at him right sweetly.

"Lady," saith he, "Great shame do you to yourself, in that you
have seated at your side your own mortal enemy and mine.  Never
again henceforth ought any to have affiance in your love nor in
your help."

"Clamados," saith the Queen, "the knight hath thrown himself upon
me suddenly.  Wherefore ought I do him no evil, rather behoveth
me lodge him and keep his body in safety.  Nought, moreover, hath
he done whereof he might be adjudged of murder nor of treason."

"Lady," saith Clamados, "He slew my father in the Lonely Forest
without defiance, and treacherously cast a javelin at him and
smote him through the body, wherefore shall I never be at ease
until I have avenged him.  Therefore do I appeal and pray you to
do me my right, not as being of your kindred, but as stranger. 
For right willing am I that kinship shall avail me nought
herein."

Perceval looketh at the knight and seeth that he is of right
goodly complexion of body and right comely of face.  "Fair Sir,"
saith he, "as of treason I would that you hold me quit, for never
toward your father nor toward other have had I never a mind to do
treason, and God defend me from such shame, and grant me strength
to clear myself of any blame thereof."

Clamados cometh forward to proffer his gage.

"By my head," saith the Queen, "not this day shall gage be
received herein.  But to-morrow will come day, and counsel
therewith, and then shall fight be done to each."

Clamados is moved of right great wrath, but the Queen of the
Tents showeth Perceval the most honour she may, whereof is
Clamados right heavy, and saith that never ought any to put his
trust in woman.  But wrongly he blameth her therein, for she did
it of the passing great love she hath for Perceval, inasmuch as
well she knoweth that he is the Best Knight of the world and the
comeliest.  But it only irketh her the more that she may not find
in him any sign of special liking toward herself neither in deed
nor word, whereof is she beyond measure sorrowful.  The knights
and damsels lay the night in the tents until the morrow, and went
to hear mass in a chapel that was in the midst of the tents.


XIV.

When mass was sung, straightway behold you, a knight that cometh
all armed, bearing a white shield at his neck.  He alighteth in
the midst of the tents and cometh before the Queen all armed, and
saith: "Lady, I plain me of a knight that is there within that
hath slain my lion, and if you do me not right herein, I will
harass you as much or more than I will him, and will harm you in
every wise I may.  Wherefore I pray and require you, for the love
of Messire Gawain, whose man I am, that you do me right herein."

"What is the knight's name?" saith the Queen.

"Lady," saith he, "He is called Clamados of the Shadows, and
methinketh I see him yonder, for I knew him when he was squire."

"And what is your name?" saith the Queen.

"Lady," I am called Melior of Logres."

"Clamados," saith the Queen, "Hear you what this knight saith?"

"Yea, Lady," saith he; "But again I require that you do me right
of the knight that slew my father and my uncle."

"Lady," saith Melior, "I would fain go.  I know not toward whom
the knight proffereth his gage, but him do I appeal of felony for
my lion that he hath slain."  He taketh in his hand the skirt of
his habergeon: "Lady, behold here the gage I offer you."


XV.

"Clamados," saith the Queen, "Hear you then not that which this
knight saith?"

"Lady," saith he, "I hear him well.  Truth it is that I slew his
lion, but not until after he had fallen upon me, and made the
wounds whereof I have been healed herewithin.  But well you know
that the knight who came hither last night hath done me greater
wrong than have I done this other.  Wherefore would I pray you
that I may take vengeance of him first."

"You hear," saith she, "how this knight that hath come hither all
armed is fain to go back forthwith.  Quit you, therefore, of him
first, and then will we take thought of the other."

"Lady, gramercy!" saith Meliot, "and Messire Gawain will take it
in right good part, for this knight hath slain my lion that
defended me from all my enemies.  Nor is it true that the
entrance to your tent was deserted on account of my lion; and in
despite of me hath he hung the head at my gate."

"As of the lion," saith the Queen, "you have no quarrel against
him and he slew him in defending his body, but as of the despite
he did you as you say, when in nought had you done him any wrong,
it shall not be that right shalt be denied you in my court, and
if you desire to deliver battle, no blame shall you have
thereof."


XVI.

Clamados maketh arm him and mounteth on his horse, and he seemeth
right hardy of his arms and valorous.  He cometh right in the
midst of the tent, where the ground was fair and level, and found
Meilot of Logres all armed upon his horse, and a right comely
knight was he and a deliver.  And the ladies and damsels were
round about the tilting-ground.

"Sir," saith the Queen to Perceval, "I will that you keep the
field for these knights."

"Lady," saith he, "At your pleasure."

Meliot moveth toward Clamados right swiftly and Clamados toward
him, and they melled together on their shields in such sort that
they pierced them and cleft the mail of their habergeons asunder
with the points of their spears, and the twain are both wounded
so that the blood rayeth forth of their bodies.  The knights draw
asunder to take their career, for their spears were broken short,
and they come back the one toward the other with a great rush,
and smite each other on the breast with their spears so stiffly
that there is none but should have been pierced within the flesh,
for the habergeons might protect them not.  They hurtle against
each other so strongly that knights and horses fall together to
the ground all in a heap.  The Queen and the damsels have great
pity of the two knights, for they see that they are both so
passing sore wounded.  The two knights rise to their feet and
hold their swords naked and run the one on the other right
wrathfully, with such force as they had left.

"Sir," saith the Queen to Perceval, "Go part these two knights
asunder that one slay not the other, for they are sore wounded."

Perceval goeth to part them and cometh to Meliot of Logres.
"Sir," saith he, "Withdraw yourself back; you have done enough."

Clamados felt that he was sore wounded in two places, and that
the wound he had in his breast was right great.  He draweth
himself back. The Queen is come thither. "Fair nephew," saith
she, "Are you badly wounded?"

"Yea, Lady," saith Clamados.

"Certes," saith the Queen, "this grieveth me, but never yet saw I
knight and he were desirous of fighting, but came at some time by
mischance.  A man may not always stand on all his rights."

She made him be carried on his shield into a tent, and made
search his wounds, and saw that of one had he no need to fear,
but that the other was right sore perilous.


XVII.

"Lady," saith Clamados, "Once more do I pray and require you that
you allow not the knight that slew my father to issue forth from
hence, save he deliver good hostage that he will come back when I
shall be healed."

"So will I do, sith that it is your pleasure."

The Queen cometh to the other knight that was wounded, for that
he declareth himself Messire Gawain's man, and maketh search his
wounds, and they say that he hath not been hurt so sore as is
Clamados.  She commandeth them to tend him and wait upon him
right well-willingly, "Sir," saith she to Perceval, "Behoveth you
abide here until such time as my nephew be heal, for you know
well that whereof he plaineth against you, nor would I that you
should depart hence without clearing you of the blame."

"Lady, no wish have I to depart without your leave, but rather
shall I be ready to clear myself of blame whensoever and
wheresoever time and place may be.  But herewithin may I make not
so long sojourn.  Natheless to this will I pledge my word, that I
will return thither within a term of fifteen days from the time
he shall be whole."

"Sir," saith the Damsel of the Car, "I will remain here in
hostage for you."

"But do you pray him," saith the Queen, "that he remain
herewithin with us."


XVIII.

"Lady," saith Perceval, "I may not, for I left Lancelot wounded
right sore in my uncle's hermitage."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "I would fain that remaining here might
have pleased you as well as it would me."

"Lady," saith he, "none ought it to displease to be with you, but
every man behoveth keep his word as well as he may, and none
ought to lie to so good a knight as he."

"You promise me, then," saith the Queen, "that you will return
hither the soonest you may, or at the least, within the term
appointed after you shall have learnt that Clamados is healed, to
defend you of the treason that he layeth upon you?"

"Lady," saith he, "and if he die shall I be quit?"

"Yea, truly, Sir, and so be that you have no will to come for
love of me.  For right well should I love your coming."

"Lady," saith he, "never shall be the day my services shall fail
you, so I be in place, and you in need thereof."

He taketh leave and departeth, armed.  The Damsel of the Car
commendeth him to God, and Perceval departeth full speed and
rideth so far on his journeys that he cometh to his uncle's
hermitage and entereth in, thinking to find Lancelot.  But his
uncle telleth him that he hath departed all sound and all heal of
his wound, as of all other malady, as him thinketh.



BRANCH X.

INCIPIT.

Another branch of the Graal again beginneth in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

And the story is here silent of Perceval, and saith that Lancelot
goeth his way and rideth by a forest until he findeth a castle
amidst his way at the head of a launde, and seeth at the gateway
of the castle an old knight and two damsels sitting on a bridge.
Thitherward goeth he, and the knight and damsels rise up to meet
him, and Lancelot alighteth.

"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "Welcome may you be."

The damsels make great joy of him and lead him into the castle.
"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "Sore need had we of your coming."

He maketh him go up into the hall above and be disarmed of his
arms. "Sir," saith the Vavasour, "Now may you see great pity of
these two damsels that are my daughters.  A certain man would
reave them of this castle for that no aid nor succour have they
save of me alone.  And little enough can I do, for I am old and
feeble, and my kin also are of no avail, insomuch that hitherto
have I been able to find no knight that durst defend me from the
knight that is fain to reave this castle from me.  And you seem
to be of so great valiance that you will defend me well herein
to-morrow, for the truce cometh to an end to-night."

"How?" saith Lancelot, "I have but scarce come in hither to
lodge, and you desire me so soon already to engage myself in
battle?"

"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "Herein may it well be proven whether
there be within you as much valour as there seemeth from without
to be.  For, and you make good the claim of these two damsels
that are my daughters to the fiefs that are of right their own,
you will win thereby the love of God as well as praise of the
world."

They fall at his feet weeping, and pray him of mercy that they
may not be disherited.  And he raiseth them forthwith, as one
that hath great pity thereof.

"Damsels," saith he, "I will aid you to my power.  But I would
fain that the term be not long."

"Sir," say they, "to-morrow is the day, and to-morrow, so we have
no knight to meet him that challengeth this castle, we shall have
lost it.  And our father is an old knight, and hath no longer
lustihood nor force whereby he might defend it for us, and all of
our lineage are fallen and decayed.  This hatred hath fallen on
us on account of Messire Gawain, whom we harboured."

Lancelot lay there the night within the castle and was right well
lodged and worshipfully entreated.  And on the morrow he armed
himself when he had heard mass, and leant at the windows of the
hall and seeth the gate shut and barred, and heareth a horn sound
without the gate three times right loud.

"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "the knight is come, and thinketh that
within here is no defence."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "but there is, please God!"

The knight bloweth another blast of his horn.

"Hearken, Sir," saith the Vavasour, "It is nigh noon, and he
thinketh him that none will issue hence to meet him."


II.

Lancelot cometh down below and findeth his horse saddled and is
mounted as soon.  The damsels are at his stirrup, and pray him
for God's sake remember to defend the honour that is theirs of
the castle, for, save only he so doth, they must flee like
beggars into other lands.  Thereupon the Knight soundeth his horn
again.  Lancelot, when he heareth the blast, hath no mind to
abide longer, and forthwith issueth out of the castle all armed,
lance in hand and shield at his neck.  He seeth the knight at the
head of the bridge, all armed under a tree.  Thitherward cometh
Lancelot full speed.  The knight seeth him coming, and crieth to
him.

"Sir Knight," saith he, "What demand you?  Come you hither to do
me evil?"

"Yea," saith Lancelot, "for that evil are you fain to do to this
castle; wherefore on behalf of the Vavasour and his daughters do
I defy you."

He moveth against the knight and smiteth him on the shield with
his spear and the knight him.  But Lancelot pierceth his shield
for him with his sword, and smiteth him so stiffly that he
pinneth his arm to his side, and hurtleth against him so passing
stoutly that he thrusteth him to the ground, him and his horse,
and runneth over him, sword drawn.

"Ha," saith the knight to Lancelot, "withdraw a little from over
me, and slay me not, and tell me your name, of your mercy."

"What have you to do with my name?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith he, "Gladly would I know it, for a right good knight
seem you to be, and so have I well proven in the first
encounter."

"Sir" saith he, "I am called Lancelot of the Lake.  And what is
your name?"

"Sir." saith he, "I am called Marin of the castle of Gomeret.  So
am I -- father of Meliot of Logres.  I pray you, by that you most
love in the world, that you slay me not."

"So will I do," saith Lancelot, "and you renounce not your feud
against this castle."

"By my faith," saith the knight, "thus do I renounce it, and I
pledge myself that thenceforth for ever shall it have no
disturbance of me."

"Your pledge," saith Lancelot, "will I not accept save you come
in thither."

"Sir," saith the knight, "You have sore wounded me in such sort
that I cannot mount but with right great pain."

Lancelot helpeth him until he was mounted again on his horse, and
leadeth him into the castle with him, and maketh him present his
sword to the Vavasour and his daughters, and yield up his shield
and his arms, and afterward swear upon hallows that never again
will he make war upon them.  Lancelot thereupon receiveth his
pledge to forego all claim to the castle and Marin turneth him
back to Gomeret.  The Vavasour and his daughters abide in great
joy.


III.

The story saith that Lancelot went his way by strange lands and
by forests to seek adventure, and rode until he found a plain
land lying without a city that seemed to be of right great
lordship.  As he was riding by the plain land, he looketh toward
the forest and seeth the plain fair and wide and the land right
level.  He rideth all the plain, and looketh toward the city and
seeth great plenty of folk issuing forth thereof.  And with them
was there much noise of bag-pipes and flutes and viols and many
instruments of music, and they came along the way wherein was
Lancelot riding.  When the foremost came up to him, they halted
and redoubled their joy.

"Sir," say they, "Welcome may you be!"

"Lords," saith Lancelot, "Whom come ye to meet with such joy?"

"Sir," say they, "they that come behind there will tell you
clearly that whereof we are in need."


IV.

Thereupon behold you the provosts and the lords of the city, and
they come over against Lancelot.

"Sir," say they, "All this joy is made along of you, and all
these instruments of music are moved to joy and sound of gladness
for your coming."

"But wherefore for me," saith Lancelot.

"That shall you know well betimes," say they.  "This city began
to burn and to melt in one of the houses from the very same hour
that our king was dead, nor might the fire be quenched, nor never
will be quenched until such time as we have a king that shall be
lord of the city and of the honour thereunto belonging, and on
New Year's Day behoveth him to be crowned in the midst of the
fire, and then shall the fire be quenched, for otherwise may it
never be put out nor extinguished.  Wherefore have we come to
meet you to give you the royalty, for we have been told that you
are a good knight."

"Lords," saith Lancelot, "Of such a kingdom have I no need, and
God defend me from it."

"Sir," they say, "You may not be defended thereof, for you come
into this land at hazard, and great grief would it be that so
good land as you see this is were burnt and melted away by the
default of one single man, and the lordship is right great, and
this will be right great worship to yourself, that on New Year's
Day you should be crowned in the fire and thus save this city and
this great people, and thereof shall you have great praise."


V.

Much marvelleth Lancelot of this that they say.  They come round
about him on all sides and lead him into the city.  The ladies
and damsels are mounted to the windows of the great houses and
make great joy, and say the one to another, "Look at the new king
here that they are leading in.  Now will he quench the fire on
New Year's Day."

"Lord!" say the most part, "What great pity is it of so comely a
knight that he shall end on such-wise!"

"Be still!" say the others.  "Rather should there be great joy
that so fair city as is this should be saved by his death, for
prayer will be made throughout all the kingdom for his soul for
ever!"

Therewith they lead him to the palace with right great joy and
say that they will crown him.  Lancelot found the palace all
strown with rushes and hung about with curtains of rich cloths of
silk, and the lords of the city all apparelled to do him homage.
But he refuseth right stoutly, and saith that their king nor
their lord will he never be in no such sort.  Thereupon behold
you a dwarf that entereth into the city, leading one of the
fairest dames that be in any kingdom, and asketh whereof this joy
and this murmuring may be.  They tell him they are fain to make
the knight king, but that he is not minded to allow them, and
they tell him the whole manner of the fire.


VI.

The dwarf and the damsel are alighted, then they mount up to the
palace.  The dwarf calleth the provosts of the city and the
greater lords.

"Lords," saith he, "sith that this knight is not willing to be
king, I will be so willingly, and I will govern the city at your
pleasure and do whatsoever you have devised to do."

"In faith, sith that the knight refuseth this honour and you
desire to have it, willingly will we grant it you, and he may go
his way and his road, for herein do we declare him wholly quit."

Therewithal they set the crown on the dwarf's head, and Lancelot
maketh great joy thereof.  He taketh his leave, and they command
him to God, and so remounteth he on his horse and goeth his way
through the midst of the city all armed.  The dames and damsels
say that he would not be king for that he had no mind to die so
soon.  When he came forth of the city right well pleased was he.
He entereth a great forest and rideth on till daylight began to
fall, and seeth before him a hermitage newly stablished, for the
house and the chapel were all builded new.  He cometh thitherward
and alighteth to lodge.  The hermit, that was young without beard
or other hair on his face, issued from his chapel.

"Sir," saith he to Lancelot, "you are he that is welcome."

"And you, sir, good adventure to you," saith Lancelot.  "Never
have I seen hermit so young as you."

"Sir, of this only do I repent me, that I came not hither ere
now."


VII.

Therewith he maketh his horse be stabled, and leadeth him into
his hermitage, and so maketh disarm him and setteth him at ease
as much as he may.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Can you tell me any tidings of a knight
that hath lain sick of a long time in the house of a hermit?"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "it is no long time agone sithence I saw
him in the house of the good King Hermit, that hath tended me and
healed me right sweetly of the wounds that the knight gave me."

"And is the knight healed, then?" saith the hermit.

"Yea, Sir," saith Lancelot, "Whereof is right great joy.  And
wherefore do you ask me?"

"Well ought I to ask it," saith the hermit, "For my father is
King Pelles, and his mother is my father's own sister."

"Ha, Sir, then is the King Hermit your father?"

"Yea, Sir, certes."

"Thereof do I love you the better," saith Lancelot, "For never
found I any man that hath done me so much of love as hath he. 
And what, Sir, is your name?"

"Sir," saith he, "My name is Joseus, and yours, what?"

"Sir," saith he, "I am called Lancelot of the Lake."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Right close are we akin, I and you."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Hereof am I right glad at heart." 

Lancelot looketh and seeth in the hermit's house shield and
spear, javelins and habergeon. "Sir," saith Lancelot, "What do
you with these arms?"

"Sir," saith he, "this forest is right lonely", and this
hermitage is far from any folk, and none are there here-within
save me and my squire.  So, when robbers come hither, we defend
ourselves therewith."

"But hermits, methought, never assaulted nor wounded nor slew."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "God forbid I should wound any man or
slay!"

"And how, then, do you defend yourselves?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir, I will tell you thereof.  When robbers come to us, we arm
ourselves accordingly.  If I may catch hold of any in my hands,
he cannot escape me.  Our squire is so well-grown and hardy that
he slayeth him forthwith or handleth him in such sort that he may
never help himself after."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Were you not hermit, you would be
valiant throughout."

"By my head," saith the squire. "You say true, for methinketh
there is none so strong nor so hardy as he in all the kingdom of
Logres."

The lodged Lancelot the night the best he could.


VIII.

When as they were in their first sleep, come four robber-knights
of the forest that knew how a knight was lodged therewithin, and
had coveted his horse and his arms.  The hermit that was in his
chapel saw them first, and awoke his squire and made him bring
his arms all secretly; then he made his squire arm.  "Sir," saith
the squire, "Shall I waken the knight?"

"In nowise," saith the hermit, "until such time as we shall know
wherefore."

He maketh open the door of the chapel and taketh a great coil of
rope, and they issue forth, he and his squire, and they perceived
the robbers in the stable where Lancelot's horse was.  The hermit
crieth out: the squire cometh forward and thereupon beareth one
to the ground with his spear.  The hermit seizeth him and bindeth
him to a tree so strait that he may not move.  The other three
think to defend them and to rescue their fellow.  Lancelot
leapeth up all startled when he heareth the noise and armeth
himself as quickly as he may, albeit not so quickly but that or
ever he come, the hermit hath taken the other three and bound
them with the fourth.  But of them were some that were wounded
right sore.

"Sir," saith the hermit to Lancelot, "It grieveth me that you
have been awakened."

"Rather," saith Lancelot, "have you done me great wrong for that
you ought to have awakened me sooner."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "We have assaults such as this often
enough."

The four robbers cry mercy of Lancelot that he will pray the
hermit to have pity upon them.  And Lancelot saith God help not
him that shall have pity on thieves!  As soon as it was daylight,
Lancelot and the squire led them into the forest, their hands all
tied behind their backs, and have hanged them in a waste place
far away from the hermitage.  Lancelot cometh back again and
taketh leave of Joseus the young hermit, and saith it is great
loss to the world that he is not knight.

"Sir," saith the squire, "to me is it great joy, for many a man
should suffer thereby."

Lancelot is mounted, and Joseus commendeth him to God, praying
him much that he salute his father and cousin on his behalf, and
Messire Gawain likewise that he met in the forest what time he
came all weeping to the hermitage.


IX.

Lancelot hath set him forth again upon his way, and rideth by the
high forests and findeth holds and hermitages enough, but the
story maketh not remembrance of all the hostels wherein he
harboured him.  So far hath he ridden that he is come forth of
the forest and findeth a right fair meadow-land all loaded with
flowers, and a river ran in the midst there of that was right
fair and broad, and there was forest upon the one side and the
other, and the meadow lands were wide and far betwixt the river
and the forest.  Lancelot looketh on the river before him and
seeth a man rowing a great boat, and seeth within the boat two
knights, white and bald, and a damsel, as it seemed him, that
held in her lap the head of a knight that lay upon a mattress of
straw and was covered with a coverlid of marten's fur, and
another damsel sate at his feet.  There was a knight within in
the midst of the boat that was fishing with an angle, the rod
whereof seemeth of gold, and right great fish he took.  A little
cock-boat followed the boat, wherein he set the fish he took.
Lancelot cometh anigh the bank the swiftest he may, and so
saluteth the knights and damsels, and they return his salute
right sweetly.

"Lords," saith Lancelot, "is there no castle nigh at hand nor no
harbour?"

"Yea, Sir," say they, "Beyond that mountain, right fair and rich,
and this river runneth thither all round about it."

"Lords, whose castle is it?"

"Sir," say they, "It is King Fisherman's, and the good knights
lodge there when he is in this country; but such knights have
been harboured there as that the lord of the land hath had good
right to plain him thereof."

The knights go rowing along the river, and Lancelot rideth until
he cometh to the foot of the mountain and findeth a hermitage
beside a spring, and bethinketh him, since it behoveth him to go
to so high a hostel and so rich, where the Holy Graal appeareth,
he will confess him to the good man.  He alighteth and confesseth
to the good man, and rehearseth all his sins, and saith that of
all thereof doth he repent him save only one, and the hermit
asketh him what it is whereof he is unwilling to repent.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "it seemeth to me the fairest sin and the
sweetest that ever I committed."

"Fair Sir," saith the hermit, "Sin is sweet to do, but right
bitter be the wages thereof; neither is there any sin that is
fair nor seemly, albeit there be some sins more dreadfuller than
other."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "this sin will I reveal to you of my lips,
but of my heart may I never repent me thereof.  I love my Lady,
which is the Queen, more than aught else that liveth, and albeit
one of the best Kings on live hath her to wife.  The affection
seemeth me so good and so high that I cannot let go thereof, for,
so rooted is it in my heart that thence may it nevermore depart,
and the best knighthood that is in me cometh to me only of her
affection."

"Alas!" saith the hermit, "Sinner of mortal sin, what is this
that you have spoken?  Never may no knighthood come of such
wantonness that shall not cost you right dear!  A traitor are you
toward our earthly lord, and a murderer toward Our Saviour.  Of
the seven deadly sins, you are labouring under the one whereof
the delights are the falsest of any, wherefore dearly shall you
aby thereof, save you repent you forthwith."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "never the more do I desire to cast it
from me."

"As much," saith the hermit, "is that as to say that you ought
long since to have cast it from you and renounced it.  For so
long as you maintain it, so long are you an enemy of the
Saviour!"

"Ha, Sir," saith Lancelot, "She hath in her such beauty and worth
and wisdom and courtesy and nobleness that never ought she to be
forgotten of any that hath loved her!"


X.

"The more of beauty and worth she hath in her," saith the hermit,
"so much the more blame hath she of that she doeth, and you
likewise.  For of that which is of little worth is the loss not
so great as of that which is much worth.  And this is a Queen,
blessed and anointed, that was thus, therefore, in her beginning
vowed to God; yet now is she given over to the Devil of her love
for you, and you of your love for her.  Fair, sweet my friend,"
saith the hermit, "Let go this folly, which is so cruel, that you
have taken in hand, and be repentant of these sins!  So every day
will I pray to the Saviour for you, that so truly as He pardoned
His death to him that smote Him with a lance in His side, so may
He pardon you of this sin that you have maintained, and that so
you be repentant and truly confessed thereof, I may take the
penance due thereunto upon myself!"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I thank you much, but I am not minded to
renounce it, nor have I no wish to speak aught wherewith my heart
accordeth not.  I am willing enough to do penance as great as is
enjoined of this sin, but my lady the Queen will I serve so long
as it may be her pleasure, and I may have her good will.  So
dearly do I love her that I wish not even that any will should
come to me to renounce her love, and God is so sweet and so full
of right merciful mildness, as good men bear witness, that He
will have pity upon us, for never no treason have I done toward
her, nor she toward me."

"Ha, fair sweet friend," saith the hermit, "Nought may you avail
you of whatsoever I may say, wherefore God grant her such will
and you also, that you may be able to do the will of Our Saviour.
But so much am I fain to tell you, that and if you shall lie in
the hostel of King Fisherman, yet never may you behold the Graal
for the mortal sin that lieth at your heart."

"May our Lord God," saith Lancelot, "counsel me therein at His
pleasure and at His will!"

"So may He do!" saith the hermit, "For of a truth you may know
thereof am I right fain."


XI.

Lancelot taketh leave of the hermit, and is mounted forthwith and
departeth from the hermitage.  And evening draweth on, and he
seeth that it is time to lodge him.  And he espieth before him
the castle of the rich King Fisherman.  He seeth the bridges,
broad and long, but they seem not to him the same as they had
seemed to Messire Gawain.  He beholdeth the rich entrance of the
gateway there where Our Lord God was figured as He was set upon
the rood, and seeth two lions that guard the entrance of the
gate.  Lancelot thinketh that sith Messire Gawain had passed
through amidst the lions, he would do likewise.  He goeth toward
the gateway, and the lions that were unchained prick up their
ears and look at him.  Howbeit Lancelot goeth his way between
them without heeding them, and neither of them was fain to do him
any hurt.  He alighteth before the master-palace, and mounteth
upward all armed.  Two other knights come to meet him and receive
him with right great joy, then they make him be seated on a couch
in the midst of the hall and be disarmed of two servants.  Two
damsels bring him a right rich robe and make him be apparelled
therewithal.  Lancelot beholdeth the richness of the hall and
seeth nought figured there save images of saints, men or women,
and he seeth the hall hung about with cloths of silk in many
places.  The knights lead him before King Fisherman in a chamber
where he lay right richly.  He findeth the King, that lieth on a
bed so rich and so fair apparelled as never was seen a better,
and one damsel was at his head and another at his feet.  Lancelot
saluteth him right nobly, and the King answereth him full fairly
as one that is a right worshipful man.  And such a brightness of
light was there in the chamber as that it seemed the sun were
beaming on all sides, and albeit the night was dark, no candles,
so far as Lancelot might espy, were lighted therewithin.

"Sir," saith King Fisherman, "Can you tell me tidings of my
sister's son, that was son of Alain li Gros of the Valleys of
Camelot, whom they call Perceval?"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I saw him not long time sithence in the
house of King Hermit, his uncle."

"Sir," saith the King, "They tell me he is a right good knight?"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "He is the best knight of the world.  I
myself have felt the goodness of his knighthood and his valour,
for right sorely did he wound me or ever I knew him or he me."

"And what is your name?" saith the King.

"Sir, I am called Lancelot of the Lake, King Ban's son of
Benoic."

"Ha," saith the King, "you are nigh of our lineage, you ought to
be good knight of right, and so are you as I have heard witness,
Lancelot," saith the King.  "Behold there the chapel where the
most Holy Graal taketh his rest, that appeared to two knights
that have been herewithin.  I know not what was the name of the
first, but never saw I any so gentle and quiet, nor had better
likelihood to be good knight.  It was through him that I have
fallen into languishment.  The second was Messire Gawain."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "the first was Perceval your nephew."

"Ha!" saith King Fisherman, "take heed that you speak true!"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I ought to know him well!"

"Ha, God!" saith the King, "Wherefore then did I know him not?
Through him have I fallen into this languishment, and had I only
known then that it was he, should I now be all whole of my limbs
and of my body, and right instantly do I pray you, when you shall
see him, that he come to see me or ever I die, and that he be
fain to succour and help his mother, whose men have been slain,
and whose land hath been reaved in such sort that never may she
have it again save by him alone.  And his sister hath gone in
quest of him throughout all kingdoms."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "This will I tell him gladly, if ever I
may find him in any place, but it is great adventure of finding
him, for oft-times will he change his cognizance in divers
fashion and conceal his name in many places."


XII.

King Fisherman is right joyous of the tidings he hath heard of
his nephew, wherefore he maketh Lancelot be honoured greatly. 
The knights seat them in the hall at a table of ivory at meat,
and the King remaineth in his chamber.  When they had washen, the
table was dight of rich sets of vessels of gold and silver, and
they were served of rich meats of venison of hart and wild boar.
But the story witnesseth that the Graal appeared not at this
feast.  It held not aloof for that Lancelot was not one of the
three knights of the world of the most renown and mightiest
valour, but for his great sin as touching the Queen, whom he
loved without repenting him thereof, for of nought did he think
so much as of her, nor never might he remove his heart therefrom.
When they had eaten they rose from the tables.  Two damsels
waited on Lancelot at his going to bed, and he lay on a right
rich couch, nor were they willing to depart until such time as he
was asleep.  He rose on the morrow as soon as he saw the day, and
went to hear mass.  Then he took leave of King Fisherman and the
knights and damsels, and issued forth of the castle between the
two lions, and prayeth God that He allow him to see the Queen
again betimes, for this is his most desire.  He rideth until he
hath left the castle far behind and entereth the forest, and is
in right great desire to see Perceval, but the tidings of him
were right far away.  He looketh before him in the forest and
seeth come right amidst the launde a knight, and a damsel clad in
the richest robe of gold and silk that ever he had seen tofore.


XIII.

The damsel came weeping by the side of the knight and prayed him
oftentimes that he would have mercy upon her.  The knight is
still and holdeth his peace, and saith never a word.

"Ha, Sir," saith the damsel to Lancelot, "Be pleased to beseech
this knight on my behalf."

"In what manner?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith she, "I will tell you.  He hath shown me semblance
of love for more than a year, and had me in covenant that he
would take me to wife, and I apparelled myself in the richest
garments that I had to come to him.  But my father is of greater
power and riches than is he, and therefore was not willing to
allow the marriage.  Wherefore come I with him in this manner,
for I love him better than ever another knight beside.  Now will
he do nought of that he had me in covenant to do, for he loveth
another, better, methinketh, than me.  And this hath he done, as
I surmise, to do shame to my friends and to me."

Lancelot seeth the damsel of right great beauty and weeping
tenderly, whereof hath he passing great pity.

"Hold, Sir!" saith Lancelot to the knight, "this shall you not
do!  You shall not do such shame to so fair a damsel as that you
shall fail to keep covenant with her.  For not a knight is there
in the kingdom of Logres nor in that of Wales but ought to be
right well pleased to have so fair a damsel to wife, and I pray
and require that you do to the damsel that whereof you held her
in covenant.  This will be a right worshipful deed, and I pray
and beseech that you do it, and thereof shall I be much beholden
unto you."

"Sir, saith the knight, "I have no will thereunto, nor for no man
will I do it, for ill would it beseem me."

"By my head, then," saith Lancelot, "the basest knight are you
that ever have I seen, nor ought dame nor damsel ever hereafter
put trust in you, sith that you are minded to put such disgrace
upon this lady."

"Sir," saith the knight, "a worthier lover have I than this, and
one that I more value; wherefore as touching this damsel will I
do nought more than I have said."

"And whither, then, mean you to take her?" saith Lancelot.

"I mean to take her to a hold of mine own that is in this forest,
and to give her in charge to a dwarf of mine that looketh after
my house, and I will marry her to some knight or some other man."

"Now never God help me," saith Lancelot, "but this is foul
churlishness you tell me, and, so you do not her will, it shall
betide you ill of me myself, and, had you been armed as I am, you
should have felt my first onset already."

"Ha," saith the damsel to Lancelot, "Be not so ready to do him
any hurt, for nought love I so well as I love his body,
whatsoever he do unto me.  But for God's sake pray him that he do
me the honour he hath promised me."

"Willingly," saith Lancelot.  "Sir Knight, will you do this
whereof you had the damsel in covenant?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "I have told you plainly that I will
not."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "you shall do it, or otherwise
sentence of death hath passed upon you, and this not so much for
the sake of the damsel only, but for the churlishness that hath
taken possession of you, that it be not a reproach to other
knights.  For promise that knight maketh to dame or damsel
behoveth him to keep.  And you, as you tell me, are knight, and
no knight ought to do churlishly to his knowledge, and this
churlishness is so far greater than another, that for no prayer
that the damsel may make will I suffer that it shall be done, but
that if you do not that whereof you held her in covenant, I shall
slay you, for that I will not have this churlishness made a
reproach unto other knights."

He draweth his sword and would have come toward him, when the
knight cometh over against him and saith to him: "Slay me not.
Tell me rather what you would have me do?"

"I would," saith he, "that you take the damsel to wife without
denial."

"Sir," saith he, "it pleaseth me better to take her than to die.
Sir, I will do your will."

"I thank you much therefor," saith Lancelot. "Damsel, is this
your pleasure also?"

"Yea, Sir, but, so please you, take not your departure from us
until such time as he shall have done that which you tell him."

"I will, well that so it be," saith Lancelot, "for love of you." 

They ride together right through the forest, until they came to a
chapel at a hermitage, and the hermit wedded them and made much
joy thereof.  When it cometh to after-mass, Lancelot would fain
depart, but the damsel prayeth him right sweetly that he should
come right to her father's house to witness that the knight had
wedded her.


XIV.

"Sir," saith she, "My father's hold is not far away."

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "Willingly will I go sith that you
beseech me thereof."

They ride so long right amidst the forest, that presently they
come to the castle of the Vavasour, that was sitting on the
bridge of his castle, right sorrowful and troubled because of his
daughter.  Lancelot is gone on before and alighteth.  The
Vavasour riseth up to meet him, and Lancelot recounteth unto him
how his daughter hath been wedded, and that he hath been at the
wedding.  Thereof the Vavasour maketh right great joy.
Therewithal, behold you, the knight and the Vavasour"s daughter
that are straightway alighted, and the Vavasour thanketh Lancelot
much of the honour he hath done his daughter.  Therewith he
departeth from the castle and rideth amidst the forest the day
long, and meeteth a damsel and a dwarf that came a great gallop. 

"Sir," saith the damsel to Lancelot, "From whence come you?"

"Damsel," saith he, "I come from the Vavasour's castle that is in
this forest."

"Did you meet," saith she, "a knight and a damsel on your way?"

"Yea," saith Lancelot, "He hath wedded her."

"Say you true?" saith she.

"I tell you true," saith Lancelot, "But had I not been there, he
would not have wedded her."

"Shame and ill adventure may you have thereof, for you have reft
me of the thing in the world that most I loved.  And know you
well of a truth that joy of him shall she never have, and if the
knight had been armed as are you, never would he have done your
will, but his own.  And this is not the first harm you have done
me; you and Messire Gawain between you have slain my uncle and my
two cousins-german in the forest, whom behoved me bury in the
chapel where you were, there where my dwarf that you see here was
making the graves in the burial-ground."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "true it is that I was there, but I
departed from the grave-yard, honour safe."

"True," saith the dwarf, "For the knights that were there were
craven, and failed."

"Fair friend," saith Lancelot, "Rather would I they should be
coward toward me than hardy."

"Lancelot," saith the damsel, "Much outrage have you done, for
you slew the Knight of the Waste House, there whither the brachet
led Messire Gawain, but had he there been known, he would not
have departed so soon, for he was scarce better loved than you,
and God grant you may find a knight that may abate the outrages
that are in your heart and in his; for great rejoicing would
there be thereof, for many a good knight have you slain, and I
myself will bring about trouble for you, so quickly as I may."


XV.

Thereupon the dwarf smiteth the mule with his whip, and she
departeth.  Lancelot would answer none of her reviling, wherefore
he departed forthwith, and rideth so long on his journeys that he
is come back to the house of the good King Hermit, that maketh
right great joy of him.  And he telleth him that he hath been
unto the house of King Fisherman, his brother that lieth in
languishment, and telleth him also how he hath been honoured in
his hostel, and of the salutations that he sent him.  King Hermit
is right joyous thereof, and asketh him of his nephew, and he
telleth him he hath seen him not since he departed thence.  King
Hermit asketh him whether he hath seen the Graal, and he telleth
him he hath seen it not at all.

"I know well," saith the King, "wherefore this was so.  And you
had had the like desire to see the Graal that you have to see the
Queen, the Graal would you have seen."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "The Queen do I desire to see for the sake
of her good intent, her wisdom, courtesy and worth, and so ought
every knight to do.  For in herself hath she all honourable
conditions that a lady may have."

"God grant you good issue therein," saith King Hermit, "and that
you do nought whereof He may visit you with His wrath at the Day
of Judgment."

Lancelot lay the night in the hermitage, and on the morrow
departed thence and took leave when he had heard mass, and cometh
back as straight as he may to Pannenoisance on the sea of Wales,
where were the King and Queen with great plenty of knights and
barons.



BRANCH XI.

TITLE I.

This High History witnesseth whereof this account cometh, and
saith that Perceval is in the kingdom of Logres, and came great
pace toward the land of the Queen of the Tents to release the
Damsel of the Car, that he had left in hostage on account of
Clamados, that had put upon him the treason whereof behoved him
to defend himself.  But, or ever he entered into the land of the
Queen of the Tents, he met the Damsel of the Car that was coming
thence.  She made right great joy of him, and told him that
Clamados was dead of the wound that Meliot of Logres had dealt
him, and that Meliot of Logres was heal.

"Sir," saith she, "The tents and the awnings are taken down, and
the Queen hath withdrawn herself to the castle with her maidens,
and by my coming back from thence may you well know that you are
altogether quit.  Wherefore I tell you that your sister goeth in
quest of you, and that never had your mother so sore need of help
as now she hath, nor never again shall your sister have joy at
heart until such time as she shall have found you.  She goeth
seeking for you by all the kingdoms and strange countries in sore
mis-ease, nor may she find any to tell her tidings of you."

Therewith Perceval departeth from the Damsel, without saying
more, and rideth until he cometh into the kingdom of Wales to a
castle that is seated above the sea upon a high rock, and it was
called the Castle of Tallages.  He seeth a knight issue from the
castle and asketh whose hold it is, and he telleth him that it
belonged to the Queen of the Maidens.  He entereth into the first
baby of the castle, and alighteth at the mounting-stage and
setteth down his shield and his spear, and looketh toward the
steps whereby one goeth up to the higher hall, and seeth upon
them row upon row of knights and damsels.  He cometh thitherward,
but never a knight nor dame was there that gave him greeting of
any kind.  So he saluted them at large.  He went his way right
amidst them toward the door of the great hall, which he findeth
shut, and rattled the ring so loud that it made the whole hall
resound thereof.  A knight cometh to open it and he entereth in.

"Sir Knight, welcome may you be!"

"Good adventure may you have!" saith Perceval.

He lowereth his ventail and taketh off his helm.  The knight
leadeth him to the Queen's chamber, and she riseth to meet him,
and maketh great joy of him, and maketh him sit beside her all
armed.


II.

"With that, cometh a damsel and kneeleth before the Queen and
saith: "Lady, behold here the knight that was first at the Graal.
I saw him in the court of the Queen of the Tents, there where he
was appeached of treason and murder."

"Now haste," saith the Queen to the knight, "Let sound the ivory
horn upon the castle."

The knights and damsels that were sitting on the steps leapt up,
and make right great joy, and the other knights likewise.  They
say that now they know well that they have done their penance.
Thereupon they enter into the hall, and the Lady issueth from her
chamber and taketh Perceval by the hand and goeth to meet them. 

"Behold here," saith she, "the knight through whom you have had
the pain and travail, and by whom you are now released
therefrom!"

"Ha!" say the knights and dames, "welcome may he be!"

"By my head," saith the Queen, "so is he, for he is the knight of
the world that I had most desire to see."

She maketh disarm him, and bring the rich robe of cloth of silk
to apparel him. "Sir," saith the Queen, "Four knights and three
damsels have been under the steps at the entrance of the hall
ever since such time as you were at the hostel of King Fisherman,
there where you forgot to ask whereof the Graal might serve, nor
never since have they had none other house nor hold wherein to
eat nor to drink nor to lie, nor never since have they had no
heart to make joy, nor would not now and you had not come hither.
Wherefore ought you not to marvel that they make joy of your
coming.  Howbeit, on the other hand, sore need have we in this
castle of your coming, for a knight warreth upon me that is
brother of King Fisherman, and his name is the King of Castle
Mortal."

"Lady," saith he, "He is my uncle, albeit I knew it not of a long
time, nor of the good King Fisherman either, and the good King
Hermit is my uncle also.  But I tell you of a very truth, the
King of Castle Mortal is the most fell and cruel that liveth,
wherefore ought none to love him for the felony that is in him,
for he hath begun to war upon King Fisherman my uncle, and
challengeth him his castle, and would fain have the Lance and the
Graal."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "in like sort challengeth he my castle of
me for that I am in aid of King Fisherman, and every week cometh
he to an island that is in this sea, and oft-times cometh
plundering before this castle and hath slain many of my knights
and damsels, whereof God grant us vengeance upon him."

She taketh Perceval by the hand and leadeth him to the windows of
the hall that were nighest the sea.  "Sir," saith she, "Now may
you see the island, there, whereunto your uncle cometh in a
galley, and in this island sojourneth he until he hath seen where
to aim his blow and laid his plans.  And here below, see, are my
gallies that defend us thereof."


III.

Perceval, as the history telleth, was much honoured at the castle
of the Queen of the Maidens, that was right passing fair.  The
Queen loved him of a passing great love, but well she knew that
she should never have her desire, nor any dame nor damsel that
might set her intent thereon, for chaste was he and in chastity
was fain to die.  So long was he at the castle as that he heard
tell his uncle was arrived at the island whither he wont to come.
Perceval maketh arm him forthwith and entereth into a galley
below the hall, and maketh him be rowed toward his uncle, that
much marvelleth when he seeth him coming, for never aforetime
durst no knight issue out alone from this castle to meet him, nor
to come there where he was, body to body.  But had he known that
it was Perceval, he would not have marvelled.  Thereupon the
galley taketh the ground and Perceval is issued forth.  The Queen
and the knights and her maidens are come to the windows of the
castle to behold the bearing of the nephew and the uncle.  The
Queen would have sent over some of her knights with him, but
Perceval would not.  The King of Castle Mortal was tall and
strong and hardy.  He seeth his nephew come all armed, but
knoweth him not.  But Perceval knew him well, and kept his sword
drawn and his shield on his arm, and sought out his uncle with
right passing wrathfulness, and dealeth him a heavy buffet above
upon his helm that he maketh him stoop withal.  Howbeit, the King
spareth him not, but smiteth him so passing stoutly that he had
his helm all dinted in thereby.  But Perceval attacketh him
again, thinking to strike him above on the head, but the King
swerveth aside and the blow falleth on the shield and cleaveth it
right down as far as the boss.  The King of Castle Mortal draweth
him backward and hath great shame within himself for that
Perceval should thus fettle him, for he searcheth him with his
sword in every part, and dealeth him great buffets in such sort
that, and his habergeon had not been so strong and tough, he
would have wounded him in many places.


IV.

The King himself giveth him blows so heavy that the Queen and all
they that were at the windows marvelled how Perceval might abide
such buffets.  The King took witting of the shield that Perceval
bare, and looketh on it of a long space.

"Knight," saith he, "who gave you this shield, and on behalf of
whom do you bear such an one?"

"I bear it on behalf of my father," saith he.

"Did your father, then, bear a red shield with a white hart?"

"Yea," saith Perceval, "Many a day."

"Was your father, then, King Alain of the Valleys of Camelot?"

"My father was he without fail.  No blame ought I to have of him,
for a good knight was he and a loyal."

"Are you the son of Yglais my sister, that was his wife?"

"Yea!" saith Perceval.

"Then are you my nephew," saith the King of Castle Mortal, "For
she was my sister."

"That misliketh me," saith Perceval, "For thereof have I neither
worship nor honour, for the most disloyal are you of all my
kindred, and I knew well when I came hither that it was you, and,
for the great disloyalty that is in you, you war upon the best
King that liveth and the most worshipful man, and upon the Lady
of this castle for that she aideth him in all that she may.  But,
please God, henceforward she shall have no need to guard her to
the best of her power against so evil a man as are you, nor shall
her castle never be obedient to you, nor the sacred hallows that
the good King hath in his keeping.  For God loveth not you so
much as He doth him, and so long as you war upon him, you do I
defy and hold you as mine enemy."

The King wotteth well that his nephew holdeth him not over dear,
and that he is eager to do him a hurt, and that he holdeth his
sword in his fist and that he is well roofed-in of his helmet,
and that he is raging like a lion.  He misdoubteth him sore of
his strength and his great hardiment.  He hath well proven and
essayed that he is the Best Knight of the world.  He durst no
longer abide his blows, but rather he turneth him full speed
toward his galley, and leapeth thereinto forthwith.  He pusheth
out from the shore incontinent, and Perceval followeth him right
to the beach, full heavy that he hath gotten him away.  Then he
crieth after him: "Evil King, tell me not that I am of your
kindred!  Never yet did knight of my mother's lineage flee from
other knight, save you alone!  Now have I conquered this island,
and never on no day hereafter be you so over-hardy as be seen
therein again!"

The King goeth his way as he that hath no mind to return, and
Perceval cometh back again in his galley to the Queen's castle,
and all they of the palace come forth to meet him with great joy.
The Queen asketh him how it is with him and whether he is
wounded?

"Lady," saith he, "Not at all, thank God."

She maketh disarm him, and honoureth him at her pleasure, and
commandeth that all be obedient to him, and do his commandment so
long as he shall please to be there.  Now feel they safer in the
castle for that the king hath so meanly departed thence, and it
well seemeth them that never will he dare come back for dread of
his nephew more than of any other, whereof make they much joy in
common.



BRANCH XII.

TITLE I.

Now is the story silent about Perceval, and saith that King
Arthur is at Pannenoisance in Wales with great plenty of knights.
Lancelot and Messire Gawain are repaired thither, whereof all the
folk make great joy.  The King asketh of Messire Gawain and
Lancelot whether they have seen Lohot his son in none of these
islands nor in none of these forests, and they answer him that
they have seen him nowhere.

"I marvel much," saith the King, "what hath become of him, for no
tidings have I heard of him beyond these, that Kay the Seneschal
slew Logrin the giant, whose head he brought me, whereof I made
great joy, and right willingly did I make Kay's lands the broader
thereof, and well ought I to do him such favour, for he avenged
me of him that did my land more hurt than any other, wherefore I
love him greatly."

But, and the King had only known how Kay had wrought against him,
he would not have so highly honoured his chivalry and his
hardiment.  The King sate one day at meat and Queen Guenievre at
his side.  Thereupon behold you, a damsel that alighteth before
the palace, then mounteth the steps of the hall and is come
before the King and the Queen.

"Sir, I salute you as the sorest dismayed and most discounselled
damsel that ever you have seen!  Wherefore am I come to demand a
boon of you for the nobleness and valour of your heart."

"Damsel," saith the King, "God counsel you of His will and
pleasure, and I myself am full fain to partake therein."

The damsel looketh at the shield that hangeth in the midst of the
hall.

"Sir," saith she, "I beseech you that you deign grant me the aid
of the knight that shall bear this shield from hence.  For sorer
need have I thereof than ever another of them that are
discounselled."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Full well shall I be pleased, so the
knight be also fain to do as you say."

"Sir," saith she, "And he be so good knight as he is reported,
never will he refuse your prayer, nor would he mine, if only I
were here at such time as he shall come.  For, had I been able to
find my brother that I have been seeking this long time, then
well should I have been succoured long agone!  But I have sought
him in many lands, nor never could I learn where he is. 
Therefore to my sorrow, behoveth me to ride all lonely by the
strange islands and put my body in jeopardy of death, whereof
ought these knights to have great pity."


II.

"Damsel," saith the King, "For this reason do I refuse you nought
of that you wish, and right willingly will I put myself to
trouble herein."

"Sir," saith she, "much thanks to God thereof!"

He maketh her be set at meat, and much honour be done her.  When
the cloths were drawn, the Queen leadeth her into her chamber
with the maidens, and maketh much joy of her.  The brachet that
was brought thither with the shield was lying on a couch of
straw.  He would not know the Queen nor her damsels nor the
knights that were in the court, but so soon as ever he heard the
damsel he cometh to her and maketh greater joy of her than ever
was brachet seen to make before.  The Queen and her damsels
marvelled much thereof, as did the damsel herself to whom the
brachet made such joy, for never since that he was brought into
the hall had they seen him rejoice of any.  The Queen asked her
whether she knew him.

"Certes, Lady, no, for never, so far as I know, have I seen him
before."

The brachet will not leave her, but will be always on her lap,
nor can she move anywhither but he followeth her.  The damsel is
long time in the court in this manner, albeit as she that had
sore need of succour she remained in the chapel every day after
that the Queen was come forth, and wept right tenderly before the
image of the Saviour, and prayed right sweetly that His Mother
would counsel her, for that she had been left in sore peril of
losing her castle.  The Queen asked her one day who her brother
was.

"Lady," saith she, "one of the best knights of the world, whereof
have I heard witness.  But he departed from my father's and
mother's hostel a right young squire.  My father is since dead,
and my Lady mother is left without help and without counsel,
wherefore hath a certain man reaved her of her land and her
castles and slain her men.  The very castle wherein she hath her
hold would he have seized long agone had it not been for Messire
Gawain that made it be safe-guarded against her enemies for a
year.  The term is now ended and my Lady mother is in dread lest
she shall lose her castle, for none other hold hath she.
Wherefore is it that she hath sent me to seek for my brother, for
she hath been told that he is a good knight, and for that I may
not find him am I come to this court to beseech of King Arthur
succour of the knight that shall bear away the shield, for I have
heard tell that he is the Best knight of the world; and, for the
bounty that is in him will he therefore have pity on me."

"Damsel," saith the Queen, "Would that you had found him, for
great joy would it be unto me that your mother were succoured,
and God grant that he that ought to bear the shield come quickly,
and grant him courage that he be fain to succour your mother."

"So shall he be, please God, for never was good knight that was
without pity."


III.

The Queen hath much pity of the damsel, for she was of right
great beauty, and well might it be seen by her cheer and her
semblant that no joy had she.  She had told the Queen her name
and the name of her father and mother, and the Queen told her
that many a time had she heard tell of Alain li Gros, and that he
was said to be a worshipful man and good knight.  The King lay
one night beside the Queen, and was awoke from his first sleep so
that he might not go to sleep again.  He rose and did on a great
grey cape and issueth forth of the chamber and cometh to the
windows of the hall that opened toward the sea, calm and
untroubled, so that much pleasure had he of looking thereat and
leaning at the windows.  When he had been there of a long space,
he looked out to sea and saw coming afar off as it were the
shining of a candle in the midst of the sea.  Much he marvelled
what it might be.  He looked at it until he espied what seemed
him to be a ship wherein was the light, and he was minded not to
move until such time as he should know whether a ship it were or
something other.  The longer he looketh at it, the better
perceiveth he that it is a ship, and that it was coming with
great rushing toward the castle as fast as it might.  The King
espieth it nigh at hand, but none seeth he within nor without
save one old man, ancient and bald, of right passing seemliness
that held the rudder of the ship.  The ship was covered of a
right rich cloth in the midst and the sail was lowered, for the
sea was calm and quiet.  The ship was arrived under the palace
and was quite still.  When the ship had taken ground, the King
looketh thereat with much marvelling, and knoweth not who is
there within, for not a soul heareth he speak.  Him thinketh that
he will go see what is within the ship, and he issueth forth of
the hall, and cometh thither where the ship was arrived, but he
might not come anigh for the flowing of the sea.

"Sir," saith he that held the rudder, "Allow me a little!"

He launcheth forth of the ship a little boat, and the King
entereth thereinto, and so cometh into the great ship, and
findeth a knight that lay all armed upon a table of ivory, and
had set his shield at his head.  At the head of his bed had he
two tall twisted links of wax in two candlesticks of gold, and
the like at his feet, and his hands were crossed upon his breast.
The King draweth nigh toward him and so looketh at him, and
seemed him that never had he seen so comely a knight.


IV.

"Sir," saith the master of the ship, "For God's sake draw you
back and let the knight rest, for thereof hath he sore need."

"Sir," saith the King, "who is the knight?"

"Sir, this would he well tell you were he willing, but of me may
you know it not."

"Will he depart forthwith from hence?" saith the King.

"Sir," saith the master, "Not before he hath been in this hall,
but he hath had sore travail and therefore he taketh rest."

When the King heard say that he would come into his palace,
thereof had he great joy.  He cometh to the Queen's chamber and
telleth her how the ship is arrived.  The Queen riseth and two of
her damsels with her, and apparelleth her of a kirtle of cloth of
silk, furred of ermine, and cometh into the midst of the hall.
Thereupon behold you, the knight that cometh all armed and the
master of the ship before him bearing the twisted link of wax in
the candlestick of gold in front of him, and the knight held his
sword all naked.

"Sir," saith the Queen, "Well may you be welcome!"

"Lady," saith he, "God grant you joy and good adventure."

"Sir," saith she, "Please God we have nought to fear of you?"

"Lady," saith he, "No fear ought you to have!"

The King seeth that he beareth the red shield with the white hart
whereof he had heard tell.  The brachet that was in the hall
heareth the knight.  He cometh racing toward him and leapeth
about his legs and maketh great joy of him.  And the knight
playeth with him, then taketh the shield that hung at the column,
and hangeth the other there, and cometh back thereafter toward
the door of the hall.

"Lady," saith the King, "Pray the knight that he go not so
hastily."

"Sir," saith the knight, "No leisure have I to abide, but at some
time shall you see me again."

The knights also say as much, and the King and Queen are right
heavy of his departure, but they durst not press him beyond his
will.  He is entered into the ship, and the brachet with him. 
The master draweth the boat within, and so they depart and leave
the castle behind.  King Arthur abideth at Pannenoisance, and is
right sorrowful of the knight, that he hath gone his way so soon.
The knights arose throughout the castle when the day waxed light,
and learnt the tidings of the knight that had borne the shield
thence, and were right grieved for that they had not seen him.
The damsel that had asked the boon cometh to the King.

"Sir," saith she, "Did you speak of my business to the knight?"

"Damsel," saith the King, "Never a whit!  to my sorrow, for he
hath departed sooner than I would!"

"Sir," saith she, "You have done a wrong and a sin, but, please
God, so good a King as are you shall not fail of his covenants to
damsel so forlorn as am I."

The King was right sorrowful for that he had remembered not the
damsel.  She departeth from the court, and taketh leave of the
King and Queen, and saith that she herself will go seek the
knight, and that, so she may find him, she will hold the King
quit of his covenant.  Messire Gawain and Lancelot are returned
to the court, and have heard the tidings of the knight that hath
carried away the shield, and are right grieved that they have not
seen him, and Messire Gawain more than enough, for that he had
lien in his mother's house.  Lancelot seeth the shield that he
had left on the column, and knoweth it well, and saith, "Now know
I well that Perceval hath been here, for this shield was he wont
to bear, and the like also his father bore."

"Ha," saith Messire Gawain, "What ill-chance have I that I may
not see the Good Knight!"

"Messire Gawain," saith Lancelot, "So nigh did I see him that
methought he would have killed me, for never before did I essay
onset so stout nor so cruel of force of arms, and I myself
wounded him, and when he knew me he made right great joy of me.
And I was with him at the house of King Hermit a long space until
that I was healed."

"Lancelot," saith Messire Gawain, "I would that he had wounded
me, so I were not too sore harmed thereof, so that I might have
been with him so long time as were you."

"Lords," saith the King, "Behoveth you go on quest of him or I
will go, for I am bound to beseech his aid on behalf of a damsel
that asked me thereof, but she told me that, so she might find
him first, I should be quit of her request."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "You will do a right great service and
you may counsel her herein, for sore discounselled is she.  She
hath told me that she was daughter of Alain li Gros of the
Valleys of Camelot, and that her mother's name is Yglais, and her
own Dindrane."

"Ha, Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "She is sister to the knight
that hath borne away the shield, for I lay at her mother's house
wherein I was right well lodged."

"By my head," saith the Queen, "it may well be, for so soon as
she came in hither. the brachet that would have acquaintance with
none, made her great joy, and when the knight came to seek the
shield, the brachet, that had remained in the hall, played gladly
with him and went "

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "I will go in quest of the
knight, for right great desire have I to see him."

"And I," saith Lancelot, "Never so glad have I been to see him
aforetime as! should be now."

"Howsoever it be," saith the King, "I pray you so speed my
business that the damsel shall not be able to plain her of me."


V.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "We will tell him and we may find him,
that his sister is gone in quest of him, and that she hath been
at your court."

The two knights depart from the court to enter on the quest of
the Good Knight, and leave the castle far behind them and ride in
the midst of a high forest until they find a cross in the midst
of a launde, there where all the roads of the forest join
together.

"Lancelot," saith Messire Gawain, "Choose which road soever you
will, and so let each go by himself, so that we may the sooner
hear tidings of the Good Knight, and let us meet together again
at this cross at the end of a year and let either tell other how
he hath sped, for please God in one place or another we shall
hear tidings of him."

Lancelot taketh the way to the right, and Messire Gawain to the
left.  Therewithal they depart and commend them one another to
God.



BRANCH XIII.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Lancelot, and saith that Messire
Gawain goeth a great pace riding, and prayeth God that He will so
counsel him that he may find the knight.  He rideth until the day
cometh to decline, and he lay in the house of a hermit in the
forest, that lodged him well.

"Sir," saith the hermit to Messire Gawain, "Whom do you go seek?"

"Sir," saith he, "I am in quest of a knight that I would see
right gladly."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "In this neighbourhood will you find no
knight."

"Wherefore not?" saith Messire Gawain, "Be there no knights in
this country?"

"There was wont to be plenty," saith the hermit, "But now no
longer are there any, save one all alone in a castle and one all
alone on the sea that have chased away and slain all the others."

"And who is the one of the sea?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I know not who he is, save only that
the sea is hard by here, where the ship runneth oftentimes
wherein the knight is, and he repaireth to an island that is
under the castle of the Queen of the Maidens, from whence he
chased an uncle of his that warred upon the castle, and the other
knights that he had chased thence and slain were helping his
uncle, so that now the castle is made sure.  And the knights that
might flee from this forest and this kingdom durst not repair
thither for the knight, for they dread his hardiment and his
great might, sith that they know well they might not long endure
against him."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Is it so long a space sithence that
he hath haunted the sea?"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "It is scarce more than a twelvemonth."

"And how nigh is this to the sea?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "It is not more than two leagues Welsh.
When I have gone forth to my toil, many a time have I seen the
ship run close by me, and the knight, all armed, within, and
meseemed he was of right great comeliness, and had as passing
proud a look as any lion.  But I can well tell you never was
knight so dreaded in this kingdom as is he.  The Queen of the
Maidens would have lost her castle ere now but for him.  Nor
never sithence that he hath chased his uncle from the island,
hath he entered the Queen's castle even once, but from that time
forth hath rather rowed about the sea and searched all the
islands and stricken down all the proud in such sort that he is
dreaded and warily avoided throughout all the kingdoms.  The
Queen of the Maidens is right sorrowful for that he cometh not to
her castle, for so dear she holdeth him of very love, that and he
should come and she might keep him so that he should never issue
forth again, she would sooner lock him up with her there safe
within."

"Know you." saith Messire Gawain, "what shield the knight
beareth?"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I know not now to blazon it, for nought
know I of arms.  Three score years and more have I been in this
hermitage, yet never saw I this kingdom before so dismayed as is
it now."

Messire Gawain lay the night therewithin, and departed when he
had heard mass.  He draweth him as nigh the sea as he may, and
rideth along beside the shore and many a time draweth rein to
look forth if he might see the knight's ship.  But nowhere might
he espy it.  He hath ridden until he cometh to the castle of the
Queen of the Maidens.  When she knew that it was Messire Gawain,
she made thereof great joy, and pointed him out the island
whither Perceval had repaired, and from whence he had driven his
uncle.

"Sir," saith she to Messire Gawain, "I plain me much of him, for
never hath he been fain to enter herewithin, save the one time
that he did battle with his uncle, but ever sithence hath he made
repair to this island and rowed about this sea."

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "and whereabout may he be now?"

"Sir, God help me," saith she, "I know not, for I have not seen
him now of a long space, and no earthly man may know his intent
nor his desire, nor whitherward he may turn."

Messire Gawain is right sorrowful for that he knoweth not where
to seek him albeit he hath so late tidings of him.  He lay at the
castle and was greatly honoured, and on the morrow he heard mass
and took leave of the Queen, and rideth all armed beside the
seashore, for that the hermit had told him, and the Queen
herself, that he goeth oftener by sea than by land.  He entereth
into a forest that was nigh the sea, and seeth a knight coming a
great gallop as if one were chasing him to slay him.

"Sir knight," saith Messire Gawain, "Whither away so fast?"

"Sir, I am fleeing from the knight that hath slain all the
others."

"And who is the knight?" saith Messire Gawain.

"I know not who he is," saith the knight, "But and you go forward
you are sure to find him."

"Meseemeth," saith Messire Gawain, "that I have seen you
aforetime."

"Sir," saith he, "So have you!  I am the Knight Coward that you
met in the forest there where you conquered the knight of the
shield party black and white, and I am man of the Damsel of the
Car.  Wherefore I pray you for God's sake that you do me no hurt,
for the knight that I found down yonder hath a look so fierce
that I thought I was dead when I saw it."

"Need you fear nought of me," saith Messire Gawain, "For I love
your damsel well."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I would that all the other knights
would say as much in respect of me, for no fear have I save for
myself alone."


II.

Messire Gawain departeth from the knight, and goeth his way
amidst the forest that overshadowed the land as far as the
seashore, and looketh forth from the top of a sand-hill, and
seeth a knight armed on a tall destrier, and he had a shield of
gold with a green cross.

"Ha, God," saith Messire Gawain, "Grant that this knight may be
able to tell me tidings of him I seek!"

Thitherward goeth he a great gallop, and saluteth him
worshipfully and he him again.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Can you tell me tidings of a knight
that beareth a shield banded of argent and azure with a red
cross?"

"Yea, Sir," saith the knight, "That can I well.  At the assembly
of the knights may you find him within forty days."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Where will the assembly be?"

"In the Red Launde, where will be many a good knight.  There
shall you find him without fail."

Thereof hath Messire Gawain right great joy, and so departeth
from the knight and the knight from him, and goeth back toward
the sea a great gallop.  But Messire Gawain saw not the ship
whereinto he entered, for that it was anchored underneath the
cliff.  The knight entered thereinto and put out to sea as he had
wont to do.  Howbeit Messire Gawain goeth his way toward the Red
Launde where the assembly was to be, and desireth much the day
that it shall be.  He rideth until he cometh one eventide nigh to
a castle that was of right fair seeming.  He met a damsel that
was following after a dead knight that two other knights bare
upon a horse-bier, and she rode a great pace right amidst the
forest.  And Messire Gawain cometh to meet her and saluteth her,
and she returned the salute as fairly as she might.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Who lieth in this bier?"

"Sir, a knight that a certain man hath slain by great outrage."

"And whither shall you ride this day?"

"Sir, I would fain be in the Red Launde, and thither will I take
this knight, that was a right worshipful man for his age."

"And wherefore will you take him there?" saith Messire Gawain.

"For that he that shall do best at the assembly of knights shall
avenge this knight's death."


III.

The damsel goeth her way thereupon.  And Messire Gawain goeth to
the castle that he had seen, and found none within save only one
solitary knight, old and feeble, and a squire that waited upon
him.  Howbeit, Messire Gawain alighteth at the castle.  The
Vavasour lodged him well and willingly, and made his door be well
shut fast and Messire Gawain be disarmed, and that night he
showed him honour as well as he might.  And when it came to the
morrow and Messire Gawain was minded to depart thence, the
Vavasour saith to him, "Sir you may not depart thus, for this
door hath not been opened this long while save only yesterday,
when I made it be opened before you, to the intent that you
should meet on my behalf a certain knight that is fain to slay
me, for that the King of Castle Mortal hath had his hold
herewithin, he that warreth on the Queen of the Maidens.
Wherefore I pray you that you help me to defend it against the
knight."

"What shield beareth he?" saith Messire Gawain.

"He beareth a golden shield with a green cross."

"And what sort of knight is he?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "A good knight and a hardy and a
sure."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "And you can tell me tidings
of another knight whereof I am in quest, I will protect you
against this one to the best I may, and if he will do nought for
my prayer, I will safeguard you of my force."

"What knight, then, do you seek?" saith the Vavasour.

"Sir, a knight that is called Perceval, and he hath carried away
from the court of King Arthur a shield banded argent and azure
with a red cross on a band of gold.  He will be at the assembly
in the Red Launde.  These tidings had I of the knight you dread
so much."


IV.

Thereupon, whilst Messire Gawain was thus speaking to the
Vavasour, behold you the Knight of the Golden Shield, that
draweth rein in the midst of a launde that was betwixt the castle
and the forest.  The Vavasour seeth him from the windows of the
hall, and pointeth him out to Messire Gawain.  Messire Gawain
goeth and mounteth on his destrier, his shield at his neck and
his spear in his fist, all armed, and issueth forth of the door
when it had been unfastened, and cometh toward the knight, that
awaited him on his horse.  He seeth Messire Gawain coming, but
moveth not, and Messire Gawain marvelleth much that the knight
cometh not toward him, for him thinketh well that the Vavasour
had told him true.  But he had not, for never had the knight come
thither to do the Vavasour any hurt, but on account of the
knights that passed by that way that went to seek adventure, for
right glad was he to see them albeit he was not minded to make
himself known unto any.  Messire Gawain looketh before him and
behind him and seeth that the door was made fast and the bridge
drawn up so soon as he was departed thence, whereof he marvelled
much and saith to the knight, "Sir, is your intent nought but
good only?"

"By my head," saith he, "Nought at all, and readily will I tell
it you."

Thereupon, behold you a damsel that cometh a great pace, and held
a whip wherewith she hurrieth her mule onward, and she draweth
rein there where the two knights were.

"Ha, God!" saith she, "shall I ever find one to wreak me
vengeance of the traitor Vavasour that dwelleth in this castle?"

"Is he then traitor?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Yea, Sir, the most traitor you saw ever!  He lodged my brother
the day before yesterday, and bore him on hand at night that a
certain knight was warring upon him for that the way whereby the
knights pass is here in front of this place, and lied to him so
much as that my brother held him in covenant that he would
assault a certain knight that he should point out to him, for
love of him.  This knight came passing hereby, that had no
thought to do hurt neither to the Vavasour nor to my brother. 
The knight was right strong and hardy, and was born at the castle
of Escavalon.  My brother issued forth of the castle filled with
fool-hardiness for the leasing of the Vavasour, and ran upon the
knight without a word.  The knight could do no less than avenge
himself.  They hurtled together so sore that their horses fell
under them and their spears passed either through other's heart.
Thus were both twain killed on this very piece of ground."


V.

"The Vavasour took the arms and the horses and put them in safe
keeping in his castle, and the bodies of the knights he left to
the wild beasts, that would have devoured them had I not chanced
to come thither with two knights that helped me bury them by
yonder cross at the entrance of the forest."

"By my head," saith Messire Gawain, "In like manner would he have
wrought me mischief had I been minded to trust him; for he bore
me in hand that this knight was warring upon him, and besought me
that I should safeguard him against him.  But our Lord God so
helped me that I intermeddled not therein, for lightly might I
have wrought folly."

"By the name of God," saith the other, "Meseemeth it clear that
the Vavasour would fain that knights should kill each other."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "You say true; it is of his covetise of
harness and horses that he entreateth the knights on this-wise."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Whither go you?"

"Sir," saith she, "After a knight that I have made be carried in
a litter for the dead."

"I saw him," saith he, "pass by here last night, full late last
night."

The knight taketh leave of Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain
saith that he holdeth himself a churl in that he hath not asked
him of his name.  But the knight said, "Fair Sir, I pray you of
love that you ask not my name until such time as I shall ask you
of yours."


VI.

Messire Gawain would ask nought further of the knight, and the
knight entered into the Lonely Forest and Messire Gawain goeth on
his way.  He meeteth neither knight nor damsel to whom he telleth
not whom he goeth to seek, and they all say that he will be in
the Red Launde.  He lodged the night with a hermit.  At night,
the hermit asked Messire Gawain whence he came?

"Sir, from the land of the Queen of the Maidens."

"Have you seen Perceval, the Good Knight that took the shield in
King Arthur's court and left another there?"

"No, certes," saith Messire Gawain, "Whereof am I right
sorrowful.  But a knight with a shield of gold and a green cross
thereon told me that he would be at the Red Launde."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "you say true, for it was he himself to
whom you spake.  Tonight is the third night since he lay within
yonder, and see here the bracket he brought from King Arthur's
court, which he hath commanded me to convey to his uncle, King
Hermit."

"Alas!" saith Messire Gawain, "What ill chance is mine if this
be true!"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I ought not to lie, neither to you nor
other.  By the brachet may you well know that this is true."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Of custom beareth he no such
shield."

"I know well," saith the hermit, "what shield he ought to bear,
and what shield he will bear hereafter.  But this doth he that he
may not be known, and this shield took he in the hermitage of
Joseus, the son of King Hermit, there where Lancelot was lodged,
where he hanged the four thieves that would have broken into the
hermitage by night.  And within there hath remained the shield he
brought from King Arthur's court, with Joseus the son of my
sister, and they are as brother and sister between the twain, and
you may know of very truth that albeit Joseus be hermit, no
knight is there in Great Britain of his heart and hardiment."


VII.

"Certes," saith Messire Gawain, "It was sore mischance for me
that I should see him yesterday before the castle where the
knights pass by, and speak to him and ask him his name, but he
besought me that I should not ask him his name until such time as
he should ask me mine; and with that he departed from me and
entered into the forest, and I came hitherward.  Now am I so
sorrowful that I know not what I may do for the best, for King
Arthur sendeth me in quest of him, and Lancelot hath also gone to
seek him in another part of the kingdom of Logres.  But now hath
too great mischance befallen me of this quest, for twice have I
seen him and found him and spoken to him, and now have I lost him
again."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "He is so close and wary a knight, that
he is fain never to waste a word, neither will he make false
semblant to any nor speak word that he would not should be heard,
nor do shame of his body to his knowledge, nor carnal sin, for
virgin and chaste is he and doth never outrage to any."

"I know well," saith Messire Gawain, "that all the valours and
all the cleannesses that ought to be in a knight are in him, and
therefore am I the more sorrowful that I am not of them that he
knoweth, for a man is worth the more that hath acquaintance with
a good knight."


VIII.

Messire Gawain lay the night in the hermit's house, right
sorrowful, and in the morning departed when he had heard mass.
Josephus the good clerk witnesseth us in this high history that
this hermit had to name Josuias, and was a knight of great
worship and valour, but he renounced all for the love of God, and
was fain to set his body in banishment for Him.  And all these
adventures that you hear in this high record came to pass,
Josephus telleth us, for the setting forward the law of the
Saviour.  All of them could he not record, but only these whereof
he best remembered him, and whereof he knew for certain all the
adventures by virtue of the Holy Spirit.  This high record saith
that Messire Gawain hath wandered so far that he is come into the
Red Launde whereas the assembly of knights should be held.  He
looketh and seeth the tents pitched and the knights coming from
all quarters.  The most part were already armed within and before
their tents.  Messire Gawain looketh everywhere, thinking to see
the knight he seeketh, but seemeth him he seeth him not, for no
such shield seeth he as he beareth.  All abashed is he thereof,
for he hath seen all the tents and looked at all the arms.  But
the knight is not easy to recognise, for he hath changed his
arms, and nigh enough is he to Messire Gawain, albeit you may
well understand that he knoweth it not.  And the tournament
assembleth from all parts, and the divers fellowships come the
one against other, and the melly of either upon other as they
come together waxeth sore and marvellous.  And Messire Gawain
searcheth the ranks to find the knight, albeit when he meeteth
knight in his way he cannot choose but do whatsoever a knight may
do of arms, and yet more would he have done but for his fainness
to seek out the knight.  The damsel is at the head of the
tournament, for that she would fain know the one that shall have
the mastery and the prize therein.

The knight that Messire Gawain seeketh is not at the head of the
fellowships, but in the thickest of the press, and such feats of
arms doth he that more may no knight do, and smiteth down the
knights about him, that flee from him even as the deer-hound
fleeth from the lion.

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "sith that they have lied to
me about the knight, I will seek him no more this day, but forget
my discontent as best I may until evening."

He seeth the knight, but knoweth him not, for he had a white
shield and cognisances of the same.  And Messire Gawain cometh to
him as fast as his horse may carry him, and the knight toward
Messire Gawain.  So passing stoutly they come together that they
pierce their shields below the boss.  Their spears were so tough
that they break not, and they draw them forth and come together
again so strongly that the spears wherewith they smote each other
amidst the breast were bended so that they unriveted the
holdfasts of their shields, and they lost their stirrups, and the
reins fly from their fists, and they stagger against the back
saddlebows, and the horses stumbled so as that they all but fell.
They straighten them in saddle and stirrup, and catch hold upon
their reins, and then come together again, burning with wrath and
fury like lions, and either smiteth on other with their spears
that may endure no longer, for the shafts are all to-frushed as
far as the fists in such sort that they that look on marvel them
much how it came to pass that the points had not pierced their
bodies.  But God would not that the good knights should slay each
other, rather would He that the one should know the true worth of
the other.  The habergeons safeguarded not their bodies, but the
might of God in whom they believed, for in them had they all the
valour that knight should have; and never did Messire Gawain
depart from hostel wherein he had lien, but he first heard mass
before he went if so he might, nor never found he dame nor damsel
discounselled whereof he had not pity, nor did he ever
churlishness to other knight, nor said nor thought it, and he
came, as you have heard, of the most holy lineage of Josephus and
the good King Fisherman.


IX.

The good knights were in the midst of the assembly, and right
wrathful was the one against the other, and they held their
swords naked and their shields on their arms and dealt each other
huge buffets right in the midst of the helms.  The most part of
the knights come to them and tell them that the assembly waiteth
for them to come thereunto.  They have much pains to part them
asunder, and then the melly beginneth again on all sides, and the
evening cometh on that parteth them at last.  And on this wise
the assembly lasted for two days.  The damsel that brought the
knight on a bier in a coffin, dead, prayed the assembly of all
the knights to declare which one of all the knights had done the
best, for the knight that she made be carried might not be buried
until such time as he were avenged.  And they say that the knight
of the white shield and the other with the shield sinople and the
golden eagle had done better than all the other, but, for that
the knight of the white shield had joined in the melly before the
other, they therefore would give him the prize; but they judged
that for the time that Messire Gawain had joined therein he had
not done worse than the other knight.  The damsel seeketh the
knight of the white shield among the knights and throughout all
the tents, but cannot find him, for already hath he departed. 
She cometh to Messire Gawain and saith: "Sir, sith that I find
not the knight of the white shield, you are he that behoveth
avenge the knight that lieth dead in the litter."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Do me not this shame, for it
hath been declared that the other knight hath better done herein
than I."


X.

"Damsel, well you know that no honour should I have thereof, were
I to emprise to do that whereof you beseech me, ~for you have
said that behoveth none to avenge him, save only that hath borne
him best at this assembly, and that is he of the white shield,
and, so God help me, this have I well felt and proven."


XI.

The damsel well understandeth that Messire Gawain speaketh
reason.

"Ha, Sir," saith she, "He hath already departed hence and gone
into the forest, and the most divers-seeming knight is he and the
best that liveth, and great pains shall I have or ever I find him
again."

"The best?" saith Messire Gawain; "How know you that?"

"I know it well," saith she, "for that in the house of King
Fisherman did the Graal appear unto him for the goodness of his
knighthood and the goodness of his heart and for the chastity of
his body.  But he forgat to ask that one should serve thereof,
whence hath sore harm befallen the land.  He came to the court of
King Arthur, where he took a shield that none ought to bear save
he alone.  Up to this time have I well known his coming and
going, but nought shall I know thereof hereafter for that he hath
changed the cognisance of his shield and arms.  And now am I
entered into sore pain and travail to seek him, for I shall not
have found him of a long space, and I came not to this assembly
save for him alone."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "You have told me tidings such as
no gladness have I thereof, for I also am seeking him, but I know
not how I may ever recognise him, for he willeth not to tell me
his name, and too often changeth he his shield, and well I know
that so I shall ever come in place where he hath changed his
cognisance, and he shall come against me and I against him, I
shall only know him by the buffets that he knoweth how to deal,
for never in arms have I made acquaintance with so cruel a
knight.  But again would I suffer sorer blows than I have
suffered yet, so only I might be where he is."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "What is your name?"

"Damsel," saith he, "I am called Gawain."

With that he commendeth the damsel to God, and goeth his way in
one direction and the damsel in another, and saith to herself
that Perceval is the most marvellous knight of the world, that so
often he discogniseth himself.  For when one seeth him one may
recognise him not.  Messire Gawain rideth amidst the forest, and
prayeth the Saviour lead him into such place as that he may find
Perceval openly, in such sort that he may have his acquaintance
and his love that so greatly he desireth.



BRANCH XIV.

TITLE I.

Herewithal the story is silent of Messire Gawain, and saith that
Lancelot seeketh Perceval in like manner as did Messire Gawain,
and rideth until that he cometh to the hermitage where he hanged
the thieves.  Joseus made right great joy of him.  He asked him
whether he knew any tidings of the son of the Widow Lady.

"I have seen him sithence that he came from King Arthur's court
but once only, and whither he is gone I know not."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I would see him right fain.  King Arthur
sendeth for him by me."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I know not when I may see him again,
for when once he departeth hence he is not easy to find."

Lancelot entereth the chapel with the hermit, and seeth the
shield that Perceval brought from King Arthur's court beside the
altar.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I see his shield yonder.  Hide him not
from me."

"I will not do so," saith the hermit.  "This shield, truly, is
his, but he took with him another from hence, of gold with a
green cross."

"And know you no tidings of Messire Gawain?"

"I have not seen Messire Gawain sithence tofore I entered into
this hermitage.  But you have fallen into sore hatred on account
of the four robbers that were knights whom you hanged.  For their
kinsmen are searching for you in this forest and in other, and
are thieves like as were the others, and they have their hold in
this forest, wherein they bestow their robberies and plunder.
Wherefore I pray you greatly be on your guard against them."

"So will I," saith Lancelot, "please God."

He lay the night in the hermitage, and departeth on the morrow
after that he hath heard mass and prayeth God grant he may find
Perceval or Messire Gawain.  He goeth his way amidst the strange
forests until that he cometh to a strong castle that was builded
right seemly.  He Looketh before him and seeth a knight that was
issued thereout, and was riding a great pace on a strong
destrier, and carded a bird on his fist toward the forest.


II.

When he saw Lancelot coming he drew up. "Sir," saith he, "Be
welcome."

"Good adventure to you," saith Lancelot.  "What castle is this?"

"Sir, it is the Castle of the Golden Circlet.  And I go to meet
the knights and dames that come to the castle, for this day is
the day ordained for the adoration of the Golden Circlet."

"What is the Golden Circlet?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir, it is the Crown of Thorns," saith the knight, "that the
Saviour of the world had on His head when He was set upon the
Rood.  Wherefore the Queen of this castle hath set it in gold and
precious stones in such sort that the knights and dames of this
kingdom come to behold it once in the year.  But it is said that
the knight that was first at the Graal shall conquer it, and
therefore is no strange knight allowed to enter.  But, so please
you, I will lead you to mine own hold that is in this forest."

"Right great thanks," saith Lancelot, "But as yet it is not time
to take lodging."

He taketh leave of the knight, and so departeth and looketh at
the castle, and saith that in right great worship should the
knight be held that by the valour of his chivalry shall conquer
so noble a hallow as is the Golden Circlet when it is kept safe
in a place so strong.  He goeth his way right amidst the forest,
and looketh forth before him and seeth coming the damsel that
hath the knight carried in the litter for the dead.

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Be welcome."

"Sir, God give you good adventure!  Sir," saith the damsel,
"Greatly ought I to hate the knight that slew this knight, for
that he hath forced me thus to lead him in this wise by fell and
forest.  So also ought I to mislike me much of the knight that it
standeth upon to avenge him, whom I may not find."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Who slew this knight?"

"Sir," saith she, "The Lord of the Burning Dragon."

"And who ought of right to avenge him?"

"Sir," saith she, "The knight that was in the Red Launde at the
assembly, that jousted with Messire Gawain, and had the prize of
the tournament."

"Did he better than Messire Gawain?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir, so did they adjudge him; for that he was a longer time in
the assembly."

"A good knight was he, then," saith Lancelot, "sith that he did
better than Messire Gawain!"

"By my head," saith the damsel, "You say true, for he is the Best
Knight of the World."

"And what shield beareth he?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "At the assembly he bore white arms, but
before that, he had arms of another semblance, and one shield
that he had was green, and one gold with a green cross."

"Damsel," saith he, "Did Messire Gawain know him?"

"Sir, not at all, whereof is he right sorrowful."

"Is he, then," saith he, "Perceval, the son of the Widow Lady?"

"By my head, you say true!"

"Ha, God!" saith Lancelot, "the more am I mazed how Messire
Gawain knew him not.  Damsel," saith he, "And know you
whitherward they are gone?"

"Sir," saith she, "I know not whither, nor have I any tidings,
neither or the one nor the other."

He departeth from the damsel and rideth until the sun was set. 
He found the rocks darkling and the forest right deep and
perilous of seeming.  He rode on, troubled in thought, and weary
and full of vexation.  Many a time Looketh he to right and to
left, and he may see any place where he may lodge.  A dwarf
espied him, but Lancelot saw him not.  The dwarf goeth right
along a by-way that is in the forest, and goeth to a little hold
of robber-knights that lay out of the way, where was a damsel
that kept watch over the hold.  The robbers had another hold
where was the damsel where the passing knights are deceived and
entrapped.  The dwarf cometh forthright to the damsel, and saith:
"Now shall we see what you will do, for see, here cometh the
knight that hanged your uncle grid your three cousins german."

"Now shall I have the best of him," saith she, "as for mine own
share in this matter, but take heed that you be garnished ready
to boot."

"By my head," saith the dwarf, "that will I, for, please God, he
shall not escape us again, save he be dead."

The damsel was of passing great beauty and was clad right
seemingly, but right treacherous was she of heart, nor no marvel
was it thereof, for she came of the lineage of robbers and was
nurtured on theft and robbery, and she herself had helped to
murder many a knight.  She is come upon the way, so that Lancelot
hath to pass her, without her kerchief.  She meeteth Lancelot and
saluteth him and maketh him right great joy, of semblant.

"Sir," saith she, "Follow this path that goeth into the forest,
and you will find a hold that my forefathers stablished for
harbouring of such knights as might be passing through the
forest.  The night is dark already, and if you pass on further no
hold will you find nearer than a score leagues Welsh."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Gramercy heartily of this that it
pleaseth you to say, for right gladly will I harbour me here, for
it is more than time to take lodging, and with you more willingly
than another."


III.

On this wise they go their way talking, as far as the hold. 
There was none therewithin save only the dwarf, for the five
robber knights were in their hold at the lower end of the forest.
The dwarf took Lancelot's horse, and stabled him, then went up
into the hall above, and gave himself up wholly to serving him. 

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Allow yourself to be disarmed, and have
full assurance of safety."

"Damsel," saith he, "Small trouble is it for me to wear mine
arms, and lightly may I abide it."

"Sir," saith she, "Please God, you shall nor lie armed within
yonder.  Never yet did knight so that harboured therein."

But the more the damsel presseth him to disarm, the more it
misliketh him, for the place seemeth him right dark and
foul-seeming, wherefore will he not disarm nor disgarnish
himself.

"Sir," saith she, "Meseemeth you are suspicious of something, but
no call have you to misdoubt of aught here within, for the place
is quite safe.  I know not whether you have enemies?"

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Never yet knew I knight that was loved
of everybody, yet sometimes might none tell the reason thereof."


IV.

Lancelot, so saith the story, would not disarm him, wherefore he
made the table be set, and sate thereat beside the damsel at
meat.  He made his shield and his helmet and spear be brought
into the hall.  He leant back upon a rich couch that was
therewithin, with his sword by his side, all armed.  He was weary
and the bed was soft, so he went to sleep.  Howbeit, the dwarf
mounteth on his horse that he had left still saddled, and goeth
his way to the other hold where the robbers were, all five, that
were Lancelot's mortal enemies.  The damsel remained all alone
with him that she hated of a right deadly hate.  She thought to
herself that gladly would she slay him, and that, so she might
compass it, she would be thereof held in greater worship of all
the world, for well she knew that he was a good knight, and that
one so good she had never slain.  She filched away the sword that
was at his side, then drew it from the scabbard, then looketh to
see where she may lightliest smite him to slay him.  She seeth
that his head is so covered of armour that nought appeareth
thereof save only the face, and she bethinketh her that one
stroke nor two on the helmet would scarce hurt him greatly, but
that and she might lift the skirt of his habergeon without
awakening him she might well slay him, for so might she thrust
the sword right through his heart.  Meanwhile, as she was
searching thus, Lancelot, that was sleeping and took no heed
thereof, saw, so it seemed him, a little cur-dog come
therewithin, and brought with him sundry great mongrel ban-dogs
that ran upon him on all sides, and the little cur bit at him
likewise among the others.  The ban-dogs held him so fast that he
might not get away from them.  He seeth that a greyhound bitch
had hold of his sword, and she had hands like a woman, and was
fain to slay him.  And it seemed him that he snatched the sword
from her and slew the greyhound bitch and the biggest and most
masterful of the ban-dogs and the little cur.  He was scared of
the dream and started up and awoke, and felt the scabbard of his
sword by his side, that the damsel had left there all empty, the
which he perceived not, and soon thereafter he fell on sleep
again.  The dwarf that had stolen his horse cometh to the robber
knights, and crieth to them, "Up, Sirs, and haste you to come and
avenge you of your mortal enemy that sent the best of your
kindred out of the world with such shame!  See, here is his horse
that I bring you for a token!" He alighteth of the horse, and
giveth him up to them.  Right joyous are the robbers of the
tidings he telleth them.  The dwarf bringeth them all armed to
the hold.


V.

Lancelot was awake, all scared of the dream he had dreamed.  He
seeth them enter within all armed, and the damsel crieth to them:
"Now will it appear," saith she, "what you will do!"

Lancelot hath leapt up, thinking to take his sword, but findeth
the scabbard all empty.  The damsel that held the sword was the
first of all to run upon him, and the five knights and the dwarf
set upon him from every side.  He perceived that it was his own
sword the damsel held, the one he prized above all other.  He
taketh his lance that was at his bed's head and cometh toward the
master of the knights at a great sweep, and smiteth him so
fiercely that he thrusteth him right through the body so that the
lance passeth a fathom beyond, and beareth him to the ground
dead.  His spear broke as he drew it back.  He runneth to the
damsel that held the sword, and wresteth it forth of her hands
and holdeth it fast with his arm right against his flank and
grippeth it to him right strait; albeit she would fain snatch it
again from him by force, whereat Lancelot much marvelled.  He
swingeth it above him, and the four knights come back upon him.
He thinketh to smite one with the sword, when the damsel leapeth
in between them, thinking to hold Lancelot fast, and thereby the
blow that should have fallen on one of the knights caught the
damsel right through the head and slew her, whereof he was right
sorrowful, howsoever she might have wrought against him.


VI.

When the four knights saw the damsel dead, right grieved were
they thereof.  And the dwarf crieth out to them: "Lords, now
shall it be seen how you will avenge the sore mischief done you.
So help me God, great shame may you have and you cannot conquer a
single knight."

They run upon him again on all sides, but maugre all their heads
he goeth thither where he thinketh to find his horse; but him
findeth he not.  Thereby well knoweth he that the dwarf hath made
away with him, wherefore he redoubled his hardiment and his wrath
waxed more and more.  And the knights were not to be lightly
apaid when they saw their lord dead and the damsel that was their
cousin.  Sore buffets they dealt him of their swords the while he
defended himself as best he might.  He caught the dwarf that was
edging them on to do him hurt, and clave him as far as the
shoulders, and wounded two of the knights right badly, and he
himself was hurt in two places; but he might not depart from the
house, nor was his horse there within, nor was there but a single
entrance into the hall.  The knights set themselves without the
door and guard the issue, and Lancelot was within with them that
were dead.  He sate himself down at the top of the hall to rest
him, for he was sore spent with the blows he had given and
received.  When he had rested himself awhile, he riseth to his
feet and seeth that they have sate them down in the entrance to
the hall.  He mounteth up to the windows and flingeth them down
them that were dead within through the windows.  Just then the
day appeared, fair and clear, and the birds began to sing amidst
the forest, whereof the hall was overshadowed.  He maketh fast
the door of the hall and barreth it and shutteth the knights
without; and they say one to the other and swear it, that they
will not depart thence until they have taken him or famished him
to death.  Little had Lancelot recked of their threats and he
might have had his horse at will, but he was not so sure of his
stroke afoot as a-horseback, as no knight never is.  Him thinketh
he may well abide the siege as long as God shall please, for the
hall was well garnished of meat in right great joints.  He is
there within all alone, and the four knights without that keep
watch that he goeth not, but neither wish nor will hath he to go
forth afoot; but, and he had had his horse, the great hardiment
that he hath in him would have made that he should go forth
honourably, howsoever they without might have taken it and what
grievance soever they might have had thereof.



BRANCH XV.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Lancelot, and talketh of Messire
Gawain that goeth to seek Perceval, and is right heavy for that
twice hath he found him when he knew him not.  He cometh back
again to the cross whereas he told Lancelot he would await him so
he should come thither before him.  He went and came to and fro
by the forest more than eight days to wait for him, but could
hear no tidings.  He would not return to King Arthur's court, for
had he gone thither in such case, he would have had blame
thereof.  He goeth back upon the quest and saith that he will
never stint therein until he shall have found both Lancelot and
Perceval.  He cometh to the hermitage of Joseus, and alighted of
his horse and found the young hermit Joseus, that received him
well and made full great joy of him.  He harboured the night
therewithin.  Messire Gawain asked him tidings of Perceval, and
the hermit telleth him he hath not seen him since before the
assembly of the Red Launde.

"And can you tell me where I may find him?" saith Messire Gawain. 

"Not I," saith the hermit, "I cannot tell you whereabout he is." 

While they were talking on this wise, straightway behold you a
knight coming that hath arms of azure, and alighteth at the
hermitage to lodge there.  The hermit receiveth him right gladly.
Messire Gawain asketh him if he saw a knight with white arms ride
amidst the forest.

"By my faith," saith the knight, "I have seen him this day and
spoken with him, and he asked me and I could tell him tidings of
a knight that beareth a shield of sinople with a golden eagle,
and I told him, no.  Afterward, I enquired wherefore he asked it,
and he made answer that he had jousted at him in the Red Launde,
nor never before had he found so sturdy assault of any knight,
wherefore he was right sorrowful for that he was not acquainted
with him, for the sake of his good knighthood."

"By my faith," saith Gawain, "The knight is more sorrowful than
he, for nought is there in the world he would gladlier see than
him."

The knight espieth Messire Gawain's shield and saith, "Ha, Sir,
methinketh you are he."

"Certes," saith Messire Gawain, "you say true.  I am he against
whom he jousted, and right glad am I that so good a knight smote
upon my shield, and right sorrowful for that I knew him not; but
tell me where I may find him?"


II.

"Sir," saith Joseus the Hermit, "He will not have gone forth from
this forest, for this is the place wherein he wonneth most
willingly, and the shield that he brought from King Arthur's
court is in this chapel."

So he showeth the shield to Messire Gawain that maketh great joy
thereof.

"Ha, Sir," saith the knight of the white arms, "Is your name
Messire Gawain?"

"Fair Sir," saith he, "Gawain am I called."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I have not ceased to seek you for a
long while past.  Meliot of Logres, that is your man, the son of
the lady that was slain on your account, sendeth you word that
Nabigant of the Rock hath slain his father on your account;
wherefore he challengeth the land that hath fallen to him; and
hereof he prayeth you that you will come to succour him as
behoveth lord to do to his liege man."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "Behoveth me not fail him
therein, wherefore tell him I will succour him so soon as I may;
but tell him I have emprised a business that I cannot leave but
with loss of honour until such time as it be achieved."

They lay the night at the hermitage until after mass was sung on
the morrow.


III.

The knight departed and Messire Gawain remained.  So when he was
apparelled to mount, he looketh before him at the issue of the
forest toward the hermitage, and seeth coming a knight on a tall
horse, full speed and all armed, and he bore a shield like the
one he saw Perceval bearing the first time.

"Sir," saith he, "Know you this knight that cometh there!"

"Truly, Sir, well do I know him.  This is Perceval whom you seek,
whom you so much desire to see!"

"God be praised thereof!" saith Messire Gawain, "Inasmuch as he
cometh hither."

He goeth afoot to meet him, and Perceval alighteth so soon as he
seeth him.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Right welcome may you be!"

"Good joy may you have," saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Make great joy of him!  this is Messire
Gawain, King Arthur's nephew."

"Thereof do I love him the better!" saith he. "Honour and joy
ought all they to do him that know him!"

He throweth his arms on his neck, and so maketh him great joy. 

"Sir," saith he, "Can you tell me tidings of a knight that was in
the Red Launde at the assembly of knights?"

"What shield beareth he?" saith Messire Gawain.

"A red shield with a golden eagle," saith Perceval.  "And more by
token, never made I acquaintance with any so sturdy in battle as
are he and Lancelot."

"Fair sir, it pleaseth you to say so," saith Messire Gawain. "In
the Red Launde was I at the assembly, and such arms bore I as
these you blazon, and I jousted against a knight in white arms,
of whom I know this, that all of knighthood that may be lodged in
the body of a man is in him."

"Sir," saith Perceval to Messire Gawain, "You know not how to
blame any man."

So they hold one another by the hands, and go into the hermitage. 

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "When you were in the court of King
Arthur for the shield that is within yonder, your sister was also
there, and prayed and besought the help of the knight that should
bear away the shield, as being the most discounselled damsel in
the world.  The King granted it her, and you bore away the
shield.  She asked your aid of the King as she that deemed not
you were her brother, and said that if the King failed of his
covenant, he would do great sin, whereof would he have much
blame.  The King was fain to do all he might to seek you, to make
good that he had said, and sent us forth in quest of you, so that
the quest lieth between me and Lancelot.  He himself would have
come had we been unwilling to go.  Sir, I have found you three
times without knowing you, albeit great desire had I to see you.
This is the fourth time and I know you now, whereof I make myself
right joyous; and much am I beholden to you of the fair lodging
your mother gave me at Camelot; but right sore pity have I of
her, for a right worshipful woman is she, and a widow lady and
ancient, and fallen into much war without aid nor comfort,
through the evil folk that harass her and reave her of her
castles.  She prayed me, weeping the while right sweetly, that
and if I should find you that are her son, I should tell you of
her plight, that your father is dead, and that she hath no
succour nor aid to look for save from you alone, and if you
succour her not shortly, she will lose her own one castle that
she holdeth, and must needs become a beggar, for of the fifteen
castles she wont to have in your father's time, she hath now only
that of Camelot, nor of all her knights hath she but five to
guard the castle.  Wherefore I pray you on her behalf and for
your own honour, that you will grant her herein of your counsel
and your valour and your might, for of no chivalry that you may
do may you rise to greater worship.  And so sore need hath she
herein as you hear me tell, nor would I that she should lose
aught by default of message, for thereof should I have sin and
she harm, and you yourself also, that have the power to amend it
and ought of right so to do!"

"Well have you delivered yourself herein," saith Perceval, "And
betimes will I succour her and our Lord God will."

"You will do honour to yourself," saith Messire Gawain.  "Thereof
will you have praise with God and worship with the world."

"Well know I," saith Perceval, "that in me ought she to have aid
and counsel as of right, and that so I do not accordingly, I
ought to have reproach and be blamed as recreant before the
world."


IV.

"In God's name," saith the hermit, "you speak according to the
scripture, for he that honoureth not his father and mother
neither believeth in God nor loveth Him."

"All this know I well," saith Perceval, "And well pleased am I to
be reminded thereof, and well know I also mine intent herein,
albeit I tell it to none.  But if any can tell me tidings of
Lancelot, right willingly shall I hear them, and take it kindly
of the teller thereof."

"Sir," saith Joseus, "It is but just now since he lay here
within, and asked me tidings of Messire Gawain, and I told him
such as I knew.  Another time before that, he lay here when the
robbers assailed us that he hanged in the forest, and so hated is
he thereof of their kinsfolk that and they may meet him, so they
have the might, he is like to pay for it right dear, and in this
forest won they rather than in any other.  I told him as much,
but he made light thereof in semblant, even as he will in deed
also if their force be not too great."

"By my head," saith Perceval, "I will not depart forth of this
forest until I know tidings of him, if Messire Gawain will pledge
himself thereto."

And Messire saith he desireth nothing better, sith that he hath
found Perceval, for he may not be at ease until such time as he
shall know tidings of Lancelot, for he hath great misgiving sith
that he hath enemies in the forest.


V.

Perceval and Messire Gawain sojourned that day in the forest in
the hermitage, and the morrow Perceval took his shield that he
brought from King Arthur's court, and left that which he brought
with him, and Messire Gawain along with him that made himself
right joyous of his company.  They ride amidst the forest both
twain, all armed, and at the right hour of noon they meet a
knight that was coming a great gallop as though he were all
scared.  Perceval asketh him whence he cometh, that he seemeth so
a-dread.

"Sir, I come from the forest of the robbers that won in this
forest wherethrough you have to pass.  They have chased me a full
league Welsh to slay me, but they would not follow me further for
a knight that they have beset in one of their holds, that hath
done them right sore mischief, for he hath hanged four of their
knights and slain one, as well as the fairest damsel that was in
the kingdom.  But right well had she deserved the death for that
she harboured knights with fair semblant and showed them much
honour, and afterward brought about their death and destruction,
between herself and a dwarf that she hath, that slew the
knights."

"And know you who is the knight?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Not I, for no leisure had I to ask him,
for sorer need had I to flee than to stay.  But I tell you that
on account of the meat that failed him in the hold wherein they
beset him, he issued forth raging like a lion, nor would he have
suffered himself be shut up so long but for two wounds that he
had upon his body; for he cared not to issue forth of the house
until such time as they were healed, and also for that he had no
horse.  And so soon as he felt himself whole, he ventured himself
against the four knights, that were so a-dread of him that they
durst not come a-nigh.  And moreover he deigneth not to go
a-foot, wherefore if they now come a-nigh, it may not be but he
shall have one at least out of their four horses, but they hold
them heedfully aloof."

"Sir," saith Perceval,"Gramercy of these tidings."

They were fain to depart from the knight, but said he: "Ha,
Lords, allow me so much as to see the destruction of this evil
folk that have wrought such mischief in this forest!  Sir" saith
he to Messire Gawain, "I am cousin to the Poor Knight of the
Waste Forest that hath the two poor damsels to sister, there
where you and Lancelot jousted between you, and when the knight
that brought you tidings thereof died in the night."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "These tidings know I well,
for you say true, and your company hold I right dear for the love
of the Poor Knight, for never yet saw I more courteous knight,
nor more courteous damsels, nor better nurtured, and our Lord God
grant them as much good as I would they should have."

Messire Gawain made the knight go before, for well knew he the
robbers' hold, but loath enough had he been to go thither, had
the knights not followed him behind.  Lancelot was issued forth
of the hold sword in hand, all armed, angry as a lion.  The four
knights were upon their horses all armed, but no mind had they
come a-nigh him, for sore dreaded they the huge buffets he dealt,
and his hardiment.  One of them came forward before the others,
and it seemed him shame that they might not vanquish one single
knight.  He goeth to smite Lancelot a great stroke of his sword
above in the midst of his head, nor did Lancelot's sword fail of
its stroke, for before he could draw back, Lancelot dealt him
such a blow as smote oft all of his leg at the thigh, so that he
made him leave the saddlebows empty.  Lancelot leapt up on the
destrier, and now seemed him he was safer than before.  The three
robber-knights that yet remained whole ran upon him on all sides
and began to press him of their swords in right sore wrath.
Thereupon behold you, the knight cometh to the way that goeth to
the hold and saith to Messire Gawain and Perceval, "Now may you
hear the dashing of swords and the melly."

Therewithal the two good knights smite horse with spur and come
thither where the three robber-knights were assailing Lancelot.
Each of the twain smiteth his own so wrathfully that they thrust
their spears right through their bodies and bear them to the
ground dead.  Howbeit the third knight was fain to flee, but the
knight that had come to show Messire Gawain the way took heart
and hardiment from the confidence of the good knights, and smote
him as he fled so sore that he pierced him with his spear to the
heart and toppled him to the ground dead.  And the one whose leg
Lancelot had lopped off was so trampled underfoot of the knights
that he had no life in him.


VI.

When Lancelot knew Perceval and Messire Gawain he made great joy
of them and they of him.

"Lancelot," saith Messire Gawain, "This knight that led us hither
to save your life is cousin to the Poor Knight of the Waste
Castle, the brother of the two poor damsels that lodged us so
well.  We will send him these horses, one for the knight that
shall be the messenger, and the two to the lord of the Waste
Castle, and this hold that we have taken shall be for the two
damsels, and so shall we make them safe all the days of their
life.  This, methinketh, will be well."

"Certes," saith Perceval, "you speak of great courtesy."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Messire Gawain hath said, and right
willingly will I grant him all his wish."

"Lords," saith the knight, "They have in this forest a hold
wherein the knights did bestow their plunder, for the sake
whereof they murdered the passers by.  If the goods remain there
they will be lost, for therein is so great store as might be of
much worth to many folk that are poverty-stricken for want
thereof."

They go to the hold and find right great treasure in a cave
underground, and rich sets of vessels and rich ornaments of cloth
and armours for horses, that they had thrown the one over another
into a pit that was right broad.

"Certes," saith he, "Right well hath it been done to this evil
folk that is destroyed!"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "in like manner would they have dealt with
me and killed me if they might; whereof no sorrow have I save of
the damsel that I slew, that was one of the fairest dames of the
world.  But I slew her not knowingly, for I meant rather to
strike the knight, but she leapt between us, like the hardiest
dame that saw I ever."

"Sirs," saith the knight, "Perceval and Lancelot, by the counsel
of Messire Gawain, granted the treasure to the two damsels,
sisters to the Poor Knight of the Waste Castle, whereupon let
them send for Joseus the Hermit and bid him guard the treasure
until they shall come hither."

And Joseus said that he would do so, and is right glad that the
robbers of the forest are made away withal, that had so often
made assault upon him.  He guarded the treasure and the hold
right safely in the forest; but the dread and the renown of the
good knights that had freed the forest went far and wide.  The
knight that led the three destriers was right joyfully received
at the Waste Castle; and when he told the message wherewith he
was charged by Messire Gawain, the Poor Knight and two damsels
made great joy thereof.  Perceval taketh leave of Messire Gawain
and Lancelot, and saith that never will he rest again until he
shall have found his sister and his widow mother.  They durst not
gainsay him, for they know well that he is right, and he prayeth
them right sweetly that they salute the King and Queen and all
the good knights of the court, for, please God, he will go see
them at an early day.  But first he was fain to fulfil the
promise King Arthur made to his sister, for he would not that the
King should be blamed in any place as concerning him, nor by his
default; and he himself would have the greater blame therein and
he succoured her not, for the matter touched him nearer than it
did King Arthur.


VII.

With that the Good Knight departeth, and they commend him to God,
and he them in like sort.  Messire Gawain and Lancelot go their
way back toward the court of King Arthur, and Perceval goeth
amidst strange forests until he cometh to a forest far away,
wherein, so it seemed him, he had never been before.  And he
passed through a land that seemed him to have been laid waste,
for it was all void of folk.  Wild beast only seeth he there,
that ran through the open country.  He entered into a forest in
this waste country, and found a hermitage in the combe of a
mountain.  He alighted without and heard that the hermit was
singing the service of the dead, and had begun the mass with a
requiem betwixt him and his clerk.  He looketh and seeth a pall
spread upon the ground before the altar as though it were over a
corpse.  He would not enter the chapel armed, wherefore he
hearkened to the mass from without right reverently, and showed
great devotion as he that loved God much and was a-dread.  When
the mass was sung, and the hermit was disarmed of the armour of
Our Lord, he cometh to Perceval and saluteth him and Perceval him
again.

"Sir," saith Perceval, "For whom have you done such service?
meseemed that the corpse lay therewithin for whom the service was
ordained."

"You say truth," saith the hermit. "I have done it for Lohot,
King Arthur's son, that lieth buried under this pall."

"Who, then, hath slain him?" saith Perceval.

"That will I tell you plainly," saith the hermit.


VIII.

"This wasted land about this forest wherethrough you have come is
the beginning of the kingdom of Logres.  There wont to be therein
a Giant so big and horrible and cruel that none durst won within
half a league round about, and he destroyed the land and wasted
it in such sort as you see. Lohot was departed from the land and
the court of King Arthur his father in quest of adventure, and by
the will of God arrived at this forest, and fought against
Logrin, right cruel as he was, and Logrin against him.  As it
pleased God, Lohot vanquished him; but Lohot had a marvellous
custom: when he had slain a man, he slept upon him.  A knight of
King Arthur's court, that is called Kay the Seneschal, was come
peradventure into this forest of Logres.  He heard the Giant roar
when Lohot dealt him the mortal blow.  Thither came he as fist as
he might, and found the King's son sleeping upon Logrin.  He drew
his sword and therewith cut off Lohot's head, and took the head
and the body and set them in a coffin of stone.  After that he
hacked his shield to pieces with his sword, that he should not be
recognised; then came he to the Giant that lay dead, and so cut
oft his head, that was right huge and hideous, and hung it at his
fore saddle-bow.  Then went he to the court of King Arthur and
presented it to him.  The King made great joy thereof and all
they of the court, and the King made broad his lands right freely
for that he believed Kay had spoken true.  I went," saith the
hermit, "on the morrow to the piece of land where the Giant lay
dead, as a damsel came within here to tell me with right great
joy.  I found the corpse of the Giant so big that I durst not
come a-nigh it.  The damsel led me to the coffin where the King's
son was lying.  She asked the head of me as her guerdon, and I
granted it to her willingly.  She set it forthwith in a coffer
laden with precious stones that was all garnished within of
balsams.  After that, she helped me carry the body into this
chapel and enshroud and bury it.


IX.

"Afterwards the damsel departed, nor have I never heard talk of
her since, nor do I make remembrance hereof for that I would King
Arthur should know it, nor for aught that I say thereof that he
should do evil to the knight; for right sore sin should I have
thereof, but deadly treason and disloyalty hath he wrought."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "This is sore pity of the King's son, that
he is dead in such manner, for I have heard witness that he ever
waxed more and more in great chivalry, and, so the King knew
thereof, Kay the Seneschal, that is not well-loved of all folk,
would lose the court for ever more, or his life, so he might be
taken, and this would be only right and just."

Perceval lay the night in the hermitage, and departed on the
morrow when he had heard mass.  He rideth through the forest as
he that right gladly would hear tidings of his mother, nor never
before hath he been so desirous thereof as is he now.  He heard,
at right hour of noon, a damsel under a tree that made greater
dole than ever heard he damsel make before.  She held her mule by
the reins and was alighted a-foot and set herself on her knees
toward the East.  She stretched her hands up toward heaven and
prayed right sweetly the Saviour of the World and His sweet
Mother that they would send her succour betimes, for that the
most discounselled damsel of the world was she, and never was
alms given to damsel to counsel her so well bestowed as it would
be upon her, for that needs must she go to the most perilous
place that is in the world, and that, save she might bring some
one with her, never would that she had to do be done.


X.

Perceval drew himself up when he heard the damsel bemoaning thus.
He was in the shadow of the forest so that she saw him not.  The
damsel cried out all weeping, "Ha, King Arthur, great sin did you
in forgetting to speak of my business to the knight that bare
away the shield from your court, by whom would my mother have
been succoured, that now must lose her castle presently save God
grant counsel herein; and so unhappy am I, that I have gone
through all the lands of Great Britain, yet may I hear no tidings
of my brother, albeit they say that he is the Best Knight of the
world.  But what availeth us his knighthood, when we have neither
aid nor succour thereof?  So much the greater shame ought he to
have of himself, if he love his mother, as she, that is the most
gentle lady that liveth and the most loyal, hath hope that, and
he knew, he would come thither.  Either he is dead or he is in
lands so far away that none may hear tidings of him.  Ha, sweet
Lady, Mother of Our Saviour, aid us when we may have no aid of
any other!  for if my lady mother loseth her castle, needs must
we be forlorn wanderers in strange lands, for so have her
brothers been long time; he that had the most power and valour
lieth in languishment, the good King Fisherman that the King of
Castle Mortal warreth on, albeit he also is my uncle, my mother's
brother, and would fain reave my uncle, that is his brother, of
his castle by his felony.  Of a man so evil my lady mother
looketh for neither aid nor succour.  And the good King Pelles
hath renounced his kingdom for the love of his Saviour, and hath
entered into a hermitage.  He likewise is brother of my mother,
and behoveth him make war upon none, for the most worshipful
hermit is he of the world.  And all they on my father's side have
died in arms.  Eleven were there of them, and my father was the
twelfth.  Had they remained on live, well able would they have
been to succour us, but the knight that was first at the Graal
hath undone us, for through him our uncle fell in languishment,
in whom should have been our surest succour."


XI.

At this word Perceval rode forward, and the damsel heareth him.
She riseth up, and looketh backward and seeth the knight come,
the shield at his neck banded argent and azure, with a red cross.
She clasped her two hands toward heaven, and saith, "Ha, sweet
Lady that didst bear the Saviour of the World, you have not
forgotten me, nor never may be discounselled he nor she that
calleth upon you with the heart.  Here see I the knight come of
whom we shall have aid and succour, and our Lord God grant him
will to do His pleasure, and lend him courage and strength to
protect us!"

She goeth to meet him, and holdeth his stirrup and would have
kissed his foot, but he avoideth it and crieth to her: "Ill do
you herein, damsel!"  And therewith she melteth in tears of
weeping and prayeth him right sweetly.

"Sir," saith she, "Of such pity as God had of His most sweet
Mother on that day He took His death, when He beheld Her at the
foot of the cross, have pity and mercy of my lady mother and of
me.  For, and your aid fail us, we know not to whom to fly for
rescue, for I have been told that you are the Best Knight of the
world.  And for obtaining of your help went I to King Arthur's
court.  Wherefore succour us for pity's sake and God's and for
nought beside, for, so please you, it is your duty so to do,
albeit, had you been my brother that is also such a knight as
you, whom I cannot find, I might have called upon you of a
greater right.  Sir," saith she, "Do you remember you of the
brachet you had at the court waiting for you until such time as
you should come for the shield, and that went away with you, how
he would never make joy nor know any save me alone?  By this know
I well that if you knew the soreness of our need you would
succour us.  But King Arthur, that should have prayed you
thereof, forgat it."

"Damsel," saith he, "so much hath he done that he hath not failed
of his covenant with you, for he sent for me by the two best
knights of his court, and. so I may speed, so much will I do
herein as that God and he shall be well pleased thereof."


XII.

The damsel had right great joy of the knight that he should grant
her his aid, but she knew not he was her brother, or otherwise
she would have doubled her joy.  Perceval knoweth well that she
is his sister, but he would not yet discover himself and manifest
his pity outwardly.  He helpeth the damsel to mount again and
they rode on together.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Needs must I go to-night by myself to
the Grave-yard Perilous."

"Wherefore go you thither?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith she, "I have made vow thereof, and moreover a holy
hermit hath told me that the knight that warreth upon us may not
be overcome of no knight, save I bring him not some of the cloth
wherewith the altar in the chapel of the Grave-yard Perilous is
covered.  The cloth is of the most holiest, for our Lord God was
covered therewith in the Holy Sepulchre, on the third day when He
came back from death to life.  Nor none may enter the holy
grave-yard that bringeth another with him, wherefore behoveth me
go by myself, and may God save my life this night, for the place
is sore perilous, and so ought I greatly to hate him that hath
procured me this dolour and travail.  Sir," saith she, "You will
go your way toward the castle of Camelot: there is the Widow Lady
my mother, that awaiteth the return and the succour of the Good
Knight, and may you remember to succour and aid us when you shall
see how sore is our need of succour.


XIII.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "So God allow me I will aid you to the
utmost of my power."

"Sir," saith she, "See, this is my way, that is but little
frequented, for I tell you that no knight durst tread therein
without great peril and great dread.  And our Lord God have your
body in keeping, for mine own this night shall be in sore
jeopardy and hazard."

Perceval departeth from the damsel, his sister, and hath right
great pity for that she goeth in so perilous place all alone.
Natheless would he nor forbid her, for he knew well that she
might not go thither with him nor with other, sith that such was
the custom of the grave-yard that twain might not pass the
entrance, wherefore needs must one remain without.  Perceval was
not willing that his sister should break her vow, for never none
of his lineage did at any time disloyalty nor base deed
knowingly, nor failed of nought that they had in covenant, save
only the King of Castle Mortal, from whom he had as much evil as
he had good of the others.


XIV.

The damsel goeth her way all alone and all forlorn toward the
grave-yard and the deep of the forest, all dark and shadowy.  She
hath ridden until the sun was set and the night draweth nigh. 
She looketh before her and seeth a cross, high and wide and
thick.  And on this cross was the figure of Our Lord graven,
whereof is she greatly comforted.  She draweth nigh the cross,
and so kisseth and adoreth it, and prayeth the Saviour of the
world that was nailed on Holy Rood that He would bring her forth
of the burial-ground with honour.  The cross was at the entrance
of the grave-yard, that was right spacious, for, from such time
as the land was first peopled of folk, and that knights began to
seek adventure by the forest, not a knight had died in the
forest, that was full great of breadth and length, but his body
was borne thither, nor might never knight there be buried that
had not received baptism and had repented him not of his sins at
his death.


XV.

Thereinto entered the damsel all alone, and found great multitude
of tombs and coffins.  Nor none need wonder whether she had
shuddering and fear, for such place must needs be dreadful to a
lonely damsel, there where lay so many knights that had been
slain in arms.  Josephus the good clerk witnesseth us that within
the grave-yard might no evil spirit meddle, for that Saint Andrew
the apostle had blessed it with his hand.  But never might no
hermit remain within for the evil things that appeared each night
all round about, that took the shapes of the knights that were
dead in the forest, wherof the bodies lay not in the blessed
burial-ground.


XVI.

The damsel beholdeth their sepulchres all round about the grave-
yard whereinto she was come.  She seeth them surrounded of
knights, all black, and spears had they withal, and came one
against another, and made such uproar and alarm as it seemed all
the forest resounded thereof.  The most part held swords all red
as of fire, and ran either upon other, and gashed one another's
hands and feet and nose and face.  And great was the clashing
they made, but they could not come a-nigh the grave-yard.  The
damsel seeth them, and hath such affright thereof that she nigh
fell to the ground in a swoon.  The mule whereon she sate draweth
wide his nostrils and goeth in much fear.  The damsel signeth her
of the cross and commendeth her to the Saviour and to His sweet
Mother.  She looketh before her to the head of the grave-yard,
and seeth the chapel, small and ancient.  She smiteth her mule
with her whip, and cometh thitherward and alighteth.  She entered
therewithin and found a great brightness of light.  Within was an
image of Our Lady, to whom she prayeth right sweetly that She
will preserve her senses and her life and enable her to depart in
safety from this perilous place.  She seeth above the altar the
most holy cloth for the which she was come thither, that was
right ancient, and a smell came thereof so sweet and glorious
that no sweetness of the world might equal it.  The damsel cometh
toward the altar thinking to take the cloth, but it goeth up into
the air as if the wind had lifted it, and was so high that she
might not reach it above an ancient crucifix that was there
within.

"Ha, God!" saith the damsel, "It is for my sin and my disloyalty
that this most holy cloth thus draweth itself away from me!"


XVII.

"Fair Father God, never did I evil to none, nor never did I shame
nor sinned deadly in myself, nor never wrought against your will,
so far as in me lay, but rather do I serve you and love and fear
you and your sweet Mother; and all the tribulation I receive,
accept I in patience for your love, for well I know that such is
your pleasure, nor have I no will to set myself against nought
that pleaseth you.


XVIII.

"When it shall please you, you will release me and my mother of
the grief and tribulation wherein we are.  For well you know that
they have reaved her of her castles by wrong, and of her land,
for that she is a Widow Lady without help.  Lord, you who have
all the world at your mercy and do your commandment in all
things, grant me betimes to hear tidings of my brother and he be
on live, for sore need have we of him.  And so lend force to the
knight and power against all our enemies, that for your love and
for pity is fain to succour and aid my mother that is sore
discounselled.  Lord, well might it beseem you to remember of
your pity and the sweetness that is in you, and of compassion
that she hath been unrighteously disherited, and that no succour
nor aid nor counsel hath she, save of you alone.  You are her
affiance and her succour, and therefore ought you to remember
that the good knight Joseph of Abarimacie, that took down your
Body when it hung upon the rood, was her own uncle.  Better loved
he to take down your Body than all the gold and all the fee that
Pilate might give him.  Lord, good right of very truth had he so
to do, for he took you in his arms beside the rood, and laid your
Body in the holy sepulchre, wherein were you covered of the
sovran cloth for the which have I come in hither.  Lord, grant it
be your pleasure that I may have it, for love of the knight by
whom it was set in this chapel; sith that I am of his lineage it
ought well to manifest itself in this sore need, so it come
according to your pleasure."

Forthwith the cloth came down above the altar, and she
straightway found taken away therefrom as much as it pleased Our
Lord she should have.  Josephus telleth us of a truth, that never
did none enter into the chapel that might touch the cloth save
only this one damsel.  She set her face to it and her mouth or
ever the cloth removed.


XIX.

Thereafter, she took the piece that God would and set it near
herself full worshipfully, but still the stout went on of the
evil spirits round about the church-yard, and they dealt one
another blows so sore that all the forest resounded thereof, and
it seemed that it was all set on fire of the flame that issued
from them.  Great fear would the damsel have had of them, had she
not comforted herself in God and in His dear, sweet Mother, and
the most holy cloth that was within there.  A Voice appeared upon
the stroke of midnight from above the chapel, and speaketh to the
souls whereof the bodies lie within the grave-yard: "How sore
loss hath befallen you of late, and all other whose bodies lie in
other hallowed church-yards by the forests of this kingdom!  For
the good King Fisherman is dead that made every day our service
be done in the most holy chapel there where the most Holy Graal
every day appeared, and where the Mother of God abode from the
Saturday until the Monday that the service was finished.  And now
hath the King of Castle Mortal seized the castle in such sort
that never sithence hath the Holy Graal appeared, and all the
other hallows are hidden, so that none knoweth what hath become
of the priests that served in the chapel, nor the twelve ancient
knights, nor the damsels that were therein.  And you, damsel,
that are within, have no affiance in the aid of strange knight in
this need, for succoured may you never be save of your brother
only!"


XX.

With that the Voice is still, and a wailing and a lamentation
goeth up from the bodies that lay in the church-yard, so dolorous
that no man is there in the world but should have pity thereof,
and all the evil spirits that were without departed groaning and
making so mighty uproar at their going away that it seemed the
earth trembled.  The damsel heard the tidings of her uncle that
was dead, and fell on the ground in a swoon, and when she raised
herself, took on to lament and cried: "Ha, God!  Now have we lost
the most comfort and the best friend that we had, and hereof am I
again discomforted that I may not be succoured in this my next
need by the Good Knight of whom I thought to have succour and
aid, and that was so fain to render it.  Now shall I know not
what to ask of him, for he would grant it right willingly, and
may God be as pleased with him thereof as if he had done it."

The damsel was in sore misdoubting and dismay, for she knew not
who the knight was, and great misgiving had she of her uncle's
death and right sore sorrow.  She was in the chapel until it was
day, and then commended herself to God and departed and mounted
on her mule and issued forth of the church-yard full speed, all
alone.


XXI.

The story saith that the damsel went her way toward her mother's
castle as straight as she might, but sore dismayed was she of the
Voice that had told her she might not be succoured save of her
brother alone.  She hath ridden so far of her journeys that she
is come to the Valley of Camelot, and seeth her mother's castle
that was surrounded of great rivers, and seeth Perceval, that was
alighted under the shadow of a tree at the top of the forest in
order that he might behold his mother's castle, whence he went
forth squire what time he slew the Knight of the Red Shield. 
When he had looked well at the castle and the country round
about, much pleasure had he thereof, and mounted again forthwith.
Thereupon, behold you, the damsel cometh.

"Sir," saith she, "In sore travail and jeopardy have I been
sithence that last I saw you, and tidings have I heard as bad as
may be, and right grievous for my mother and myself.  For King
Fisherman mine uncle is dead, and another of my uncles, the King
of Castle Mortal, hath seized his castle, albeit my lady mother
ought rather to have it, or I, or my brother."

"Is it true " saith Perceval, "that he is dead?"

"Yea, certes, Sir, I know it of a truth."

"So help me God!" saith he, "This misliketh me right sore.  I
thought not that he would die so soon, for I have not been to see
him of a long time."


XXII.

"Sir," saith she, "I am much discomforted as concerning you, for
I have likewise been told that no force nor aid of any knight may
avail to succour nor aid me from this day forward save my
brother's help alone.  Wherefore, and it be so, we have lost all,
for my lady mother hath respite to be in her castle only until
the fifteenth day from to-day, and I know not where to seek my
brother, and the day is so nigh as you hear.  Now behoveth us do
the best we may and abandon this castle betimes, nor know I any
refuge that we now may have save only King Pelles in the
hermitage.  I would fain that my lady mother were there, for he
would not fail us."

Perceval is silent, and hath great pity in his heart of this that
the damsel saith.  She followeth him weeping, and pointeth out to
him the Valleys of Camelot and the castles that were shut in by
combes and mountains, and the broad meadow-lands and the forest
that girded them about.

"Sir," saith she, "All this hath the Lord of the Moors reaved of
my lady mother, and nought coveteth he so much as to have this
castle, and have it he will, betimes."


XXIII.

When they had ridden until that they drew nigh the castle, the
Lady was at the windows of the hall and knew her daughter.

"Ha, God!" saith the Lady, "I see there my daughter coming, and a
knight with her.  Fair Father God, grant of your pleasure that it
be my son, for and it be not he, I have lost my castle and mine
heirs are disherited."

Perceval cometh nigh the castle in company with his sister, and
knoweth again the chapel that stood upon four columns of marble
between the forest and the castle, there where his father told
him how much ought he to love good knights, and that none earthly
thing might be of greater worth, and how none might know yet who
lay in the coffin until such time as the Best Knight of the world
should come thither, but that then should it be known.  Perceval
would fain have passed by the chapel, but the damsel saith to
him: "Sir, no knight passeth hereby save he go first to see the
coffin within the chapel."

He alighteth and setteth the damsel to the ground, and layeth
down his spear and shield and cometh toward the tomb, that was
right fair and rich.  He set his hand above it.  So soon as he
came nigh, the sepulchre openeth on one side, so that one saw him
that was within the coffin.  The damsel falleth at his feet for
joy.  The Lady had a custom such that every time a knight stopped
at the coffin she made the five ancient knights that she had with
her in the castle accompany her, wherein they would never fail
her, and bring her as far as the chapel.  So soon as she saw the
coffin open and the joy her daughter made, she knew that it was
her son, and ran to him and embraced him and kissed him and began
to make the greatest joy that ever lady made.


XXIV.

"Now know I well," saith she, "that our Lord God hath not
forgotten me.  Sith that I have my son again, the tribulations
and the wrongs that have been done me grieve me not any more.
Sir," saith she to her son, "Now is it well known and proven that
you are the Best Knight of the world!  For otherwise never would
the coffin have opened, nor would any have known who he is that
you now see openly."

She maketh her chaplain take certain letters that were sealed
with gold in the coffin.  He looketh thereat and readeth, and
then saith that these letters witness of him that lieth in the
coffin that he was one of them that helped to un-nail Our Lord
from the cross.  They looked beside him and found the pincers all
bloody wherewith the nails were drawn, but they might not take
them away, nor the body, nor the coffin, according as Josephus
telleth us, for as soon as Perceval was forth of the chapel, the
coffin closed again and joined together even as it was before.
The Widow Lady led her son with right great joy into her castle,
and recounted to him all the shame that had been done her, and
also how Messire Gawain had made safe the castle for a year by
his good knighthood.


XXV.

"Fair son," saith she, "Now is the term drawn nigh when I should
have lost my castle and you had not come.  But now know I well
that it shall be safe-guarded of you.  He that coveteth this
castle is one of the most outrageous knights on live.  And he
hath reaved me of my land and the Valleys of Camelot without
reasonable occasion.  But, please God, you shall well repair the
harm he hath done you, for nought claim I any longer of the land
since you are come.  But so avenge your shame as to increase your
honour, for none ought to allow his right to be minished of an
evil man, and the mischiefs that have been done me for that I had
no aid, let them not wax cold in you, for a shame done to one
valiant and strong ought not to wax cold in him, but rankle and
prick in him, so ought he to have his enemies in remembrance
without making semblant, but so much as he shall show in his
cheer and making semblant and his menaces, so much ought he to
make good in deed when he shall come in place.  For one cannot do
too much hurt to an enemy, save only one is willing to let him be
for God's sake.  But truth it is that the scripture saith, that
one ought not to do evil to one's enemies, but pray God that He
amend them.  I would fain that our enemies were such that they
might amend toward us, and that they would do as much good to us
without harming themselves as they have done evil, on condition
that mine anger and yours were foregone against them.  Mine own
anger I freely forbear against them so far forth as concerneth
myself, for no need have I to wish evil to none, and Solomon
telleth how the sinner that curseth other sinner curseth himself
likewise.


XXVI.

"Fair son, this castle is yours, and this land round about
whereof I have been reft ought to be yours of right, for it
falleth to you on behalf of your father and me.  Wherefore send
to the Lord of the Moors that hath reft it from me, that he
render it to you.  I make no further claim, for I pass it on to
you; for nought have I now to do with any land save only so much
as will be enough wherein to bury my body when I die, nor shall I
now live much longer since King Fisherman my brother is dead,
whereof right sorrowful am I at heart, and still more sorrowful
should I be were it not for your coming.  And, son, I tell you
plainly that you have great blame of his death, for you are the
knight through whom he fell first into languishment, for now at
last I know well that and if you had afterwards gone back and so 
made the demand that you made not at the first, he would have
come back to health.  But our Lord God willed it so to be,
wherefore well beseemeth us to yield to His will and pleasure." 


XXVII.

Perceval hath heard his mother, but right little hath he answered
her, albeit greatly is he pleased with whatsoever she hath said.
His face is to-flushed of hardiment, and courage hath taken hold
on him.  His mother looketh at him right fainly, and hath him
disarmed and apparelled in a right rich robe.  So comely a knight
was he that in all the world might not be found one of better
seeming nor better shapen of body.  The Lord of the Moors, that
made full certain of having his mother's castle, knew of
Perceval's coming.  He was not at all dismayed in semblant, nor
would he stint to ride by fell nor forest, and every day he
weened in his pride that the castle should be his own at the hour
and the term he had set thereof.  One of the five knights of the
Widow Lady was one day gone into the Lonely Forest after hart and
hind, and had taken thereof at his will.  He was returning back
to the castle and the huntsmen with him, when the Lord of the
Moors met him and told him he had done great hardiment in
shooting with the bow in the forest, and the knight made answer
that the forest was not his of right, but the Lady's of Camelot
and her son's that had repaired thither.


XXVIII.

The Lord of the Moors waxed wroth.  He held a sword in his hand
and thrust him therewith through the body and slew him.  The
knight was borne dead to the castle of Camelot before the Widow
Lady and her son.

"Fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "More presents of such-like
kind the Lord of the Moors sendeth me than I would.  Never may he
be satisfied of harming my land and shedding the blood of the
bodies of my knights.  Now may you well know how many a hurt he
hath done me sithence that your father hath been dead and you
were no longer at the castle, sith that this hath he done me even
now that you are here.  You have the name of Perceval on this
account, that tofore you were born, he had begun to reave your
father of the Valleys of Camelot, for your father was an old
knight and all his brethren were dead, and therefore he gave you
this name in baptism, for that he would remind you of the
mischief done to him and to you, and that you might help to
retrieve it and you should have the power."

The Dame maketh shroud the knight, for whom she is full
sorrowful, and on the morrow hath mass sung and burieth him.
Perceval made arm two of the old knights with him, then issued
forth of the castle and entered the great dark forest.  He rode
until he came before a castle, and met five knights that issued
forth all armed.  He asked whose men they were.  They answer, the
Lord's of the Moors, and that he goeth seek the son of the Widow
Lady that is in the forest.

"If we may deliver him up to our lord, good guerdon shal we have
thereof."

"By my faith," saith Perceval, "You have not far to seek.  I am
here!


XXIX.

Perceval smiteth his horse of his spurs and cometh to the first
in such sort that he passeth his spear right through his body and
beareth him to the ground dead.  The other two knights each smote
his man so that they wounded them in the body right sore.  The
other two would fain have fled, but Perceval preventeth them, and
they gave themselves up prisoners for fear of death.  He bringeth
all four to the castle of Camelot and presenteth them to his lady
mother.

"Lady," saith he, "see here the quittance for your knight that
was slain, and the fifth also remaineth lying on the piece of
ground shent in like manner as was your own."

"Fair son," saith she, "I should have better loved peace after
another sort, and so it might be."

"Lady," saith he, "Thus is it now.  One ought to make war against
the warrior, and be at peace with the peaceable."

The knights are put in prison.  The tidings are come to the Lord
of the Moors that the son of the Widow Lady hath slain one of his
knights and carried off four to prison.  Thereof hath he right
great wrath at heart, and sweareth and standeth to it that never
will he be at rest until he shall have either taken or slain him,
and that, so there were any knight in his land that would deliver
him up, he would give him one of the best castles in his country.
The more part are keen to take Perceval.  Eight came for that
intent before him all armed in the forest of Camelot, and hunted
and drove wild deer in the purlieus of the forest so that they of
the castle saw them.


XXX.

Perceval was in his mother's chapel, where he heard mass; and
when the mass was sung, his sister said: "Fair brother, see here
the most holy cloth that I brought from the chapel of the
Grave-yard Perilous.  Kiss it and touch it with your face, for a
holy hermit told me that never should our land be conquered back
until such time as you should have hereof."

Perceval kisseth it, then toucheth his eyes and face therewith.
Afterward he goeth to arm him, and the four knights with him;
then he issueth forth of the chamber and mounteth on his horse,
then goeth out of the gateway like a lion unchained.  He sitteth
on a tall horse all covered.  He cometh nigh the eight knights
that were all armed, man and horse, and asketh them what folk
they be and what they seek, and they say that they are enemies of
the Widow Lady and her son.

"Then you do I defy!" saith Perceval.

He cometh to them a great run, and the four knights with him, and
each one overthroweth his own man so roughly that either he is
wounded in his body or maimed of arm or leg.  The rest held the
melly to the utmost they might endure.  Perceval made take them
and bring to the castle, and the other five that they had
overthrown.  The Lord of the Moors was come to shoot with a bow,
and he heard the noise of the knights, and cometh thitherward a
great gallop all armed.

"Sir," saith one of the old knights to Perceval, "Look!  here is
the Lord of the Moors coming, that hath reft your mother of her
land and slain her men.  Of him will it be good to take
vengeance.  See, how boldly he cometh."

Perceval looketh on him as he that loveth him not, and cometh
toward him as hard as his horse may carry him, and smiteth him
right through the breast so strongly that he beareth to the
ground him and his horse together all in a heap.  He alighteth to
the ground and draweth his sword.

"How?" saith the Lord of the Moors, "Would you then slay me and
put me in worse plight than I am?"

"By my head," saith Perceval, "No, nor so swiftly, but I will
slay you enough, betimes!"

"So it seemeth you," saith the Lord of the Moors, "But it shall
not be yet!"

He leapeth up on his feet and runneth on Perceval, sword drawn,
as one that fain would harm him if he might.  But Perceval
defendeth himself as good knight should, and giveth such a buffet
at the outset as smiteth off his arm together with his sword. 
The knights that came after fled back all discomfited when they
saw their lord wounded.  And Perceval made lift him on a horse
and carry him to the castle and presenteth him to his mother. 

"Lady," saith he, "See here the Lord of the Moors!  Well might
you expect him eftsoons, sith that you were to have yielded him
up your castle the day after to-morrow!"


XXXI.

"Lady," saith the Lord of the Moors, "Your son hath wounded me
and taken my knights and myself likewise.  I will yield you up
your castle albeit I hold it mine as of right, on condition you
cry me quit."

"And who shall repay her," saith Perceval, "for the shame that
you have done her, for her knights that you have slain, whereof
never had you pity?  Now, so help me God, if she have mercy or
pity upon you, never hereafter will I trouble to come to her aid
how sore soever may be her need.  Such pity and none other as you
have had for her and my sister will I have for you.  Our Lord God
commanded in both the Old Law and the New, that justice should be
done upon man-slayers and traitors, and justice will I do upon
you that His commandment be not transgressed."

He hath a great vat made ready in the midst of the court, and
maketh the eleven knights be brought. H e maketh their heads be
stricken off into the vat and bleed therein as much blood as
might come from them, and then made the heads and the bodies be
drawn forth so that nought was there but blood in the vat.  After
that, he made disarm the Lord of the Moors and be brought before
the vat wherein was great abundance of blood.  He made bind his
feet and his hands right strait, and after that saith: "Never
might you be satisfied of the blood of the knights of my lady
mother, now will I satisfy you of the blood of your own knights!" 

He maketh hang him by the feet in the vat, so that his head were
in the blood as far as the shoulders, and so maketh him be held
there until that he was drowned and quenched.  After that, he
made carry his body and the bodies of the other knights and their
heads, and made them be cast into an ancient charnel that was
beside an old chapel in the forest, and the vat together with the
blood made he be cast into the river, so that the water thereof
was all bloody.  The tidings came to the castles that the son of
the Widow Lady had slain the Lord of the Moors and the best of
his knights.  Thereof were they in sore misgiving, and the most
part said that the like also would he do to them save they held
themselves at his commandment.  They brought him the keys of all
the castles that had been reft of his mother, and all the knights
that had before renounced their allegiance returned thereunto and
pledged themselves to be at his will for dread of death.  All the
land was assured in safety, nor was there nought to trouble the
Lady's joy save only that King Fisherman her brother was dead,
whereof she was right sorrowful and sore afflicted.


XXXII.

One day the Widow Lady sate at meat, and there was great plenty
of knights in the hall.  Perceval sate him beside his sister.
Thereupon, behold you the Damsel of the Car that came with the
other two damsels before the Widow Lady and her son, and saluted
them right nobly.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Good adventure may you have!"

"Sir," saith she, "You have speeded right well of your business
here, now go speed it elsewhere, for thereof is the need right
sore.  King Hermit, that is your mother's brother, sendeth you
word that, and you come not with haste into the land that was
King Fisherman's your uncle, the New Law that God hath stablished
will be sore brought low.  For the King of Castle Mortal, that
hath seized the land and castle, hath made be cried throughout
all the country how all they that would fain maintain the Old Law
and abandon the New shall have protection of him and counsel and
aid, and they that will not shall be destroyed and outlawed."

"Ha, fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "Now have you heard the
great disloyalty of the evil man that is my brother, whereof am I
right sorrowful, for that he is of my kindred."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Your brother nor my uncle is he no
longer, sith that he denieth God!  Rather is he our mortal enemy
that we ought of right to hate more than any stranger!"


XXXIII.

"Fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "I pray and beseech you that
the Law of the Saviour be not set aside in forgetfulness and
neglect there where you may exalt it, for better Lord in no wise
may you serve, nor one that better knoweth how to bestow fair
guerdon.  Fair son, none may be good knight that serveth Him not
and loveth Him.  Take heed that you be swift in His service nor
delay not for no intent, but be ever at His commandment alike at
eventide as in the morning, so shall you not bely your lineage.
And the Lord God grant you good intent therein and good will to
go on even as you have begun."

The Widow Lady, that much loved her son, riseth up from the
tables, and all the other knights, and seemeth it that she is
Lady of her land in such sort as that never was she better.  But
full often doth she give thanks to the Saviour of the World with
her whole heart, and prayeth Him of His pleasure grant her son
length of life for the amendment both of soul and body.  Perceval
was with his mother of a long space, and with his sister, and was
much feared and honoured of all the knights of the land, alike
for his great wisdom and great pains-taking, as well as for the
valour of his knighthood.



BRANCH XVI.

TITLE I.

This High History saith that Messire Gawain and Lancelot were
repaired to the court of King Arthur from the quest they had
achieved.  The King made great joy thereof and the Queen.  King
Arthur sate one day at meat by the side of the Queen, and they
had been served of the first meats.  Thereupon come two knights
all armed, and each bore a dead knight before him, and the
knights were still armed as they had been when their bodies were
alive.

"Sir," say the knights, "This shame and this mischief is yours.
In like manner will you lose all your knights betimes and God
love you not well enough to give counsel herein forthwith of his
mercy."

"Lords," saith the King, "How came these knights to be in so evil
case?"

"Sir," say they, "It is of good right you ought to know.  The
Knight of the Fiery Dragon is entered into the head of your land,
and is destroying knights and castles and whatsoever he may lay
hands on, in such sort that none durst contend against him, for
he is taller by a foot than any knight ever you had, and of
grisly cheer, and so is his sword three times bigger than the
sword of ever another knight, and his spear is well as heavy as a
man may carry.  Two knights might lightly cover them of his
shield, and it hath on the outer side the head of a dragon that
casteth forth fire and flame whensoever he will, so eager and
biting that none may long endure his encounter."


II.

"None other, how strong soever he be, may stand against him, and,
even as you see, hath he burnt and evil-entreated all other
knights that have withstood him."

"From what land hath come such manner of man?"

"Sir," say the knights, "He is come from the Giant's castle, and
he warreth upon you for the love of Logrin the Giant, whose head
Messire Kay brought you into your court, nor never, saith he,
will he have joy until such time as he shall have avenged him on
your body or upon the knight that you love best."

"Our Lord God," saith the King, "Will defend us from so evil a
man."

He is risen from the table, all scared, and maketh carry the two
dead knights to be buried, and the others turn back again when
they have told their message.  The King calleth Messire Gawain
and Lancelot and asketh them what he shall do of this knight that
is entered into his land?

"By my head, I know not what to say, save you give counsel
herein."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "We will go against him, so please you, I
and Messire Gawain between us."

"By my head," saith the King, "I would not let you go for a
kingdom, for such man as is this is no knight but a devil and a
fiend that hath issued from the borders of Hell.  I say not but
that it were great worship and prize to slay and conquer him, but
he that should go against him should set his own life in right
sore jeopardy and run great hazard of being in as bad plight as
these two knights I have seen."

The King was in such dismay that he knew not neither what to say
nor to do, and so was all the court likewise in such sort as no
knight neither one nor another was minded to go to battle with
him, and so remained the court in great dismay.



BRANCH XVII.

INCIPIT.

Here beginneth one of the master branches of the Graal in the 
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

Perceval had been with his mother as long as it pleased him.  He
hath departed with her good will and the good will of his sister,
and telleth them he will return into the land as speedily as he
may.  He entereth into the great Lonely Forest, and rideth so far
on his journeys that he cometh one day at the right hour of noon
into a passing fair launde, and seeth a forest.  He looketh
amidst the launde and seeth a red cross.  He looketh to the head
of the launde and seeth a right comely knight sitting in the
shadow of the forest, and he was clad in white garments and held
a vessel of gold in his hand.  At the other end of the launde he
seeth a damsel likewise sitting, young and gentle and of passing
great beauty, and she was clad in a white samite dropped of gold.
Josephus telleth us by the divine scripture that out of the
forest issued a beast, white as driven snow, and it was bigger
than a fox and less than a hare.  The beast came into the launde
all scared, for she had twelve hounds in her belly, that quested
within like as it were hounds in a wood, and she fled adown the
launde for fear of the hounds, the questing whereof she had
within her.  Perceval rested on the shaft of his spear to look at
the marvel of this beast, whereof he had right great pity, so
gentle was she of semblance, and of so passing beauty, and by her
eyes it might seem that they were two emeralds.  She runneth to
the knight, all affrighted, and when she hath been there awhile
and the hounds rend her again, she runneth to the damsel, but
neither there may she stay long time, for the hounds that are
within her cease not of their questing, whereof is she sore
adread.


II.

She durst not venture herself in the forest.  She seeth Perceval
and so cometh toward him for protection.  She maketh as though
she would lie down on his horse's neck, and he holdeth forth his
hands to receive her there so as that she might not hurt herself,
and evermore the hounds quested.  Howbeit the knight crieth out
to him, "Sir Knight, let the beast go and hold her not, for this
belongeth neither to you nor to other, but let her dree her
weird."

The beast seeth that no protection hath she.  She goeth to the
cross, and forthwith might the hounds no longer be in her, but
issued forth all as it were live hounds, but nought had they of
her gentleness nor her beauty.  She humbled herself much among
them and crouched on the ground and made semblant as though she
would have cried them mercy, and gat herself as nigh the cross as
she might.  The hounds had compassed her round about and ran in
upon her upon all sides and tore her all to pieces with their
teeth, but no power had they to devour her flesh, nor to remove
it away from the cross.


III.

When the hounds had all to-mangled the beast, they fled away into
the wood as had they been raging mad.  The knight and the damsel
came there where the beast lay in pieces at the cross, and so
taketh each his part and setteth the same on their golden
vessels, and took the blood that lay upon the earth in like
manner as the flesh, and kiss the place, and adore the cross, and
then betake them into the forest.  Perceval alighteth and setteth
him on his knees before the cross and so hisseth and adoreth it,
and the place where the beast was slain, in like manner as he had
seen the knight and damsel do; and there came to him a smell so
sweet of the cross and of the place, such as no sweetness may be
compared therewith.  He looketh and seeth coming from the forest
two priests all afoot; and the first shouteth to him: "Sir
Knight, withdraw yourself away from the cross, for no right have
you to come nigh it.": Perceval draweth him back, and the priest
kneeleth before the cross and adoreth it and boweth down and
kisseth it more than a score times, and manifesteth the most joy
in the world.  And the other priest cometh after, and bringeth a
great rod, and setteth the first priest aside by force, and
beateth the cross with the rod in every part, and weepeth right
passing sore.


IV.

Perceval beholdeth him with right great wonderment, and saith
unto him, "Sir, herein seem you to be no priest!  wherefore do
you so great shame?"

"Sir," saith the priest, "It nought concerneth you of whatsoever
we may do, nor nought shall you know thereof for us!"

Had he not been a priest, Perceval would have been right wroth
with him, but he had no will to do him any hurt.  Therewithal he
departeth and mounteth his horse and entereth the forest again,
all armed, but scarce had he ridden away in such sort or ever he
met the Knight Coward, that cried out to him as far as he could
see him, "Sir, for God's sake, take heed to yourself!"

"What manner man are you?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith he, "My name is the Knight Coward, and I am man of
the Damsel of the Car.  Wherefore I pray you for God's sake and
for your own valour that you touch me not."

Perceval looketh on him and seeth him tall and comely and
well-shapen and adroit and all armed upon his horse, so he saith
to him, "Sith that you are so coward, wherefore are you armed
thus?"

"Sir," saith he, "Against the evil intent of any knight of whom I
am adread, for such an one might haply meet me as would slay me
forthwith."


V.

"Are you so coward as you say?" saith Perceval.

"Yea," saith he, "And much more."

"By my head," saith he, "I will make you hardy.  Come now along
with me, for sore pity is it that cowardize should harbour in so
comely a knight.  I am fain that your name be changed speedily,
for such name beseemeth no knight."

"Ha, Sir, for God's sake, mercy!  Now know I well that you desire
to slay me!  No will have I to change neither my courage nor my
name!"

"By my head," saith Perceval, "Then will you die therefor,
betimes!"

He maketh him go before him, will he or nill he; and the knight
goeth accordingly with right sore grudging.  They had scarce
ridden away, when he heard in the forest off the way, two damsels
that bewailed them right sore, and prayed our Lord God send them
succour betimes.


VI.

Perceval cometh towards them, he and the knight he driveth before
him perforce, and seeth a tall knight all armed that leadeth the
damsels all dishevelled, and smiteth them from time to time with
a great rod, so that the blood ran down their faces.

"Ha, Sir Knight," saith Perceval, "What ask you of these two
damsels that you entreat so churlishly?"

"Sir," saith he, "They have disherited me of mine own hold in
this forest that Messire Gawain gave them."

"Sir," say they to Perceval, "This knight is a robber, and none
other but he now wonneth in this forest, for the other robber-
knights were slain by Messire Gawain and Lancelot and another
knight that came with them, and, for the sore suffering and
poverty that Messire Gawain and Lancelot saw in us aforetime, and
in the house of my brother in whose castle they lay, were they
fain to give us this hold and the treasure they conquered from
the robber-knights, and for this doth he now lead us away to slay
and destroy us, and as much would he do for you and all other
knights, so only he had the power."

"Sir Knight," saith Perceval, "Let be these damsels, for well I
know that they say true, for that I was there when the hold was
given them."

"Then you helped to slay my kindred," saith the knight, "And
therefore you do I defy!"

"Ha," saith the Knight Coward to Perceval, "Take no heed of that
he saith, and wax not wroth, but go your way!"

"Certes," saith Perceval, "This will I not do: Rather will I help
to challenge the honour of the damsels."


VII.

"Ha, Sir," saith the Knight Coward, "Never shall it be challenged
of me!"

Perceval draweth him back.  "Sir," saith he, "See here my
champion that I set in my place."

The robber knight moveth toward him, and smiteth him so sore on
the shield that he breaketh his spear, but he might not unseat
the Coward Knight, that sate still upright as aforehand in the
saddle-bows.  He 1ooketh at the other knight that hath drawn his
sword.  The Knight Coward 1ooketh on the one side and the other,
and would fain have fled and he durst.  But Perceval crieth to
him: "Knight, do your endeavour to save my honour and your own
life and the honour of these two damsels!"

And the robber-knight dealeth him a great buffet of his sword so
as that it went nigh to stun him altogether.  Howbeit the Coward
Knight moveth not.  Perceval looketh at him in wonderment and
thinketh him that he hath set too craven a knight in his place,
and now at last knoweth well that he spake truth.  The, robber-
knight smiteth him all over his body and giveth him so many
buffets that the knight seeth his own blood.

"By my head," saith he, "You have wounded me, but you shall pay
therefor, for I supposed not that you were minded to slay me!"

He draweth his sword, that was sharp and strong, and smiteth his
horse right sore hard of his spurs, and catcheth the knight with
his sword right in the midst of his breast with a sweep so strong
that he beareth him to the ground beside his horse.  He alighteth
over him, unlaceth his ventail and smiteth down his coif, then
striketh off his head and presenteth it to Perceval.

"Sir," saith he, "Here give I you of my first joust."

"By my head," said Perceval, "Right dearly love I this present!
Now take heed that you never again fall back into the cowardize
wherein you have been.  For it is too sore shame to a knight!"

"Sir," saith he, "I will not, but never should I have believed
that one could become hardy so speedily, or otherwise long ago
would I have become so, and so should I have had worship and
honour thereof, for many a knight hath held me in contempt
herein, that elsewise would have honoured me."

Perceval answereth that right and reason it is that worshipful
men should be more honoured than the other.

"I commend these two damsels to your protection, and lead them to
their hold in safety, and be at their pleasure and their will,
and so say everywhere that you have for name the Knight Hardy,
for more of courtesy hath this name than the other."

"Sir," saith he, "You say true, and you have I to thank for the
name."

The damsels give great thanks to Perceval, and take leave of him,
and so go their way with right good will toward the knight that
goeth with them on account of the knight he had slain, so that
thereof called they him the Knight Hardy.


VIII.

Perceval departeth from the place where the knight lieth dead,
and rideth until that he draweth nigh to Cardoil where King
Arthur was, and findeth the country round in sore terror and
dismay.  Much he marvelleth wherefore it may be, and demandeth of
some of the meaner sort wherefore they are in so sore affright.

"Doth the King, then, live no longer?"

"Sir," say the most part, "Yea, he is there within in this
castle, but never was he so destroyed nor so scared as he is at
this present.  For a knight warreth upon him against whom no
knight in the world may endure."

Perceval rideth on until he cometh before the master hall, and is
alighted on the mounting-stage.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain come
to meet him and make much joy of him, as do the King and Queen
and all they of the court; and they made disarm him and do upon
him a right rich robe.  They that had never seen him before
looked upon him right fainly for the worship and valour of his
knighthood.  The court also was rejoiced because of him, for sore
troubled had it been.  So as the King sate one day at meat, there
came four knights into the hall, and each one of them bore before
him a dead knight.  And their feet and arms had been stricken
off, but their bodies were still all armed, and the habergeons
thereon were all black as though they had been blasted of
lightning.  They laid the knights in the midst of the hall. 

"Sir," say they to the King, "Once more is made manifest this
shame that is done you that is not yet amended.  The Knight of
the Dragon destroyeth you your land and slayeth your men and
cometh as nigh us as he may, and saith that in your court shall
never be found knight so hardy as that he durst abide him or
assault him."

Right sore shame hath the King of these tidings, and Messire
Gawain and Lancelot likewise.  Right sorrowful are they of heart
for that the King would not allow them to go thither.  The four
knights turn back again and leave the dead knights in the hall,
but the King maketh them be buried with the others.


IX.

A great murmuring ariseth amongst the knights in the hall, and
the most part say plainly that they never heard tell of none that
slew knights in such cruel sort, nor so many as did he; and that
neither Messire Gawain nor Lancelot ought to be blamed for that
they went not thither, for no knight in the world might conquer
such a man and our Lord God did not, for he casteth forth fire
and flame from his shield whensoever him listeth.  And while this
murmur was going on between the knights all round about the hall,
behold you therewithal the Damsel that made bear the knight in
the horse-bier and cometh before the King.

"Sir," saith she, "I pray and beseech you that you do me right in
your court.  See, here is Messire Gawain that was at the assembly
in the Red Launde where were many knights, and among them was the
son of the Widow Lady, that I see sitting beside you.  He and
Messire Gawain were they that won the most prize of the assembly.
This knight had white arms, and they of the assembly said that he
had better done than Messire Gawain, for that he had been first
in the assembly.  It had been granted me, before the assembly
began, that he that should do best thereat, should avenge the
knight.  Sir, I have sought for him until I have now found him at
your court.  Wherefore I pray and beseech you that you bid him do
so much herein as that he be not blamed, for Messire Gawain well
knoweth that I have spoken true.  But the knight departed so soon
from the assembly, that I knew not what had become of him, and
Messire Gawain was right heavy for that he had departed, for he
was in quest of him, but knew him not."


X.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Truth it is that he it was that
did best at the assembly in the Red Launde, and moreover, please
God, well will he fulfil his covenant towards you."

"Messire Gawain," saith Perceval, "Meseemeth you did best above
all other."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "You speak of your courtesy,
but howsoever I or other may have done, you had the prize therein
by the judgment of the knights.  Of so much may I well call upon
the damsel to bear witness."

"Sir," saith she, "Gramercy!  He ought not to deny me that I
require of him.  For the knight that I have so long followed
about and borne on a bier was son of his uncle Elinant of
Escavalon."


XI.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Take heed that you speak truth.  I
know well that Elinant of Escavalon was mine uncle on my father's
side, but of his son know I nought."

"Sir," saith she, "Of his deeds well deserved he to be known, for
by his great valour and hardiment came he by his death, and he
had to name Alein of Escavalon.  The Damsel of the Circlet of
Gold loved him of passing great love with all her might.  The
comeliest knight that was ever seen of his age was he, and had he
lived longer would have been one of the best knights known, and
of the great love she had in him made she his body be embalmed
when the Knight of the Dragon had slain him, he that is so cruel
and maketh desolate all the lands and all the islands.  The
Damsel of the Circlet of Gold hath he defied in such sort that
already hath he slain great part of her knights, and she is held
fast in her castle, so that she durst not issue forth, insomuch
that all the knights that are there say, and the Lady of the
castle also, that he that shall avenge this knight shall have the
Circlet of Gold, that never before was she willing to part
withal, and the fairest guerdon will that be that any knight may
have."


XII.

"Sir," saith she, "Well behoveth you therefore, to do your best
endeavour to avenge your uncle's son, and to win the Circlet of
Gold, for, and you slay the knight, you will have saved the land
of King Arthur that he threateneth to make desolate, and all the
lands that march with his own, for no King hateth he so much as
King Arthur on account of the head of the Giant whereof he made
such joy at his court."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Where is the Knight of the Dragon?"

"Sir," saith she, "He is in the isles of the Elephants that wont
to be the fairest land and the richest in the world.  Now hath he
made it all desolate, they say, in such sort that none durst
inhabit there, and the island wherein he abideth is over against
the castle of the Damsel of the Golden Circlet, so that every day
she seeth him carry knights off bodily from the forest that he
slayeth and smiteth limb from limb, whereof hath she right sore
grief at heart."


XIII.

Perceval heareth this that the damsel telleth him, and marvelleth
much thereat, and taketh thought within himself, sith that the
adventure is thus thrown upon him, that great blame will he have
thereof and he achieveth it not.  He taketh leave of the King and
Queen, and so goeth his way and departeth from the Court. 
Messire Gawain departeth and Lancelot with him, and say they will
bear him company to the piece of ground, and they may go thither.
Perceval holdeth their fellowship right dear.  The King and Queen
have great pity of Perceval, and say all that never until now no
knight went into jeopardy so sore, and that sore loss to the
world will it be if there he should die.  They send to all the
hermits and worshipful men in the forest of Cardoil and bid them
pray for Perceval that God defend him from this enemy with whom
he goeth forth to do battle.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain go with
him by the strange forests and by the islands, and found the
forests all void and desolate and wasted in place after place.
The Damsel followeth them together with the dead knight.  And so
far have they wandered that they come into the plain country
before the forest.  So they looked before them and saw a castle
that was seated in the plain without the forest, and they saw
that it was set in a right fair meadow-land, and was surrounded
of great running waters and girdled of high walls, and had within
great halls with windows.  They draw nigh the castle and see that
it turneth all about faster than the wind may run, and it had at
the top the archers of crossbows of copper that draw their shafts
so strong that no armour in the world might avail against the
stroke thereof.  Together with them were men of copper that
turned and sounded their horns so passing loud that the ground
all seemed to quake.  And under the gateway were lions and bears 
chained, that roared with so passing great might and fury that
all the ground and the valley resounded thereof.  The knights
draw rein and look at this marvel.

"Lords," saith the damsel, "Now may you see the Castle of Great
Endeavour.  Messire Gawain and Lancelot, draw you back, and come
not nigher the archers, for otherwise ye be but dead men.  And
you, sir," saith she to Perceval, "And you would enter into this
castle, lend me your spear and shield, and so will I bear them
before for warranty, and you come after me and make such
countenance as good knight should, and so shall you pass through
into the castle.  But your fellows may well draw back, for now is
not the hour for them to pass.  None may pass thither save only
he that goeth to vanquish the knight and win the Golden Circlet
and the Graal, and do away the false law with its horns of
copper."


XIV.

Perceval is right sorrowful when he heareth the damsel say that
Messire Gawain and Lancelot may not pass in thither with him
albeit they be the best knights in the world.  He taketh leave of
them full sorrowfully, and they also depart sore grudgingly; but
they pray him right sweetly, so Lord God allow him escape alive
from the place whither he goeth, that he will meet them again at
some time and place, and at ease, in such sort as that they may
see him without discognisance.  They wait awhile to watch the
Good Knight, that hath yielded his shield and spear to the
damsel.  She hath set his shield on the bier in front, then
pointeth out to them of the castle all openly the shield that
belonged to the Good Soldier; after that she maketh sign that it
belongeth to the knight that is there waiting behind her.
Perceval was without shield in the saddle-bows, and holdeth his
sword drawn and planteth him stiffly in the stirrups after such
sort as maketh them creak again and his horse's chine swerve
awry.  After that, he looketh at Lancelot and Messire Gawain.

"Lords," saith he, "To the Saviour of the World commend I you." 

And they answer, "May He that endured pain of His body on the
Holy True Cross protect him in his body and his soul and his
life."

With that he smiteth with his spurs and goeth his way to the
castle as fast as his horse may carry him, -- toward the Turning
Castle.  He smiteth with his sword at the gate so passing
strongly that he cut a good three fingers into a shaft of marble.
The lions and the beast that were chained to guard the gate slink
away into their dens, and the castle stoppeth at once.  The
archers cease to shoot.  There were three bridges before the
castle that uplifted themselves so soon as he was beyond.


XV.

Lancelot and Messire Gawain departed thence when they had
beholden the marvel, but they were fain to go toward the castle
when they saw it stop turning.  But a knight cried out to them
from the battlements, "Lords, and you come forward, the archers
will shoot and the castle will turn, and the bridges be lowered
again, wherefore you would be deceived herein."

They draw back, and hear made within the greatest joy that ever
was heard, and they hear how the most part therewithin say that
now is he come of whom they shall be saved in twofold wise, saved
as of life, and saved as of soul, so God grant him to vanquish
the knight that beareth the spirit of the devil.  Lancelot and
Messire Gawain turn them back thoughtful and all heavy for that
they may not pass into the castle, for none other passage might
they see than this.  So they ride on, until that they draw nigh
the Waste City where Lancelot slew the knight.

"Ha," saith he to Messire Gawain, "Now is the time at hand that
behoveth me to die in this Waste City, and God grant not counsel
herein."

He told Messire Gawain all the truth of that which had befallen
him therein.  So, even as he would have taken leave of him,
behold you, the Poor Knight of the Waste Castle!


XVI.

"Sir," saith he to Lancelot, "I have taken respite of you in the
city within there, of the knight that you slew, until forty days
after that the Graal shall be achieved, nor have I issued forth
of the castle wherein you harboured you until now, nor should I
now have come forth had I not seen you come for fulfilling of
your pledge, nor never shall I come forth again until such time
as you shall return hither on the day I have named to you.  And
so, gramercy to you and Messire Gawain for the horses you sent
me, that were a right great help to us, and for the treasure and
the hold you have given to my sisters that were sore poverty-
stricken.  But I may not do otherwise than abide in my present
poverty until such time as you shall be returned, on the day
whereunto I have taken respite for you, sore against the will of
your enemies, for the benefits you have done me.  Wherefore I
pray yon forget me not, for the saving of your loyalty."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "That will I not, and gramercy for
having put off the day for love of me."

They depart from the knight and come back again toward Cardoil
where King Arthur was.



BRANCH XVIII.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Lancelot and Messire Gawain, and
saith that Perceval is in the Turning Castle, whereof Joseus
recounteth the truth, to wit, that Virgil founded it in the air
by his wisdom in such fashion, when the philosophers went on the
Quest of the Earthly Paradise, and it was prophesied that the
castle should not cease turning until such time as the Knight
should come thither that should have a head of gold, the look of
a lion, a heart of steel, the navel of a virgin maiden,
conditions without wickedness, the valour of a man and faith and
belief of God; and that this knight should bear the shield of the
Good Soldier that took down the Saviour of the World from hanging
on the rood.  It was prophesied, moreover, that all they of the
castle and all other castles whereof this one was the guardian
should hold the old law until such time as the Good Knight should
come, by whom their souls should be saved and their death
respited.  For, so soon as he should be come, they should run to
be baptized, and should firmly believe the new law.  Wherefore
was the joy great in the castle for that their death should now
be respited, and that they should be released of all terror of
the knight that was their foe, whom they dreaded even to the
death, and of the sin of the false law whereof they had
heretofore been attaint.


II.

Right glad is Perceval when he seeth the people of the castle
turn them to the holy faith of the Saviour, and the damsel saith
to him, "Sir, right well have you speeded thus far on your way;
nought is there now to be done save to finish that which
remaineth.  For never may they that are within issue forth so
long as the Knight of the Dragon is on live.  Here may you not
tarry, for the longer you tarry, the more lands will be desolate
and the more folk will he slay.  Perceval taketh leave of them of
the castle, that make much joy of him, but sore misgiving have
they of him on account of the knight with whom he goeth to do
battle, and they say that if he shall conquer him, never yet
befell knight so fair adventure.  They have heard mass before
that he departeth, and made rich offerings for him in honour of
the Saviour and His sweet Mother.  The damsel goeth before, for
that she knew the place where the evil knight had his repair.
They ride until they come into the Island of Elephants.  The
Knight was alighted under an olive tree, and had but now since
slain four knights that were of the castle of the Queen of the
Golden Circlet.  She was at the windows of her castle and saw her
Knights dead, whereof made she great dole.

"Ha, God," saith she, "Shall I never see none that may avenge me
of this evildoer that slayeth my men and destroyeth my land on
this wise?"

She looketh up and seeth Perceval come and the damsel.

"Sir Knight, and you have not force and help and valour in you
more than is in four knights, come not nigh this devil!  Howbeit,
and you feel that you may so do battle as to overcome and
vanquish him, I will give you the Golden Circlet that is within,
and will hold with the New Law that hath been of late
established.  For I see well by your shield that you are a
Christian, and, so you may conquer him, then ought I at last to
be assured that your law availeth more than doth ours, and that
God was born of the Virgin."


III.

Right joyous is Perceval of this that he heareth her say.  He
crosseth and blesseth him, and commendeth him to God and His
sweet Mother; and is pricked of wrath and hardiment like a lion.
He seeth the Knight of the Dragon mounted, and looketh at him in
wonderment, for that he was so big that never had he seen any man
so big of his body.  He seeth the shield at his neck, that was
right black and huge and hideous.  He seeth the Dragon's head in
the midst thereof, that casteth out fire and flame in great
plenty, so foul and hideous and horrible that all the field stank
thereof.  The damsel draweth her toward the castle and leaveth
the knight on the horsesaith.


IV.

"Sir," saith she to Perceval, "On this level plot was slain your
uncle's son whom here I leave, for I have brought him far enough.
Now avenge him as best you may, I render and give him over to
you, for so much have I done herein as that none have right to
blame me."

With that she departeth.  The Knight of the Dragon removeth and
seeth Perceval coming all alone, wherefore hath he great scorn of
him and deigneth not to take his spear, but rather cometh at him
with his drawn sword, that was right long and red as a burning
brand.  Perceval seeth him coming and goeth against him, spear in
rest, as hard as his horse may carry him, thinking to smite him
through the breast.  But the Knight setteth his shield between,
and the flame that issued from the Dragon burnt the shaft thereof
even to his hand.  And the Knight smiteth him on the top of his
helmet, but Perceval covereth him of his shield, whereof had he
great affiance that the sword of the foeman knight might not harm
it.  Josephus witnesseth us that Joseph of Abarimacie had made be
sealed in the boss of the shield some of the blood of Our Lord
and a piece of His garment.


V.

When the Knight seeth that he hath not hurt Perceval's shield,
great marvel hath he thereof, for never aforetime had he smitten
knight but he had dealt him his death-blow.  He turneth the head
of the Dragon towards Perceval's shield, but the flame that
issued from the Dragon's head turned back again as it had been
blown of the wind, so that it might not come nigh him.  The
Knight is right wroth thereof, and passeth beyond and cometh to
the bier of the dead knight and turneth his shield with the
dragon's head against him.  He scorcheth and burneth all to ashes
the bodies of the knight and the horses.

Saith he to Perceval, "Are you quit as for this knight's burial?"

"Certes," saith Perceval, "You say true, and much misliketh me
thereof, but please God I shall amend it."


VI.

The damsel that had brought the knight was at the windows of the
palace beside the Queen.  She crieth out. "Perceval, fair sir,"
saith the damsel,"Now is the shame the greater and the harm the
greater, and you amend them not."

Right sorrowful is Perceval of his cousin that is all burnt to a
cinder, and he seeth the Knight that beareth the devil with him,
but knoweth not how he may do vengeance upon him.  He cometh to
him sword-drawn, and dealeth him a great blow on the shield in
such sort that he cleaveth it right to the midst thereof where
the dragon's head was, and the flame leapeth forth so burning hot
on his sword that it waxed red-hot like as was the Knight's
sword.

And the damsel crieth to him: "Now is your sword of the like
power as his; now shall it be seen what you will do!  I have been
told of a truth that the Knight may not be vanquished save by one
only and at one blow, but how this is I may not tell, whereof
irketh me."

Perceval looketh and seeth that his sword is all in a flame of
fire, whereof much he marvelleth.  He smiteth the Knight so
passing sore that he maketh his head stoop down over the fore
saddle-bow.  The Knight righteth him again, sore wrath that he
may not put him to the worse.  He smiteth him with his sword a
blow so heavy that he cleaveth the habergeon and his right
shoulder so that he cutteth and burneth the flesh to the bone. 
As he draweth back his blow, Perceval catcheth him and striketh
him with such passing strength that he smiteth off his hand,
sword and all.  The Knight gave a great roar, and the Queen was
right joyous thereof.  The Knight natheless made no semblant that
he was yet conquered, but turneth back toward Perceval at a right
great gallop and launched his flame against his shield, but it
availeth him nought, for he might not harm it.  Perceval seeth
the dragon's head, that was broad and long and horrible, and
aimeth with his sword and thrusteth it up to the hilt into his
gullet as straight as ever he may, and the head of the dragon
hurleth forth a cry so huge that forest and fell resound thereof
as far as two leagues Welsh.


VII.

The dragon's head turneth it toward his lord in great wrath, and
scorcheth him and burneth him to dust, and thereafter departed up
into the sky like lightning.  The Queen cometh to Perceval, and
all the knights, and see that he is sore hurt in his right
shoulder.  And the damsel telleth him that never will he be
healed thereof save he setteth thereon of the dust of the knight
that is dead.  And they lead him up to the castle with right
great joy.  Then they make him be disarmed, and have his wound
washed and tended and some of the knight's dust that was dead set
thereon that it might have healing.  She maketh send to all the
knights of her land: "Lords," saith she, "See here the knight
that hath saved my land for me and protected your lives.  You
know well how it hath been prophesied that the knight with head
of gold should come, and through him should you be saved.  And
now, behold, hath he come hither.  The prophecy may not be
belied.  I will that you do his commandment."

And they said that so would they do right willingly.  She
bringeth him there where the Circlet of Gold is, and she herself
setteth it on his head.  After that, she bringeth his sword and
delivereth it unto him, wherewith he had slain the giant devil,
both the knight that bare the devil, and the devil that the
knight bare in his shield.


VIII.

"Sir," saith she, "May all they that will not go to be baptized,
nor accept your New Law, be slain of this your sword, and hereof
I make you the gift."

She herself made her be held up and baptized first, and all the
other after.  Josephus maketh record that in right baptism she
had for name Elysa, and a good life she led and right holy, and
she died a virgin.  Her body still lieth in the kingdom of
Ireland, where she is highly honoured.  Perceval was within the
castle until that he was heal.  The tidings spread throughout the
lands that the Knight of the Golden Circlet had slain the Knight
of the Dragon, and great everywhere was the joy thereof.  It was
known at the court of King Arthur, but much marvelled they that
it was said the Knight of the Golden Circlet had slain him, for
they knew not who was the Knight of the Golden Circlet.


IX.

When Perceval was whole, he departed from the castle of the Queen
of the Golden Circlet, all of whose land was at his commandment.
The Queen told him that she would keep the Golden Circlet until
he should will otherwise, and in such sort he left it there, for
he would not carry it with him, sith that he knew not whitherward
he might turn.  The history telleth us that he rode on until one
day he came to the Castle of Copper.  Within the castle were a
number of folk that worshipped the bull of copper and believed
not in any other God.  The bull of copper was in the midst of the
castle upon four columns of copper, and bellowed so loud at all
hours of the day that it was heard for a league all round about,
and there was an evil spirit within that gave answers concerning
whatsoever any should ask of it.


X.

At the entrance to the gateway of the castle were two men made of
copper by art of nicromancy, and they held two great mallets of
iron, and they busied themselves striking the one after the
other, and so strongly they struck that nought mortal is there in
the world that might pass through amongst their blows but should
be all to-crushed thereby.  And on the other side was the castle
so fast enclosed about that nought might enter thereinto.


XI.

Perceval beholdeth the fortress of the castle, and the entrance
that was so perilous, whereof he marvelleth much.  He passeth a
bridge that was within the entry, and cometh nigh them that guard
the gate.  A Voice began to cry aloud above the gate that he
might go forward safely, and that he need have no care for the
men of copper that guarded the gate nor be affrighted of their
blows, for no power had they to harm such a knight as was he.  He
comforteth himself much of that the Voice saith to him.  He
cometh anigh the serjeants of copper, and they cease to strike at
once, and hold their iron mallets quite still.  And he entereth
into the castle, where he findeth within great plenty of folk
that all were misbelievers and of feeble belief.  He seeth the
bull of copper in the midst of the castle right big and horrible,
that was surrounded on all sides by folk that all did worship
thereunto together round about.


XII.

The bull bellowed so passing loud that right uneath was it to
hear aught else within the castle besides.  Perceval was
therewithin, but none was there that spake unto him, for, so
intent were they upon adoring the bull that, and any had been
minded to slay them what time they were yet worshipping the same,
they would have allowed him so to do, and would have thought that
they were saved thereby; and save this had they none other
believe in the world.  It was not of custom within there to be
armed, for the entrance of the fortress was so strong that none
might enter but by their will and commandment, save it were the
pleasure of our Lord God.  And the devil that had deceived them,
and in whom they believed, gave them such great abundance
therewithin of everything they could desire, that nought in the
world was there whereof they lacked.  When he perceived that they
held no discourse with him, he draweth himself on one side by a
great hall, and so called them around him.  The more part came
thither, but some of them came not.  The Voice warneth him that
he make them all pass through the entrance of the gateway there
where the men with the iron mallets are, for there may he well
prove which of them are willing to believe in God and which not.
The Good Knight draweth his sword and surroundeth them all and
maketh them all go in common before him, would they or nould
they.  And they that would not go willingly and kindly might be
sure that they should receive their death.  He made them pass
through the entrance there where the serjeants of copper were
striking great blows with their iron mallets.  Of one thousand
five hundred that there were, scarce but thirteen were not all
slain and brained of the iron mallets.  But the thirteen had
firmly bound their belief in Our Lord, wherefore the serjeants
took no heed of them.


XIII.

The evil spirit that was in the bull of copper issued forth
thereof as it had been lightning from heaven, and the bull of
copper melted all in a heap so as that nought remained in that
place thereof.  Then the thirteen that remained sent for a hermit
of the forest and so made themselves be held up and baptized.
After that, they took the bodies of the misbelievers and made
cast them into a water that is called the River of Hell.  This
water runneth into the sea, so say many that have seen it, and
there where it spendeth itself in the sea is it most foul and
most horrible, so that scarce may ship pass that is not wrecked.


XIV.

Josephus maketh record that the hermit that baptized the thirteen
had the name of Denis, and that the castle was named the Castle
of the Trial.  They lived within there until the New Law was
assured and believed in throughout all the kingdoms, and a right
good life led they and a holy.  Nor never might none enter with
them thereinto but was slain and crushed save he firmly believed
in God.  When the thirteen that were baptized in the castle
issued forth thereof they scattered themselves on every side
among strange forests, and made hermitages and buildings, and put
their bodies to penance for the false law they had maintained and
to win the love of the Saviour of the World.


XV.

Perceval, as you may hear, was soldier of Our Lord, and well did
God show him how He loved his knighthood, for the Good Knight had
much pain and sore travail and pleased Him greatly.  He was come
one day to the house of King Hermit that much desired to see him,
and made much joy of him when he saw him, and rejoiced greatly of
his courage.  Perceval relateth to him all the greater adventures
that have befallen him at many times and in many places sithence
that he departed from him, and King Hermit much marvelleth him of
many.

"Uncle," saith Perceval, "I marvel me much of an adventure that
befell me at the outlet of a forest; for I saw a little white
beast that I found in the launde of the forest, and twelve hounds
had she in her belly, that bayed aloud and quested within her. 
At last they issued forth of her and slew her beside the cross
that was at the outlet of the forest, but they might not eat of
her flesh.  A knight and a damsel, whereof one was at one end of
the launde and the other at the other, came thither and took the
flesh and the blood, and set them in two vessels of gold.  And
the hounds that were born of her fled away into the forest."

"Fair nephew," saith the Hermit, "I know well that God loveth you
sith that such things appear to you, for His valour and yours and
for the chastity that is in your body.  The beast, that was
kindly and gentle and sweet, signifieth Our Lord Jesus Christ,
and the twelve dogs that yelped within her signify the people of
the Old Law that God created and made in His own likeness, and
after that He had made and created them He desired to prove how
much they loved Him.  He sent them forty years into the
wilderness, where their garments never wasted, and sent them
manna from heaven that served them whatsoever they would to eat
and to drink, and they were without evil and without trouble and
without sickness, and such joy and pleasance had they as they
would.  And they held one day their council, and the master of
them said that and God should wax wroth with them and withhold
this manna, they would have nought to eat, and that it might not
last always albeit that God sent it in so passing great plenty.
Wherefore they purposed to set aside great part thereof in store,
so that if the Lord God should wax wroth they might take of that
which was stored and so save themselves for a long space.  They
agreed among themselves and did thereafter as they had purposed
and determined amongst them.


XVI.

"God, that seeth and knoweth all things, knew well their thought.
He withdrew from them the manna from heaven that had come to them
in such abundance, and which they had bestowed in caverns
underground, thinking to find there the manna they had set aside,
but it was changed by the will of God into efts and adders and
worms and vermin, and when they saw that they had done evil, they
scattered themselves over strange lands.  Fair, sweet nephew,"
saith the Hermit, "These twelve hounds that bayed in the beast
are the Jews that God had fed, and that were born in the Law that
He established, nor never would they believe on Him, nor love
Him, but rather crucified Him and tore His Body after the
shamefullest sort they might, but in no wise might they destroy
His flesh.  The knight and damsel that set the pieces of flesh in
vessels of gold signify the divinity of the Father, which would
not that His flesh should be minished.  The hounds fled to the
forest and became savage what time they had torn the beast to
pieces, so in like manner are the Jews that were and ever shall
be savage, subject to them of the New Law henceforth for ever."


XVII.

"Fair uncle," saith Perceval, "Good right and reason is it that
they should have shame and tribulation and evil reward sith that
they slew and crucified Him that had created and made them and
deigned to be born as a man in their Law.  But two priests came
after, whereof the one kissed the cross and worshipped it right
heartily and made great joy thereof, and the other did violence
thereunto and bear it with a great rod, and wept right sore and
made the greatest dole in the world.  With this last was I right
sore wrath, and willingly would I have run upon him had he not
been a priest."

"Fair nephew," saith the Hermit, "He that beat it believed in God
equally as well as he that adored, for that the holy flesh of the
Saviour of the World was set thereon, that abhorred not the pains
of death.  One smiled and made great joy for that He redeemed His
souls from the pains of hell that would otherwise have been
therein for evermore; and for this made he yet greater joy, that
he knew He was God and Man everlastingly in His nature, for he
that hath not this in remembrance shall never believe aright. 
Fair nephew, the other priest bear the cross and wept for the
passing great anguish and torment and dolour that our Lord God
suffered thereon, for so sore was the anguish as might have
melted the rock, nor no tongue of man may tell the sorrow He felt
upon the cross.  And therefore did he bear it and revile it for
that He was crucified thereon, even as I might hate a spear or
sword wherewith you had been slain.  For nought else did he thus,
and ever, so often as he remembereth the pain that God suffered
thereon, cometh he to the cross in such manner as you saw.  Both
twain are hermits and dwell in the forest, and he is named Jonas
that kissed and adored the cross, and he that beat and reviled it
is named Alexis."


XVIII.

Willingly heareth Perceval this that his uncle telleth and
recordeth him.  He relateth how he did battle with the devil-
knight that bare in his shield the head of a dragon that cast
forth fire and flame, and how the dragon burnt up his lord at the
last.

"Fair nephew," saith the hermit, "Right glad am I of these
tidings that you tell me, for I have been borne on hand that the
Knight of the Golden Circlet had slain him."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "It may well be, but never at any time saw
I knight so big and horrible."

"Fair nephew," saith the Hermit, "None might overcome him save
the Good Knight only, for all true worshipful men behoveth do
battle with the Devil, nor never may he be worshipful man that
fighteth not against him.  And even as the devil withal that was
figured on his shield slew and burnt up his master, even so doth
one devil torment and molest other in the world to come; and
greater evil might not the Knight of the Devil do you than burn
the body oœ your uncle's son that he had killed, as I have heard
tell.  Power had he over his body, but, please God, not over his
soul to burn it."

"Fair uncle," saith Perceval, "I went thither by a Turning
Castle, where were archers of copper that shot bolts, and bears
and lions chained at the entrance of the gateway.  So soon as I
drew nigh and smote thereon with my sword the castle stopped
still."

"Fair nephew," said King Hermit, "Nought had the Devil outwardly
besides this castle.  It was the entrance to his fortress, nor
would they within ever have been converted save you had been
there."

"Sir," saith he, "Right sorrowful am I of Messire Gawain and
Lancelot, for well I loved their fellowship, and great aid would
they have been in my need."

"Fair nephew, had they been chaste as are you, well might they
have entered on account of their good knighthood.  For were they
not wanton, the two best knights in the world are they.


XIX.

"Fair nephew, in the time of your knighthood have you much
advanced the Law of the Saviour, for you have destroyed the
falsest believe in the world, and this was of them that believed
on the bull of copper and the devil that was therein.  If this
folk had remained, and had failed of you, never would it have
been destroyed until the end of the world.  Wherefore marvel not
that you have travail in serving God, but endure it willingly,
for never had worshipful man honour without pains.  But now
behoveth you achieve another matter.  All they of the land of
King Fisherman your uncle have abandoned the New Law, and
returned to that which God hath forbidden.  But the most part do
so rather perforce and for fear of the King that hath seized the
land, who is my brother and your uncle, than on account of aught
else.  Wherefore behoveth you set counsel therein, for this thing
may not be achieved by any earthly man save by you only.  For the
castle and land should be yours of right, and sore mischief is it
when one that cometh of lineage so high and so holy is traitor to
God, and disloyal to the world.


XX.

"Fair nephew," saith the good man, "The castle hath been much
strengthened, for there are now nine bridges newly made, and at
each bridge are there three knights tall and strong and hardy,
whereof hath he much defence, and your uncle is there within that
keepeth the castle.  But never sithence, none of the knights of
King Fisherman nor of his priests have there appeared, nor
knoweth any what hath befallen them.  The chapel wherein the most
Holy Graal appeared is all emptied of its sacred hallows; the
hermits that are by the forest are fain of your coming, for never
see they there a knight pass by that believeth in God.  And so
you shall have achieved this enterprise, it is a thing whereof
shall God be well pleased."


XXI.

"Fair uncle," saith Perceval, "Thither will I go, sith that you
commend it to me, for no reason is it that he should have the
castle that hath entered thereinto.  Of better right ought my
mother to have it, that was the next-born to King Fisherman, of
whose death am I right sorrowful."

"Fair nephew, you are right!  for on your account fell he into
languishment, and, had you then gone again, so say many, then
would he have been whole, but how this might have been I know not
of a certainty.  But methinketh our Lord God willed his
languishment and death, for had it been His will, you would have
made the demand, but He willed otherwise, wherefore ought we to
give thanks and praise Him whatsoever He doth, for He hath
foreseen of every man that which shall come to him.  I have
within here a white mule that is very old.  Fair nephew, you will
take her with you.  She will follow you right willingly, and a
banner shall you bear, for the power of God and His virtue shall
avail more than your own.  Seven-and-twenty knights guard the
nine bridges, all chosen and of approved great valour, and none
ought now to believe that a single knight may vanquish so many,
save the miracle of Our Lord and His virtue shall open a way for
him.  So I pray and beseech you that you have God always in
remembrance and His sweet Mother, and, so at any time you be put
to the worse of your knighthood, mount upon the mule and take the
banner, and your enemies shall forthwith lose their force, for
nought confoundeth any enemy so swiftly as doth the virtue and
puissance of God.  It is a thing well known that you are the Best
Knight of the World, but set not affiance in your strength nor in
your knighthood as against so many knights, for against them may
you not endure."


XXII.

Perceval hearkeneth unto his uncle's discourse and his
chastening, and layeth fast hold on all that he saith, wherewith
is he pleased full well, for great affiance hath he in his words.

"Fair nephew," saith the Hermit, "Two lions are there at the
entry of the gateway, whereof the one is red and the other white.
Put your trust in the white, for he is on God's side, and look at
him whensoever your force shall fail you, and he will look at you
likewise in such sort as that straightway you shall know his
intent, by the will and pleasure of Our Saviour.  Wherefore do
according as you shall see that he would, for no intent will he
have save good only, and to help you; nor may you not otherwise
succeed in winning past the nine bridges that are warded of the
twenty-seven knights.  And God grant you may win past in such
wise that you may save your body and set forward withal the Law
of Our Lord that your uncle hath hindered all that he might."


XXIII.

Perceval departeth from the hermitage, and carrieth away the
banner, according to his uncle's counsel, and the white mule
followeth after.  He goeth his way toward the land that was the
land of King Fisherman, and findeth a hermit that was issued
forth of his hermitage and was going at a great pace through the
forest.  He abideth so soon as he beholdeth the cross on
Perceval's shield.

"Sir," saith he, "I well perceive that you are a Christian, of
whom not a single one have I seen this long time past.  For the
King of Castle Mortal is driving us forth of this forest, for he
hath renounced God and His sweet Mother, so that we durst not
remain in His defence."

"By my faith," saith Perceval, "But you shall!  for God shall
lead you forward, and I after.  Are there more hermits in this
forest?" saith Perceval.

"Yea, Sir, there be twelve here that are waiting for me at a
cross yonder before us, and we are minded to go to the kingdom of
Logres and put our bodies to penance for God's sake, and to
abandon our cells and chapels in this forest for dread of this
felon King that hath seized the land, for he willeth that none
who believeth in God should here abide."


XXIV.

Perceval is come with the hermit to the cross where the good men
had assembled them together, and findeth Joseus, the young man
that was King Pelles' son, of whom he maketh right great joy, and
he maketh the hermits turn back again with him, saying that he
will defend them and make them sate, by God's help, in the
kingdom, and prayeth them right sweetly that they make prayer for
him to our Lord that He grant him to win back that which of right
is his own.  He is come forth of the forest and the hermits with
him.  He draweth nigh to the castle of King Fisherman, and strong
was the defence at the entrance thereof.  Some of the knights
well knew that Perceval would conquer him, for long since had it
been prophesied that he who bare such shield should win the Graal
of him that sold God for money.


XXV.

The knights saw Perceval coming and the company of hermits with
him right seemly to behold, and much marvel had they thereof.
About a couple of bowshots above the bridge was a chapel
fashioned like the one at Camelot, wherein was a sepulchre, and
none knew who lay therein.  Perceval abideth thereby and his
company.  He leaneth his shield and spear against the chapel, and
maketh fast his horse and mule by the reins.  He beholdeth the
sepulchre, that was fight fair, and forthwith the sepulchre
openeth and the joinings fall apart and the stone lifteth up in
such wise that a man might see the knight that lay within, of
whom came forth a smell of so sweet savour that it seemed to the
good men that were looking on that it had been all embalmed. 
They found a letter which testified that this knight was named
Josephus.  So soon as the hermits beheld the sepulchre open, they
said to Perceval: "Sir, now at last know we well that you are the
Good Knight, the chaste, the holy."

The knights that warded the bridge heard the tidings that the
sepulchre had opened at the coming of the knight, whereof were
they in the greater dismay, and well understood that it was he
that was first at the Graal.  The tidings came to the King that
held the castle, and he bade his knights not be dismayed for
dread of a single knight, for that he would have no force nor
power against them, nor might it never befall but that one only
of his own knights should be enough to conquer him.


XXVI.

Perceval was armed upon his horse.  The hermits make the sign of
the cross over him, and bless him and commend him to God.  And he
holdeth his spear in rest and cometh toward the three knights
that guard the first bridge.  They all set upon him at once and
break their spears upon his shield.  One of them he smiteth with
such force that he maketh him topple over into the river that
runneth under the bridge, both him and his horse.  Of him was he
quit, for the river was wide and deep and swift.  The others held
out against him a much longer bout with sharp sword-play, but he
vanquished them and smote them to pieces, and flung their bodies
into the water.  They of the second bridge came forward, that
were right good knights, and many a tough bout had he of them and
many a felon onslaught.  Joseus that was his uncle's son was
there, and said to the other hermits that right fainly would he
go help him, but that he deemed it might be sin, and they bade
him take no heed of that, for that great work of mercy would it
be to destroy the enemies of Our Lord.  He doeth off his grey
cape and fettleth him in his frock, and taketh one of them that
were doing battle with Perceval and trusseth him on his neck and
so flingeth him into the river all armed, and Perceval slayeth
the other twain and hurleth them into the river in like manner as
the other.


XXVII.

By the time he had won the two bridges he was full spent and
weary, wherefore he bethinketh him of the lion, the manner
whereof his uncle had told him.  Then looketh he toward the
entrance of the gateway and seeth the white lion, that stood
upright on his two hinder feet, for that he was fain to see him.
Perceval looketh him full between the two eyes, and understandeth
that the lion is minded by the will of God to do him to wit that
the knights of the third bridge are so hardy and of such strength
that they may not be overcome of a single knight and our Lord God
of his holy bounty open not the way, but that he must fain take
the mule and carry the banner if he would conquer them.  Perceval
understandeth the white lion's intent, and giveth God thanks
thereof and draweth him back, and Joseus the young man likewise.
As soon as they look back, they see that the first bridge is
already lifted up behind them.


XXVIII.

Perceval cometh to where the white mule was, and she was starred
on the forehead with a red cross.  He mounteth thereupon, and
taketh the banner and holdeth his sword drawn.  So soon as the
white lion seeth him coming, he unchaineth himself and runneth
incontinent to the bridge that was lifted, right amidst the
knights, and lowereth it forthwith.  The King of Castle Mortal
was on the battlements of the greater fortress of the castle, and
crieth to the knights that warded the bridge, "Lords," saith he,
"You are the most chosen knights of my land and the hardiest, but
no hardiment is it to lift the bridges on account of a single
knight whom you durst not abide body to body, whereof meseemeth
it great cowardize and not hardiment.  But the lion is hardier
than you all, that of his hardiment hath lowered the bridge.
Wherefore now know I well that had I set him to ward the first
bridge, he would have warded it better than these that have
allowed themselves to be slain."


XXIX.

Thereupon, behold you Perceval come upon his white mule, sword
drawn all naked in his fist, and cometh toward them of the third
bridge, whereof he smiteth the first so sore that he overthroweth
him into the water.  Joseus the hermit cometh forward and would
fain have seized the other twain, but they cry mercy of Perceval,
and say that they will be at his will in all things, and so will
believe on God and His sweet Mother and abandon their evil lord.
And they of the fourth bridge say likewise.  On such condition he
alloweth them to live by the counsel of Joseus, and they cast
away their arms and yield up the bridges at his will.  Perceval
thinketh within himself that God's virtue hath right great power,
but that knight who hath force and power ought well to approve
his prowess for God's sake.  For of all that he shall do or
suffer for Him, shall God be well pleased.  For, were all the
world against our Lord God, and He should grant to any single one
that should be His champion all His power and might, he would
conquer them all in one hour of the day.  But He willeth that a
man should travail for Him, even as He Himself suffered travail
for His people.


XXX.

Perceval cometh again back and alighteth of the white mule and
delivereth the banner to Joseus, and then mounteth again on his
destrier and cometh back to them of the fifth bridge, and these
defend themselves right stoutly, for that hardy knights are they,
and do battle against Perceval full sturdily.  Joseus the hermit
cometh thither and assaulteth them with passing great lustihood,
that had the Lord God not saved him they would have overthrown
and slain him.  Howbeit, he holdeth the banner and grappleth them
when he may lay hold, and grippeth them so straight that they may
not help themselves.  Perceval slayeth them and crusheth them and
maketh them topple over into the water that ran swiftly beneath
the bridge.  When they of the sixth bridge saw that these were
conquered, they cried mercy of Perceval and yielded themselves to
him and delivered up their swords to him, and they of the seventh
bridge likewise.  When the red lion saw that the seventh bridge
was Won, and that the knights of the two bridges had yielded
themselves up to Perceval, he leapt up with such fury that he
burst his chain as had he been wood mad.  He came to one of the
knights and bit him and slew him, whereof the white lion was full
wroth, and runneth upon the other lion and teareth him to pieces
with his claws and teeth.


XXXI.

Straightway thereafter he raiseth himself up on his two hinder
feet and looketh at Perceval, and Perceval at him.  Perceval
understandeth well the lion's intent, to wit, that they of the
last bridge are worse to conquer than the others, and that they
may not be conquered at all save by the will of God and by him
that is the lion.  And the lion warned him that he go not against
them with the banner, holy though it were, nor receive them into
mercy what surety soever they might make, for that they are
traitors, but that he must fain mount upon the white mule, for
that she is a beast on God's side, and that Joseus should bring
the banner and all the hermits go before, that are worshipful men
and of good life, so as to dismay the traitor King, and so shall
the end and the conquest of the castle be brought nigh.  Of all
this the lion made signs to Perceval, for speak he could not.
Great affiance hath Perceval in the lion's warning.  He alighteth
of his destrier and remounteth on the mule, and Joseus holdeth
the banner.  The company of twelve hermits was there, right
seemly and holy.  They draw nigh the castle.  The knights on the
last bridge see Perceval coming towards them and Joseus the
hermit holding the banner, by whom they had seen their other
fellows wrestled withal and put to the worse.


XXXII.

The virtue of Our Lord and the dignity of the banner and the
goodness of the white mule and the holiness of the good hermits
that made their orisons to Our Lord so struck the knights that
they lost all power over themselves, but treason might not go
forth of their hearts, wherefore right heavy were they of their
kinsmen that they had seen slain before them.  They bethought
them that and if by mercy they might escape thence, they would
never end until they had slain Perceval.  They come to meet him
and so cry him mercy passing sweetly in semblance, and say that
they will do his will for ever and ever, so only he will let them
depart safe and sound.  Perceval looketh at the lion to know what
he shall do; he seeth that the lion thinketh them traitors and
disloyal, and that so they were destroyed and dead the King that
was in the castle would have lost his force; and that, so
Perceval will run upon them, the lion will help him slay them.
Perceval telleth the knights that never will he have mercy upon
them, and forthwith runneth upon them, sword drawn, and sorely it
misliked him that they defended not themselves, insomuch that he
all but left to slay them for that no defence found he in them.
But the lion is so far from holding them in the like disdain,
that he runneth upon them and biteth and slayeth them, and then
casteth forth their limbs and bodies into the water.  Perceval
alloweth that this is well and seemly, and pleaseth him much of
that he seeth the lion do, nor never before had he seen any beast
that he might love and prize so highly as this one.


XXXIII.

The King of Castle Mortal was on the battlements of the wall, and
seeth how his knights are dead, and how the lion helpeth to slay
the last.  He setteth himself on the highest place of the walls,
then lifteth the skirt of his habergeon and holdeth his sword all
naked, that was right keen and well-tempered, and so smiteth
himself right through the body, and falleth all adown the walls
into the water, that was swift and deep, in such sort that
Perceval saw him, and all the good hermits likewise, that
marvelled much of a King that should slay himself in such manner;
but they say according to the judgment of the scripture, that by
right of evil man should the end be evil.  On such wise was the
end of this King of whom I tell you.  Josephus relateth us how
none ought to marvel that of three brothers, even though they be
sons of the same father and mother, one brother should be evil;
and the real marvel, saith he, is when one evil corrupteth not
the two that are good, for that wickedness is so hard and keen
and beguiling, and goodness so kindly and simple and humble. 
Cain and Abel were brothers-german, yet Cain slew his brother
Abel, the one flesh betrayed the other.  But great sorrow is it,
saith Josephus, when the flesh that ought to be one becometh
twain, and the one flesh goeth about by wickedness to deceive and
destroy the other.  Josephus recordeth us by this evil king that
was so traitorous and false and yet was of the lineage of the
Good Soldier Joseph of Abarimacie.  This Joseph, as the scripture
witnesseth, was his uncle, and this evil king was brother-german
of King Fisherman, and brother of the good King Pelles that had
abandoned his land, in order that he might serve God, and brother
of the Widow Lady that was Perceval's mother, the most loyal that
was ever in Great Britain.  All these lineages were in the
service of Our Lord from the beginning of their lives unto the
end, save only this evil King that perished so evilly as you have
heard.


XXXIV.

You have heard how the King that had seized the castle that had
been King Fisherman's slew himself in such wise, and how his
knights were discomfited.  Perceval entered into the castle and
the worshipful hermits together with him.  It seemed them when
they were come within into the master hall, that they heard chant
in an inner chapel `Gloria in excelsis Deo', and right sweet
praising of Our Lord.  They found the hails right rich and seemly
and fairly adorned within.  They found the chapel open where the
sacred hallows were wont to be.  The holy hermits entered therein
and made their orisons, and prayed the Saviour of the World that
He would swiftly restore to them the most Holy Graal and the
sacred hallows that wont to be therewithin whereby they might be
comforted.


XXXV.

The good men were there within with Perceval, that much loved
their company.  Josephus witnesseth us that the ancient knights
that were of the household of King Fisherman, and the priests and
damsels, departed so soon as the King that slew himself had
seized the castle, for that they would not be at his court, and
the Lord God preserved them from him and made them go into such a
place as that they should be in safety.  The Saviour of the World
well knew that the Good Knight had won the castle by his valour
that should have been his own of right, and sent back thither all
them that had served King Fisherman.  Perceval made right great
joy of them when he saw them, and they of him.  They seemed well
to be a folk that had come from some place where God and His
commandments were honoured, and so indeed had they.


XXXVI.

The High History witnesseth us that when the conquest of the
castle was over, the Saviour of the World was right joyous and
well pleased thereof.  The Graal presented itself again in the
chapel, and the lance whereof the point bleedeth, and the sword
wherewith St John was beheaded that Messire Gawain won, and the
other holy relics whereof was right great plenty.  For our Lord
God loved the place much.  The hermits went back to their
hermitages in the forest and served Our Lord as they had been
wont.  Joseus remained with Perceval at the castle as long as it
pleased him, but the Good Knight searched out the land there
where the New Law had been abandoned and its maintenance
neglected.  He reft the lives of them that would not maintain it
and believe.  The country was supported by him and made safe, and
the Law of Our Lord exalted by his strength and valour.  The
priests and knights that repaired to the castle loved Perceval
much, for, so far from his goodness minishing in ought, they saw
from day to day how his valour and his faith in God increased and
multiplied.  And he showed them the sepulchre of his uncle King
Fisherman in the chapel before the altar.  The coffin was rich
and the tabernacle costly and loaded of precious stones.  And the
priests and knights bear witness that as soon as the body was
placed in the coffin and they were departed thence, they found on
their return that it was covered by the tabernacle all dight as
richly as it is now to be seen, nor might they know who had set
it there save only the commandment of Our Lord.  And they say
that every night was there a great brightness of light as of
candles there, and they knew not whence it should come save of
God.  Perceval had won the castle by the command of God.  The
Graal was restored in the holy chapel, and the other hallows as
you have heard.  The evil believe was done away from the kingdom,
and all were assured again in the New Law by the valour of the
Good Knight.



BRANCH XIX.

TITLE I.

Now is the story silent of Perceval and cometh back to King
Arthur, the very matter thereof, like as testifieth the history,
that in no place is corrupted and the Latin lie not.  King Arthur
was at Cardoil on one day of Whitsuntide that was right fair and
clear, and many knights were in the hall.  The King sate at meat
and all the knights about him.  The King looketh at the windows
of the hall to right and left, and seeth that two sunbeams are
shining within that fill the whole hall with light.  Thereof he
marvelleth much and sendeth without the hall to see what it might
be.  The messenger cometh back again and saith thereof that two
suns appear to be shining, the one in the East and the other in
the West.  He marvelleth much thereat, and prayeth Our Lord that
he may be permitted to know wherefore two suns should appear in
such wise.  A Voice appeared at one of the windows that said to
him: "King, marvel not hereof that two suns should appear in the
sky, for our Lord God hath well the power, and know well that
this is for joy of the conquest that the Good Knight hath made
that took away the shield from herewithin.  He hath won the land
that belonged to good King Fisherman from the evil King of Castle
Mortal, that did away thence the good believe, and therefore was
it that the Graal was hidden.  Now God so willeth that you go
thither, I and that you choose out the best knights of your
court, for better pilgrimage may you never make, and what time
you shall return hither, your faith shall be doubled and the
people of Great Britain shall be better disposed and better
taught to maintain the service of the Saviour."


II.

Thereupon the Voice departed and well pleased was the King of
that it had said.  He sitteth at meat beside the Queen. 
Straightway behold you, a damsel that cometh of such beauty as
never was greater, and clad right richly, and she beareth a
coffer richer than ever you saw, for it was all of fine gold and
set with precious stones that sparkled like fire.  The coffer is
not large.  The damsel holdeth it between her hands.  When she
was alighted she cometh before the King and saluteth him the
fairest she may and the Queen likewise.  The King returneth her
salute.

"Sir," saith she, "I am come to your court for that it is the
sovran of all other, and so bring I you here this rich vessel
that you see as a gift; and it hath within the head of a knight,
but none may open the coffer save he alone that slew the knight.
Wherefore I pray and beseech you, as you are the best king that
liveth, that you first set your hand thereon, and in like manner
afterwards make proof of your knights, and so the crime and the
blood-wite thereof be brought home to you or to any knight that
may be within yonder.  I pray you that the knight who shall be
able to open the coffer wherein the head of the knight lieth, and
who therefore is he that slew him, shall have grace of forty days
after that you shall be returned from the Graal."

"Damsel," saith the King, "How shall it be known who the knight
was?"

"Sir," saith she, "Right eath, for the letters are sealed within
that tell his name and the name of him that slew him."

The King granteth the damsel her will in such wise as she had
asked of him.  He hath received the coffer, then maketh her be
set at meat and right richly honoured.


III.

When the King had eaten, the damsel cometh before him.

"Sir," saith she, "Make your knights be summoned and ready for
that which you have granted me, and you yourself first of all."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Right willingly."

He setteth his hand to the coffer, thinking to open it, but it
was not right that it should open for him.  As he set his hand
thereon the coffer sweated through just as had it been sprinkled
all over and was wet with water.  The King marvelled greatly, and
so made Messire Gawain set his hand to it and Lancelot and all
those of the court, but he that might open it was not among them.
Messire Kay the Seneschal had served at meat.  He heard say that
the King and all the others had essayed and proved the coffer but
might not open it.  He is come thither, all uncalled for.

"Now, then, Kay," saith the King, "I had forgotten you."

"By my head," saith Kay, "You ought not to forget me, for as good
knight am I and of as much worth as they that you have called
before me, and you ought not to have delayed to send for me.  You
have summoned all the others, and me not a whit, and yet am I as
well able, or ought to be, to open the coffer as are they; for
against as many knights have I defended me as they, and as many
have I slain in defending my body as have they."

"Kay," saith the King, "Shall you be so merry and you may open
the coffer, and if you have slain the knight whose head lieth
therein?  By my head, I that am King would fain that the coffer
should not open for me, for never was no knight so poor as that
he should have neither kinsman nor friend, for he is not loved of
all the world that is hated by one man."

"By my head," saith Kay, "I would that all the heads of all the
knights I have slain, save one only, were in the midst of this
hall, and that there were letters sealed with them to say that
they were slain by me.  Then would you believe what you are not
willing to believe for the envious ones that think they are
better worth than I, and yet have not served you so well."


IV.

"Kay," saith the King, "Come forward, there is no need of this."

Messire Kay the Seneschal cometh to the dais before the King,
whereon was the coffer, and taketh it right boldly and setteth
one of his hands below it and the other above.  The coffer opened
as soon as he clapped hand thereon, and the head within could be
seen all openly.  A passing delicate-savoured smell and right
sweet issued therefrom, so that not a knight in the hall but
smelt it.

"Sir," saith Kay to the King, "Now may you know that some prowess
and some hardiment have I done in your service, nor might none of
your knights that you prize so highly open the coffer this day,
nor would you have known this day who is therein for them!  But
now you know it by me, and therefore of so much ought you to be
well pleased with me!"


V.

"Sir," saith the damsel that had brought the coffer, "Let the
letters be read that are within, so shall you know who the knight
was and of what lineage, and what was the occasion of his death."

The King sitteth beside the Queen, and biddeth call one of his
own chaplains.  Then maketh he all the knights in the hall be
seated and keep silence, and commandeth the chaplain that he
should spell out the letters of gold all openly according as he
should find them written.  The chaplain looketh at them, and when
he had scanned them down, began to sigh.

"Sir," saith he to the King and Queen, "hearken unto me, and all
the other, your knights.


VI.

"These letters say that the knight whose head lieth in this
vessel was named Lohot and he was son of King Arthur and Queen
Guenievre.  He had slain on a day that is past, Logrin the Giant,
by his hardiment.  Messire Kay the Seneschal was passing by
there, and so found Lohot sleeping upon Logrin, for such was his
custom that he went to sleep upon the man after that he had slain
him.  Messire Kay smote off Lohot's head, and so left the head
and the body on the piece of ground.  He took the head of the
Giant and so bore it to the court of King Arthur.  He gave the
King and Queen and all the barons of the court to understand that
he had slain him, but this did he not; rather, that he did was to
slay Lohot, according to the writing and the witness of these
letters."

When the Queen heareth these letters and this witting of her son
that came thus by his death, she falleth in a swoon on the
coffer.  After that she taketh the head between her two hands,
and knew well that it was he by a scar that he had on his face
when he was a child.  The King himself maketh dole thereof so
sore that none may comfort him, for before these tidings he had
thought that his son was still on live and that he was the Best
Knight in the world, and when the news came to his court that the
Knight of the Golden Circlet had slain the Knight of the Dragon,
he supposed that it had been Lohot his son, for that none had
named Perceval nor Gawain nor Lancelot.  And all they of the
court are right sorrowful for the death of Lohot, and Messire Kay
hath departed, and if the damsel had nor respited the day until
the fortieth after the King's return, vengeance would have been
taken of Kay or ever he might have turned him thence.  For never
did no I man see greater dole made in the King's court than they
of the Table Round made for the youth.  King Arthur and the Queen
were so stricken of sorrow that none durst call upon them to make
cheer.  The damsel that brought thither the coffer was well
avenged of the shame that Messire Kay the Seneschal had done her
on a day that was past, for this thing would not have been known
so soon save it had been by her.


VII.

When the mourning for the King's son was abated, Lancelot and
many others said unto him, "Sir, you know well that God willeth
you should go to the castle that was King Fisherman's on
pilgrimage to the most Holy Graal, for it is not right to delay a
thing that one hath in covenant with God."

"Lords," saith the King, "right willingly will I go, and thereto
am I right well disposed."

The King apparelleth himself for the pilgrimage, and saith that
Messire Gawain and Lancelot shall go with him, without more
knights, and taketh a squire to wait upon his body, and the Queen
herself would he have taken thither but for the mourning she made
for her son, whereof none might give her any comfort.  But or
ever the King departed he made the head be brought into the Isle
of Avalon, to a chapel of Our Lady that was there, where was a
worshipful holy hermit that was well loved of Our Lord.  The King
departed from Cardoil and took leave of the Queen and all the
knights.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain go along with him and a
squire that carrieth their arms.  Kay the Seneschal was departed
from the court for dread of the King and his knights.  He durst
not abide in the Greater Britain, and so betook himself into the
Lesser.  Briant of the Isles was of great power in those times, a
knight of great strength and hardiment, for all Great Britain had
had many disputes between him and King Arthur.  His land was full
strong of castles and forests and right fruitful, and many good
knights had he in his land.  When he knew that Kay the Seneschal
had departed in such sort from the court, and that he had crossed
the sea, he sent for him and held him of his household, and said
that he would hold him harmless against the King and against all 
men.  When he knew that the King had departed he began to war
upon the land and to slay his men and to challenge his castles.



BRANCH XX.

TITLE I.

The story saith that King Arthur goeth his way and Lancelot and
Messire Gawain with him, and they had ridden so far one day that
night came on in a forest and they might find no hold.  Messire
Gawain marvelled him much that they had ridden the day long
without finding neither hold nor hermitage.  Night was come and
the sky was dark and the forest full of gloom.  They knew not
whitherward to turn to pass the night.

"Lords," saith the King, "Where may we be able to alight to-
night?"

"Sir, we know not, for this forest is fight wearisome."

They make the squire climb up a tall tree and tell him to look as
far as he may to try whether he may espy any hold or house where
they may lodge.  The squire looketh on all sides, and then
telleth them he seeth a fire a long way off as if it were in a
waste house, but that he seeth nought there save the fire and the
house.

"Take good heed," saith Lancelot, "in which quarter it is, so
that you may know well how to lead us thither."

He saith that right eath may he lead them.


II.

With that he cometh down and mounteth again on his hackney, and
they go forward a great pace and ride until they espy the fire
and the hold.  They pass on over a bridge of wattles, and find
the courtyard all deserted and the house from within great and
high and hideous.  But there was a great fire within whereof the
heat might be felt from afar.  They alight of their horses, and
the squire draweth them on one side amidst the hall, and the
knights set them beside the fire all armed.  The squire seeth a
chamber in the house and entereth thereinto to see if he may find
any meat for the horses, but he cometh forth again the swiftest
he may and crieth right sweetly on the Mother of the Saviour.
They ask him what aileth him, and he saith that he hath found the
most treacherous chamber ever he found yet, for he felt there,
what with heads and what with hands, more than two hundred men
dead, and saith that never yet felt he so sore afeared.  Lancelot
went into the chamber to see whether he spake true, and felt the
men that lay dead, and groped among them from head to head and
felt that there was a great heap of them there, and came back and
sate at the fire all laughing.  The King asketh whether the 
squire had told truth.  Lancelot answereth him yea, and that
never yet had he found so many dead men together.

"Methinketh," saith Messire Gawain, "Sith that they are dead we
have nought to fear of them, but God protect us from the living."


III.

While they were talking thus, behold you a damsel that cometh
into the dwelling on foot and all alone, and she cometh lamenting
right grievously.

"Ha, God!" saith she, "How long a penance is this for me, and
when will it come to an end?"

She seeth the knights sitting in the midst of the house.  "Fair
Lord God," saith she, "Is he there within through whom I am to
escape from this great dolour?"

The knights hearken to her with great wonderment.  They look and
see her enter within the door, and her kirtle was all torn with
thorns and briars in the forest.  Her feet were all bleeding for
that she was unshod.  She had a face of exceeding great beauty.
She carried the half of a dead man, and cast it into the chamber
with the others.  She knew Lancelot again so soon as she saw him. 

"Ha, God !" saith she, "I am quit of my penance!  Sir," saith
she, "Welcome may you be, you and your company!"

Lancelot looketh at her in wonderment.  "Damsel," saith he, "Are
you a thing on God's behalf?"

"Certes, Sir," saith she, "Yea!  nor be you adread of nought!  I
am the Damsel of the Castle of Beards, that was wont to deal with
knights so passing foully as you have seen.  You did away the
toll that was levied on the knights that passed by, and you lay
in the castle that demanded it of them that passed through the
demesne thereof.  But you had me in covenant that so the Holy
Graal should appear unto you, you would come back to me, for
otherwise never should I have been willing to let you go.  You
returned not, for that you saw not the Graal.  For the shame that
I did to knights was this penance laid upon me in this forest and
this manor, to last until such time as you should come.  For the
cruelty I did them was sore grievous, for never was knight
brought to me but I made his nose be cut off or his eyes thrust
out, and some were there as you saw that had their feet or their
hands stricken off.  Now have I paid full dear thereof since, for
needs must I carry into this chamber all the knights that are
slain in this forest, and within this manor must I cast them
according to the custom thereof, alone, without company; and this
knight that I carried in but now hath lain so long in the forest
that wild beasts have eaten half of his body.  Now am I quit of 
this foul penance, thanks to God and to you, save only that I
must go back when it shall be daylight in like manner as I came
here."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Right glad am I that we should have
come to lodge the night here within, for love of you, for I never
saw I damsel that might do so cruel penance."

"Sir," saith she, "You know not yet what it is, but you will know
it ere long this night, both you and your fellows, and the Lord
God shield you from death and from mischief!  Every night cometh
a rout of knights that are black and foul and hideous, albeit
none knoweth whence they come, and they do battle right sore the
one against other, and the stour endureth of a right long while;
but one knight that came within yonder by chance, the first night
I came hither, in like manner as you have come, made a circle
round me with his sword, and I sate within it as soon as I saw
them coming, and so had I no dread of them, for I had in
remembrance the Saviour of the World and His passing sweet
Mother.  And you will do the same, and you believe me herein, for
these are knights fiends."

Lancelot draweth his sword and maketh a great circle round the
house-place, and they were within.


V.

Thereupon, behold you the knights that come through the forest
with such a rushing as it seemed they would rend it all up by the
roots.  Afterward, they enter into the manor and snatch great
blazing firebrands and fling them one at another.  They enter
into the house battling together, and are keen to fall upon the
knights, but they may not.  They hurl the firebrands at them from
afar, but they are holding their shields and their swords naked.
Lancelot maketh semblant as though he would leap towards them,
and sore great cowardize it seemeth him nor to go against them. 

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Take heed that you go not forth of the
circle, for you will be in sore jeopardy of death, for well you
see what evil folk be these."

Lancelot was nor minded to hold himself back, but that he would
go toward them sword drawn, and they run upon him on all sides,
but he defendeth him stoutly and smiteth the burning firebrands
so that he maketh red-hot charcoal fly, and thrusreth his sword
amidst their faces.  King Arthur and Messire Gawain leap up to
help Lancelot and smite upon these evil folk and cut them limb
from limb, and they bellow like fiends so that the whole forest
resoundeth thereof.  And when they fell to the ground, they may
no longer endure, but become fiends and ashes, and their bodies
and their horses become devils all black in the shape of ravens
that come forth of their bodies.  They marvel right sore what
this may be, and say that such hostel is right grievous.


VI.

When they had put them all to the worse, they sate them down
again and rested; but scarce were they seated or ever another
rout of yet blacker folk came about them, and they bare spears
burning and flaming, and many of them carried dead knights that
they had slain in the forest, and dropped them in the midst of
the house, and then bid the damsel carry and set them with the
others.  Howbeit, she answereth that she is quit of their
commandment and service, nor no longer is forced to do nought for
them sith that she hath done her penance.  They thrust forward
their spears toward the King and the two knights, as though they
were come to avenge their companions; but they all three leapt up
together and attacked them right stoutly.  But this rout was
greater and of knights more hideous.  They began to press the
King and his knights hard, and they might not put them to the
worse as they did the others.  And while they were thus in the
thickest of the conflict, they heard the stroke of a bell
sounding, and forthwith the knight fiends departed and hurried
away a great pace.

"Lords," saith the damsel, "Had this sound not been heard, scarce
might you have endured, for yet another huge rout of this folk
was coming in such sort as that none might have withstood them,
and this sound have I heard every night, whereby my life hath
been saved."


VII.

Josephus telleth us that as at this time was there no bell
neither in Greater Britain nor in Lesser; but folk were called
together by a horn, and in many places there were sheets of
steel, and in other places clappers of wood.  King Arthur
marvelled him much of this sound, so clear and sweet was it, and
it well seemed him that it came on God's behalf, and right fain
was he to see a bell and so he might.  They were the night until
the morrow in the house, as I tell you.  The damsel took leave of
them and so departed.  As they came forth of the hold, they met
three hermits that told them they were going to search for the
bodies that were in this manor so that they might bury them in a
waste chapel that was hard by, for such knights had lain there as
that henceforward the haunting of the evil folk would be stayed
in such sort as that they would have no more power to do hurt to
any, wherefore they would set therewithin a worshipful hermit
that should build up the place in holiness for the service of
God.  The King was right joyful thereof, and told them that it
had been too perilous.  They parted from the hermits and entered
into a forest, nor was there never a day so long as King Arthur
was on pilgrimage, so saith the history, but he heard the sound
of one single bell every hour, whereof he was right glad.  He
bade Messire Gawain and Lancelot that they should everywhere
conceal his name, and that they should call him not Lord but
Comrade.  They yielded him his will, and prayed to Our Lord that
he would guide and lead them to such a castle and such a hostel
as that they might be lodged honourably therein.  They rode on
until evening drew nigh, and they found a right fair hold in the
forest, whereinto they entered and alighted.  The damsel of the
hold came to meet them and made them right great cheer, then made
them be disarmed, afterward bringeth them right rich robes to
wear.  She looketh at Lancelot and knoweth him again.


VIII.

"Sir," saith she, "You had once, on a day that is past, right
great pity of me, and saved me my honour, whereof am I in great
unhappiness.  But better love I to suffer misease in honour, than
to have plenty and abundance in shame or reproach, for shame
endureth, but sorrow is soon overpassed."

Thereupon behold you the knight of the hold, whither he cometh
from shooting in the forest and maketh carry in full great plenty
venison of deer and wild boar.  He alighted to greet the knights,
and began to laugh when he saw Lancelot.

"By my head," saith he, "I know you well For you disappointed me
of the thing I best loved in the world, and made me marry this
damsel that never yet had joy of me, nor never shall have."

"Faith, Sir," saith Lancelot, "You will do your pleasure therein,
for she is yours.  Truth it is that I made you marry her, for you
were fain to do her a disgrace and a shame in such sort that her
kinsfolk would have had shame of her."

"By my head," saith the knight, "the damsel that I loved before
loveth you no better hereof, nay, rather, fain would she procure
your vexation and your hurt and your shame if she may, and great
power hath she in this forest."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I have sithence spoken to her and she to
me, and so hath she told me her will and her wish."

Thereupon the knight bade the knights take water, and the lady
taketh the basins and presenteth water to the knights.

"Avoid, damsel," saith the King, "Take it away!  Never, please
God, shall it befall that we should accept such service from
you."

"By my head," saith the knight, "But so must you needs do, for
other than she shall not serve you to-night in this matter, or
otherwise shall you not eat with me this night there within."


IX.

Lancelot understandeth that the knight is not overburdened of
courtesy, and he seeth the table garnished of good meat, and
bethinketh him he will not do well to lose such ease, for misease
enough had they the night before.  He maketh the King take water
of the lady, and the same service did she for all of them.  The
knight biddeth them be seated.  The King would have made the lady
sit beside him at the table, but the knight said that there she
should not sit.  She goeth to sit among the squires as she was
wont to do.  The knights are sorry enough thereof, but they durst
not gainsay the will of her lord.  When they had eaten, the
knight said to Lancelot, "Now may you see what she hath gained of
me by your making me take her perforce, nor never, so help me
God, so long as I live shall she be honoured otherwise by me, for
so have I promised her that I love far more."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "To my thinking you do ill herein and a
sin, and meseemeth you should have great blame thereof of them
that know it, and may your churlishness be your own, for nought
thereof take I to myself."


X.

Lancelot telleth the King and Messire Gawain that were he not
lodged in his hostel, and had him outside of the hold, he would
willingly have set the blood of his body on it but he would have
handled him in such sort as that the lady should be maintained in
greater honour, either by force or by prayer, in like manner as
he did when he made him marry her.  They were right well lodged
the night and lay in the hold until the morrow, when they
departed thence, and rode right busily on their journeys until
they came into a very different land, scarce inhabited of any
folk, and found a little castle in a combe.  They came
thitherward and saw that the enclosure of the castle was fallen
down into an abysm, so that none might approach it on that side,
but it had a right fair gateway and a door tall and wide whereby
one entered.  They beheld a chapel that was right fair and rich,
and below was a great ancient hall.  They saw a priest appear in
the midst of the castle, bald and old, that had come forth of the
chapel.  They are come thither and alighted, and asked the priest
what the castle was, and he told them that it was the great
Tintagel.

"And how is this ground all caved in about the castle?"

"Sir," saith the priest, "I will tell you.  Sir," saith he, "King
Uther Pendragon, that was father of King Arthur, held a great
court and summoned all his barons.  The King of this castle that
then was here was named Gorlois.  He went to the court and took
his wife with him, that was named Ygerne, and she was the fairest
dame in any kingdom.  King Uther sought acquaintance of her for
her great beauty, and regarded her and honoured her more than all
the others of his court.  King Gorlois departed thence and made
the Queen come back to this castle for the dread that he had of
King Uther Pendragon.  King Uther was very wroth with him, and
commanded him to send back the Queen his wife.  King Godois said
that he would not.  Thereupon King Uther Pendragon defied him,
and then laid siege about this castle where the Queen was.  King
Gorlois was gone to seek for succour.  King Uther Pendragon had
Merlin with him of whom you have heard tell, that was so crafty.
He made him be changed into the semblance of King Gorlois, so
that he entered there within by Merlin's art and lay that night
with the Queen, and so begat King Arthur in a great hall that was
next to the enclosure there where this abysm is.  And for this
sin hath the ground sunken in on this wise."

He cometh with them toward the chapel that was right fair, and
had a right rich sepulchre therein.

"Lords, in this sepulchre was placed the body of Merlin, but
never mought it be set inside the chapel, wherefore perforce it
remained outside.  And know of a very truth that the body lieth
not within the sepulchre, for, so soon as it was set therein, it
was taken out and snatched away, either on God's behalf or the
Enemy's, but which we know not."


XI.

"Sir," saith King Arthur, "And what became of King Gorlois?"

"Sir." saith he, "The King slew him on the morrow of the night he
lay with his wife, and so forthwith espoused Queen Ygerne, and in
such manner as I tell you was King Arthur conceived in sin that
is now the best King in the world."

King Arthur hath heard this as concerning his birth that he knew
not, and is a little shamed thereof and confounded on account of
Messire Gawain and Lancelot.  He himself marvelleth much thereof,
and much it misliketh him that the priest hath said so much. They
lay the night in the hold, and so departed thence on the morrow
when they had heard mass.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain, that
thought they knew the forest, found the land so changed and
different that they knew not whither they were become, and such
an one as should come into the land that had been King
Fisherman's, and he should come again another time within forty
days, should not find the castle within a year.


XII.

Josephus telleth us that the semblances of the islands changed
themselves by reason of the divers adventures that by the
pleasure of God befell therein, and that the quest of adventures
would not have pleased the knights so well and they had not found
them so different.  For, when they had entered into a forest or
an island where they had found any adventure, and they came there
another time, they found holds and castles and adventures of
another kind, so that their toils and travails might not weary
them, and also for that God would that the land should be
conformed to the New Law.  And they were the knights that had
more toil and travail in seeking adventures than all the knights
of the world before them, and in holding to that whereof they had
made covenant; nor of no court of no king in the world went forth
so many good knights as went forth from the court of King Arthur,
and but that God loved them so much, never might they have
endured such toil and travail as they did from day to day; for
without fait, good knights were they, and good knights not only
to deal hard buffets, but rather in that they were loyal and
true, and had faith in the Saviour of the World and His sweet
Mother, and therefore dreaded shame and loved honour.  King
Arthur goeth on his way and Messire Gawain and Lancelot with him,
and they pass through many strange countries, and so enter into a
great forest.  Lancelot called to remembrance the knight that he
had slain in the Waste City whither behoved him to go, and knew
well that the day whereon he should come was drawing nigh.  He
told King Arthur as much, and then said, that and he should go
not, he would belie his covenant.  They rode until they came to a
cross where the ways forked.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Behoveth me go to acquit me of my pledge,
and I go in great adventure and peril of death, nor know I
whether I may live at all thereafter, for I slew the knight,
albeit I was right sorry thereof, but or ever I slew him, I had
to swear that I would go set my head in the like jeopardy as he
had set his.  Now the day draweth nigh that I must go thither,
for I am unwilling to fail of my covenant, whereof I should be
blamed, and, so God grant me to escape therefrom, I will follow
you speedily."

The King embraceth him and kisseth him at parting and Messire
Gawain also, and they pray God preserve his body and his life,
and that they may see him again ere it be long.  Lancelot would
willingly have sent salute to the Queen had he durst, for she lay
nearer his heart than aught beside, but he would not that the
King nor Messire Gawain should misdeem of the love they might
carry to their kinswoman.  The love is so rooted in his heart
that he may not leave it, into what peril soever he may go;
rather, he prayeth God every day as sweetly as he may, that He
save the Queen, and that he may deliver his body from this
jeopardy.  He hath ridden until that he cometh at the hour of
noon into the Waste City, and findeth the city empty as it was
the first time he was there.


XIII.

In the city wherein Lancelot had arrived were many waste houses
and rich palaces fallen down.  He had scarce entered within the
city when he heard a great cry and lamentation of dames and
damsels, but he knew not on which side it was, and they say: "Ha,
God, how hath the knight betrayed us that slew the knight,
inasmuch as he returneth not!  This day is the day come that he
ought to redeem his pledge!  Never again ought any to put trust
in knight, for that he cometh not!  The others that came hither
before him have failed us, and so will he also for dread of
death; for he smote off the head of the comeliest knight that was
in this kingdom and the best, wherefore ought he also to have his
own smitten off, but good heed taketh he to save it if he may!"

Thus spake the damsels.  Lancelot much marvelled where they might
be, for nought could he espy of them, albeit he cometh before the
palace, there where he slew the knight.  He alighteth, then
maketh fast his horse's reins to a ring that was fixed in the
mounting-stage of marble.  Scarce hath he done so, when a knight
alighteth, tall and comely and strong and deliver, and he was
clad in a short close-fitted jerkin of silk, and held the axe in
his hand wherewith Lancelot had smitten off the head of the other
knight, and he came sharpening it on a whetstone to cut the
better.  Lancelot asketh him, "What will you do with this axe?"

"By my head," saith the knight, "That shall you know in such sort
as my brother knew when you cut off his head, so I may speed of
my business."

"How?" saith Lancelot, "Will you slay me then?"

"That shall you know," saith he, "or ever you depart hence.  Have
you not loyally promised hereof that you would set your head in
the same jeopardy as the knight set his, whom you slew without
defence?  And no otherwise may you depart therefrom.  Wherefore
now come forward without delay and kneel down and stretch your
neck even as my brother did, and so will I smite off your head,
and, if you do nor this of your own good will, you shall soon
find one that shall make you do it perforce, were you twenty
knights as good as you are one.  But well I know that you have
not come hither for this, but only to fulfil your pledge, and
that you will raise no contention herein."

Lancelot thinketh to die, and is minded to abide by that he hath
in covenant without fail, wherefore he lieth down on the ground
as it were on a cross, and crieth mercy of God.  He mindeth him
of the Queen, and crieth God of mercy and saith, "Ha, Lady" saith
he, "Never shall I see you more!  but, might I have seen you yet
once again before I die, exceeding great comfort had it been to
me, and my soul would have departed from me more at ease.  But
this, that never shall I see you more, as now it seemeth me,
troubleth me more than the death whereby behoveth me to die, for
die one must when one hath lived long enough.  But faithfully do
I promise you that my love shall fail you not yet, and never
shall it be but that my soul shall love you in the other world
like as my body hath loved you in this, if thus the soul may
love!"

With that the tears fell from his eyes, nor, never sithence that
he was knight, saith the story, had he wept for nought that had
befallen him nor for heaviness of heart, but this time and one
other.  He taketh three blades of grass and so eateth thereof in
token of the holy communion, then signeth him of the cross and
blesseth him, riseth up, setteth himself on his knees and
stretcheth forth his neck.  The knight lifteth up the axe.
Lancelot heareth the blow coming, boweth his head and the axe
misseth him.  He saith to him, "Sir Knight, so did not my brother
that you slew; rather, he held his head and neck quite still, and
so behoveth you to do!"

Two damsels appeared at the palace-windows of passing great
beauty, and they knew Lancelot well.  So, as the knight was
aiming a second blow, one of the damsels crieth to him, "And you
would have my love for evermore, throw down the axe and cry the
knight quit!  Otherwise have you lost me for ever!"

The knight forthwith flingeth down the axe and falleth at
Lancelot's feet and crieth mercy of him as of the most loyal
knight in the world.

"But you?  Have mercy on me, you!  and slay me not!" saith
Lancelot, "For it is of you that I ought to pray mercy!"

"Sir," saith the knight, "Of a surety will I not do this!  Rather
will I help you to my power to save your life against all men,
for all you have slain my brother."

The damsels come down from the palace and are come to Lancelot.


XIV.

"Sir," say they to Lancelot, "Greatly ought we to love you, yea,
better than all knights in the world beside.  For we are the two
damsels, sisters, that you saw so poor at the Waste Castle where
you lay in our brother's house.  You and Messire Gawain and
another knight gave us the treasure and the hold of the robber-
knights that you slew; for this city which is waste and the Waste
Castle of my brother would never again be peopled of folk, nor
should we never have had the land again, save a knight had come
hither as loyal as are you.  Full a score knights have arrived
here by chance in the same manner as you came, and not one of
them but hath slain a brother or a kinsman and cut off his head
as you did to the knight, and each one promised to return at the
day appointed; but all failed of their covenant, for not one of
them durst come to the day; and so you had failed us in like
manner as the others, we should have lost this city without
recovery and the castles that are its appanages."


XV.

So the knight and the damsels lead Lancelot into the palace and
then make him be disarmed.  They hear presently how the greatest
joy in the world is being made in many parts of the forest, that
was nigh the city.

"Sir," say the damsels, "Now may you hear the joy that is made of
your coming.  These are the burgesses and dwellers in the city
that already know the tidings."

Lancelot leaneth at the windows of the hall, and seeth the city
peopled of the fairest folk in the world, and great thronging in
the broad streets and the great palace, and clerks and priests
coming in long procession praising God and blessing Him for that
they may now return to their church, and giving benison to the
knight through whom they are free to repair thither.  Lancelot
was much honoured throughout the city.  The two damsels are at
great pains to wait upon him, and right great worship had he of
all them that were therewithin and them that came thither, both
clerks and priests.



BRANCH XXI.

TITLE I.

Therewithal the history is silent of Lancelot, and speaketh word
of the King and Messire Gawain, that are in sore misgiving as
concerning him, for right gladly would they have heard tidings of
him.  They met a knight that was coming all armed, and Messire
Gawain asketh him whence he came, and he said that he came from
the land of the Queen of the Golden Circlet, to whom a sore loss
hath befallen; for the Son of the Widow Lady had won the Circlet
of Gold for that he had slain the Knight of the Dragon, and she
was to keep it safe for him and deliver it up to him at his will.

"But now hath Nabigant of the Rock reft her thereof, and a right
outrageous knight is he and puissant; wherefore hath he commanded
a damsel that she bring it to an assembly of knights that is to
be held in the Meadow of the Tent of the two damsels, there where
Messire Gawain did away the evil custom.  The damsel that will
bring the Golden Circlet will give it to the knight that shall do
best at the assembly.  Nabigant is keenly set upon having it, and
maketh the more sure for that once aforetime he hath had it by
force of arms.  And I am going to the knights that know not these
tidings, in order that when they shall hear them, they shall go
to the assembly."

Therewithal the knight departeth.  The King and Messire Gawain
have ridden so far that they come to the tent where Messire
Gawain destroyed the evil custom by slaying the two knights.  He
found the tent garnished within and without in like manner as it
was when he was there, and Messire Gawain made the King be seated
on a quilted mattress of straw, right costly, and thereafter be
disarmed of a squire, and he himself disarmed him, and they
washed their hands and faces for the rust wherewith both of them
were besmuttered.  And Messire Gawain found the chests unlocked
that were at the head of the couch, and made the King be
apparelled of white rich stuffs that he found, and a robe of
cloth of silk and gold, and he clad himself in the like manner,
neither was the chest not a whit disfurnished thereby, for the
tent was all garnished of rich adornments.  When they were thus
dight, a man might have sought far or ever he should find so
comely knights.


II.

Thereupon, behold you the two Damsels of the Tent coming.

"Damsels," saith Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be."

"Sir," say they, "Good adventure may you have both twain.  It
seemeth us that you take right boldly that which is ours, yet
never for neither of us would you do a thing whereof you were
beseeched."

"Messire Gawain" saith the elder, "No knight is there in this
kingdom but would be right joyous and he supposed that I loved
him, and I prayed you of your love on a day that is past, for the
valour of your knighthood, yet never did you grant it me.  How
durst you have affiance in me of aught, and take the things that
are mine own so boldly, when I may not have affiance in you?"

"Damsel, for your courtesy and the good custom of the land; for
you told me when the evil customs were overthrown, that all the
honours and all the courtesies that are due to knights should
ever be ready within for all them that should come hither for
harbour."

"Messire Gawain, you say true, but of right might one let the
courtesy tarry and pay back churlishness by churlishness."


III.

"The assembly of knights will begin to-morrow in this launde that
is so fair.  There will be knights in plenty, and the prize will
be the Circlet of Gold.  Now shall we see who will do best.  The
assembly will last three whole days, and of one thing at least
you may well make boast between you and your comrade, that you
have the fairest hostel and the most pleasant and the most quiet
of any knights at the assembly."

The younger damsel looketh at King Arthur.  "And you," saith she,
What will you do?  Will you be as strange toward us as Messire
Gawain is friendly with others?"


IV.

"Damsel," saith the king, "Messire Gawain will do his pleasure
and I mine.  Strange shall I not be in respect of you, nor toward
other damsels; rather shall they be honoured on my part so long
as I live, and I myself will be at your commandment."

"Sir," saith she, "Gramercy greatly.  I pray you, therefore, that
you be my knight at the tournament."

"Damsel, this ought I not to refuse you, and right glad at heart
shall I be and I may do aught that shall please you; for all
knights ought to be at pains for the sake of dame or damsel."

"Sir," saith she, "what is your name?"


V.

"Damsel," saith he, "My name is Arthur, and I am of Tincardoil."

"Have you nought to do with King Arthur?"

"Damsel, already have I been many times at his court, and, if he
loved me not nor I him, I should not be in Messire Gawain's
company.  In truth, he is the King in the world that I love
best."

The damsel looketh at King Arthur, but wotteth not a whir that it
is he, and full well is she pleased with the seeming and
countenance of him.  As for the King, lightly might he have
trusted that he should have her as his lady-love so long as he
remained with her; but there is much to say betwixt his semblant
and his thought, for he showeth good semblant toward the damsel,
that hath over much affiance therein, but his thought is on Queen
Guenievre in what place soever he may be.  For nought loveth he
so well as her.


VI.

The damsels made stable the horses and purvey for the bodies of
the knights right richly at night, and they lay in two right rich
beds in the midst of the hall, and their arms were all set ready
before.  The damsels would not depart until such time as they
were asleep.  The harness of the knights that came to the
assembly came on the morrow from all parts.  They set up their
booths and stretched their tents all round about the launde of
the forest.  King Arthur and Messire Gawain were risen in the
morning and saw the knights come from all parts.  The elder
damsel cometh to Messire Gawain and saith unto him, "Sir," saith
she, "I will that you bear to-day red arms that I will lend you,
for the love of me, and take heed that they be well employed, and
I desire that you should not be known by your arms; rather let it
be said that you are the Red Knight, and you shall allow it
accordingly."

"Damsel, Gramercy greatly!" saith Messire Gawain,  "I will do my
endeavour in arms the best I may for love of you."

The younger damsel cometh to King Arthur; "Sir," saith she, "My
sister hath made her gift and I will make mine.  I have a suit of
arms of gold, the richest that knight may wear, that I will lend
you, for methinketh they will be better employed on you than on
ever another knight; so I pray you that you remember me at the
assembly in like manner as I shall ofttimes remember you."


VII.

"Damsel," saith the King, "Gramercy!  No knight is there that
should see you but ought to have you in remembrance in his heart
for your courtesy and your worth."

The knights were come about the tents.  The King and Messire
Gawain were armed and had made caparison their horses right
richly.  The damsel that should give the Golden Circlet was come.
Nabigant of the Rock had brought great fellowships of knights
together with him, and ordinance was made for the assembly.


VIII.

The younger damsel saith to King Arthur: "Well may you know that
no knight that is here this day hath better arms than are yours,
wherefore take heed that you show you to be good knight for love
of me."

"Damsel," saith King Arthur, "God grant that I be so."

So they laid hold on their reins and mounted their horses, that
made great leaping and went away a great gallop.  Saith the
younger damsel to her sister: "What think you of my knight, doth
he not please you?"

"Yea," saith the elder, "But sore misliketh me of Messire Gawain
for that he is not minded to do as I would have him.  But he
shall yet aby it dear."

King Arthur and Messire Gawain strike into the midst of the
assembly like as it were two lions unchained, and at their first
coming they smite down two knights to the ground under the feet
of their horses.  Messire Gawain taketh the two horses and
sendeth them by a squire to the Damsels of the Tent, that made
much joy thereof.  After that were they not minded to take more
booty as of horses or arms, but searched the fellowships on one
side and the other; nor was there no knight that came against
them but they pierced his shield or bore him to the ground,
insomuch as none was there that might endure their buffets.
Nabigant espieth Messire Gawain and cometh toward him, and
Messire Gawain toward him again, and they hurtle together either
on other so strongly that Messire Gawain beareth Nabigant to the
ground, him and his horse together all in a heap.  And King
Arthur was not idle, for no knight durst come against him but he
overthrew him, so as that all withdrew them back and avoided his
buffets.  And many knights did well that day at the assembly, but
none might be the match of either of them twain in deeds of arms,
for, save it were Lancelot or Perceval, were no knights on live
that had in them so much hardiment and valour.  After that it was
evensong the knights drew them back to their tents, and they say
all that the Knight of the Golden Arms and the Knight of the Red
Arms had done better than they all at the assembly.  King Arthur
and Messire Gawain come back to the tent of the damsels, that
make disarm them and do upon them the rich robes and make great
joy of them.  Thereupon, behold you, a dwarf that cometh:
"Damsels, make great joy!  for all they of the assembly say with
one accord that your knights have done best this day."

King Arthur and Messire Gawain sate to eat, and right well were
they served of every kind of meats and of great cups of wine and
sops in wine.  King Arthur made the younger damsel sit beside
him, and Messire Gawain the elder in like manner, and when they
had eaten they went to lie down and fell on sleep, for right sore
weary were they and forespent of the many buffets they had given
and received, and they slept until the morrow.


IX.

When the day appeared they rose up.  Thereupon, behold you the
younger damsel where she cometh and saluteth King Arthur.  "And
you, damsel!" saith King Arthur, "God give you joy and good
adventure!"

"Sir," saith she, "I will that you bear to-day these white arms
that you see here, and that you do no worse to-day than yesterday
you did, sith that better you may not do."

"Messire Gawain," saith the elder damsel, "Remember you of the
King there where his land was compassed about of a wall of stone,
and you harboured one night in his castle, what time you went to
seek for the sword wherewith John Baptist was beheaded, when he
was fain to take away the sword from you, whereof you had so sore
misliking?  Natheless, he yielded you up the sword upon covenant
that you should do that which a damsel should first ask you to do
thereafter, and you promised him loyally that so would you do?"

"Certes, damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Well do I remember the
same."

"Now, therefore," saith the damsel, "would I fain prove whether
you be indeed so loyal as men say, and whether you will hold your
covenant that you made.  Wherefore I pray and beseech you that
this day you shall be he that doth worst of all the knights at
the assembly, and that you bear none other arms save your own
only, so as that you shall be known again of all them that are
there present.  And, so you will not do this, then will you have
failed of your covenant, and myself will go tell the King that
you have broken the promise that you made to him right loyally."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Never yet brake I covenant with
none, so it were such as I might fulfil or another on my behalf." 

King Arthur made arm him of the white arms that the younger
damsel had given him, and Messire Gawain of his own, but sore it
irked him of this that the damsel hath laid upon him to do, sith
that needs must he lose worship and he hold to his covenant,
albeit not for nought that is in the world will he fail of the
promise he hath made.  So they come into the assembly.


X.

King Arthur smiteth with his spurs like a good knight and
overthroweth two knights in his onset, and Messire Gawain rideth
a bandon betwixt two fellowships to be the better known.  The
most part say, "See!  There is Messire Gawain, the good knight
that is King Arthur's nephew."

Nabigant of the Rock cometh toward him as fast as his horse may
carry him, lance in rest.  Messire Gawain seeth him coming toward
him right furiously.  He casteth his shield down on the ground
and betaketh him to flight as swiftly as he may.  They that
beheld him, some two score or more, marvel thereof, and say, "Did
ever one see the like overpassing cowardize!"

Nabigant saith that he never yet followed a knight that was
vanquished, nor never will follow one of such conditions, for no
great prize would it be to take him and win his horse.  Other
knights come to joust with him, but Messire Gawain fleeth and
avoideth them the best he may, and maketh semblance that none is
there he durst abide.  He draweth toward King Arthur for safety.
"The King hath great shame of this that he seeth him do, and
right sore pains hath he of defending Messire Gawain, for he
holdeth as close to him as the pie doth to the bramble when the
falcon would take her.  In such shame and dishonour was Messire
Gawain as long as the assembly lasted, and the knights said that
he had gotten him off with much less than he deserved, for that
never had they seen so craven knight at assembly or tournament as
was he, nor never henceforth would they have dread of him as they
had heretofore.  From this day forward may many lightly avenge
themselves upon him of their kinsfolk and friends that he hath
slain by the forest.   The assembly brake up in the evening,
whereof the King and Messire Gawain were right well pleased.  The
knights disarm them at their hostels and the King and Messire
Gawain at the damsels' tent.


XI.

With that, behold you the dwarf that cometh.

"By my head, damsels, your knights go from bad to worse!  Of him
in the white arms one may even let pass, but Messire Gawain is
the most coward ever saw I yet, and so he were to run upon me
to-morrow and I were armed like as is he, I should think me right
well able to defend me against him. 'Tis the devil took him to a
place where is such plenty of knights, for the more folk that are
there the better may one judge of his ill conditions.  And you,
Sir," saith he to the King, "Wherefore do you keep him company?
You would have done best to-day had he not been there.  He
skulked as close by you, to be out of the buffets, as a hare doth
to the wood for the hounds.  No business hath good knight to hold
company with a coward.  I say not this for that I would make him
out worse that he is, for I remember the two knights he slew
before this tent."

The damsel heareth the dwarf talking and smileth thereat, for she
understandeth that blame enough hath Messire Gawain had at the
assembly.  The knights said at their hostels that they knew not
to whom to give the Circlet of Gold, sith that the Knight of the
Golden Armour and he of the Red Armour were not there; for they
did the best the first day of the assembly, and much they
marvelled that they should not come when it was continued on the
morrow.

"Gawain," saith the King, "Sore blame have you had this day, and
I myself have been all shamed for your sake.  Never thought I
that so good a knight as you might ever have known how to
counterfeit a bad knight as you did.  You have done much for the
love of the damsel, and right well had she avenged herself of you
and you had done her great annoy.  Howbeit, and to-morrow your
cowardize be such as it hath been to-day, never will the day be
when you shall not have blame thereof."


XII.

"By my faith." saith Messire Gawain, "Behoveth me do the damsel's
pleasure sith that we have fallen by ill-chance into her power."

They went to bed at night and took their rest as soon as they had
eaten, and on the morrow the damsel came to Messire Gawain.

"I will," saith she, "that you be clad in the same arms as was
your comrade on the first day, right rich, that I will lend you,
and I will, moreover, that you be knight so good as that never on
any day were you better.  But I command you, by the faith you
pledged me the other day, to obey this caution, that you make
yourself known to none, and so any man in the world shall ask
your name, you shall say that you are the knight of the Golden
Arms."

"Damsel," saith Gawain, "Gramercy, I will do your pleasure."

The younger damsel cometh back to the King: "Sir," saith she, "I
will that you wear new arms: You shall bear them red, the same as
Messire Gawain bore the first day, and I pray you be such as you
were the first day, or better."


XIII.

"Damsel, I will do my best to amend myself and my doings, and
right well pleased am I of that it pleaseth you to say."

Their horses were caparisoned and the knights mounted, all armed.
They come together to the tournament with such an onset as that
they pass through the thickest of the press and overthrew knights
and horses as many as they encountered.  King Arthur espieth
Nabigant that came right gaily caparisoned, and smiteth him so
passing strong a buffet in the midst of his breast that he
beareth him down from his horse, in such sort that he breaketh
his collar-bone, and presenteth the destrier, by his squire, to
the younger damsel, that maketh great joy thereof.  And Messire
Gawain searcheth the fellowships on all sides, and so well did he
search that scarce was one might endure his blows.  King Arthur
is not idle, but pierceth shields and beateth in helms, the while
all look on in wonderment at him and Messire Gawain.  The story
saith that the King would have done still better, but that he put
not forth his full strength in deeds of arms, for that Messire
Gawain had done so ill the day before, and now he would fain that
he should have the prize.


XIV.

The damsel that held the Golden Circlet was in the midst of the
assembly of knights, and had set it in a right rich casket of
ivory with precious stones, right worshipfully.  When the damsel
saw that the assembly was at an end, she made all the knights
stay, and prayed them they should speak judgment true, concealing
nought, who had best deserved of arms, and ought therefore of
right to have the Golden Circle.  They said all, that of right
judgment the Knight of the Golden Arms and he of the Red Arms
ought to have the prize above all the others, but that of these
two, he of the Golden Arms ought to have the prize, for so well
did he the first day as that no knight might do better, and on
the last day likewise, and that if he of the Red Arms had put
forth his full strength on the last day, he would have done full
as well or better.  The Circlet of Gold was brought to Messire
Gawain, but it was not known that it was he; and Messire Gawain
would fain that it had been given to my Lord King Arthur.  The
knights departed from the assembly.  The King and Messire Gawain
came back to the tent and brought the Golden Circlet, whereof the
damsels made great joy.  Thereupon, behold you!  the dwarf that
cometh back.

"Damsels, better is it to lodge knights such as these than
Messire Gawain the coward, the craven that had so much shame at
the assembly!  You yourselves would have been sore blamed had you
lodged him.  This knight hath won the Golden Circlet by force of
arms, and Messire Gawain nought but shame and reproach."

The damsel laugheth at this that the dwarf saith, and biddeth him
on his eyes and head, begone!


XV.

The King and Messire Gawain were disarmed.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "What will you do with the Golden
Circlet?"

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "I will bear it to him that first
won it in sore peril of death, and delivered it to the Queen that
ought to have kept it safe, of whom it hath been reft by force."

The King and Messire Gawain lay the night in the tent.  The
younger damsel cometh to the King.

"Sir, many feats of arms have you done at the assembly, as I have
been told, for love of me, and I am ready to reward you."

"Damsel, right great thanks.  Your reward and your service love I
much, and your honour yet more, wherefore I would that you should
have all the honour that any damsel may have, for in damsel
without honour ought none to put his affiance.  Our Lord God
grant you to preserve yours."

"Damsel," saith she to the other that sitteth before Messire
Gawain, "This Knight and Messire Gawain have taken counsel
together.  There is neither solace nor comfort in them.  Let us
leave them to go to sleep, and ill rest may they have, and Lord
God defend us ever hereafter from such guests."

"By my head," saith the eider damsel, "were it not for the Golden
Circlet that he is bound of right to deliver again to the Queen
that had it in charge, who is my Lady, they should not depart
from this land in such sort as they will.  But, and Messire
Gawain still be nice as concerneth damsels, at least I now know
well that he is loyal in anotherwise, so as that he will not fail
of his word."


XVI.

With that the damsels departed, as did likewise the King and
Messire Gawain as soon as they saw the day.  Nabigant, that was
wounded at the tournament, was borne away on a litter.  Meliot of
Logres was in quest of Messire Gawain.  He met the knights and
the harness that came from the assembly, and asked of many if
they could tell him tidings of King Arthur's nephew, Messire
Gawain, and the most part answer, "Yea, and right bad tidings
enough."

Then they ask him wherefore he demandeth.

"Lords," saith he, "His liege man am I, and he ought of right to
defend my land against all men, that Nabigant hath taken from me
without right nor reason, whom they are carrying from thence in a
litter, wherefore I am fain to beseech Messire Gawain that he
help me to recover my land."

"In faith, Sir Knight," say they, "We know not of what avail he
may be to others that may not help himself.  Messire Gawain was
at the assembly, but we tell you for true, it was he that did
worst thereat."

"Alas," saith Meliot of Logres, "Then have I lost my land, and he
hath become even such an one as you tell me."

"You would readily believe us," say they, "had you seen him at
the assembly!"

Meliot turneth him back, right sorrowful.


XVII.

King Arthur and Messire Gawain depart from the tent, and come a
great pace as though they fain would escape thence to come nigher
the land where they would be, and great desire had they of the
coming of Lancelot.  They rode until that they came one night to
the Waste Manor whither the brachet led Messire Gawain when he
found the dead knight that Lancelot had slain.  They lodged there
the night, and found there knights and damsels of whom they were
known.  The Lady of the Waste Manor sent for succour to her
knights, saying that she held there King Arthur that slew other
knights, and that his nephew Messire Gawain was also there
within, but dearly would she have loved that Lancelot had been
with them that slew her brother.  Knights in plenty came to her
to do hurt to King Arthur and Messire Gawain, but she had at
least so much courtesy in her that she would not suffer any of
them to do them ill within her hold, albeit she kept seven of
their number, full of great hardiment, to guard the entrance of
the bridge, so that King Arthur and Messire Gawain might not
depart thence save only amidst the points of their spears.


XVIII.

This high history witnesseth us that Lancelot was departed from
the Waste City wherein he was much honoured, and rode until that
he came to a forest where he met Meliot of Logres, that was sore
dismayed of the tidings he had heard of Messire Gawain.  Lancelot
asketh him whence he cometh, and he saith from seeking Messire
Gawain, of whom he had tidings whereof he was right sorrowful. 

"How," saith Lancelot, "Is he then otherwise than well?"

"Yea," saith he, "As I have heard tell: for he wont to be good
knight and hath now become evil.  He was at the assembly of
knights whereof I met the harness and the fellowships, and they
told me that never yet was such cowardize in any knight, but that
a knight who was with him did right well.  But howsoever he may
have borne himself, right fain am I to find him, for, maugre what
any may say, I may scarce believe that he is so bad after all."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I will seek him for you, and you can come
along with me and it seemeth you good."

Meliot of Logres betaketh him back with Lancelot.  They ride
until they happen by chance upon the Waste Manor where the King
and Messire Gawain were lodged; and they were armed, and were
minded to go forth from thence.  But the seven knights guarded
the issue, all armed.  The King and Messire Gawain saw that no
good would it do them to remain there within, wherefore they
passed over the bridge and came perforce to the place where the
seven knights were watching for them.  Thereupon, they went
toward them all armed and struck among them, and the knights
received them on the points of their lances.


XIX.

Thereupon, behold you!  Lancelot and the knight with him, whom
they had not been looking for.  Lancelot espied the King and
Messire Gawain; then the knights cried out and struck among them
as a hawk striketh amongst larks, and made them scatter on one
side and the other.  Lancelot hath caught one at his coming, and
smiteth him with his spear through the body, and Meliot of Logres
slayeth another.  King Arthur knew Lancelot, and right glad was
he to see him safe and sound, as was Messire Gawain likewise.
Lancelot and Meliot of Logres made clear the passage for them.
The knights departed, for longer durst they not abide.  The
damsel of the castle held a squire by the hand, that was right
passing comely.  She knew Lancelot, and when she saw him she
called him.


XX.

"Lancelot, you slew this squire's brother, and, please God,
either he or another shall take vengeance thereof."

Lancelot holdeth his peace when he heareth the dame speak, and
departeth from the Waste Hold.  Meliot of Logres knew Messire
Gawain and Messire Gawain him again, and great joy made they the
one of the other.

"Sir," saith Meliot, "I am come to lay plaint before you of
Nabigant of the Rock that challengeth me of the land whereof I am
your man, and saith that he will defend it against none but you
only.  Sir, the day is full nigh, and if you come not to the day,
I shall have lost my quarrel, and you held me thereof in covenant
what time I became your man."

"Right fainly will I go," saith Messire Gawain.

He goeth his way thither accordingly by leave of the King and
Lancelot, and saith that he will return to them the speediest he
may.


XXI.

King Arthur and Lancelot go their way as fast as they may toward
the land that was King Fisherman's.  Messire Gawain rideth until
he cometh to the land of Nabigant of the Rock. Meliot doeth
Nabigant to wit that Messire Gawain was come, and that he was
ready to uphold his right by him that was his champion.  Nabigant
was whole of the wound he gat at the assembly, and held Messire
Gawain of full small account for the cowardize that he saw him
do, and bid his knights not meddle betwixt them two, for, and
Messire Gawain had been four knights he thought to vanquish them
all.  He issueth forth of his castle all armed, and is come there
where Messire Gawain awaited him.  Messire Gawain seeth him
coming, and so draweth on one side, and Nabigant, that was stark
outrageous, setteth his spear in rest and cometh toward Messire
Gawain without another word, and smiteth him on the shield so
that he maketh his spear fly all in pieces.  And Messire Gawain
catcheth him right in the midst of his breast, and pierceth him
with his spear through the thick of his heart, and he falleth to
the ground dead; and the knights run upon Messire Gawain; but he
lightly delivereth himself of them, and Meliot of Logres
likewise.  Messire Gawain entereth the castle by force, doing
battle against all the knights, and holdeth them in such a pass
as that he maketh them do homage to Meliot of Logres, and deliver
up to him the keys of the castle.  He maketh them come to an
assembly from the whole of the land they had reft away from him,
and thereafter departeth and followeth after King Arthur.  In the
forest, he overtaketh a damsel that was going on her way a great
pace.


XXII.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Lord God guide you, whither away
so fast?"

"Sir," saith she, "I am going to the greatest assembly of knights
you saw ever."

"What assembly?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith she, "At the Palace Meadow, but the knight I am
seeking is he that won the Circlet of Gold at the Meadow of the
Tent.  Fair Sir, can you give me any tidings of him?" saith she. 

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "What would you do herein?"

"Certes, Sir, I would right fain find him.  My Lady, that kept
the Circlet of Gold for the son of the Widow Lady, that won it
aforetime, hath sent me to seek him."

"For what intent, damsel?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, my Lady sendeth for him and beseecheth him by me, for the
sake of the Saviour of the World, that if he had ever pity of
dame or damsel, he will take vengeance on Nabigant that hath
slain her men and destroyed her land, for she hath been told how
he that won back the Golden Circlet ought of right to take
vengeance upon him."


XXIII.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Be not any longer troubled
hereof, for I tell you that the knight that won the Golden
Circlet by prize of arms hath killed Nabigant already."

"Sir," saith she, "How know you this?"

"I know the knight well," saith he, "And I saw him slay him, and
behold, here is the Circlet of Gold that I have as a token
hereof, for that he beareth it to him that hath won the Graal, to
the intent that your Lady may be quit of her charge."

Messire Gawain showeth her the Golden Circlet in the casket of
ivory, that he kept very nigh himself.  Right joyful was the
damsel that the matter had thus fallen out, and goeth her way
back again to tell her Lady of her joy.  Messire Gawain goeth on
his way toward the assembly, for well knoweth he that, and King

Arthur and Lancelot have heard the tidings, there will they be.
He goeth thitherward as fast as he may, and as straight, and
scarce hath he ridden away or ever he met a squire that seemed
right weary, and his hackney sore worn of the way.  Messire
Gawain asked him whence he came, and the squire said to him.
"From the land of King Arthur, where is great war toward, for
that none knoweth not what hath become of him.  Many folk go
about saying that he is dead, for never sithence that he departed
from Cardoil, and Messire Gawain and Lancelot with him, have no
tidings been heard of him; and he left the Queen at Cardoil to
take his place, and also on account of her son's death, and the
most part say that he is dead.  Briant of the Isles and my Lord
Kay with him are burning his land, and carrying off plunder
before all the castles.  Of all the Knights of the Table Round
are there now no more than five and thirty, and of these are ten
sore wounded, and they are in Cardoil, and there protect the land
the best they may."


XXIV.

When Messire Gawain heareth these tidings, they touch his heart
right sore, so that he goeth the straightest he may toward the
assembly, and the squire with him that was sore fordone.  Messire
Gawain found King Arthur and Lancelot, and the knights were come
from all the kingdom to the piece of ground.  For a knight was
come thither that had brought a white destrier and borne thither
a right rich crown of gold, and it was known throughout all the
lands that marched with this, that the knight that should do best
at the assembly should have the destrier and the crown, for the
Queen that ware it was dead, and it would behove him to guard and
defend the land whereof she had been Lady.  On account of these
tidings had come thither great plenty of folk and of folk.  King
Arthur and Messire Gawain and Lancelot set them of one side.  The
story saith that at this assembly King Arthur bare the red shield
that the damsel gave him; Messire Gawain had his own, such as he
was wont to bear, and Lancelot a green shield that he bare for
the love of the knight that was slain for helping him in the
forest.  They struck into the assembly like lions unchained, and
cast down three knights at their first onset.  They searched the
fellowships on every side, smote down knights and overthrew
horses.


XXV.

King Arthur overtook no knight but he clave his shield to the
boss: all swerved aside and avoided his buffets.  And Messire
Gawain and Lancelot are not idle on the other hand, but each held
well his place.  But the more part had wonderment looking at the
King, for he holdeth him at bay like a lion when the staghounds
would attack him.  The assembly lasted throughout on such wise,
and when it came to an end, the knights said and adjudged that
the Knight of the Red Shield had surpassed all other in doing
well.  The knight that had brought the crown came to the King,
but knew him not a whit: "Sir," saith he, "You have by your good
deeds of arms won this crown of gold and this destrier, whereof
ought you to make great joy, so only you have so much valour in
you as that you may defend the land of the best earthly Queen
that is dead, and whether the King be alive or dead none knoweth,
wherefore great worship will it be to yourself and you may have
prowess to maintain the land, for right broad is it and right
rich and of high sovranty.


XXVI.

Saith King Arthur, "Whose was the land, and what was the name of
the Queen whose crown I see?"

"Sir, the King's name was Arthur, and the best king in the world
was he; but in his kingdom the more part say that he is dead. 
And this crown was the crown of Queen Guenievre that is dead and
buried, whereof is sore sorrow.  The knights that may not leave
Cardoil lest Briant of the Isles should seize the city, they sent
me to the kingdom of Logres and charged me with the crown and
destrier for that I have knowledge of the isles and foreign
lands; wherefore they prayed me I should go among the assemblies
of knights, that so I might hear tidings of my Lord King Arthur
and my Lord Gawain and Lancelot, and, so I might find them, that
I should tell them how the land hath fallen into this grievous
sorrow."

King Arthur heareth tidings whereof he is full sorrowful.  He
draweth on one side, and the knights make the most grievous dole
in the world.  Lancelot knoweth not what he may do, and saith
between his teeth that now hath his joy come to an end and his
knighthood is of no avail, for that he hath lost the high Queen,
the valiant, that heart and comfort gave him and encouragement to
do well.  The tears ran down from his comely eyes right amidst
his face and through the ventail, and, had he durst make other
dole, yet greater would it have been.  Of the mourning the King
made is there nought to speak, for this sorrow resembleth none
other.  He holdeth the crown of gold, and looketh full oft at the
destrier for love of her, for he had given it her; and Messire
Gawain may not stint of making dole.


XXVII.

"Certes", saith he, "Now may I well say that the best Queen in
the world and of most understanding is dead, nor never hereafter
shall be none of equal worth."

"Sir," saith Lancelot to the King, "So it please you, and Messire
Gawain be willing, I will go back toward Cardoil, and help to
defend your land to the best I may, for sore is it discounselled,
until such time as you shall be come from the Graal."

"Certes," saith Messire Gawain to the King, "Lancelot hath spoken
well, so you grant him your consent."

"That do I with right good will," saith the Kind, "And I pray him
right heartily that he go thither and be guardian of my land and
the governance thereof, until such a time as God shall have
brought me back."

Lancelot taketh leave of the King and goeth his way back, all
sorrowing and full of discontent.



BRANCH XXII.

INCIPIT.

Of Lancelot the story is here silent, and so beginneth another
branch of the Graal in the name of the Father, and of the Son,
and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

You may well understand that King Arthur is no whit joyful.  He
maketh the white destrier go after him, and hath the crown of
gold full near himself.  They ride until they come to the castle
that belonged to King Fisherman, and they found it as rich and
fair as you have heard told many a time.  Perceval, that was
there within, made right great joy of their coming, as did all
the priests and ancient knights.  Perceval leadeth King Arthur,
when he was disarmed, into the chapel where the Graal was, and
Messire Gawain maketh present to Perceval of the Golden Circlet,
and telleth him that the Queen sendeth it to him, and relateth
also how Nabigant had seized it, and moreover, how Nabigant was
dead.  The King offereth the crown that had been Queen
Guenievre's.  When Perceval knew that she was dead, he was right
sorrowful thereof in his heart, and wept and lamented her right
sweetly.  He showeth them the tomb of King Fisherman, and telleth
them that none had set the tabernacle there above the coffin, but
only the commandment of Our Lord, and he showeth them a rich pall
that is upon the coffin, and telleth them that every day they see
a new one there not less rich than is this one.  King Arthur
looketh. at the sepulchre and saith that never tofore hath he
seen none so costly.  A smell issueth therefrom full delicate and
sweet of savour.  The King sojourneth in the castle and is highly
honoured, and beholdeth the richesse and the lordship and the
great abundance that is everywhere in the castle, insomuch that
therein is nought wanting that is needful for the bodies of noble
folk.  Perceval had made set the bodies of the dead knights in a
charnel beside an old chapel in the forest, and the body of his
uncle that had slain himself so evilly.  Behind the castle was a
river, as the history testifieth, whereby all good things came to
the castle, and this river was right fair and plenteous. 
Josephus witnesseth us that it came from the Earthly Paradise and
compassed the castle around and ran on through the forest as far
as the house of a worshipful hermit, and there lost the course
and had peace in the earth.  All along the valley thereof was
great plenty of everything continually, and nought was ever
lacking in the rich castle that Perceval had won.  The castle, so
saith the history, had three names.


II.

One of the names was Eden, the second, Castle of Joy, and the
third, Castle of Souls.  Now Josephus saith that none never
passed away therein but his soul went to Paradise.  King Arthur
was one day at the castle windows with Messire Gawain.  The King
seeth coming before him beyond the bridge a great procession of
folk one before another; and he that came before was all clad in
white, and bare a full great cross, and each of the others a
little one, and the more part came singing with sweet voices and
bear candles burning, and there was one behind that carried a
bell with the clapper and all at his neck.


"Ha, God," saith King Arthur, "What folk be these?"

"Sir," saith Perceval, "I know them all save the last.  They be
hermits of this forest, that come to chant within yonder before
the Holy Graal, three days in the week."


III.

When the hermits came nigh the castle, the King went to meet
them, and the knights adore the crosses and bow their heads
before the good men.  As soon as they were come into the holy
chapel, they took the bell from the last and smote thereon at the
altar, and then set it on the ground, and then began they the
service, most holy and most glorious.  The history witnesseth us
that in the land of King Arthur at this time was there not a
single chalice.  The Graal appeared at the sacring of the mass,
in five several manners that none ought not to tell, for the
secret things of the sacrament ought none to tell openly but he
unto whom God hath given it.  King Arthur beheld all the changes,
the last whereof was the change into a chalice.  And the hermit
that chanted the mass found a brief under the corporal and
declared the letters, to wit, that our Lord God would that in
such vessel should His body be sacrificed, and that it should be
set upon record.  The history saith not that there were no
chalices elsewhere, but that in all Great Britain and in the
whole kingdom was none.  King Arthur was right glad of this that
he had seen, and had in remembrance the name and the fashion of
the most holy chalice.  Then he asked the hermit that bare the
bell, whence this thing came?

"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "I am the King for whom you
slew the giant, whereby you had the sword wherewith St John was
beheaded, that I see on this altar.  I made baptize me before you
and all those of my kingdom, and turn to the New Law, and
thereafter I went to a hermitage by the sea, far from folk, where
I have been of a long space.  I rose one night at matins and
looked under my hermitage and saw that a ship had taken haven
there.  I went thither when the sea was retreated, and found
within the ship three priests and their clerks, that told me
their names and how they were called in baptism.  All three were
named Gregory, and they came from the Land of Promise, and told
me that Solomon had cast three bells, one for the Saviour of the
World, and one for His sweet Mother, and one for the honour of
His saints, wherefore they had brought this hither by His
commandment into this kingdom for that we had none here.  They
told me that and I should bear it into this castle, they would
take all my sins upon themselves, by Our Lord's pleasure, in such
sort as that I should be quit thereof.  And I in like manner have
brought it hither by the commandment of God, who willeth that
this should be the pattern of all those that shall be fashioned
in the realm of this island where never aforetime have been
none."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain to the hermit, "I know you
right well for a worshipful man, for you held your covenant truly
with me."

King Arthur was right glad of this thing, as were all they that
were within.  It seemed him that the noise thereof was like the
noise that he had heard sound ever since he had moved from
Cardoil.  The hermits went their way each to his hermitage when
they had done the service.


IV.

One day, as the King sate at meat in the hall with Perceval and
Messire Gawain and the ancient knights, behold you therewithal
one of the three Damsels of the Car that cometh, and she was
smitten all through her right arm.

"Sir," saith she to Perceval, "Have mercy on your mother and your
sister and on us.  Aristor of Moraine, that is cousin to the Lord
of the Moors that you slew, warreth upon your mother, and hath
carried off your sister by force into the castle of a vavasour of
his, and saith that he will take her to wife and will have all
her land that your mother ought to hold of right, maugre your
head.  But never had knight custom so cruel as he, for when he
shall have espoused the damsel, whomsoever she may be, yet will
he never love her so well but that he shall cut off her head with
his own hand, and so thereafter go seek for another to slay in
like manner.  Natheless in one matter hath he good custom, that
never will he do shame to none until such time as he hath
espoused her.  Sir, I was with my Lady your sister when he maimed
me in this manner.  Wherefore your mother sendeth you word and
prayeth you that you succour her, for you held her in covenant
that so you would do and she should have need thereof and you
should know it; for and you consent to her injury and loss, the
shame will be your own."

Perceval heard these tidings, and sore sorrowful was he thereof. 

"By my head," saith the King to Perceval, "I and my nephew, so
please you, will go to help you."

"Sir," saith he, "Gramercy, but go and achieve your own affair
also, for sore need have you thereof; wherefore I pray and
beseech you that you be guardian of the castle of Camelot, if
that my lady mother shall come thither, for thereof make I you
lord and champion, and albeit the castle be far away from you,
yet garnish it and guard it, for it is builded in a place right
fair."


V.

Lords, think not that it is this Camelot whereof these tellers
of tales do tell their tales, there, where King Arthur so often
held his court.  This Camelot that was the Widow Lady's stood
upon the uttermost headland of the wildest isle of Wales by the
sea to the West.  Nought was there save the hold and the forest
and the waters that were round about it.  The other Camelot, of
King Arthur's, was situate at the entrance of the kingdom of
Logres, and was peopled of folk and was seated at the head of the
King's land, for that he had in his governance all the lands that
on that side marched with his own.



BRANCH XXIII.

TITLE I.

Of Perceval the story is here silent, and saith that King Arthur
and Messire Gawain have taken leave of Perceval and all them of
the castle.  The King leaveth him the good destrier that he won,
with the golden crown.  They have ridden, he and Messire Gawain
together, until they are come to a waste ancient castle that
stood in a forest.  The castle would have been right fair and
rich had any folk wonned therein, but none there were save one
old priest and his clerk that lived within by their own toil. 
The King and Messire Gawain lodged there the night, and on the
morrow went into a right rich chapel that was therein to hear
mass, and it was painted all around of right rich colours of gold
and azure and other colours.  The images were right fair that
were there painted, and the Figures of them for whom the images
were made.  The King and Messire Gawain looked at them gladly.
When the mass was said, the priest cometh to them and saith:
"Lords," saith he, "These imagings are right fair, and he that
had them made is full loyal, and dearly loved the lady and her
son for whom he had them made.  Sir," saith the priest, "It is a
true history."

"Of whom is the history, fair Sir?" saith King Arthur.

"Of a worshipful vavasour that owned this hold, and of Messire
Gawain, King Arthur's nephew, and his mother. Sir," saith the
priest, "Messire Gawain was born there within and held up and
baptized, as you may see here imaged, and he was named Gawain for
the sake of the lord of this castle that had that name.  His
mother, that had him by King Lot, would not that it should be
known.  She set him in a right fair coffer, and prayed the good
man of this castle that he would carry him away and leave him
where he might perish, but and if he would not do so, she would
make another do it.  This Gawain, that was loyal and would not
that the child should be put to death, made seal letters at the
pillow-bere of his cradle that he was of lineage royal on the one
side and the other, and set therein gold and silver so as that
the child might be nurtured in great plenty, and spread above the
child a right rich coverlid.  He carried him away to a far
distant country, and so came one early morning to a little
homestead where dwelt a right worshipful man.  He delivered the
child to him and his wife, and bade them they should keep him and
nurture him well, and told them that it might be much good should
come to them thereof.  The vavasour turned him back, and they
took charge of the child and nurtured him until that he were
grown, and then took him to Rome to the Holy Father, and showed
him the sealed letters.  The Holy Father saw them and understood
that he was the son of a King.  He had pity upon him, and gave
him to understand that he was of his kindred.  After that, he was
elected to be Emperor of Rome.  But he would not be Emperor lest
he should be reproached of his birth that had before been
concealed from him.  He departed thence, and lived afterwards
within yonder.  Now is it said that he is one of the best knights
in the world, insomuch that none durst take possession of this
castle for dread of him, nor of this great forest that lieth
round about it.  For, when the vavasour that dwelt here was dead,
he left to Messire Gawain, his foster-son, this castle, and made
me guardian thereof until such time as Messire Gawain should
return."


II.

The King looketh at Messire Gawain, and seeth him stoop his head
toward the ground for shame.

"Fair nephew, be not ashamed, for as well might you reproach me
of the same.  Of your birth hath there been great joy, and dearly
ought one to love the place and honour it, where so good a knight
as are you was born."

When the priest understood that it was Messire Gawain, he made
great cheer to him, and was all ashamed of that he had recorded
as concerning his birth.  But he saith to him: "Sir, small blame
ought you to have herein, for you were confirmed in the law that
God hath established and in loyalty of marriage of King Lot and
your mother.  This thing King Arthur well knoweth, and our Lord
God be praised for that, you have come hither!"



BRANCH XXIV.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of the kingdom, and of King Arthur and
Messire Gawain that remain in the castle to maintain and guard it
until they shall have garnished it of folk.  Here speaketh it
word of the knight's son of the Waste Manor, there whither the
brachet led Messire Gawain where he found the knight that
Lancelot had slain.  He had one son whose name was Meliant, and
he had not forgotten his father's death; rather, thereof did
wrath rankle in his heart.  He heard tell that Briant of the
Isles had great force and great puissance, and that he warred
upon King Arthur's land, insomuch as that he had already slain
many of his knights.  Thitherward goeth he, and is come to where
Briant was in a castle of his own.  He telleth him how Lancelot
had slain his father in such sort, and prayeth him right
courteously that he would make him knight, for that right fain
would he avenge his father, and therefore would he help him in
the war the best he might.  Briant made much joy thereof, and
made him knight in right costly sort, and he was the comeliest
knight and the most valiant of his age in Briant's court, and
greatly did he desire to meet with Lancelot.  They marvelled much
in the land and kingdom what had become of him.  The more part
thought that he was dead, albeit dead he was not, but rather
sound and hale and whole, had it not been for the death of Queen
Guenievre, whereof the sorrow so lay at his heart that he might
not forget it.  He rode one day amidst a forest, and overtook a
knight and a damsel that made great joy together, singing and
making disport.

"By God," saith the damsel, "If this knight that cometh here will
remain, he shall have right good lodging.  It is already nigh
eventide, and never will he find hostel so good to-day."

"Damsel." saith Lancelot, "Of good hostel have I sore need, for I
am more than enough weary."

"So be all they," saith she, "that come from the land of the rich
King Fisherman, for none may suffer the pain and travail and he
be not good knight."


II.

"Ah, damsel," saith Lancelot, "Which is the way to the castle
whereof you speak?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "You will go by this cross that you see
before you, and we will go by that other way, to a certain hold.
Haply we shall find you at the castle or ever you depart thence."

Lancelot goeth his way and leaveth them.

"By my head," saith the damsel to the knight, "This that goeth
there is Lancelot.  He knoweth me not, albeit I know him well,
and I hear that he is sore troubled of his sorrow and mis-ease.
Natheless, please God, I will have vengeance of him or ever he
departeth from the castle whither he goeth to harbour.  He made
marry perforce a knight that loved me better than aught beside,
and to a damsel that he loved not a whit.  And so much might he
still better perceive when he saw that she ate not at his table,
but was seated along with the squires, and that none did aught
for her at the castle.  But the knight will not abandon her for
his own honour, and for that I should be blamed thereof."

The evening draweth on and Lancelot goeth toward the castle, that
was right uneath to find and in an unfrequented part.  He espieth
it at the head of the forest, and seeth that it is large and
strong, with strong barbicans embattelled, and at the entrance of
the gateway were fifteen heads of knights hanging.  He found
without a knight that came from the forest, and asked him what
castle it was, and he made answer that it was called the Castle
of the Griffon.

"And why are these heads hanging at this door?"

"Sir," saith he, "The daughter of the lord of the castle is the
fairest in the world and that is known in any kingdom, and needs
must she be offered to wife to all knights that harbour within.
He that can draw a sword that is fixed in a column in the midst
of the hall, and fetch it forth, he shall have her of right
without forfeit."


III.

"All these have made assay whose heads you see hanging at the
door, but never might none of them remove the sword, and on this
occasion were they beheaded.  Now is it said that none may draw
it forth, unless he that draweth be better knight than another,
and needs must he be one of them that have been at the Graal.
But, and you be minded to believe me, fair Sir," saith the
knight, "You will go elsewhither, for ill lodging is it in a
place where one must needs set body and life in adventure of
death, and none ought to be blamed for escaping from his own
harm.  Sir, the castle is right fell, for it hath underground, at
the issue of a cavern that is there, a lion and a griffon that
have devoured more than half a hundred knights."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "It is evening, nor know I how I may go
farther this day, for I know not whither I go sith that I know
not the places nor the ways of the forest."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I speak only for your own good, and God
grant you depart hence, honour safe."

Lancelot findeth the door of the castle all open, and entereth in
all armed, and alighteth before the master-hall.  The King was
leaning at the windows, and biddeth stall his horse.


IV.

Lancelot is entered into the hall, and findeth knights and
damsels at the tables and playing at the chess, but none did he
find to salute him nor make him cheer of his coming save the lord
only, for such was the custom of the castle.  The lord bade him
be disarmed.

"Sir," saith he, "Right well may you allow me wear my arms, for
they be the fairest garniture and the richest I have."

"Sir," saith the lord of the castle, "No knight eateth armed
within yonder, but he that cometh armed in hither disarmeth
himself by my leave.  He may take his arms again without gainsay,
so neither I nor other desire to do him a hurt."

With that two squires disarm him.  The lord of the Castle maketh
bring a right rich robe wherein to apparel him.  The tables were
set and the meats served.  The damsel issued forth of her chamber
and was accompanied of two knights as far as the hall.  She
looketh at Lancelot, and seeth that he is a right comely knight,
and much liketh her of his bearing and countenance, and she
thinketh to herself that sore pity would it be so comely knight
should have his head smitten off.


V.

Lancelot saluted the damsel and made great cheer, and when they
had eaten in hall, forthwith behold you, the damsel where she
cometh that Lancelot overtook in the forest with the knight.

"Sir," saith she to the lord of the castle, "You have harboured
this night your deadly enemy that slew your brother at the Waste
Manor."

"By my faith," saith the lord of the manor, "I think not so, for
him would I not have harboured, nor will I not believe it for
true until such time as I have proved it. Sir," saith he to
Lancelot, "Make the demand that the others make!"

"What is it?" saith Lancelot.

"See there my daughter!  Ask her of me, and if you be such as you
ought to be, I will give her to you."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "No knight is there in the world so good
but ought to plume him upon having her to wife, so always she
were willing, and, so I thought that you would be willing to give
her to me, I would willingly ask you."

Lancelot spake otherwise than as he thought, for the departing of
the Queen and the sorrow thereof lay so at his heart that never
again might he lean upon any love in the world, neither of dame
nor damsel.  He asked his daughter of the knight of the castle,
and came before him to save the custom so that he might not have
blame thereof.  And he showed him the sword that is in the
column, all inlaid with gold.

"Go," saith he, "and fulfil the custom, as other knights have
done."

"What is it?" saith Lancelot.

"They might not draw forth the sword from this column, and so
failed of my daughter and of their lives."

"Lord God," saith Lancelot, "Defend me from this custom!"

And he cometh toward the column as fast as he may, and seizeth
the sword with both hands.  So soon as he touched it, the sword
draweth it forth with such a wrench that the column quaked
thereof.  The damsel was right joyful thereat, albeit she
misdoubted the fellness and cruelty of her father, for never yet
had she seen knight that pleased her so much to love as he.

"Sir," saith the other damsel, "I tell you plainly, this is
Lancelot, the outrageous, that slew your brother.  Natheless, is
it no lie that he is one of the best knights of the world, albeit
by the stoutness of his knighthood and his valour many an outrage
hath he done, and more shall he yet do and he escape you, and, so
you will believe me, you will never allow him to depart thus;
sith that and you kill him or slay him you will save the life of
many a knight."

The daughter of the lord of the castle is sore displeased of the
damsel for this that she saith, and looketh at Lancelot from time
to time and sigheth, but more durst she not do.  Much marvelleth
she, sith that Lancelot hath drawn the sword forth of the column,
that he asketh her not of her father as his own liege woman, but
he was thinking of another thing, and never was he so sorrowful
of any lady as he was for the Queen.  But whatsoever thought or
desire he may have therein, he telleth the lord of the castle
that he holdeth him to his covenant made at such time as the
sword was still fixed in the column.

"I have a right not to hold thereto," saith the lord of the
castle, "Nor shall I break not my vow and I fail you herein; for
no man is bound to give his daughter to his mortal enemy.  Sith
that you have slain my brother, you are my mortal enemy, and were
I to give her to you, she ought not to wish it, and were she to
grant you her love she would be a fool and a madwoman."

Right sorrowful is the damsel or this that she heareth her father
say.  She would fain that Lancelot and she were in the forest,
right in the depth thereof.  But Lancelot had no mind to be as
she was thinking.  The lord of the castle made guard the gateway
of the castle well, in such sort that Lancelot might issue
therefrom on no side.  Afterward he bade his knights privily that
they take heed on their lives that they be all ready on the
morrow and all garnished of their arms, for that it was his
purpose to smite off Lancelot's head and hang it above all the
others.


VI.

The daughter of the lord knew these tidings and was right
sorrowful thereof, for she thinketh never more to have joy at
heart and he shall be slain in such manner.  She sendeth him
greeting by her own privy messenger, as she that loveth him
better than aught else living in the world, and so biddeth and
prayeth him be garnished of his arms, and ready to protect his
life, for that her father is fain to smite off his head.

"Sir," saith the messenger, "Your force would avail you nought as
against my lord, for to-morrow there will be a dozen knights all
armed at the issue of the gate whereby you entered to-night, and
he saith that he purposeth to cut off your head there where he
cut the heads off the other knights.  Without the gate there will
likewise be another dozen knights all armed.  No knight is there
in the world so good as that he might issue forth of this castle
through the midst of these four and twenty knights, but my lady
sendeth you word that there is a cavern under this castle that
goeth therefrom underground as far as the forest, so that a
knight may well pass thereby all armed, but there is therein a
lion, the fiercest and most horrible in the world, and two
serpents that are called griffons, that have the face of a man
and the beaks of birds and eyes of an owl and teeth of a dog and
ears of an ass and feet of a lion and tail of a serpent, and they
have couched them therewithin, but never saw no man beasts so
fell and felonous.  Wherefore the damsel biddeth you go by that
way, by everything that you have ever loved, and that you fail
her not, for she would fain speak with you at the issue of the
cavern in an orchard that is nigh a right broad river not far
from this castle, and will make your destrier be brought after
you underground."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "And she had not conjured me in
such sort, and were it not for love of herself, I would have
rather set myself in hazard with the knights than with the wild
beasts, for far father would I have delivered myself from them,
and so I might, than go forth in such-wise."

"She sendeth you word," saith the messenger, "that so you do not
thus, no further trouble will she take concerning you.  She doth
it of dread lest she lose your love; and here behold a brachet
that she sendeth you by me that you will carry with you into the
cavern.  So soon as you shalt see the serpent griffons that have
couched them therein, you shall show them this and cast her down
before them.  The griffons love her as much as one beast may love
another, and shall have such joy and such desire to play with the
brachet that they will leave you alone, and have such good will
toward you that they will not look at you after to do you any
hurt.  But no man is there in the world, no matter how well
soever he were armed, nor how puissant soever he were in himself,
might never pass them otherwise, but he should be devoured of
them.  But no safeguard may you have as against the lion but of
God only and your own hardiment."

"Tell my damsel," saith Lancelot, "that all her commandment will
I do, but this cowardize resembleth none other, that I shall go
fight with beasts and leave to do battle with knights."

This was then repeated to the damsel, that marvelled her much
thereat, and said that he was the hardiest knight in the world.


VII.

Lancelot armed him toward daybreak, and had his sword girt, his
shield at his neck, and his spear in his hand.  So he entered
into the cavern, all shamefast, and the brachet followeth after,
that he deigned not to carry, and so cometh he to the place where
the griffons were.  So soon as they heard him coming they dress
them on their feet, and then writhe along as serpents, then cast
forth such fire, and so bright a flame amidst the rock, as that
all the cavern is lighted up thereof, and they see by the
brightness of light of their jaws the brachet coming.  So soon as
they have espied her, they carry her in their claws and make her
the greatest cheer in the world.  Lancelot passeth beyond without
gainsay, and espieth, toward the issue of the cavern, the lion
that was come from the forest all famished.  He cometh thither
right hardily, sword drawn.  The lion cometh toward him, jaws
yawning, and claws bared, thinking to fix them in his habergeon,
but Lancelot preventeth him and smiteth him so stoutly that he
cutteth off thigh and leg together.  When the lion feeleth
himself thus maimed, he seizeth him by the teeth and the claws of
his fore feet and rendeth away half the skirt of his habergeon.
Thereupon Lancelot waxeth wroth.  He casteth his shield to the
ground and approacheth the lion closer.  He seeth that he openeth
his jaws wide to avenge himself, and thrusteth his sword the
straightest he may into his gullet, and the lion giveth out a
roar and falleth dead.  The damsel, that had come into the
cavern, heareth that the lion is dead.


VIII.

Lancelot issued forth and so cometh into the orchard beside the
forest, and wiped his sword on the freshness of the green grass.
Thereupon behold you the damsel that cometh.

"Sir," saith she to Lancelot, "Are you wounded in any place?"

"Damsel, nowhere, thank God!"

Another damsel leadeth a horse into the orchard.  The damsel of
the castle looketh at Lancelot.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Meseemeth that you are not over
joyous."

"Damsel," saith he, "If I be not, I have good right, for I have
lost the thing in the world that most I loved."

"And you have won me," saith she, "so you remain not here, that
am the fairest damsel in this kingdom, and I have saved you your
life for this, that you grant me your love, for mine own would I
fain give unto you."

"Gramercy, damsel," saith Lancelot, "Your love and your good
will fain would I have; but neither you nor none other damsel
ought not to have affiance in me, and I might so soon set
carelessly aside the love to whom my heart owed its obedience,
for the worthiness and the courtesy that were lodged in her.  Nor
never hereafter, so long as I live, shall I love none other in
like manner; wherefore all others commend I to God, and to
yourself, as for leave-taking to one at whose service I fain
would be; I say that if you shall have need of me, and so I be in
place and free, I will do all I may to protect your honour."


IX.

"Ha, God!" saith the damsel, "How am I betrayed, sith that I am
parted from the best knight in the world!  Lancelot, you have
done that which never yet no knight might do!  Now am I grieved
that you should escape on such wise, and that your life hath been
saved in this manner by me.  Better should I love you mine own
dead, than another's living.  Now would I fain that you had had
your head smitten off, and that it were hanging with the others!
So would I solace myself by beholding it!"

Lancelot took no account of that he heard, for the grief that lay
at his heart of the Queen.  He mounteth on his horse and issueth
forth of the orchard by a postern gate, and entereth into the
forest, and commendeth him to God.  The lord of the Castle of the
Griffons marvelleth much that Lancelot delayeth so long.  He
thinketh that he durst not come down, and saith to his knights,
"Let us go up and cut off his head, sith that he durst not come
down."

He maketh search for him all through the hall and the chambers,
but findeth him not.

"He hath gone," saith he, "through the cavern, so have the
griffons devoured him."

So he sendeth the twain most hardy of his knights to see.  But
the brachet had returned after the damsel, whereof the griffons
were wroth, and they forthwith seized on the two knights that
entered into their cavern and slew them and devoured.


X.

When the lord of the castle knew it, he went into the chamber
where his daughter was, and found her weeping, and thinketh that
it is for the two knights that are dead.  News is brought him
that the lion is dead at the issue of the cavern, and thereby
well knoweth he that Lancelot is gone.  He biddeth his knights
follow after him, but none was there so hardy as that he durst
follow.  The damsel was right fain they should go after him, if
only they might bring him back to the castle, for so mortally was
she taken of his love that she thought of none other thing.  But
Lancelot had her not in remembrance, but only another, and rode
on sadly right amidst the forest, and looked from time to time at
the rent the lion had made in his habergeon.  He rideth until he
is come toward evening to a great valley where was forest on the
one side and the other, and the valley stretched onward half a
score great leagues Welsh.  He looketh to the right, and on the
top of the mountain beside the valley he seeth a chapel newly
builded that was right fair and rich, and it was covered of lead,
and had at the back two quoins that seemed to be of gold.  By the
side of this chapel were three houses dight right richly, each
standing by itself facing the chapel.  There was a right fair
grave-yard round about the chapel, that was enclosed at the
compass of the forest, and a spring came down, full clear, from
the heights of the forest before the chapel and ran into the
valley with a great rushing; and each of the houses had its own
orchard, and the orchard an enclosure.  Lancelot heareth vespers
being chanted in the chapel, and seeth the path that turned
thitherward, but the mountain is so rugged that he could not go
along it on horseback.  So he alighteth and leadeth his horse
after him by the reins until he cometh nigh the chapel.


XI.

There were three hermits therewithin that had sung their vespers,
and came over against Lancelot.  They bowed their heads to him
and he saluted them, and then asked of them what place was this?
And they told him that the place there was Avalon.  They make
stable his horse.  He left his arms without the chapel and
entereth therein, and saith that never hath he seen none so fair
nor so rich.  There were within three other places, right fair
and seemly dight of rich cloths of silk and rich corners and
fringes of gold.  He seeth the images and the crucifixes all
newly fashioned, and the chapel illumined of rich colours; and
moreover in the midst thereof were two coffins, one against the
other, and at the four corners four tall wax tapers burning, that
were right rich, in four right rich candlesticks.  The coffins
were covered with two pails, and there were clerks that chanted
psalms in turn on the one side and the other.

"Sir," saith Lancelot to one of the hermits, "For whom were these
coffins made?"

"For King Arthur and Queen Guenievre."

"King Arthur is not yet dead," saith Lancelot.

"No, in truth, please God!  but the body of the Queen lieth in
the coffin before us and in the other is the head of her son,
until such time as the King shall be ended, unto whom God grant
long life!  But the Queen bade at her death that his body should
be set beside her own when he shall end.  Hereof have we the
letters and her seal in this chapel, and this place made she be
builded new on this wise or ever she died."


XI.

When Lancelot heareth that it is the Queen that lieth in the
coffin, he is so straitened in his heart and in his speech that
never a word may he say.  But no semblant of grief durst he make
other than such as might not be perceived, and right great
comfort to him was it that there was an image of Our Lady at the
head of the coffin.  He knelt down the nighest he might to the
coffin, as it had been to worship the image, and set his race and
his mouth to the stone of the coffin, and sorroweth for her right
sweetly.

"Ha, Lady," saith he, "But that I dread the blame of the people,
never again would I seek to depart from this place, but here
would I save my soul and pray for yours; so would it be much
recomforting to me that I should be so nigh, and should see the
sepulchre wherein your body lieth that had so great sweetness and
bounty.  God grant me of your pleasure, that at my death I may
still be a-nigh, and that I may die in such manner and in such
place as that I may be shrouded and buried in this holy chapel
where this body lieth."

The night cometh on.  A clerk cometh to the hermits and saith,
"Never yet did no knight cry mercy of God so sweetly, nor of His
sweet Mother, as did this knight that is in the chapel."

And the hermits make answer that knights for the most part do
well believe in God.  They come to the chapel for him and bid him
come thence, for that meat is ready and he should come to eat,
and after that go to sleep and rest, for it is full time so to
do.  He telleth them that as for his eating this day it is stark
nought, for a desire and a will hath taken him to keep vigil in
the chapel before one of the images of Our Lady.  No wish had he
once to depart thence before the day, and he would fain that the
night should last far longer than it did.  The good men durst not
force him against his will; they say, rather, that the worshipful
man is of good life who will keep watch in such manner throughout
the night without drink or meat, for all that he seemeth to be
right weary.


XIII.

Lancelot was in the chapel until the morrow before the tomb.  The
hermits apparelled them to do the service that they chanted each
day, mass for the soul of the Queen and her son.  Lancelot
heareth them with right good will.  When the masses were sung, he
taketh leave of the hermits and looketh at the coffin right
tenderly.  He commendeth the body that lieth therein to God and
His sweet Mother; then findeth he without the chapel his horse
accoutred ready, and mounteth forthwith, and departeth, and
looketh at the place and the chapel so long as he may see them.
He hath ridden so far that he is come nigh Cardoil, and findeth
the land wasted and desolate, and the towns burnt, whereof is he
sore grieved.  He meeteth a knight that came from that part, and
he was wounded full sore.  Lancelot asketh him whence he cometh,
and he saith, "Sir, from towards Cardoil.  Kay the Seneschal,
with two other knights, is leading away Messire Ywain li Aoutres
toward the castle of the Hard Rock.  I thought to help to rescue
him, but they have wounded me in such sort as you see."

"Are they ever so far away?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir, they will pass just now at the head of this forest; and so
you are fain to go thither, I will return with you right
willingly and help you to the best I may."

Lancelot smiteth his horse with the spurs forthwith, and the
knight after him, and espieth Kay the Seneschal, that was
bringing Messire Ywain along at a great pace, and had set him
upon a trotting hackney, for so he thought that none would know
him.  Lancelot overtaketh him and crieth, "By my head, Kay the
Seneschal, shame had you enough of that you did to King Arthur
when you slew his son, and as much more ought you now to have of
thus warring upon him again!"

He smiteth his horse of his spurs, lance in rest, and Kay the
Seneschal turneth toward him, and they mell together with their
spears on their shields, and pierce them in such sort that an
ells-length of each shaft passeth through beyond.


XIV.

The lances were strong so as that they brast not.  They draw them
back to themselves so stoutly and come together so fiercely that
their horses stagger and they lose the stirrups.  Lancelot
catcheth Kay the Seneschal at the passing beyond, in the midst of
the breast, and thrusteth his spear into him so far that the
point remained in the flesh, and Kay to-brast his own; and sore
grieved was he when he felt himself wounded.  The knight that was
wounded overthrew one of the two knights.  Kay is on the ground,
and Lancelot taketh his horse and setteth Messire Ywain li
Aoutres thereupon, that was right sore wounded so as that he
scarce might bear it.  Kay the Seneschal maketh his knight
remount, and holdeth his sword grasped in his fist as though he
had been stark wood.  Lancelot seeth the two knights sore badly
wounded, and thinketh that and he stay longer they may remain on
the field.  He maketh them go before him, and Kay the Seneschal
followeth them behind, himself the third knight, that is right
wroth of the wound he feeleth and the blood that he seeth.
Lancelot bringeth off his knights like as the wild-boar goeth
among the dogs, and Kay dealeth him great buffets of his sword
when he may catch him, and Lancelot him again, and so they
depart, fencing in such sort.


XV.

When Kay the Seneschal seeth that he may not harm him, he turneth
him back, full of great wrath, and his heart pricketh to avenge
him thereof and he may get at him, for he is the knight of the
court that most he hateth.  He is come back to the Castle of the
Hard Rock.  Briant of the Isles asketh him who hath wounded him
in such sort, and he telleth him that he was bringing thither
Ywain li Aoutres when Lancelot rescued him.

"And the King," saith Briant, "Is he repaired thither?"

"I have heard no tidings of him at all," saith Kay, "For no
leisure had I to ask of any."

Briant and his knights take much thought as concerning Lancelot's
coming, for they are well persuaded that Lancelot hath come for
that the King is dead and Messire Gawain, whereof they make right
great joy.  Kay the Seneschal maketh him be disarmed and his
wound searched.  They tell him he need not fear it shall be his
death, but that he is right sore wounded.


XVI.

Lancelot is entered into the castle of Cardoil, and his wounded
knights withal, and findeth the folk in sore dismay.  Great dole
make they in many places and much lamentation for King Arthur,
and say that now nevermore may they look for succeur to none, and
he be dead and Messire Gawain.  But they give Lancelot joy of
that he hath rescued Messire Ywain li Aoutres, and were so
somewhat comforted and made great cheer.  The tidings thereof
came to the knights that were in the castle, and they all come
forward to meet him save they that were wounded, and so led him
up to the castle, and Messire Ywain with him and the other knight
that was wounded.  All the knights of the castle were right glad,
and ask him tidings of King Arthur, and whether he were dead or
no.  And Lancelot telleth them that he was departed from him at
the Palace Meadow, where he won the white destrier and the crown
of gold there where the tidings were brought to him that Queen
Guinievre was dead.


XVII.

"Then you tell us of a truth that the King is on live, and
Messire Gawain?"

"Both, you may be certain!" saith Lancelot.

Thereupon were they gladder than before.  They told him of their
own mischance, how Briant of the Isles had put them to the worse,
and how Kay the Seneschal was with him to do them hurt.  For he
it is that taketh most pains to do them evil.

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Kay the Seneschal ought of right
to take heed and with-hold him from doing you ill, but he
departed from the field with the point of my spear in him when I
rescued Messire Ywain."


XVIII.

The knights are much comforted of the coming of Lancelot, but he
is much grieved that he findeth so many of them wounded.  Meliant
of the Waste Manor is at the castle of the Hard Rock, and good
fellow is it betwixt him and Kay the Seneschal.  He is right glad
of the tidings he hath heard, that Lancelot is come, and saith
that he is the knight of the world that most he hateth, and that
he will avenge him of his father and he may meet him.  There come
before the castle of Cardoil one day threescore knights armed,
and they seize upon their booty betwixt the castle and the
forest.  Lancelot issueth forth all armed, and seven of the best
of the castle with him.  He cometh upon them after that they have
led away their plunder.  He overtaketh one knight and smiteth him
with his spear right through the body, and the other knights make
an onset upon the others and many to-brake their spears, and much
clashing was there of steel on armour; and there fell at the
assembly on one side and the other full a score knights, whereof
some were wounded right sore.  Meliant of the Waste Manor espied
Lancelot, and right great joy made he of seeing him, and smiteth
him so stout a buffet on the shield that he to-breaketh his
spear.


XIX.

Lancelot smiteth him amidst the breast so grimly that he maketh
him bend backwards over the saddle behind, and so beareth him to
the ground, legs uppermost, over his horse's croup, and trampleth
him under his horse's feet.  Lancelot was minded to alight to the
ground to take him, but Briant of the Isles cometh and maketh him
mount again perforce.  The numbers grew on the one side and the
other of knights that came from Cardoil and from the Hard Rock.
Right great was the frushing of lances and the clashing of swords
and the overthrow of horses and knights.  Briant of the Isles and
Lancelot come against each other so stoutly that they pierce
their shields and cleave their habergeons, and they thrust with
their spears so that the flesh is broken under the ribs and the
shafts are all-to-splintered.  They hurtle against each other so
grimly at the by-passing that their eyes sparkle as it were of
stars in their heads, and the horses stagger under them.  They
hold their swords drawn, and so return the one toward the other
like lions.  Such buffets deal they upon their helms that they
beat them in and make the fire leap out by the force of the
smiting of iron by steel. And Meliant cometh all armed toward
Lancelot to aid Briant of the Isles, but Lucan the Butler cometh
to meet him, and smiteth him with his spear so stoutly that he
thrusteth it right through his shield and twisteth his arm gainst
his side.  He breaketh his spear at the by-passing, and Meliant
also breaketh his, but he was wounded passing sore.


XX.

Thereupon he seizeth him by the bridle and thinketh to lead him
away, but the knights and the force of Briant rescue him.  The
clashing of arms lasted great space betwixt Briant of the Isles
and Lancelot, and each was mightily wrath for that each was
wounded.  Either seized other many times by the bridle, and each
was right fain to lead the other to his own hold, but the force
of knights on the one side and the other disparted them asunder.
Thus the stour lasted until evening, until that the night
sundered them.  But Briant had nought to boast of at departing,
for Lancelot and his men carried off four of his by force right
sore wounded, besides them that remained dead on the field.
Briant of the Isles and Meliant betook them back all sorrowful
for their knights that are taken and dead.  Lancelot cometh back
to Cardoil, and they of the castle make him right great joy of
the knights that they bring taken, and say that the coming of the
good knight Lancelot should be great comfort to them until such
time as King Arthur should repair back and Messire Gawain.  The
wounded knights that were in the castle turned to healing of
their wounds, whereof was Lancelot right glad.  They were as many
as five and thirty within the castle.  Of all the King's knights
were there no more save Lancelot and the wounded knight that he
brought along with him.



BRANCH XXV.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Lancelot and the knights that are at
Cardoil, and saith that King Arthur and Messire Gawain are in the
castle where the priest told Messire Gawain how he was born.  But
they cannot depart thence at their will, for Ahuret the Bastard
that was brother of Nabigant of the Rock, that Messire Gawain
slew on account of Meliot of Logres, knoweth well that they are
therewithin, and hath assembled his knights and holdeth them
within so strait that they may not depart without sore damage.
For he hath on the outer side a full great plenty of knights, and
the King and Messire Gawain have with them but only five of the
forest and the country that are upon their side, and they hold
them so strait within that they may not issue out from thence;
yea, the brother of Nabigant sweareth that they shall not depart
thence until such time as he shall have taken Messire Gawain, and
taken vengeance on his fellow of his brother whom he slew.  The
King saith to Messire Gawain that he hath much shame of this that
they are so long shut up therewithin, and that he better loveth
to die with honour than to live with shame within the castle.  So
they issued forth, spears in rest, and Ahuret and his knights,
whereof was there great plenty, made much joy thereat.


II.

The King and Messire Gawain strike among them, and each
overthroweth his man; but Ahuret hath great shame of this that he
seeth his knights put to the worse by so few folk.  He setteth
his spear in rest and smiteth one of King Arthur's knights
through the body and beareth him down dead.  Then returneth he to
Messire Gawain, and buffeteth him so strongly that he pierceth
his shield, but he maketh drop his own spear and loseth his
stirrups, and Messire Gawain waxeth wroth and smiteth him so
grimly and with such force that he maketh him bend back over the
hinder bow of his saddle.  But Ahuret was strong and of great
might, and leapeth back between the bows and cometh toward King
Arthur that he saw before him, but he knew him not.  He left
Messire Gawain, and the King smiteth him with such a sweep that
he cutteth off his arm, spear and all.  There was great force of
knights, so that they ran upon them on all sides; and never would
they have departed thence sound and whole, but that thereupon
Meliot of Logres cometh thither with fifteen knights, for that he
had heard tidings of Messire Gawain, how he was besieged in a
castle there, where he and King Arthur between them were in such
plight that they had lost their five knights, so that they were
not but only two that defended themselves as best they might, as
they that had no thought but to remain there, for the odds of two
knights against thirty was too great.


III.

Thereupon, behold you, Meliot of Logres with fifteen knights, and
they come thither where the King and Messire Gawain are in such
jeopardy, and they strike so stoutly among them that they rescue
King Arthur and Messire Gawain from them that had taken them by
the bridle, and so slay full as many as ten of them, and put the
others to flight, and lead away their lord sore maimed. And
Messire Gawain giveth Meliot much thanks of the bounty he hath
done, whereby he hath saved them their lives; and he giveth him
the castle, and is fain that he hold it of him, for in no place
might he have better employment, and that well hath he deserved
it of his service in such need.  Meliot thanketh him much, and
prayeth Messire Gawain instantly that and he shall have need of
succour he will come to aid him, in like manner as he would do by
him everywhere.  And Messire Gawain telleth him that as of this
needeth him not to make prayer, for that he is one of the knights
of the world that most he ought of right to love.  The King and
Messire Gawain take leave of Meliot, and so depart, and Meliot
garnisheth the castle that was right fair and rich and well-
seated.



BRANCH XXVI.

TITLE I.

Of Meliot the story is here silent, and saith that King Arthur
and Messire Gawain have ridden so far that they are come into the
Isle of Avalon, there where the Queen lieth.  They lodge the
night with the hermits, that made them right great cheer.  But
you may well say that the King is no whit joyful when he seeth
the coffin where the Queen lieth and that wherein the head of his
son lieth.  Thereof is his dole renewed, and he saith that this
holy place of this holy chapel ought he of right to love better
than all other places on earth.  They depart on the morrow when
they have heard mass.  The King goeth the quickest he may toward
Cardoil, and findeth the land wasted and desolate in many places,
whereof is he right sorrowful, and understandeth that Kay the
Seneschal warreth upon him with the others.  He marvelleth much
how he durst do it.  He is come to Cardoil.  When they of the
castle know it they come to meet him with right great cheer.  The
tidings went throughout all the land, and they of the country
were right joyous thereof, for the more part believed that he was
dead.  They of the castle of the Hard Rock knew it, but little
rejoiced they thereat.  But Kay the Seneschal was whole of his
wound and bethought him that great folly would he do to remain
longer there to war upon the King, for well knew he that and the
King held him and did that which he had proclaimed, his end were
come.  He departeth from the castle, where he had sojourned of a
long while, and crossed again stealthily over-sea, and came into
Little Britain, and made fast a castle for fear of the King, that
is called Chinon, and was there long time, without the King
warring upon him, for enough adventures had he in other parts.


II.

To Cardoil was the King repaired and Messire Gawain.  You may
well understand that the land was much rejoiced thereof, and that
all the knights were greatly comforted, and knights came back to
the court from all parts.  They that had been wounded were whole
again.  Briant of the Isles stinted not of his pride nor of his
outrage, but rather stirred up the war the most he might, he and
Meliant still more, and said that never would he cease therefrom
until death, nor never would he have rest until such time as he
should have vengeance of Lancelot.  The King was one day at
Cardoil at meat, and there was in the hall great throng of
knights, and Messire Gawain sate beside the King.  Lancelot sate
at the table, and Messire Ywain the son of King Urien, and
Sagramors li Desirous, and Ywain li Aoutres, and many more other
knights round about the table, but there were not so many as
there wont to be.  Messire Lucan the Butler served before the
King of the golden cup.  The King looked round about the table
and remembered him of the Queen.  He was bent upon thinking
rather than on eating, and saw that his court was much wasted and
worsened of her death.  And what time the King was musing in such
sort, behold you a knight come into the hall all armed before the
King; and he leaneth on the staff of his spear.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Listen, so please you, to me, and all
these others, listen!  Madeglant of Oriande sendeth me here to
you, and commandeth that you yield up the Table Round to him, for
sith that the Queen is dead, you have no right thereof, for he is
her next of kin and he that hath the best right to have and to
hold it; and, so you do not this, you he defieth as the man that
disinheriteth him, for he is your enemy in two manner of ways,
for the Table Round that you hold by wrong, and for the New Law
that you hold.  But he sendeth you word by me, that so you will
renounce your belief and take Queen Jandree his sister, that he
will cry you quit as of the Table Round and will be of your aid
everywhere.  But and if you do not this, have never affiance in
him.  And so sendeth he word to you by me!"


III.

Therewith the knight departeth, and the King remaineth all heavy
in thought, and when they had eaten, he rose from the tables and
all the knights.  He speaketh to Messire Gawain and Lancelot, and
taketh counsel with all the others.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "You will defend yourself the best
you may, and we will help you to smite your enemies.  Great
Britain is all at your will.  You have not as yet lost any
castle.  Nought hath been broken down nor burnt but open ground
and cottages and houses, whereof is no great harm done to
yourself, and the shame thereof may lightly be amended.  King
Madeglant is of great hardiment as of words, but in arms will he
not vanquish you so soon.  If that he warreth upon you toward the
West, send thither one of the best knights of your court that may
maintain the war and defend the land against him."


IV.

The King sojourned at Cardoil of a long space.  He believed in
God and His sweet Mother right well.  He brought thither from the
castle where the Graal was the pattern whereby chalices should be
made, and commanded make them throughout all the land so as that
the Saviour of the world should be served more worshipfully.  He
commanded also that bells be cast throughout his land after the
fashion of the one he had brought, and that each church should
have one according to the means thereof.  This much pleased the
people of his kingdom, for thereby was the land somewhat amended.
The tidings came to him one day that Briant and Meliant were
riding through his land with great routs of folk, and were minded
to assiege Pannenoisance; and the King issued forth of Cardoil
with great throng of knights all armed, and rode until he espied
Briant and his people, and Briant him again.  They ranged their
battles on both sides, and came together with such might and so
great a shock as that it seemed the earth shook; and they melled
together at the assembly with their spears so passing grimly as
that the frushing thereof might be heard right far away.  Some
fourteen fell in the assembly that rose up again never more.
Meliant of the Waste Manor searcheth for Lancelot in the midst of
the stour until he findeth him, and runneth upon him right
sturdily and pierceth his shield with his spear.  Lancelot
smiteth him such a sweep amidst the breast, that he thrusteth his
spear right through his shoulder, and pinneth him so strongly
that the shaft is all to-brast, and the end thereof remaineth in
his body.  And Meliant, all stricken through as he is, runneth
upon him and passeth his spear right through the shield and
through the arm, in such sort that he pinneth it to his side.  He
passeth beyond and breaketh his spear, and afterward returneth to
Lancelot, sword in fist, and dealeth him a buffet on the helm so
grimly that he all to-battered it in.  Lancelot waxeth right
wroth thereof, and he grieveth the more for that he feeleth him
wounded.  He cometh toward Meliant, sword drawn, and holding him
well under cover of his shield and cover of his helm, and smiteth
Meliant so fiercely that he cleaveth his shoulder down to the rib
in such sort that the end of the spear wherewith he had pierced
him fell out therefrom.  Meliant felt himself wounded to the
death, and draweth him back all sorrowful, and other knights run
upon Lancelot and deliver assault.  Messire Ywain and Sagramors
li Desirous and Messire Gawain were on the other side in great
jeopardy, for the people of Briant of the Isles came from all
parts, and waxed more and more, and on all sides the greater
number of knights had the upper hand therein.  King Arthur and
Briant of the Isles were in the midst of the battle, and dealt
each other right great buffets.  Briant's people come thither and
take King Arthur by the bridle, and the King defendeth himself as
a good knight, and maketh a ring about him amongst them that
attack him, the same as doth a wild boar amongst the dogs.
Messire Ywain is come thither and Lucan the Butler, and break
through the press by force.  Thereupon, behold you Sagramors li
Desirous, that cometh as fast as his horse may gallop under him,
and smiteth Briant of the Isles right before his people with such
a rush that he beareth him to the ground in a heap, both him and
his horse. Briant to-brast his thigh bone in the fall that he
made. Sagramors holdeth sword drawn and would fain have thrust it
into his body, when the King crieth to him that he slay him not.


V.

Briant's people were not able to succour their lord.  Nay,
rather, they drew back on all sides, for the stout had lasted of
a long space.  So they tended the dead and the wounded, of whom
were enough on one side and the other.  King Arthur made carry
Briant of the Isles to Cardoil, and bring along the other knights
that his own knights had taken.  Right joyous were the folks at
Cardoil when the King came back.  They bore Meliant of the Waste
Manor on his shield to the Hard Rock, but he scarce lived after.
The King made Briant of the Isles be healed, and held him in
prison of a long while, until Briant gave him surety of all his
lands and became his man.  The King made him Seneschal of all his
lands, and Briant served him right well.


VI.

Lancelot was whole of his wound, and all the knights of theirs.
King Arthur was safely stablished, and redoubted and dreaded of
all lands and of his own land like as he wont to be.  Briant hath
forgotten all that is past, and is obedient to the King's
commands and more privy is he of his counsel than ever another of
the knights, insomuch that he put the others somewhat back,
whereof had they much misliking.  The felony of Kay the Seneschal
lay very nigh the King's heart, and he said that and any would
take vengeance upon him for the same, greatly would he love him
thereof, for so disloyally hath he wrought against him that he
durst not let the matter be slurred over; and a sore misfortune
is it for the world when a man of so poor estate hath slain so
high a man as his son for no misdeed, and that strangers ought by
as good right as they that knew him or himself take vengeance
upon him thereof, so that others might be adread of doing such
disloyalty.


VII.

Briant was feared and redoubted throughout all Great Britain.
King Arthur had told them that they were all to be at his
commandment.  And one day while the King was at Cardoil, behold
you a damsel that cometh into the hail and saith unto him: "Sir,
Queen Jandree hath sent me over to you, and biddeth you do that
whereof her brother sent you word by his knight.  She is minded
to be Lady and Queen of your land, and that you take her to wife,
for of high lineage is she and of great power, wherefore she
biddeth you by me that you renounce the New Law and that you
believe in the God in whom she believeth, and, so you do not
this, you may not have affiance in your land, for King Madeglant
hath as now made ready his host to enter into the chief of your
land, and hath sworn his oath that he will not end until he shall
have passed all the borders of the isles that march upon your
land, and shall come upon Great Britain with all his strength,
and so seize the Table Round that ought to be his own of right.
And my Lady herself would come hither but for one thing, to wit,
that she hath in her such disdain of them that believe in the New
Law, that she deigneth not behold none of them, for, so soon as
she was stablished Queen, made she her eyes be covered for that
she would not look upon none that were of that believe.  But the
Gods wherein she believeth did so much for her, for that she
loveth and worshippeth them, that she may discover her eyes and
her face, and yet see not at all, whereof is she right glad, for
that the eyes in her head are beautiful and gentle.  But great
affiance hath she in her brother, that is mighty and puissant,
for he hath her in covenant that he will destroy all them that
believe in the New Law, in all places where he may get at them,
and, when he shall have destroyed them in Great Britain and the
other islands, so that my Lady might not see none therein, so
well is she with the Gods wherein she believeth, that she will
have her sight again all whole nor until that hour is she fain to
see nought"


VIII.

"Damsel," saith the King, "I have heard well that which you tell
me of this that you have in charge to say; but tell your Lady on
my behalf, that the Law which the Saviour of the world hath
established by His death and by His crucifixion never will I
renounce, for the love that I have in Him.  But tell her that she
believe in God and in His sweet Mother, and that she believe in
the New Law, for by the false believe wherein she abideth is she
blinded in such sort, nor never will she see clear until she
believe in God.  Tell her moreover, I send her word that never
more shall there be Queen in my land save she be of like worth as
was Queen Guenievre."

"Then I tell you plainly," saith she, "that you will have betimes
such tidings as that good for you they will not be."

The damsel departeth from Cardoil, and cometh back to where the
Queen was, and telleth her the message King Arthur sendeth her. 
"True," saith she, "I love him better than all in the world, and
yet refuseth he my will and my commandment.  Now may he no longer
endure!"

She sendeth to her brother King Madeglant, and telleth him that
she herself doth defy him and he take not vengeance on King
Arthur and bring him not into prison.



BRANCH XXVII.

TITLE I.

This history saith that the land of this King was full far away
from the land of King Arthur, and that needs must he pass two
seas or ever he should approach the first head of King Arthur's
land.  He arrived in Albanie with great force of men with a great
navy.  When they of the land knew it, they garnished them against
him and defended their lands the best they might; then they sent
word to King Arthur that King Madeglant was come in such manner
into the land, with great plenty of folk, and that he should come
presently to succour them or send them a knight so good as that
he might protect them, and that in case he doth not so, the land
will be lost.  When King Arthur understood these tidings, it was
not well with him.  He asked his knights whom he might send
thither.  And they say, let him send Lancelot thither, for that
he is a worthy knight and a kingly, and much understandeth of
war, and hath in him as much loyalty as hath ever another that
they know.  The King maketh him come before him.


II.

"Lancelot," saith the King, "Such affiance have I in you and in
your knighthood, that it is my will to send you to the furthest
corner of my land, to protect it, with the approval of my
knights, wherefore I pray and require you that you do your power
herein as many a time have you done already in my service.  And I
will give you in command forty knights."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Against your will am I not minded to be,
but in your court are there other knights full as good, or better
than I, whom you might well send thither.  But I would not that
you should hold this of cowardize in me, and right willingly will
I do your pleasure, for none ought I to serve more willingly than
you."

The King giveth him much thanks of this that he saith.  Lancelot
departeth from the court, and taketh forty knights with him, and
so cometh into the land of Albanie where King Madeglant hath
arrived.  When they of the land knew that Lancelot was come,
great joy had they thereof in their hearts, for ofttimes had they
heard tell of him and of his good knighthood.  They were all at
his commandment, and received him as their champion and
protector.


III.

King Madeglant one day issued forth of his ships to do battle
against Lancelot and them of the land.  Lancelot received him
right stoutly, and slew many of his folk, and the more part fled
and would fain have drawn them to their ships, but Lancelot and
his people went after and cut a part of them to pieces.  King
Madeglant, with as many of his men as he might, betaketh himself
to his own ship privily, and maketh put to sea the soonest he
may.  They that might not come to the ships remained on dry land,
and were so cut up and slain.  Madeglant went his way
discomfited.  Of ten ships full of men that he had brought he
took back with him but two.  The land was in peace and assured in
safety.  Lancelot remained there of a long space.  They of the
country loved him much and gave themselves great joy of his
valour and his great bounty, insomuch that most of them say
ofttimes that they would fain have such a knight as was he for
king, by the goodwill of King Arthur, for that the land is too
far away; but and if he would set there a knight or other man
that might protect the land, they would take it in right good
part, and he should hold the land of him, for they might not
safeguard it at their will without a champion, for that land
without a lord may but little avail.  They of the land loved
Lancelot well, as I tell you.  King Arthur was at Cardoil, and so
were his knights together with him.  He thought to be assured in
his kingdom and to live peaceably; but what time he sate at meat
one day in Cardoil, behold you thereupon a knight that cometh
before the Table Round without saluting him.

"Sir," saith he, "Where is Lancelot?"

"Sir," saith the King to the knight, "He is not in this country."

"By my head," saith the knight, "that misliketh me.  Wheresoever
he be, he is your knight and of your household; wherefore King
Claudas sendeth you word that he is his mortal enemy, and you
also, if so be that for love of him you receive him from this day
forward, for he hath slain his sister's son, Meliant of the Waste
Manor, and he slew the father of Meliant likewise, but the father
belongeth not to King Claudas.


IV.

Meliant was the son of his sister-german, wherefore much grieveth
he of his death."

"Sir knight," saith the King, "I know not how the covenant may be
between them as of this that you tell me, but well know I that
King Claudas holdeth many a castle that King Claudas ought not of
right to have, whereof he disherited his father, but meet is it
that each should conquer his own right.  But so much I tell you
plainly, that never will I fail mine own knight and he be such as
durst defend himself of murder, but and if he hath no will to do
this, then well may I allow that right be done upon him.  But,
sith that he will not love his own death, neither I nor other
ought greatly to love him and he refuse to redress his wrong.
When Lancelot shall know these tidings, I know well that such is
his valour and his loyalty that he will readily answer in reason,
and will do all that he ought to do to clear himself of such a
charge."

"Sir," saith the knight, "You have heard well that I have told
you.  Once more, I tell you plainly, King Claudas sendeth you
word that so you harbour his enemy henceforward and in such
manner as you have done heretofore, he will be less than pleased
with you."


V.

With that the knight departeth, and the King remaineth at
Cardoil.  He sendeth for Briant of the Isles, his seneschal, and
a great part of his knights, and demandeth counsel of them what
he may do.  Messire Ywain saith that he killed Meliant in the
King's service, as one that warred upon his land, albeit the King
had done him no wrong, and had so made common cause with the
King's enemies without demanding right in his court.  Nor never
had Meliant appealed Lancelot of murder nor of treason, nor
required him of the death of his father.  Rather, Lancelot slew
him in open war, as one that warred upon his lord by wrong.

"Sir," saith Messire Ywain to the King, "Howsoever Lancelot might
have wrought in respect of Meliant, your land ought not to be
called to account, for you were not in the kingdom, nor knew not
that either had done other any wrong, and therefore say I that
King Claudas will do great wrong and he bring plaint or levy war
against you on this account."

"Messire Ywain," saith Briant of the Isles, "matter of common
knowledge is it that Lancelot slew the lord of the Waste Manor
and Meliant his son after the contention that was betwixt King
Arthur and me.  But, after that he had slain the father, he ought
of right to have taken good heed that he did no wrong to the son,
but rather ought he to have sought peace and accord."


VI.

"Briant," saith Messire Gawain, "Lancelot is nor here; and,
moreover, he is now on the King's business.  Well know you that
Meliant came to you and that you made him knight, and that
thereafter he warred upon the King's land without reasonable
occasion.  The King was far away from the land as he that made
pilgrimage to the Graal.  He was told tidings that his land was
being put to the worse, and he sent Lancelot to protect it.  He
accordingly maintained the war as best he might until such time
as the King was returned.  Meliant knew well that the King was
come back, and that never had he done wrong to none in his court
that wished to demand right therein.  He neither came thither nor
sent, either to do right or to demand right, whether he did so
for despite or whether it was for that he knew not how to do it.
In the meanwhile he warred upon the King, that had never done him
a wrong nor refused to do him a right.  Lancelot slew him in the
King's war and upon his land in defence thereof.  There was peace
of the war, as was agreed on between you and the King, but and if
any should therefore hold Lancelot to blame of the death of
Meliant, meseemeth that therein is he wrong.  For the others are
not held to answer for them that they slew; but and if you wish
to say that Lancelot hath not slain him with reason, howsoever he
may have wrought aforetime in respect of his father, I am ready
to maintain his right by my body on behalf of his."


VII.

"Messire Gawain," saith Briant of the Isles, "You will not as at
this time find none that will take up your gage on account of
this affair, nor ought any to make enemies of his friends, nor
ought you to counsel me so to do.  King Madeglant warreth upon
him and King Claudas maketh war upon him also.  They will deliver
attacks enough.  But I should well allow, for the sake of saving
his land and keeping his friends, that the King should suffer
Lancelot to remain at a distance from his court for one year,
until tidings should have come to King Claudas that he had been
bidden leave thereof, so as that King Arthur might have his good
will and his love."

Sagramors li Desirous leapeth forward.  "Briant of the Isles,"
saith Sagramors, "Ill befall him that shall give such counsel to
a lord or his knight, and the knight have well served his lord,
albeit he may have slain in his wars a knight without murder and
without treason, that he should give him his leave!  Right ill
will Lancelot hitherto have bestowed his services, and the King
on this account give him his leave!  After that, let King Claudas
come!  Let him lay waste and slay, and right great worship shall
King Arthur have thereof!  I say not this for that Lancelot hath
need be afeared of King Claudas body to body, nor of the best
knight in his land, but many things befall whereof one taketh no
heed; and so King Arthur give leave to Lancelot from his court,
it will be counted unto him for cowardize, and neither I nor you
nor other knight ought never more to have affiance in him."

"Lord," saith Briant of the Isles, "Better would it avail the
King to give Lancelot leave for one year, than it would to fight
for him ten years and have his land wasted and put to the worse."


VIII.

Thereupon, behold you!  Orguelleux of the Launde come, that had
not been at the court of a long time, and it had been told him
whereof these words were.

"Briant," saith Orguelleux of the Launde, "Evil fare the knight
that would fain grieve and harm with their lord them that have
served him well!  Sith that Lancelot is not here, say nought of
him that ought not to be said.  The court of King Arthur hath
been as much renowned and made honoured by Lancelot as by ever
another knight that is in it, and, but for him, never would his
court have been so redoubted as it is.  For no knight is there so
cruel to his foes nor so redoubted throughout all Great Britain
as is Lancelot, and, for that King Arthur loveth you, make him
not that he hate his knights, for such four or such six be there
in his castle as may depart therefrom without returning, the loss
whereof should scarce be made good by us.  Lancelot hath well
served the King aforetime, and the King well knoweth how much he
is worth; and if so be that King Claudas purposeth to war on King
Arthur for Lancelot's sake, according as I have heard, without
any reason, and King Arthur be not more craven than he wont to
be, he may well abide his warfare and his strife so treason harm
him not.  For so many good knights hath King Arthur yet, that
none knoweth such knights nor such King in the world beside."



BRANCH XXVIII.

TITLE I.

This story saith that Briant would have been wroth with a will
against Orguelleux of the Launde, had it not been for the King,
and Orguelleux against him, for Orguelleux heeded no danger when
anger and ill-will carried him away.  Therewithal the talk came
to an end.  When the King learnt the tidings that Madeglant was
discomfited and that the land of Albanie was in peace, he sent
word to Lancelot to return back.  They of the land were very
sorrowful when he departed, for great affiance had they in his
chivalry.  So he came back thither where King Arthur was.  All
they of the land made a great joy, for well loved was he of many,
nor were there none that hated him save of envy alone.  They told
him the tidings of King Claudas, and also in what manner Briant
had spoken.  Lancelot took no notice outwardly, as he that well
knew how to redress all his grievances.  He was at the court of a
long while, for that King Claudas was about to send over thither
some one of his knights.  Briant of the Isles would fain that the
King should have given him his leave, for more he hated him than
ever another knight in the court, sith he it was that many a time
had harmed him more than any other.  By Briant's counsel, King
Claudas sent his knight to King Arthur's court, wherein did he
not wisely, for that he thereby renewed a matter whereof
afterward came right great mischief, as this title witnesseth.


II.

Madeglant of Oriande heard say that Lancelot was repaired back,
and that the land of Albanie was all void save for the folk of
the country.  He maketh ready his navy at once and cometh back to
the land in great force.  He burneth the land and layeth it waste
on every side, and doth far worse therein than he did aforetime.
They of the land sent over to King Arthur and told him of their
evil plight, warning him that, and he send them not succour
betimes, they will leave the land and yield up the castles, for
that they might not hold them longer.  He took counsel, the King
with his knights, whom he might send thither, and they said that
Lancelot had already been there and that now another knight
should be sent thither.  The King sent thither Briant of the
Isles, and lent him forty knights.  Briant, that loved not the
King in his heart, came into the land, but only made pretence of
helping him to defend it.  One day fell out a battle betwixt
Madeglant and Briant and all their men.  Briant was discomfited,
and had many of his knights killed.  Madeglant and his people
spread themselves over the land and laid the towns in ruins and
destroyed the castles, that were disgarnished, and put to death
all them that would not believe in their gods, and cut off their
heads.


III.

All they of the land and country longed with sorrow for Lancelot,
and said that had he remained there, the land would not have been
thus destroyed, nor might they never have protection of no knight
but of him alone.  Briant of the Isles returned back, as he that
would the war against King Arthur should increase on every side,
for, what good soever the King may do him, he loveth him not, nor
never will so long as he is on live.  But no semblant thereof
durst he show, for, sith that the best of his knights had been
slain in the battle, so had he no power on his side, as against
Lancelot and the good knights of his fellowship, whereof he would
fain that there had been not one.


IV.

King Arthur was at Cardoil on one day of Whitsuntide.  Many were
the knights that were come to this court whereof I tell you.  The
King was seated at meat, and the day was fair and clear, and the
air clean and fresh.  Sagramors li Desirous and Lucan the Butler
served before the King.  And what time they had served of the
first meats, therewithal behold you, a quarrel, like as it had
been shot from a cross-bow, and striketh in the column of the
hall before the King so passing strong that there was not a
knight in the hall but heard it when it struck therein.  They all
looked thereat in great wonderment.  The quarrel was like as it
were of gold, and it had about it a many costly precious stones.
The King saith that quarrel so costly cometh not from a poor
place.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain say that never have they seen
one so rich.  It struck so deep in the column that the iron point
thereof might not be seen, and a good part of the shaft was also
hidden.  Thereupon, behold you, a damsel of surpassing great
beauty that cometh, sitting on a right costly mule, full well
caparisoned.  She had a gilded bridle and gilded saddle, and was
clad in a right rich cloth of silk.  A squire followed after her 
that drove her mule from behind.  She came before King Arthur as
straight as she might, and saluted him right worshipfully, and he
made answer the best he might.

"Sir," saith she, "I am come to speak and demand a boon, nor will
I never alight until such time as you shall have granted it to
me.  For such is my custom, and for this am I come to your court,
whereof I have heard such tidings and such witness in many places
where I have been, that I know you will not deny me herein."


V.

"Damsel, tell me what boon you would have of me?"

"Sir," saith she, "I would fain pray and beseech you that you bid
the knight that may draw forth this quarrel from this column go
thither where there is sore need of him."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Tell me the need."

"Sir," saith she, "I will tell it you plainly when I shall see
the knight that shall have drawn it forth."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Alight!  Never, please God, shall you
go forth of my court denied of that you ask."

Lucan the Butler taketh her between his arms and setteth her to
the ground, and her mule is led away to be stabled.  When the
damsel had washen, she was set in a seat beside Messire Ywain,
that showed her much honour and served her with a good will.  He
looked at her from time to time, for she was fair and gentle and
of good countenance.  When they had eaten at the tables, the
damsel prayeth the King that he will hasten them to do her
business.

"Sir," saith she, "Many a good knight is there within yonder, and
right glad may he be that shall draw it forth, for I tell you a
right good knight is he, sith that none may achieve this business
save he alone."

"Fair nephew," saith the King, "Now set your hand to this quarrel
and give it back to the damsel."

"Ha, sir," saith he, "Do me not shame!  By the faith that I owe
you, I will not set my hand forward herein this day, nor ought
you to be wroth hereof.  Behold, here have you Lancelot with you,
and so many other good knights, that little worship should I have
herein were I to set myself forward before them."

"Messire Ywain," saith the King, "Set your hand hereto!  It may
be that you think too humbly of yourself herein."

"Sir," saith Messire Ywain, "Nought is there in the world that I
would not do for you, but as for this matter I pray you hold me
excused."

"Sagramors, and you, Orguelleux of the Launde, what will you do?"
saith the King.

"Sir," say they, "When Lancelot hath made assay, we will do your
pleasure, but before him, so please you, we will not go."


VI.

"Damsel," saith the King, "Pray Lancelot that he be fain to set
his hand, and then the rest shall go after him if needs be."

"Lancelot," saith the damsel, "By the thing that most you love,
make not mine errand bootless, but set your hand to the quarrel
and then will the others do that they ought of right to do.  For
no leisure have I to tarry here long time."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Ill do you, and a sin, to conjure me
for nought, for so many good knights be here within, that I
should be held for a fool and a braggart and I put myself forward
before all other."

"By my head," saith the King, "Not so!  Rather will you be held
as a knight courteous and wise and good, as now you ought to be,
and great worship will it be to yourself and you may draw forth
the quarrel, and great courtesy will it be to aid the damsel.
Wherefore I require you, of the faith you owe me, that you set
your hand thereto, sith that the damsel prayeth you so to do,
before the others."


VII.

Lancelot hath no mind to disobey the King's commandment; and he
remembered that the damsel had conjured him by the thing that
most he loved; nor was there nought in the world that he loved so
much as the Queen, albeit she were dead, nor never thought he of
none other thing save her alone.  Then standeth he straight
upright, doth off his robe, and cometh straight to the quarrel
that is fixed in the column.  He setteth his hand thereunto and
draweth it forth with a right passing strong wrench, so sturdily
that he maketh the column tremble.  Then he giveth it to the
damsel.

"Sir," saith she to King Arthur, "Now is it my devoir to tell you
plainly of my errand; nor might none of the knights here within
have drawn forth the quarrel save only he; and you held me in
covenant how he that should draw it forth should do that which I
shall require of him, and that he might do it, nor will I pray
nor require of him nought that is not reason.  Needs must he go
to the Chapel Perilous the swiftest he may, and there will he
find a knight that lieth shrouded in the midst of the chapel.  He
will take of the cloth wherein he is shrouded and a sword that
lieth at his side in the coffin, and will take them to the Castle
Perilous; and when he shall there have been, he shall return to
the castle where he slew the lion in the cavern wherein are the
two griffons, and the head of one of them shall he take and bring
to me at Castle Perilous, for a knight there lieth sick that may
not otherwise be healed."


VIII.

"Damsel." saith Lancelot, "I see that you reckon but little of my
life, so only that your wish be accomplished."

"Sir," saith she, "I know as well as you what the enterprise is,
nor do I no whit desire your death, for, and were you dead, never
would the knight be whole for whose sake you undertake it.  And
you will see the fairest damsel that is in any kingdom, and the
one that most desireth to see you.  And, so you tarry not,
through her shall you lightly get done that you have to do.  See
now that you delay it not, but do that is needful swiftly sith
that it hath been laid upon you, for the longer you tarry, the
greater will be the hazard of mischance befalling you."

The damsel departeth from the court and taketh her leave and
goeth her way back as fast as she may, and saith to herself:
"Lancelot, albeit you have these pains and this travail for me,
yet would I not your death herein, but of right ought I to
rejoice in your tribulation, for into two of the most perilous
places in the world are you going.  Greatly ought I to hate you,
for you reft me of my friend and gave him to another, and while I
live may I never forget it."

The damsel goeth her way, and Lancelot departeth from the court
and taketh leave of the King and of all the others.  He issueth
forth of Cardoil, all armed, and entereth into the forest that is
deep, and so goeth forth a great pace, and prayeth God guide him
into safety.



BRANCH XXIX.

TITLE I.

Therewithal the story is silent of Lancelot, and saith that
Briant of the Isles is repaired to Cardoil.  Of the forty knights
that he took with him, but fifteen doth he bring back again.
Thereof is King Arthur right sorrowful, and saith that he hath
the fewer friends.  They of the land of Albanie have sent to King
Arthur and told him that and he would not lose the land for
evermore he must send them Lancelot, for never saw they knight
that better knew how to avenge him on his enemies and to do them
hurt than was he.  The King asketh Briant of the Isles how it is
that his knights are dead in such sort?

"Sir," saith Briant, "Madeglant hath great force of people, and
what force of men soever may run upon them, they make a castle of
their navy in such sort that none may endure against them, and
never did no folk know so much of war as do they.  The land lieth
far away from you, and more will it cost you to hold it than it
is worth; and, if you will believe my counsel, you will trouble
yourself no more about it, and they of the country would be well
counselled and they did the same."

"Briant," saith the King, "This would be great blame to myself.
No worshipful man ought to be idle in guarding and holding that
which is his own.  The worshipful man ought not to hold of things
so much for their value as for their honour, and if I should
leave the land disgarnished of my aid and my counsel, they will
take mine, and will say that I have not heart to protect my land;
and even now is it great shame to myself that they have settled
themselves there and would fain draw away them of the land to
their evil law.  And I would fain that Lancelot had achieved that
he hath undertaken, and I would have sent him there, for none
would protect the land better than he, and, were he now there
along with forty knights and with them of the country, Madeglant
would make but short stay there."

"Sir," saith Briant, "They of the country reckon nought of you
nor any other but Lancelot only, and they say that and you send
him there they will make him King."

"It may well be that they say so," saith the King, "But never
would Lancelot do aught that should be against my will."

"Sir," saith Briant, "Sith that you are not minded to believe me,
I will say no more in this matter, but in the end his knighthood
will harm you rather than help you and you take no better heed
thereof than up to this time you have done."



BRANCH XXX.

TITLE I.

Of Briant of the Isles the story is here silent, whom King the
believeth too much in many things, and saith that Lancelot goeth
his way right through the forest, full heavy in thought.  He had
not ridden far when he met a knight that was right sore wounded.
He asked him whence he came and who had wounded him in such
manner.

"Sir," saith he, "I come from the Chapel Perilous, where I was
not able to defend me against an evil folk that appeared there;
and they have wounded me in such sort as you see, and but for a
damsel that came thereinto from the forest I should not have
escaped on live.  But she aided me on such condition that and I
should see a knight they call Lancelot, or Perceval, or Messire
Gawain, I should tell which of them soever I should first meet
withal that he should go to her without delay, for much she
marvelleth her that none of them cometh into the chapel, for none
ought to enter there but good knights only.  But much do I
marvel, Sir, how the damsel durst enter there, for it is the most
marvellous place that is, and the damsel is of right great
beauty; natheless she cometh thither oftentimes alone into the
chapel.  A knight lieth in the chapel that hath been slain of
late, that was a fell and cruel knight and a hardy."

"What was his name?" saith Lancelot.

"He was named Ahuret the Bastard," saith the knight; "And he had
but one arm and one hand, and the other was smitten off at a
castle that Messire Gawain gave Meliot of Logres when he
succoured him against this knight that lieth in the coffin.  And
Meliot of Logres hath slain the knight that had assieged the
castle, but the knight wounded him sore, so that he may not be
whole save he have the sword wherewith he wounded him, that lieth
in the coffin at his side, and some of the cloth wherein he is
enshrouded; and, so God grant me to meet one of the knights,
gladly will I convey unto him the damsel's message."

"Sir Knight," saith Lancelot, "One of them have you found.  My
name is Lancelot, and for that I see you are wounded and in evil
plight, I tell it you thus freely."

"Sir," saith the knight, "Now may God protect your body, for you
go in great peril of death.  But the damsel much desireth to see
you, I know not for what, and well may she aid you if she will."


II.

"Sir Knight, God hath brought us forth of many a peril, and so
will He also from this and it be His pleasure and His will."

With that, Lancelot departeth from the knight, and hath ridden so
far that he is come at evensong to the Chapel Perilous, that
standeth in a great valley of the forest, and hath a little
churchyard about it that is well enclosed on all sides, and hath
an ancient cross without the entrance.  The chapel and the
graveyard are overshadowed of the forest, that is right tall.
Lancelot entereth therein all armed.  He signeth him of the cross
and blesseth him and commendeth him to God.  He seeth in the
grave-yard coffins in many places, and it seemeth him that he
seeth folk round about that talk together, the one with another.
But he might not hear that they said.  He might not see them
openly, but very tall they seemed him to be.  He is come toward
the chapel and alighteth of his horse, and seeth a shed outside
the chapel, wherein was provender for horses.  He goeth thither
to set his own there, then leaneth his shield against his spear
at the entrance of the chapel, and entereth in, where it was very
dark, for no light was there save only of a single lamp that
shone full darkly.  He seeth the coffin that was in the midst of
the chapel wherein the knight lay.


III.

When he had made his orison before an image of Our Lady, he
cometh to the coffin and openeth it as fast as he may, and seeth
the knight, tall and foul of favour, that therein lay dead.  The
cloth wherein he was enshrouded was displayed all bloody.  He
taketh the sword that lay at his side and lifteth the
windingsheet to rend it at the seam, then taketh the knight by
the head to lift him upward, and findeth him so heavy and so
ungain that scarce may he remove him.  He cutteth off the half of
the cloth wherein he is enshrouded, and the coffin beginneth to
make a crashing so passing loud that it seemed the chapel were
falling.  When he hath the piece of the cloth and the sword he
closeth the coffin again, and forthwith cometh to the door of the
chapel and seeth mount, in the midst of the grave-yard as it
seemed him, great knights. and horrible, and they are appareled
as it were to combat, and him thinketh that they are watching for
him and espy him.


IV.

Thereupon, behold you, a damsel running, her kirtle girt high
about her, right through the grave-yard a great pace.

"Take heed you move not until such time as it is known who the
knight is!"  She is come to the chapel.  "Sir Knight, lay down
the sword and this that you have taken of the windingsheet of the
dead knight!"

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "What hurt doth it you of this that I
have?"

"This," saith she, "That you have taken it without my leave; for
I have him in charge, both him and the chapel.  And I would
fain," saith she, "know what is your name?"

"Damsel," saith he, "What would you gain of knowing my name?"

"I know not," saith she, "whether I shall have either loss or
gain thereof, but high time already is it that I should ask you
it to my sorrow, for many a time have I been deceived therein."

"Damsel," saith he, "I am called Lancelot of the Lake."

"You ought of right," saith she, "to have the sword and the
cloth; but come you with me to my castle, for oftentimes have I
desired that you and Perceval and Messire Gawain should see the
three tombs that I have made for your three selves."


V.

"Damsel," saith he, "No wish have I to see my sepulchre so early
betimes."

"By my head," saith she, "And you come not thither, you may not
issue from hence without tribulation; and they that you see there
are earthly fiends that guard this grave-yard and are at my
commandment."

"Never, damsel, please God," saith Lancelot, "may your devils
have power to harm a Christian."

"Ha, Lancelot," saith she, "I beseech and pray you that you come
with me into my castle, and I will save your life as at this time
from this folk that are just now ready to fall upon you; and, so
you are not willing to do this, yield me back the sword that you
have taken from the coffin, and go your way at once."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Into your castle may I not go, nor
desire I to go, wherefore pray me no more thereof, for other
business have I to do; nor will I yield you back the sword,
whatsoever may befall me, for a certain knight may not otherwise
be healed, and great pity it were that he should die."

"Ha, Lancelot," saith she, "How hard and cruel do I find you
towards me!  And as good cause have I to be sorry that you have
the sword as have you to be glad.  For, and you had not had it
upon you, never should you have carried it off from hence at your
will; rather should I have had all my pleasure of you, and I
would have made you be borne into my castle, from whence never
should you nave moved again for nought you might do; and thus
should I have been quit of the wardenship of this chapel and of
coming thereinto in such manner as now oftentimes I needs must
come.


VI.

"But now am I taken in a trap, for, so long as you have the
sword, not one of them that are there yonder can do you evil nor
hinder you of going."

Of this was Lancelot not sorry.  He taketh leave of the damsel,
that departeth grudgingly, garnisheth him again of his arms, then
mounteth again on his horse and goeth his way right through the
grave-yard.  He beholdeth this evil folk, that were so foul and
huge and hideous, it seemed as if they would devour everything.
They made way for Lancelot, and had no power to hurt him.  He is
issued forth of the grave-yard and goeth his way through the
forest until daylight appeared about him, fair and clear.  He
found the hermit there where he had heard mass, then ate a
little, then departed and rode the day long until setting of the
sun, but could find no hold on the one side nor the other wherein
he might lodge, and so was benighted in the forest.


VII.

Lancelot knew not which way to turn, for he had not often been in
the forest, and knew not how the land lay nor the paths therein.
He rode until he found a little causeway, and there was a path at
the side that led to an orchard that was at a corner of the
forest, where there was a postern gate whereby one entered, and
it was not made fast for the night.  And the orchard was well
enclosed with walls.  Lancelot entered in and made fast the
entrance, then took off his horse's bridle and let him feed on
the grass.  He might not espy the castle that was hard by for the
abundance of trees and the darkness of the night, and so knew not
whither he was arrived.  He laid his shield for a pillow and his
arms at his side and fell on sleep.  But, had he known where it
was he had come, little sleep would he have had, for he was close
to the cavern where he slew the lion and where the griffons were,
that had come in from the forest all gorged of victual, and were
fallen on sleep, and it was for them that the postern gate had
been left unbolted.  A damsel went down from a chamber by a
trapdoor with a brachet on her arm for fear of the griffons, and
as she went toward the postern-gate to lock it, she espied
Lancelot, that lay asleep in the midst of the orchard.  She ran
back to her Lady the speediest she might, and said unto her: "Up,
Lady!" saith she, "Lancelot is sleeping in the orchard!"

She leapt up incontinent and came to the orchard there where
Lancelot was sleeping, then sate her down beside him and began to
look at him, sighing the while, and draweth as near him as she
may.

"Fair Lord God," saith she, "what shall I do?  and I wake him
first he will have no care to kiss me, and if I kiss him sleeping
he will awake forthwith; and better hap is it for me to take the
most I may even in such-wise than to fail of all, and, moreover,
if so be I shall have kissed him, I may hope that he will not
hate me thereof, sith that I may then boast that I have had at
least so much of that which is his own."

She set her mouth close to him and so kissed him the best and
fairest she might, three times, and Lancelot awakened forthwith.
He leapt up and made the cross upon him, then looked at the
damsel, and said: "Ha, God!  where, then, am I?"

"Fair sweet friend," saith she, "You are nigh her that hath all
set her heart upon you and will remove it never."

"I cry you mercy, damsel," saith Lancelot, "and I tell you, for
nought that may befall, one that loveth me, please God, never
will I hate!  but that which one hath loved long time ought not
so soon to fall away from the remembrance of a love that is
rooted in the heart, when she hath been proven good and loyal,
nor ought one so soon to depart therefrom."


VIII.

"Sir," saith she, "This castle is at your commandment, and you
will remain therein, and well may you know my thought towards
you.  Would that your thought were the same towards me."

"Damsel," saith he, "I seek the healing of a knight that may not
be healed save I bring him the head of one of your serpents."

"Certes, Sir, so hath it been said.  But I bade the damsel say so
only for that I was fain you should come back hither to me."

"Damsel," saith he, "I have come back hither, and so may I turn
back again sith that of the serpent's head is there no need."

"Ha, Lancelot," saith she, "How good a knight are you, and how
ill default do you make in another way!  No knight, methinketh,
is there in the world that would have refused me save only you.
This cometh of your folly, and your outrage, and your baseness of
heart!  The griffons have not done my will in that they have not
slain you or strangled you as you slept, and, so I thought that
they would have power to slay you, I would make them come to slay
you now.  But the devil hath put so much knighthood into you that
scarce any man may have protection against you.  Better ought I
to love you dead than alive.  By my head, I would fain that your
head were hanged with the others that hang at the entrance of the
gateway, and, had I thought you would have failed me in such wise
I would have brought my father hither to where you were sleeping,
and right gladly would he have slain you."


IX.

"None that knoweth the covenant between me and you ought to hold
you for a good knight; for you have cozened me of my right
according to the tenor and custom of the castle if that through
perversity or slothfulness you durst not take me when you have
won me."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "You may say your will.  You have done
so much for me sithence that I came hither that I ought not to be
afeard of you, for traitor is the man or woman that kisseth
another to procure his hurt."

"Lancelot, I took but that I might have, for well I see that none
more thereof may I have never again."

He goeth to put the bridle on his destrier, and then taketh leave
of the damsel, that parteth from him right sorrowfully; but
Lancelot would no longer tarry, for great throng of knights was
there in the castle, and he was not minded to put him in jeopardy
for nought.  He issueth forth of the orchard, and the damsel
looketh after him as long as she may see him.  After that, cometh
she to her chamber, sad and vexed at heart, nor knoweth she how
she may bear herself, for the thing in the world that most she
loveth is far away, and no joy may she have thereof.


X.

Lancelot rideth right amidst the forest until it is day, and
cometh at the right hour of noon to the Castle Perilous, where
Meliot of Logres lay.  He entered into the castle.  The damsel
that was at King Arthur's court cometh to meet him.

"Lancelot," saith she, "Welcome may you be!"

"Damsel," saith he, "Good adventure may you have!"

He was alighted at the mountingstage of the hall.  She maketh him
mount up the steps and afterward be disarmed.

"Damsel," saith he, "Behold, here is some of the winding-sheet
wherein the knight was shrouded, and here is his sword; but you
befooled me as concerning the serpent's head."

"By my head," saith the damsel, "that did I for the sake of the
damsel of the Castle of Griffons that hateth you not a whit, for
so prayed she me to do.  Now hath she seen you, and so will she
be more at ease, and will have no cause to ask me thereof."


XI.

The damsel leadeth Lancelot to where Meliot of Logres lay.
Lancelot sitteth him down before him and asketh how it is with
him?

"Meliot," saith the damsel, "This is Lancelot, that bringeth you
your healing."

"Ha, Sir, welcome may you be!"

"God grant you health speedily," said Lancelot.

"Ha, for God's sake," saith Meliot, "What doth Messire Gawain? 
Is he hearty?"

"I left him quite hearty when I parted from him," saith Lancelot,
"And so he knew that you had been wounded in such sort, full
sorry would he be thereof and King Arthur likewise."

"Sir," saith he, "The knight that assieged them maimed me in this
fashion, but was himself maimed in such sort that he is dead
thereof.  But the wounds that he dealt me are so cruel and so
raging, that they may not be healed save his sword toucheth them
and if be not bound with some of the winding-sheet wherein he was
shrouded, that he had displayed about him, all bloody."

"By my faith," saith the damsel, "Behold them here!"

"Ha, Sir," saith he, "Gramercy of this great goodness!  In every
way appeareth it that you are good knight, for, but for the
goodness of your knighthood, the coffin wherein the knight lieth
had never opened so lightly, nor would you never have had the
sword nor the cloth, nor never till now hath knight entered
therein but either he were slain there, or departed thence
wounded right grievously."

They uncover his wounds, and Lancelot unbindeth them, and the
damsel toucheth him of the sword and the winding-sheet, and they
are assuaged for him.  And he saith that now at last he knoweth
well he need not fear to die thereof.  Lancelot is right joyful
thereof in his heart, for that he seeth he will be whole betimes;
and sore pity had it been of his death, for a good knight was he,
and wise and loyal.


XI.

"Lancelot," saith the lady, "Long time have I hated you on
account of the knight that I loved, whom you reft away from me
and married to another and not to me, and ofttimes have I put
myself to pains to grieve you of some ill deed for that you did
to me, for never was I so sorrowful for aught that befell me.  He
loved me of right great love, and I him again, and never shall
that love fail.  But now is it far further away from me than it
was before, and for this bounty that you have done, never
hereafter need you fear aught of my grievance."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Gramercy heartily."

He was lodged in the castle the night richly and worshipfully,
and departed thence on the morrow when he had taken leave of the
damsel and Meliot, and goeth back a great pace toward the court
of King Arthur, that was sore dismayed, for Madeglant was
conquering his islands and great part of his land.  The more part
of the lands that he conquered had renounced the New Law for fear
of death and held the false believe.  And Messire Gawain and many
other knights were departed from King Arthur's court for that the
King trusted more in Briant of the Isles than he did in them.


XIII.

For many times had King Arthur sent knights against Madeglant
since Lancelot was departed from the court, to the intent that
they should put to rebuke the enemies of his land, but never saw
he one come back from thence nought discomfited.  The King of
Oriande made much boast that he would fulfil for his sister all
that she had bidden him, for he thought that King Arthur would
yield himself up betimes unto him and yield all his land
likewise.  The King greatly desired the return of Lancelot, and
said ofttimes that and he had been against his enemies as nigh as
the others he had sent they would not have durst so to fly
against him.  In the midst of the dismay wherein was King Arthur,
Lancelot returned to the court, whereof was the King right
joyous.  Lancelot knew that Messire Gawain and Messire Ywain were
not there, and that they held them aloof from the court more
willingly than they allowed on account of Briant of the Isles,
that King Arthur believed in more than ever a one of the others.
He was minded to depart in like sort, but the King would not let
him, but said to him rather, "Lancelot, I pray and beseech you,
as him that I love much, that you set your pains and your counsel
on defending my land, for great affiance have I in you."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "My aid and my force shall fail you never;
take heed that yours fail not me."

"Of right ought I not to fail you," saith the King, "Nor will I
never, for I should fail myself thereby."


XIV.

The history saith that he gave Lancelot forty knights in charge,
and that he is come into an island where King Madeglant was.  Or
ever he knew of his coming, Lancelot had cut off his retreat, for
he cut his cables and beat his anchors to pieces and broke up his
ships.  After that, he struck among the people of Madeglant, and
slew as many of them as he would, he and his knights.  The King
thought to withdraw him back, both him and his fellowship, into
safety as he wont, but he found himself right ill bested.
Lancelot drove him toward the sea, whither he fled, but only to
find himself no less discomfit there, and slew him in the midst
of his folk, and all his other knights were slain and cast into
the sea.  This island was freed of him by Lancelot, and from
thence he went to the other islands that Madeglant had conquered
and set again under the false Law, and there did away the false
Law from them that had been set thereunder by fear of death, and
stablished the land in such sort as it had been tofore.  He roved
so long from one island to another that presently he came to
Albanie where he had succoured them at first.


XV.

When they of the land saw him come, they well knew that the King
of Oriande was dead and the islands made free, whereof made they
great joy.  The land was some deal emptied of the most puissant
and the strongest, for they were dead along with their lord.
Lancelot had brought with him some of the best knights and most
puissant.  He was come with a great navy into the land and began
to destroy it.  They of the land were misbelievers, for they
believed in false idols and in false images.  They saw that they
might not defend the land, sith that their lord was dead.  The
more part let themselves be slain for that they would not
renounce the evil Law, and they that were minded to turn to God
were saved.  The kingdom was right rich and right great that
Lancelot conquered and attorned to the Law of Our Lord in such
wise.  He made break all the false images of copper and fatten
wherein they had believed tofore, and whereof false answers came
to them of the voices of devils.  Thereafter he caused be made
crucifixes and images in the likeness of Our Lord, and in the
likeness of His sweet Mother, the better to confirm them of the
kingdoms in the Law.


XVI.

The strongest and most valiant of the land assembled one day and
said that it was high time a land so rich should no longer be
without a King.  They all agreed and came to Lancelot and told
him how they would fain that he should be King of the realm he
had conquered, for in no land might he be better employed, and
they would help him conquer other realms enow.  Lancelot thanked
them much, but told them that of this land nor of none other
would he be King save by the good will of King Arthur only; for
that all the conquest he had made was his, and by his commandment
had he come thither, and had given him his own knights in charge
that had helped him to reconquer the lands.


XVII.

King Claudas had heard tell how Lancelot had slain the King of
Oriande and that none of the islands might scarce be defended
against him.  He had no liking of him, neither of his good
knighthood nor of his conquest, for well remembered he of the
land that he had conquered from King Ban of Benoic that was
Lancelot's father, and therefore was he sorry of the good
knighthood whereof Lancelot was everywhere held of worth and
renown, for that he was tenant of his father's land.  King
Claudas sent a privy message to Briant and bore him on hand that,
and he might do so much as that King Arthur should forbid
Lancelot his court, and that it were ill with him with the King,
he would have much liking thereof and would help him betimes to
take vengeance on his enemies, for, so Lancelot were forth of his
court, and Messire Gawain, the rest would scarce abide long time,
and thus should they have all their will of King Arthur's land.
Briant sent word back to King Claudas that Messire Gawain and
Messire Ywain began to hold them aloof from the court, and that
as for most part of the other he need not trouble him a whit, for
he might so deal as that in short time Lancelot should be well
trounced, would they or nould they.


XVIII.

Tidings are come to King Arthur's court that the King of Oriande
is dead and his people destroyed, and that Lancelot hath
conquered his kingdom and slain the King, and reconquered all the
lands wherein he had set the false Law and the false believe by
his force and by dread of him.  And the more part say in the
court that they of the realm of Oriande nor those of the other
islands will not let Lancelot repair to court, and are doing
their endeavour to make him King; and nought is there in the
world, and he command them, they will not do, and that never was
no folk so obedient to any as are they of all these lands to him.
Briant of the Isles cometh one day privily to King Arthur, and
saith: "Sir," saith he, "Much ought I to love you, for that you
have made me Seneschal of your land; whereby meseemeth you have
great affiance in me, and my bounden duty is it to turn aside
that which is evil from you and to set forward your good
everywhere, and, did I not so, no whit loyal should I be towards
you.


XIX.

"Tidings are come to me of late that they of the kingdom of
Oriande and Albanie and of the other islands that are your
appanages have all leagued together, and have sworn and given
surety that they will aid one another against you, and they are
going presently to make Lancelot their King, and will come down
upon your land as speedily as they may wheresoever he may dare
lead them, and they have sworn their oath that they will conquer
your kingdom just as you now hold it, and, so you be not
garnished against them betimes, you may have thereof sore trouble
to your own body as well as the loss whereof I tell you."

"By my head," saith the King, "I believe not that Lancelot durst
think this, nor that he would have the heart to do me evil."

"By my head," saith Briant, "Long time have I had misgivings both
of this and of him, but one ought not to tell one's lord all that
one knows, for that one cannot be sure either that it be not
leasing or that folk wish to meddle in his affairs out of envy.
But nought is there in the world that I will conceal from you
henceforward for the love that you bear me and for that you have
affiance in me, and so may you well have, for I have abandoned my
land for you that marched with your own, whereby you may sorely
straiten your enemies, for well you know that in your court is
there no knight of greater puissance than am I."


XX.

"By my head," saith the King, "I am fain to love you and hold you
dear, nor shall you never be removed from my love nor from my
service for nought that may be said of any, so manifestly have I
seen your goodness and your loyalty.  I will bid Lancelot by my
letters and under my seal that he come to speak with me, for sore
need have I thereof, and when he shall be here we will take
account of this that you have told me, for this will I not, that
he nor none other that may be my knight shall dare rise in arms
against me, for such power ought lord of right to have over his
knight, and to be feared and dreaded of him, for elsewise is he
feeble, and lordship without power availeth nought."


XXI.

The King sent his letters by his messenger to Lancelot.  The
messenger sought him until he found him in the kingdom of
Oriande, and delivered him the letters and the seal of the King.
So soon as he knew that which the letters say, he took leave of
them of the land, that were right sorrowful.  He departed thence
and came back to Cardoil, bringing with him all the knights that
he had in charge, and told the King that he had reconquered for
him all the islands, and that the King of Oriande was dead and
that his land was attorned to the Law of Our Lord.  The King bade
Briant of the Isles that he should make forty knights come armed
under their cloaks ready to take Lancelot prisoner as soon as he
should command them.  The tidings come to Lancelot, there where
he was in his hostel, that the King had made knights come all
armed to the palace.  Lancelot bethought him that some need had
arisen and that he would arm himself likewise, so he made him be
armed and came to the hall where the King was.

"Sir," saith Briant, "Lancelot thinketh him of something, for he
hath armed himself at his hostel, and is come hither in such
manner and at such time without your leave, and he may do
something more yet.  You ought well to ask him wherefore he
wisheth to do you evil, and in what manner you have deserved it." 

He biddeth him be called before him.  "Lancelot," saith the King,
"Wherefore are you armed?"

"Sir, I was told that knights had come in hither armed, and I was
feared lest some mishap had befallen you, for I would not that
any evil should betide you."

"You come hither for another thing," saith the King, "according
to that I have been given to wit, and, had the hall been void of
folk, you hoped to have slain me."

The King commandeth him be taken forthwith without gainsay of
any.  The knights that were armed did off their cloaks and leapt
toward him on all sides, for they durst not disobey the King's
commandment, and the more part were men of Briant of the Isles.


XXII.

Lancelot seeth them coming towards him with their keen swords and
saith, "By my head, an evil guerdon do you return me of the
services I have done for you."

The knights come to him all together swords drawn, and run upon
him all at once.  He goeth defending himself, as far as the wall
of the hall, whereof he maketh a castle to his back, but before
he cometh thither he hath slain or wounded seven.  He began to
defend himself right stoutly on all sides, but they gave him
great buffets of their swords, and no fair play is it of thirty
or forty blows to one.  Nor ought none believe that one single
knight might deliver himself from so many men, seeing that they
were eager to take him and do him a hurt.  Lancelot defended him
the best he might, but the numbers were against him, and, anyway,
or ever he let himself be taken he sold himself right dear, for
of the forty knights he harmed at least a score, and of them was
none that was not sore wounded and the most part killed; and he
caught Briant of the Isles, that was helping to take him, so sore
that he made his sword drink the blood of his body, in such sort
that the wound was right wide.  The knights laid hold on Lancelot
on all sides, and the King commanded that none should harm him,
but that they should bring him to his dungeon in the prison.
Lancelot marvelled him much wherefore the King should do this,
nor might he understand wherefore this hatred was come so lately.
He is put in the prison so as the King hath commanded.  All they
of the court are sorry thereof, save Briant and his knights, but
well may he yet aby it dear, so God bring Lancelot out or prison.
Some say, "Now is the King's court lost, sith that Messire Gawain
and the other knights have thus forsaken it, and Lancelot is put
in prison for doing well, ill trust may the others have therein."

They pray God yet grant Briant of the Isles an evil guerdon, for
well know they that all this is of his procurement.  And of an
evil guerdon shall he not fail so God protect Lancelot and bring
him forth of prison.



BRANCH XXXI.

TITLE I.

Thereupon the story is silent of Lancelot, and cometh back to
Perceval that had not heard these tidings, and if he had known
them, right sorrowful would he have been thereof.  He is departed
from his uncle's castle that he hath reconquered, and was sore
grieved of the tidings that the damsel that was wounded brought
him of his sister that Aristor had carried away by force to the
house of a vavasour.  He was about to take her to wife and cut
off her head on the day of the New Year, for such was his custom
with all them that he took.  Perceval rideth one day, all heavy
in thought, and taketh his way as fast as he may toward the
hermitage of his uncle King Hermit.  He is come thither on an
eventide, and seeth three hermits issued forth of the hermitage.
He alighteth and goeth to meet them so soon as he seeth them.

"Sir," say the hermits, "Enter not in, for they are laying out a
body there."

"Who is it?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," say the hermits, "It is the good King Pelles that Aristor
slew suddenly after mass on account of one of his nephews,
Perceval, whom he loveth not, and a damsel is laying out the body
there within."

When Perceval heard the news or his uncle that is dead, thereof
was he right grieved at heart, and on the morrow was he at his
uncle's burial.  When mass was sung, Perceval would have
departed, as he that had great desire to take vengeance on him
that had done him such shame.


II.

Thereupon behold you the damsel that is his.

"Sir," saith she, "Full long time have I been seeking you. 
Behold here the head of a knight that I carry hanging at the bow
of my saddle, in this rich casket of ivory that you may see, and
by none ought he to be avenged but by you alone.  Discharge me
thereof, fair Sir, of your courtesy, for I have carried it too
long a time, and this King Arthur knoweth well and Messire
Gawain, for each hath seen me at court along with the head, but
they could give me no tidings of you, and my castle may I not
have again until such time as he be avenged."

"Who, then, was the knight, damsel?" saith Perceval.

"Sir, he was son of your uncle Bruns Brandalis, and were he on
live, would have been one of the best knights in the world."

"And who slew him, damsel?" saith Perceval.

"Sir, the Knight of the Deep Forest that leadeth the lion, foully
in treason there where he thought him safe.  For had he been
armed in like manner as was the other, he would not have slain
him."

"Damsel," said Perceval, "This grieveth me that he hath slain
him, and it grieveth me likewise of mine uncle King Hermit, whom
I would avenge more willingly than all the men in the world, for
he was slain on my account."


III.

"Most disloyal was this knight, and foully was he fain to avenge
him when he slew a holy man, a hermit that never wished him ill
on account of me and of none other.  Right glad shall I be and I
may find the knight, and so, methinketh, will he be of me, for me
he hateth as much as I do him, as I have been told, and Lord God
grant, howsoever he may take it, that I may find him betimes."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "So outrageous a knight is he that no
knight is there in the world so good but he thinketh himself of
more worth than he, and sith that he hateth you with a will, and
he knew that you were here, you and another, or you the third, he
would come now at once, were he in place and free."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "God give him mischief of his coming,
come whensoever he may!"

"Sir," saith she, "The Deep Forest there, where the Red Knight
leadeth the lion, is towards the castle of Aristor, and, or ever
you come by adventure into the forest, you may well hear some
tidings of him!"



BRANCH XXXII.

INCIPIT.

Here beginneth the last branch of the Graal in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

The story saith that Perceval went his way through the forest. 
He saw pass before him two squires, and each carried a wild deer
trussed behind him that had been taken by hounds.  Perceval
cometh to them a great pace and maketh them abide.

"Lords," saith he, "Whither will you carry this venison?"

"Sir," say the squires, "To the castle of Ariste, whereof Aristor
is lord."

"Is there great throng of knights at the castle?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," say the squires, "Not a single one is there, but within
four days will be a thousand there, for Messire is about to
marry, whereof is great preparation toward.  He is going to take
the daughter of the Widow Lady, whom he carried off by force
before her castle of Camelot, and hath set her in the house of
one of his vavasours until such time as he shall espouse her. 
But we are right sorrowful, for she is of most noble lineage and
of great beauty and of the most worth in the world.  So is it
great dole that he shall have her, for he will cut her head off
on the day of the New Year, sith that such is his custom."

"And one might carry her off," saith Perceval, "would he not do
well therein?"

"Yea, Sir!" say the squires, "Our Lord God would be well pleased
thereof, for such cruelty is the greatest that ever any knight
may have.  Moreover, he is much blamed of a good hermit that he
hath slain, and every day desireth he to meet the brother of the
damsel he is about to take, that is one of the best knights in
the world.  And he saith that he would slay him more gladly than
ever another knight on live."

"And where is your lord?" saith Perceval, "Can you give me
witting?"

"Yea, Sir," say the squires, "We parted from him but now in this
forest, where he held melly with a knight that seemeth us to be
right worshipful and valiant, and saith that he hath for name the
Knight Hardy.  And for that he told Aristor that he was a knight
of Perceval's and of his fellowship, he ran upon him, and then
commanded us to come on, and said that he should vanquish him
incontinent.  We could still hear just now the blows of the
swords yonder where we were in the forest, and Aristor is of so
cruel conditions that no knight may pass through this forest, but
he is minded to slay him."


II.

When Perceval heard these tidings, he departed from the squires,
and so soon as they were out of sight he goeth as great pace
thither as they had come thence.  He had ridden half a league
Welsh when he heard the buffets they were dealing one another on
the helm with their swords, and right well pleased was he for
that the Knight Hardy held so long time melly with Aristor in
whom is there so much cruelty and felony.  But Perceval knew not
to what mischief the Knight Hardy had been wounded through the
body of a spear, so that the blood rayed out on all sides; and
Aristor had not remained whole, for he was wounded in two places.
So soon as Perceval espied them, he smiteth his horse of his
spurs, lance in rest, and smiteth Aristor right through the
breast with such force that he maketh him lose his stirrups and
lie down backwards over the hinder bow of the saddle.  After that
saith he: "I am come to my sister's wedding, of right ought it
not to be made without me."


III.

Aristor, that was full hardy, set himself again betwixt the bows
of the saddle in great wrath when he seeth Perceval, and cometh
towards him like as if he were wood mad, sword in hand, and
dealeth him such a buffet on the helm as that it is all dinted in
thereby.  The Knight Hardy draweth back when he seeth Perceval,
for he is wounded to the death through the body.  He had held the
stout so long time that he could abide no more.  But or ever he
departed, he had wounded Aristor in two places right grievously.
Perceval felt the blow that was heavy, and that his helmet was
dinted in.  He cometh back to Aristor and smiteth him so passing
strongly that he thrusteth the spear right through his body and
overthroweth him and his horse all of a heap.  Then he alighteth
over him and taketh off the coif of his habergeon and unlaceth
his ventail.

"What have you in mind to do?" said Aristor.

"I will cut off your head," said Perceval, "and present it to my
sister whom you have failed."

"Do not so!" saith Aristor, "But let me live, and I will forgo my
hatred."

"Your hatred might I well abide henceforward, meseemeth," saith
Perceval, "But one may not abide you any longer, for well have
you deserved this, and God willeth not to bear with you."

He smiteth off his head incontinent and hangeth it at his saddle-
bow, and cometh to the Knight Hardy, and asketh him how it is
with him.

"Sir," saith he, "I am very nigh my death, but I comfort me much
of this that I see you tofore I die."

Perceval is remounted on his horse, then taketh his spear and
leaveth the body of the knight in the midst of the launde, and so
departeth forthwith and leadeth the Knight Hardy to a hermitage
that was hard by there, and lifteth him down of his horse as
speedily as he may.  After that, he disarmed him and made him
confess to the hermit, and when he was shriven of his sins and
repentant, and his soul had departed, he made him be enshrouded
of the damsel that followed him, and bestowed his arms and his
horse on the hermit for his soul, and the horse of Aristor
likewise.


IV.

When mass had been sung for the knight that was dead, and the
body buried, Perceval departed.

"Sir," saith the damsel that followed him, "Even now have you
much to do.  Of this cruel knight and felonous you have avenged
this country.  Now, God grant you find betimes the Red Knight
that slew your uncle's son.  I doubt not but that you will
conquer him, but great misgiving have I of the lion, for it is
the cruellest beast that saw I ever, and he so loveth his lord
and his horse as never no beast loved another so much, and he
helpeth his lord right hardily to defend him."


V.

Perceval goeth toward the great Deep Forest without tarrying, and
the damsel after.  But, or ever he came thither, he met a knight
that was wounded right sore, both he and his horse.

"Ha, Sir," saith he to Perceval, "Enter not into this forest,
whence I have scarce escaped with much pains.  For therein is a
knight that had much trouble of rescuing me from his lion; and no
less am I in dread to pass on forward, for there is a knight that
is called Aristor, that without occasion runneth upon the knights
that pass through the forest."

"Of him," saith the damsel, "need you have no fear, for you may
see his head hanging at the knight's saddle-bow."


VI.

"Certes," saith the knight, "Never yet was I so glad of any
tidings I have heard, and well know I that he that slew him is
not lacking of great hardiment."

The knight departeth from Perceval, but the lion had wounded his
horse so passing sore in the quarters that scarce could he go. 

"Sir Knight," saith Perceval, "Go to the hermit in the Deep
Forest, and say I bade him give you the destrier I left with him,
for well I see that you have sore need thereof, and you may repay
him in some other manner, for rather would he have something else
than the horse."

The knight goeth him much thanks of this that he saith.  He
cometh to the hermit the best he may, and telleth him according
as he had been charged, and the hermit biddeth him take which
destrier he will for the love of the knight that had slain the
evil-doer, that did so many evil deeds in this forest.

"And I will lend you them both twain if you will."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I ask but for one of them."

He taketh Aristor's horse, that seemed him the better, and
straightway mounteth thereon, and abandoneth his own, that might
go no further.  He taketh leave of the hermit, and telleth him he
will right well repay him, but better had it befallen him and he
had not taken the horse, for thereof was he slain without reason
thereafter.  A knight that was of the household of Aristor
overtook him at the corner of the forest, and knew his lord's
horse and had heard tell that Aristor was dead, wherefore he went
into the forest to bury him.  He smote the knight through the
body with his spear and so slew him, then took the horse and went
away forthwith.  But, had Perceval known thereof, he would have
been little glad, for that he asked the knight to go for the
horse, but he did it only for the best, and for that he rode in
great misease.


VII.

Perceval goeth toward the Deep Forest, that is full broad and
long and evil seeming, and when he was entered in he had scarce
ridden a space when he espied the lion that lay in the midst of a
launde under a tree and was waiting for his master, that was gone
afar into the forest, and the lion well knew that just there was
the way whereby knights had to pass, and therefore had abided
there.  The damsel draweth her back for fear, and Perceval goeth
toward the lion that had espied him already, and came toward him,
eyes on fire and jaws yawning wide.  Perceval aimeth his spear
and thinketh to smite him in his open mouth, but the lion swerved
aside and he caught him in the fore-leg and so dealt him a great
wound, but the lion seizeth the horse with his claws on the
croup, and rendeth the skin and the flesh above the tail.  The
horse, that feeleth himself wounded, catcheth him with his two
hinder feet or ever he could get away, so passing strongly that
he breaketh the master-teeth in his jaw.  The lion gave out a
roar so loud that all the forest resounded thereof.  The Red
Knight heareth his lion roar, and so cometh thither a great
gallop, but, or ever he was come thither, Perceval had slain the
lion.  When the knight saw his lion dead, right sorry was he
thereof.

"By my head," saith he to Perceval, "When you slew my lion you
did it as a traitor!"

"And you," saith Perceval, "adjudged your own death when you slew
my uncle's son, whose head this damsel beareth."

Perceval cometh against him without more words, and the knight in
like manner with a great rushing, and breaketh his spear upon his
shield.  Perceval smiteth him with such force that he thrusteth
his spear right through his body and beareth him to the ground
dead beside his horse.  Perceval alighteth of his own when he
hath slain the knight, and then mounteth him on the Red Knight's
horse for that his own might carry him no longer.


VIII.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "My castle is in the midst of this
forest, that the Red Knight reft away from me long ago.  I pray
you now come with me thither that I may be assured thereof in
such sort as that I may have it again wholly."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "This have I no right to deny you."

They ride amidst the forest so long as that they come to the
castle where the damsel ought to be.  It stood in the fairest
place of all the forest, and was enclosed of high Walls
battlemented, and within were fair-windowed halls.  The tidings
were come to the castle that their lord was dead.  Perceval and
the damsel entered in.  He made the damsel be assured of them
that were therein, and made them yield up her castle that they
well knew was hers of right inheritance.  The damsel made the
head be buried that she had carried so long, and bade that every
day should mass be done within for the soul of him.  When
Perceval had sojourned therein as long as pleased him, he
departed thence.  The damsel thanked him much of the bounty he
had done her as concerning the castle that she had again by him,
for never again should it be reconquered of another, as well she
knew.


IX.

Josephus telleth us in the scripture he recordeth for us, whereof
this history was drawn out of Latin into Romance, that none need
be in doubt that these adventures befell at that time in Great
Britain and in all the other kingdoms, and plenty enow more
befell than I record, but these were the most certain.  The
history saith that Perceval is come into a hold, there where his
sister was in the house of a vavasour that was a right worshipful
man.  Each day the damsel made great dole of the knight that was
to take her, for the day was already drawing somewhat nigh, and
she knew not that he was dead.  Full often lamented she the Widow
Lady her mother, that in like sort made great dole for her
daughter.  The vavasour comforted the damsel right sweetly and
longed for her brother Perceval, but little thought he that he
was so near him.  And Perceval is come to the hold all armed, and
alighteth at the mounting-stage before the hall.  The vavasour
cometh to meet him, and marvelleth much who he is, for the more
part believed that he was one of Aristor's knights.

"Sir," saith the vavasour, "Welcome may you be!"

"Good adventure may you have, Sir!" saith Perceval.  He holdeth
Aristor's head in his hand by the hair, whereof the vavasour
marvelled much that he should carry a knight's head in such-wise.
Perceval cometh to the master-chamber of the hall, where his
sister was, that bewailed her right sore.


X.

"Damsel," saith he to his sister, "Weep not, for your wedding
hath failed.  You may know it well by this token!"

He throweth the head of Aristor before her on the ground, then
saith unto her: "Behold here the head of him that was to take
you!"

The damsel heareth Perceval her brother that was armed, and
thereby she knoweth him again.  She leapeth up and maketh him the
greatest joy that ever damsel made to knight.  She knoweth not
what to do.  So joyful is she, that all have pity on her that see
her of her weeping for the joy that she maketh of her brother.
The story saith that they sojourned therewithin and that the
vavasour showed them much honour.  The damsel made cast the
knight's head into a river that ran round about the hold.  The
vavasour was right glad of his death for the great felony that he
had in him, and for that needs must the damsel die in less than a
year and she had espoused him.


XI.

When Perceval had been therein as long as it pleased him, he
thanked the vavasour much of the honour he had done him and his
sister, and departed, he and his sister along with him on the
mule whereon she had been brought thither.  Perceval rode so long
on his journeys that he is come to Camelot and findeth his mother
in great dole for her daughter that should be Queen, for she
thought surely that never should she see her more.  Full
sorrowful was she moreover of her brother, the King Hermit that
had been killed in such-wise.  Perceval cometh to the chamber
where his mother was lying and might not stint of making dole. 
He taketh his sister by the hand and cometh before her.  So soon
as she knoweth him she beginneth to weep for joy, and kisseth
them one after the other.

"Fair son," saith she, "Blessed be the hour that you were born
for by you all my great joy cometh back to me!  Now well may I
depart, for I have lived long enow."

"Lady," saith he, "Your life ought to be an offence to none, for
to none hath it ever done ill, but, please God, you shall not end
in this place, but rather you shall end in the castle that was
your cousin's german, King Fisherman, there where is the most
Holy Graal and the sacred hallows are."

"Fair son," saith she, "You say well, and there would I fain be."

"Lady," saith he, "God will provide counsel and means whereby you
shall be there; and my sister, and she be minded to marry, will
we set in good place, where she may live worshipfully."

"Certes, fair brother," saith she, "None shall I never marry,
save God alone."

"Fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "The Damsel of the Car goeth to
seek you, and I shall end not until such time as she hath round
you."

"Lady," saith he, "In some place will she have tidings of me and
I of her."

"Fair son," saith the Lady, "The damsel is here within that the
felonous knight wounded through the arm, that carried of your
sister, but she is healed."

"Lady," saith he, "I am well avenged."

He telleth her all the adventures until the time when he
reconquered the castle that was his uncle's.  He sojourned long
time with his mother in the castle, and saw that the land was all
assured and peaceable.  He departed thence and took his leave,
for he had not yet achieved all that he had to do.  His mother
remained long time, and his sister, at Camelot, and led a good
life and a holy.  The lady made make a chapel right rich about
the sepulchre that lay between the forest and Camelot, and had it
adorned of rich vestments, and stablished a chaplain that should
sing mass there every day.  Sithence then hath the place been so
builded up as that there is an abbey there and folk of religion,
and many bear witness that there it is still, right fair.
Perceval was departed from Camelot and entered into the great
forest, and so rode of a long while until he had left his
mother's castle far behind, and came toward evening to the hold
of a knight that was at the head of the forest.  He harboured him
therein, and the knight showed him much honour and made him be
unarmed, and brought him a robe to do on.  Perceval seeth that
the knight is a right simple man, and that he sigheth from time
to time.


XII.

"Sir," saith he, "Meseemeth you are not over joyous."

"Certes, Sir," saith the knight, "I have no right to be, for a
certain man slew mine own brother towards the Deep Forest not
long since, and no right have I to be glad, for a worshipful man
was he and a loyal."

"Fair Sir," saith Perceval, "Know you who slew him?"

"Fair Sir, it was one of Aristor's knights, for that he was
sitting upon a horse that had been Aristor's, and whereon another
knight had slain him, and a hermit had lent him to my brother for
that the Red Knight's lion had maimed his own."

Perceval was little glad of these tidings, for that he had sent
him that had been slain on account of the horse.

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Your brother had not deserved his death,
methinketh, for it was not he that slew the knight."

"No, Sir, I know it all of a truth, but another, that slew the
Red Knight of the Deep Forest."

Perceval was silent thereupon.  He lay the night at the hostel
and was harboured right well, and on the morrow departed when he
had taken leave.  He wandered until he came to a hermitage there
where he heard mass.  After the service, the hermit came unto him
and said: "Sir," saith he, "In this forest are knights all armed
that are keeping watch for the knight that slew Aristor and the
Red Knight and his lion as well.  Wherefore they meet no knight
in this forest but they are minded to slay him for the knight
that slew these twain."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "God keep me from meeting such folk as
would do me evil."


XIII.

With that he departed from the hermitage and took leave of the
hermit, and rideth until that he is come into the forest and
espieth the knight that sitteth on Aristor's horse for that he
hath slain the other knight.  A second knight was with him.  They
abide when they see Perceval.

"By my head," saith one of them, "This same shield bare he that
slew Aristor, as it was told us, and, like enough, it may be he." 

They come toward him, full career.  Perceval seeth them coming,
and forgetteth not his spurs, but rather cometh against them the
speediest he may.  The two knights smote him upon the shield and
brake their spears.  Perceval overtaketh him that sitteth on
Aristor's horse and thrusteth an ell's length of his spear
through his body and so overthroweth him dead.


XIV.

After that, he cometh to the other knight, that fain would have
fled, and smiteth off the shoulder close to his side, and he
fell dead by the side of the other.  He taketh both twain of
their destriers, and knotteth the reins together and driveth them
before him as far as the house of the hermit, that had issued
forth of his hermitage.  He delivered unto him the horse of
Aristor and the other of the knight that he had sent thither. 

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Well I know that and you shall see any
knight that hath need of it and shall ask you, you will lend him
one of these horses, for great courtesy is it to aid a worshipful
man when one seeth him in misfortune."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "But now since, were here three knights.
So soon as they knew that the two were dead whose horses you had
delivered unto me, they departed, fleeing the speediest they
might.  I praised them much of their going, and told them they
did well not to die on such occasion, for that the souls of
knights that die under arms are nigher to Hell than to Paradise."


XV.

Perceval, that never was without sore toil and travail so long as
he lived, departed from the hermitage and went with great
diligence right through the midst of the forest, and met a knight
that came a great gallop over against him.  He knew Perceval by
the shield that he bare.

"Sir," saith he, "I come from the Castle of the Black Hermit,
there where you will find the Damsel of the Car as soon as you
arrive, wherefore she sendeth you word by me that you speed your
way and go to her to ask for the chess-board that was taken away
from before Messire Gawain, or otherwise never again will you
enter into the castle you have won.  Sir," saith he, "Haste,
moreover, on account of a thing most pitiful that I heard in this
forest.  I heard how a knight was leading a damsel against her
will, beating her with a great scourge.  I passed by the launde
on the one side and he on the other, so that I espied him through
the underwood that was between us; but it seemed me that the
damsel was bemoaning her for the son of the Widow Lady that had
given her back her castle, and the knight said that for love of
him he would put her into the Servent's pit.  An old knight and a
priest went after the knight to pray him have mercy on the
damsel, but so cruel is he, that so far from doing so, he rather
waxed sore wroth for that they prayed it of him, and made cheer
and semblant as though he would have slain them."

The knight departed from Perceval and taketh leave and Perceval
goeth along the way that the knight had come, thinking that he
would go after the damsel for he supposeth certainly that it is
she to whom he gave back her castle, and would fain know what
knight it is that entreateth her in such fashion.  He hath ridden
until he is come into the deepest of the forest and the thickest.
He bideth awhile and listeneth and heareth the voice of the
damsel, that was in a great valley where the Serpent's pit was,
wherein the knight was minded to set her.  She cried right loud
for mercy, and wept, and the knight gave her great strokes of the
scourge to make her be still.  Perceval had no will to tarry
longer, but rather cometh thither as fast as he may.


XVI.

So soon as the damsel seeth Perceval, she knoweth him again.  She
claspeth her two hands together and saith, "Ha, Sir, for God's
sake have mercy!  Already have you given me back the castle
whereof this knight would reave me."

The horse whereon Perceval sat, the knight knew him.

"Sir," saith he, "This horse was the horse of Messire the Red
Knight of the Deep Forest!  Now at last know I that it was you
that slew him!"

"It may well be," saith Perceval, "And if that I slew him, good
right had I to do so, for he had cut off the head of a son of
mine uncle, the which head this damsel carried of a long time."

"By my head," saith the knight, "Sith that you slew him, you are
my mortal enemy!"

So he draweth off in the midst of the launde and Perceval
likewise, and then they come together as fast as their horses may
carry them, and either giveth other great buffets in the midst of
their breast with their spears the most they may.  Perceval
smiteth the knight so passing hard that he overthroweth him to
the ground right over the croup of his horse, and in the fall
that he made, he to-brake him the master-bone of his leg so that
he might not move.  And Perceval alighteth to the ground and
cometh where the knight lay.  And he crieth him mercy that he
slay him not.  And Perceval telleth him he need not fear death,
nor that he is minded to slay him in such plight as he is, but
that like as he was fain to make the damsel do he will make him
do.  He maketh alight the other old knight and the priest, then
maketh the knight be carried to the Pit of the Serpent and the
worms, whereof was great store.  The pit was dark and deep.  When
that the knight was therein he might not live long for the worms
that were there.  The damsel thanked Perceval much of this
goodness and of the other that he had done her.  She departeth
and returneth again to her castle, and was assured therein on all
sides, nor never thereafter had she dread of no knight, for the
cruel justice that Perceval had done on this one.


XVII.

The son of the Widow Lady of his good knighthood knoweth not how
to live without travail.  He well knoweth that when he hath been
at the Black Hermit's castle, he will in some measure have
achieved his task.  But many another thing behoveth him to do
tofore, and little toil he thinketh it, whereof shall God be well
pleased.  He hath ridden so far one day and another, that he came
into a land where he met knights stout and strong there where God
was neither believed in nor loved, but where rather they adored
false images and false Lord-Gods and devils that made themselves
manifest.  He met a knight at the entrance of a forest.

"Ha, Sir!" saith he to Perceval, "Return you back!  No need is
there for you to go further, for the folk of this island are not
well-believers in God.  I may not pass through the land but by
truce only.  The Queen of this land was sister of the King of
Oriande, that Lancelot killed in the battle and all his folk, and
seized his land, wherein all the folk were misbelievers.  Now
throughout all the land they believe in the Saviour of the World.
Thereof is she passing sorrowful, and hateth all them that
believe in the New Law, insomuch as that she would not look upon
any that believed, and prayed to her gods that never might she
see none until such time as the New Law should be overthrown; and
God, that hath power to do this, blinded her forthwith.  Now she
supposeth that the false gods wherein she believeth have done
this, and saith that when the New Law shall fall, she will have
her sight again by the renewal of these gods, and by their
virtue, nor, until this hour, hath she no desire to see.  And I
tell you this," saith the knight, "because I would not that you
should go thither as yet, for that I misdoubt of your being
troubled thereby."

"Sir, Gramercy," saith Perceval, "But no knighthood is there so
fair as that which is undertaken to set forward the Law of God,
and for Him ought one to make better endeavour than for all
other.  In like manner as He put His body in pain and travail for
us, so ought each to put his own for Him."

He departeth from the knight, and was right joyous of this that
he heard him say that Lancelot had won a kingdom wherein he had
done away the false Law.  But and he knew the tidings that the
King had put him in prison, he would not have been glad at all,
for Lancelot was of his lineage and was therefore good knight,
and for this he loved him right well.


XVIII.

Perceval rideth until nightfall, and findeth a great castle
fortified with a great drawbridge, and there were tall ancient
towers within.  He espied at the door a squire that had the
weight of a chain on his neck, and at the other end the chain was
fixed to a great bulk of iron.  The chain was as long as the
length of the bridge.  Then cometh he over against Perceval when
he seeth him coming.

"Sir," saith he, "Meseemeth you believe in God?"

"Fair friend, so do I, the best I may."

"Sir, for God's sake, enter not this castle!"

"Wherefore, fair friend?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith he, "I will tell you.  I am Christian, even as are
you, and I am thrall within there and guard this gate, as you
see.  But it is the most cruel castle that I know, and it is
called the Raving Castle.  There be three knights within there,
full young and comely, but so soon as they see a knight of the
New Law, forthwith are they out of their senses, and all raving
mad, so that nought may endure between them.  Moreover, there is
within one of the fairest damsels that saw I ever.  She guardeth
the knights so soon as they begin to rave, and so much they dread
her that they durst not disobey her commandment in aught that she
willeth, for many folk would they evilly entreat were it not for
her.  And for that I am their thrall they put up with me, and I
have no fear of them, but many is the Christian knight that hath
come in hither that never hath issued hence."

"Fair sweet friend," saith Perceval, "I will enter in thither and
I may, for I should not know this day how to go elsewhither, and
true it is that greater power hath God than the devil."

He entereth into the castle and alighteth in the midst of the
courtyard.


XIX.

The damsel was at the windows of the hall, that was of passing
great beauty.  She cometh down as soon as she may, and seeth
Perceval come in and the cross on his shield, and knoweth well
thereby that he is Christian.

"Ha, Sir, for God's sake," saith she, "Come not up above, for
there be three of the comeliest knights that ever were seen that
are playing at tables and at dice in a chamber, and they are
brothers-german.  They will all go out of their senses so soon as
they shall see you!"


XX.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Please God, so shall they not, and
such a miracle is good to see, for it is only right that all they
who will not believe in God should be raving mad when they see
the things that come of Him."

Perceval goeth up into the hall, all armed, for all that the
damsel saith.  She followeth him as fast as she may.  The three
knights espied Perceval all armed and the cross on his shield,
and forthwith leapt up and were beside themselves.  They rolled
their eyes and tore themselves and roared like devils.  There
were axes and swords in the hall that they go to lay hold on, and
they are fain to leap upon Perceval, but no power have they to do
so, for such was the will of God.  When they saw that they might
not come a-nigh him, they ran either on other and so slew
themselves between them, nor would they stint their fighting
together for the damsel.  Perceval beheld the miracle of these
folks that were thus killed, and the damsel that made right great
dole thereof.

"Ha, damsel," saith he, "Weep not, but repent you of this false
belief, for they that are unwilling to believe in God shall die
like mad folks and devils!"

Perceval made the squires that were there within bear the bodies
out of the hall, and made them be cast into a running water, and
straightway slew all the other, for that they were not minded to
believe.  The castle was all emptied of the misbelieving folk
save only the damsel and those that waited upon her, and the
Christian thrall that guarded the gate.  Perceval set him forth
of the chain, then led him up into the hall and made him disarm
him.  He found sundry right rich robes.  The damsel, that was of
right great beauty, looked at him and saw that he was a full
comely knight, and well pleased she was with him.  She honoured
him in right great sort, but she might not forget the three
knights that were her brothers, and made sore dole for them.


XXI.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Nought availeth it to make this dole,
but take comfort on some other manner."

Perceval looked at the hall from one end to the other and saw
that it was right rich, and the damsel, in whom was full great
beauty, stinted of making dole to look at Perceval.  She seeth
that he is comely knight and gentle and tall and well furnished
of good conditions, wherefore he pleaseth her much, and forthwith
beginneth she to love him, and saith to herself that, so he would
leave his God for the god in whom she believed, right glad would
she be thereof, and would make him lord of her castle, for it
seemed her that better might she not bestow it, and sith that her
brothers are dead, there may be no bringing of them back, and
therefore better would it be to forget her dole.  But little knew
she Perceval's thought, for had she known that which he thinketh,
she would have imagined not this; for, and had she been Christian
he might not have been drawn to love her in such sort as she
thinketh, sith that Josephus telleth us that never did he lose
his virginity for woman, but rather died virgin and chaste and
clean of his body.  In this mind was she still, nor never might
she refrain her heart from him.  Thinketh she rather that, and he
knew she was minded to love him, right joyous would he be
thereof, for that she is of so passing beauty.  Perceval asketh
the damsel what she hath in her thought?

" Sir," saith she, "Nought think I but only good and you will."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Never, please God, shall there be
hindrance of me but that you renounce this evil Law and believe
in the good."

"Sir," saith she, "Do you renounce yours for love of me, and I
will do your commandment and your will."


XXII.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Nought availeth to tell me this.  Were
you man like as you are woman, your end would have come with the
others.  But, please God, your tribulation shall tend itself to
good."

"Sir," saith she, "So you are willing to promise me that you will
love me like as knight ought to love damsel, I am well inclined
to believe in your God."

"Damsel, I promise you as I am a Christian that so you are
willing to receive baptism, I will love you as he that firmly
believeth in God ought to love damsel."

"Sir," saith she, "I ask no more of you."

She biddeth send for a holy man, a hermit that was in the forest
appurtenant, and right gladly came he when he heard the tidings.
They held her up and baptized her, both her and her damsels with
her.  Perceval held her at the font.  Josephus witnesseth us in
this history that she had for name Celestre.  And great joy made
she of her baptism, and her affections turned she unto good.  The
hermit remained there with her, and taught her to understand the
firm believe, and did the service of Our Lord.  The damsel was of
right good life and right holy, and ended thereafter in many good
works.


XXIII.

Perceval departed from the castle, and gave thanks to Our Lord
and praise, that He hath allowed him to conquer a castle so cruel
and to attorn it to the Law.  He went his way a great pace, all
armed, until he came into a country wherein was great grief being
made, and the more part said that he was come that should destroy
their Law, for that already had he won their strongest castle. 
He is come towards an ancient castle that was at the head of a
forest.  He looketh and seeth at the entrance of the gateway a
full great throng of folk.  He seeth a squire come forth thence,
and asketh him unto whom belongeth the castle.

"Sir," saith he, "It is Queen Jandree's, that hath made her be
brought before her gate with the folk you see yonder, for she
hath heard tell how the knights of the Raving Castle are dead,
and another knight that hath conquered the castle hath made the
damsel be baptized, wherefore much she marvelleth how this may
be.  She is in much dread of losing her land, for her brother
Madeglant of Oriande is dead, so that she may no longer look to
none for succour, and she hath been told how the knight that
conquered the Raving Castle is the Best Knight of the World, and
that none may endure against him.  For this doubtance and fear of
him she is minded to go to one of her own castles that is
somewhat stronger."

Perceval departeth from the squire and rideth until they that
were at the entrance of the gateway espied him.  They saw the Red
Cross that he bare on his shield, and said to the Queen, "Lady, a
Christian knight is coming into this castle."

"Take heed," saith she, "that it be not he that is about to
overthrow our Law!"

Perceval cometh thither and alighteth, and cometh before the
Queen all armed.  The Queen asketh what he seeketh.


XXIV.

"Lady," saith he, "Nought seek I save good only to yourself so
you hinder it not."

"You come," saith she, "from the Raving Castle, there where three
brothers are slain, whereof is great loss."

"Lady," saith he, "At that castle was I, and now fain would I
that your own were at the will of Jesus Christ, in like manner as
is that."

"By my head," saith she, "And your Lord hath so great power as is
said, so will it be."

"Lady, His virtue and His puissance are far greater than they
say."

"That would I fain know," saith she, "presently, and I am fain to
pray you that you depart not from me until that it hath been
proven."

Perceval granteth it gladly.  She returned into her castle and
Perceval with her.  When he was alighted he went up into the
hall.  They that were within marvelled them much that she should
thus give consent, for never, sithence that she had been blind,
might she allow no knight of the New Law to be so nigh her, and
made slay all them that came into her power, nor might she never
see clear so long as she had one of them before her.  Now is her
disposition altered in such sort as that she would fain she might
see clear him that hath come in, for she hath been told that he
is the comeliest knight of the world and well seemeth to be as
good as they witness of him.


XXV.

Perceval remained there gladly for that he saw the lady's cruelty
was somewhat slackened, and it seemed him that it would be great
joy and she were willing to turn to God, and they that are within
there, for well he knoweth that so she should hold to the New
Law, all they of the land would be of the same mind.  When
Perceval had lain the night at the castle, the Lady on the morrow
sent for all the more powerful of her land, and came forth of her
chamber into the hall where Perceval was, seeing as clear as ever
she had seen aforetime.

"Lords," saith she, "Hearken ye all, for now will I tell you the
truth like as it hath befallen me.  I was lying in my bed last
night, and well know ye that I saw not a whit, and made my
orisons to our gods that they would restore me my sight.  It
seemed me they made answer that they had no power so to do, but
that I should make be slain the knight that was arrived here, and
that and I did not, sore wroth would they be with me.  And when I
had heard their voices say that nought might they avail me as for
that I had prayed of them, I remembered me of the Lord in whom
they that hold the New Law believe.  And I prayed Him right
sweetly that, and so it were that He had such virtue and such
puissance as many said, He would make me see clear, so as that I
might believe in Him.  At that hour I fell on sleep, and meseemed
that I saw one of the fairest Ladies in the world, and she was
delivered of a Child therewithin, and He had about Him a great
brightness of light like it were the sun shone at right noonday."


XXVI.

"When the Child was born, so passing fair was He and so passing
gentle and of so sweet semblant that the looks of Him pleased me
well; and meseemed that at His deliverance there was a company
of folk the fairest that were seen ever, and they were like as it
had been birds and made full great joy.  And methought that an
ancient man that was with Her, told me that My Lady had lost no
whit of her maidenhood for the Child.  Well pleased was I the
while this thing lasted me.  It seemed me that I saw it like as I
do you.  Thereafter, methought I saw a Man bound to a stake, in
whom was great sweetness and humility, and an evil folk beat Him
with scourges and rods right cruelly, so that the blood ran down
thereof.  They would have no mercy on Him.  Of this might I not
hold myself but that I wept for pity of Him.  Therewithal I awoke
and marvelled much whence it should come and what it might be.
But in anyway it pleased me much that I had seen it.  It seemed
me after this, that I saw the same Man that had been bound to the
stake set upon a cross, and nailed thereon right grievously and
smitten in the side with a spear, whereof had I such great pity
that needs must I weep of the sore pain that I saw Him suffer.  I
saw the Lady at the feet of the cross, and knew her again that I
had seen delivered of the Child, but none might set in writing
the great dole that she made.  On the other side of the cross was
a man that seemed not joyful, but he recomforted the Lady the
fairest he might.  And another folk were there that collected His
blood in a most holy Vessel that one of them held for it."


XXVII.

"Afterward, methought I saw Him taken down of hanging on the
cross, and set in a sepulchre of stone.  Thereof had I great pity
for, so long as meseemed I saw Him thus never might I withhold
me from weeping.  And so soon as the pity came into my heart, and
the tears into my eyes, I had my sight even as you see.  In such
a Lord as this ought one to believe, for He suffered death when
He might lightly have avoided it had He so willed, but He did it
to save His people.  In this Lord I will that ye all believe, and
so renounce our false gods, for they be devils and therefore may
not aid us nor avail us.  And he that will not believe, him will
I make be slain or die a shameful death."

The Lady made her be held up and baptized, and all them that
would not do the same she made be destroyed and banished.  This
history telleth us that her name was Salubre.  She was good lady
and well believed in God, and so holy life led she thereafter
that in a hermitage she died.  Perceval departed from the castle
right joyous in his heart of the Lady and her people that
believed in the New Law.



BRANCH XXXIII.

TITLE I.

Afterward, this title telleth us that Meliot of Logres was
departed from Castle Perilous sound and whole, by virtue of the
sword that Lancelot had brought him, and of the cloth that he
took in the Chapel Perilous.  But sore sorrowful was he of the
tidings he had heard that Messire Gawain was in prison and he
knew not where, but he had been borne on hand that two knights
that were kinsmen of them of the Raving Castle that had slain one
another, had shut him in prison on account of Perceval that had
won the castle.  Now, saith Meliot of Logres, never shall he have
ease again until he knoweth where Messire Gawain is.  He rideth
amidst a forest, and prayeth God grant him betimes to hear
witting of Messire Gawain.  The forest was strange and gloomy. 
He rode until nightfall but might not find neither hold nor
hermitage.  He looketh right amidst the forest before him and
seeth a damsel sitting that bemoaneth herself full sore.  The
moon was dark and the place right foul of seeming and the forest
gloomy of shadow.

"Ha, damsel, and what do you here at this hour?"

"Sir," saith she, "I may not amend it, the more is my sorrow. 
For the place is more perilous than you think.  Look," saith she,
"up above, and you will see the occasion wherefore I am here."

Meliot looketh and seeth two knights all armed hanging up above
the damsel's head.  Thereof much marvelleth he.

"Ha, damsel," saith he, "Who slew these knights so foully?"

"Sir," saith she, "The Knight of the Galley that singeth in the
sea."

"And wherefore hath he hanged them in such wise?"

"For this," saith she, "that they believed in God and His sweet
Mother.  And so behoveth me to watch them here for forty days,
that none take them down of hanging, for and they were taken
hence he would lose his castle, he saith, and would cut off my
head."

"By my head," saith Meliot, "Such watch is foul shame to damsel,
and no longer shall you remain here."

"Ha, Sir," saith the damsel, "Then shall I be a dead woman, for
he is of so great cruelty that none scarce might protect me
against him."


II.

"Damsel," saith Meliot, "Foul shame would it be and I left here
these knights in such wise for the reproach of other knights."

Meliot made them graves with his sword, and so buried them the
best he might.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "And you take not thought to protect me,
the knight will slay me.  To-morrow, when he findeth not the
knights, he will search all the forest to look for me."

Meliot and the damsel together go their way through the forest
until they come to a chapel where was wont to be a hermit that
the Knight of the Galley had destroyed.  He helpeth down the
damsel of his horse, and afterward they entered into the chapel,
where was a great brightness of light, and a damsel was there
that kept watch over a dead knight.  Meliot marvelleth him much. 

"Damsel," said Meliot, "When was this knight killed?"

"Sir, yesterday the Knight of the Galley slew him on the sea-
shore, wherefore behoveth me thus keep watch, and in the morning
will he come hither or ever he go to the castle where Messire
Gawain hath to-morrow to fight with a lion, all unarmed, and my
Lady, that is mistress both of me and of this damsel you have
brought hither, will likewise be brought to-morrow to the place
where the lion is to slay Messire Gawain, and she in like sort
will be afterward delivered to the lion and she renounce not the
New Law wherein the knight that came from Raving Castle, whereof
she is lady, hath made her believe; and we ourselves shall be in
like manner devoured along with her.  But this damsel would still
have taken respite of my death and she had still kept guard over
the knights that were so foully hanged above her.  Natheless,
sith that you have taken them down from where they were hanging,
you have done a right good deed, whatsoever betide, for the Lord
of the Red Tower will give his castle to the knight for this." 

Meliot is right joyous of the tidings that he hath heard of
Messire Gawain that he is still on live, for well knoweth he,
sith that the Knight of the Galley will come by the chapel there,
that he will come thither or ever Messire Gawain doth battle with
the lion.

"Sir," saith the damsel of the chapel, "For God's sake, take this
damsel to a place of safety, for the knight will be so wood mad
of wrath and despite so soon as he cometh hither, that he will be
fain to smite off her head forthwith, and of yourself also have I
great fear."


III.

"Damsel," saith Meliot, "The knight is but a man like as am I."

"Yea, Sir, but stronger is he and more cruel than seem you to
be."

Meliot was in the chapel the night until the morrow, and heard
the knight coming like a tempest, and he brought with him the
lady of the castle and reviled her from time to time, and Meliot
seeth him come, and a dwarf that followeth after him a great
pace.  He crieth out to him: "Sir, behold there the disloyal
knight through whom you have lost your castle.  Now haste! 
Avenge yourself of him!  After that will we go to the death of
Messire Gawain?"

Meliot, so soon as he espieth him, mounteth and maketh his arms
ready.

"Is it you," saith the Knight of the Galley, "that hath
trespassed on my demesne and taken down my knights?"

"By my head, yours were they not!  Rather were they the knights
of God, and foul outrage have you done herein when you slew them
so shamefully."

He goeth toward the knight without more words, and smiteth him so
passing strong amidst the breast that he pierceth the habergeon
and thrusteth all the iron of his spear into his body and
afterward draweth it back to him with a great wrench.  And the
knight smiteth him so hard on his shield that he maketh an ell's
length pass beyond, for right wroth was he that he was wounded.
The dwarf crieth to him, "Away, then!  The knight endureth
against you that have slain so many of them!"

The Knight of the Galley waxeth wood wrath.  He taketh his
career, and cometh as fast as his horse may carry him, and
smiteth Meliot so strongly that he breaketh his spear in such
sort that he maketh both him and his horse stagger.  But Meliot
catcheth him better, for he thrusteth the spear right through his
body and hurleth against him at the by-passing with such
stoutness and force that he maketh him fall dead to the ground
from his horse.  The dwarf thought to escape, but Meliot smote
off his head, whereof the damsels gave him great thanks, for many
a mischief had he wrought them.


IV.

Meliot buried the knight that he found in the chapel dead, then
told the damsels that he might abide no longer, but would go
succour Messire Gawain and he might.  The damsels were horsed to
their will, for one had the horse of the knight that was slain
and the other the horse of the dwarf.  The other damsel was come
upon a mule, and they said that they would go back, for the
country was made all safe by the death of the knight.  They
thanked Meliot much, for they say truly that he hath rescued them
from death.  Meliot departeth from the damsels and goeth right
amidst the forest as he that would most fain hear tidings of
Messire Gawain.  When he had ridden of a long space, he met a
knight that was coming all armed at great pace.

"Sir Knight," saith he to Meliot, "Can you tell me tidings of the
Knight of the Galley?"

"What have you to do therein?" saith Meliot.

"Sir, the Lord of the Red Tower hath made bring Messire Gawain
into a launde of this forest, and there, all unarmed, must he do
battle with a lion.  So my lord is waiting for the Knight of the
Galley, that is to bring two damsels thither that the lion will
devour when he shall have slain Messire Gawain."

"Will the battle be presently?" saith Meliot.

"Yea, Sir," saith the knight, "Soon enough betimes, for Messire
Gawain hath already been led thither and there bound to a stake
until such time as the lion shall be come.  Then will he be
unbound, but even then two knights all armed will keep watch on
him.  But tell me tidings of the Knight of the Galley, and you
have seen him?"

"Go forward," saith he, "and you will hear tidings of him." 

Meliot departeth thereupon, a great gallop, and cometh nigh the
launde whereunto Messire Gawain had been brought.  He espied the
two knights that kept guard over him, and if that Messire Gawain
were in fear, little marvel was it, for he thought that his end
had come.  Meliot espied him bound to an iron staple with cords
about the body on all sides so that he might not move.  Meliot
hath great pity thereof in his heart, and saith to himself that
he will die there sooner than Messire Gawain shall die.  He
clappeth spurs to his horse when he cometh nigh the knights, and
overtaketh one of them with such a rush that he thrusteth his
spear right through his body, and beareth him down dead.  The
other was fain to go to the castle for succour when he saw his
fellow dead.  Meliot slew him forthwith.  He cometh to Messire
Gawain, and so unbindeth him and cutteth the cords wherewith he
is bound.

"Sir," saith he, "I am Meliot of Logres, your knight."


V.

When Messire Gawain felt himself unbound, no need to ask whether
he had joy thereof.  The tidings were come to the Red Court that
Queen Jandree was christened and baptized, and that the Knight
was come that had such force and puissance in him that none might
endure against him for the God in whom he believed, and they knew
likewise that the Knight of the Galley was dead, and Messire
Gawain unbound and the knights that guarded him slain.  They say
that there may they not abide, so they depart from the castle and
say that they will cross the sea to protect their bodies, for
that there they may have no safety.


VI.

When Meliot had delivered Messire Gawain he made him be armed
with the arms, such as they were, of one of the knights he had
slain.  Messire Gawain mounted on a horse such as pleased him,
and right great joy had he at heart.  They marvel much how it is
that they of the castle have not come after them, but they know
not their thought nor how they are scared.

"Meliot," saith Messire Gawain, "You have delivered me from death
this time and one other, nor never had I acquaintance with any
knight that hath done so much for me in so short a time as have
you."

They departed the speediest they might and rode nigh enow to the
castle, but they heard none moving within nor any noise, nor saw
they none issue forth, and much marvelled they that none should
come after them.  They rode until they came to the head of the
forest and caught sight of the sea that was nigh enough before
them, and saw that there was a great clashing of arms at the
brink of the sea.  A single knight was doing battle with all them
that would fain have entered into a ship, and held stour so
stiffly against them that he toppled the more part into the sea.
They went thither as fast as they might, and when they drew nigh
to the ship they knew that it was Perceval by his arms and his
shield.  Or ever they reached it, the ship was put off into the
midst of the sea, wherein he was launched of his own great
hardiment, and they went on fighting against him within the ship. 

"Meliot," saith Messire Gawain, "See you, there is Perceval the
Good Knight, and now may we say of a truth that he is in sore
peril of death; for that ship, save God bethink Him thereof,
shall arrive in such manner and in such a place as that never
more shall we have no witting of him, and, so he perish for ever,
no knight on live may have power to set forward the Law of our
Lord."


VII.

Messire Gawain seeth the ship going further away, and Perceval
that defendeth himself therein against them that set upon him.
Right heavy is he that he came not sooner, or ever the ship had
put off from the land.  He turneth back, he and Meliot together,
and right sorrowful was Messire Gawain of Perceval, for they knew
not in what land he might arrive, and, might he have followed,
right gladly would he have gone after him to aid him.  They have
ridden until they meet a knight.  Messire Gawain asketh him
whence he cometh, and he saith from King Arthur's court.

"What tidings can you tell us thereof?" saith Messire Gawain. 

"Sir, bad enough!" saith he.  "King Arthur hath neglected all his
knights for Briant of the Isles, and hath put one of his best
knights in prison."

"What is his name?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, he is called Lancelot of the Lake.  He had reconquered all
the islands that had been reft of King Arthur, and slain King
Madeglant, and conquered the land of Oriande that he turned to
the belief of the Saviour of the World, and, so soon as he had
conquered his enemies, King Arthur sent for him forthwith and
straightway put him in his prison by the counsel of Briant of the
Isles.  But King Arthur will have a surfeit of friends betimes;
for King Claudas hath assembled his folk in great plenty to
reconquer the kingdom of Oriande and come back upon King Arthur
by the counsel of Briant of the Isles that betrayeth the King,
for he hath made him his Seneschal and commander of all his
land."

"Sir Knight," saith Messire Gawain, "Needs must the King miscarry
that setteth aside the counsel of his good knights for the
leasings of a traitor."

Thereupon the knight departed from Messire Gawain.  Right heavy
is he of this that he hath said, that the King hath put Lancelot
in prison.  Never tofore did he aught whereby he wrought so much
to blame.



BRANCH XXXIV.

TITLE I.

Hereupon the story is silent of Messire Gawain and Meliot and
speaketh of King Claudas that hath assembled a great folk by the
counsel of Briant of the Isles to come into the land of King
Arthur, for he knoweth that it is disgarnished of the good
knights that wont there to be, and he knoweth all the secret
plottings of the court and what power King Arthur hath withal. 
He draweth toward his land the nighest he may, and hath won back
the kingdom of Oriande all at his will.  But they of Albanie
still hold against him and challenge the land the best they may.
Tidings thereof come to the court of King Arthur, and they of the
country sent him word that so he send them not succour betimes
they will yield up the land to King Claudas, and oftentimes they
long after Lancelot, and say that so they had a defender like
him, the islands would be all at peace.  The King sent Briant of
the Isles thither many times, that ever incontinent returned
thence discomfit, but never sent he thither him that should have
power to protect the land against King Claudas.  King Arthur was
sore troubled, for no witting had he of Messire Gawain nor
Messire Ywain nor of others whereby his court had use of right to
be feared and dreaded and of high renown throughout all other
kingdoms.  The King was one day in the hall at Cardoil, right
heavy; and he was at one of the windows, and remembered him of
the Queen and of his good knights that he wont to see oftener at
court, whereof the more part were dead, and of the adventures
that wont to befall therein whereof they saw none no longer.
Lucan the Butler seeth him right heavy and draweth nigh unto him
quietly.


II.

"Sir," saith he, "Meseemeth you are without joy."

"Lucan," said the King, "Joy hath been somewhat far from me
sithence that the Queen hath been dead, and Gawain and the other
knights have held aloof from my court so that they deign come
hither no longer.  Moreover, King Claudas warreth upon me and
conquereth my lands so that no power have I to rescue me for
default of my knights."

"Sir," saith Lucan, "Herein is there nought whereof you have
right to accuse any save yourself alone.  For you have done evil
unto him that hath served you, and good unto them that are
traitors to you.  You have one of the best knights in the world
and the most loyal in your prison, wherefore all the other hold
them aloof from your court.  Lancelot had served you well by his
good will and by his good knighthood, nor never had he done you
any disservice whereof you might in justice have done him such
shame; nor never will your enemies withhold them from you nor
have dread of you save only through him and other your good
knights.  And know of a truth that Lancelot and Messire Gawain
are the best of your court."

"Lucan," saith King Arthur, "So thought I ever again to have
affiance in him, I would make him be set forth of my prison, for
well I know that I have wrought discourteously toward him; and
Lancelot is of a great heart, wherefore would he not slacken of
his despite for that which hath been done unto him until such
time as he should be avenged thereof, for no king is there in the
world, how puissant soever he be, against whom he durst not well
maintain his right."


III.

"Sir," saith Lucan, "Lancelot well knoweth that and you had taken
no counsel but your own, he would not have been thus entreated,
and I dare well say that never so long as he liveth will he misdo
in aught towards you, for he hath in him much valour and loyalty,
as many a time have you had good cause to know.  Wherefore, and
you would fain have aid and succour and hold your realm again,
behoveth you set him forth of the prison, or otherwise never will
you succeed herein, and, if you do not so, you will lose your
land by treason."

The King held by the counsel of Lucan the Butler.  He made bring
Lancelot before him into the midst of the hall, that was somewhat
made ean of his being in prison, but he bore him as he wont, nor
might none look at him to whom he seemed not to be good knight.
"Lancelot," saith the King, "How is it with you?"

"Sir," saith he, "It hath been ill with me long time, but, please
God, it shall be better hereafter."

"Lancelot," saith the King, "I repent me of this that I have done
to you, and I have bethought me much of the good services I have
found in you, wherefore I will do you amends thereof at your
will, in such sort as that the love between us shall be whole as
it was tofore."


IV.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Your amends love I much, and your love
more than of any other; but never, please God, will I misdo you
for aught that you may have done to me, for it is well known that
I have not been in prison for no treason I have done, nor for no
folly, but only for that it was your will.  Never will it be
reproached me as of shame, and, sith that you have done me nought
whereof I may have blame nor reproach, my devoir it is to
withhold me from hating you; for you are my lord, and if that you
do me ill, without flattery of myself the ill you do me is your
own; but, please God, whatsoever you have done me, never shall my
aid fail you, rather, everywhere will I set my body in adventure
for your love, in like sort as I have done many a time."


V.

In the court of King Arthur was right great joy of the most part
when they heard that Lancelot was set forth of prison, but not a
whit rejoiced were Briant and his folk.  The King commanded that
Lancelot should be well cared for and made whole again, and that
all should be at his commandment.  The court was all overjoyed
thereof, and they said: now at last might the King make war in
good assurance.  Lancelot was foremost in the King's court and
more redoubted than was ever another of the knights.  Briant of
the Isles came one day before the King.

"Sir," saith he, "Behold, here is Lancelot that wounded me in
your service, wherefore I will that he know I am his enemy."

"Briant," saith Lancelot, "And if that you deserved it tofore,
well may you be sorry thereof, and sith that you wish to be mine
enemy, your friend will I not be.  For well may I deem of your
love according as I have found it in you."

"Sir," saith Briant to the King, "You are my lord, and I am one
you are bound to protect.  You know well that so rich am I in
lands and so puissant in friends that I may well despise mine
enemy, nor will I not remain at your court so long as Lancelot is
therein.  Say not that I depart thence with any shame as toward
myself.  Rather thus go I hence as one that will gladly avenge
me, so I have place and freedom, and I see plainly and know that
you and your court love him far better than you love me,
wherefore behoveth me take thought thereof."

"Briant," saith the King, "Remain as yet, and I will make amends
for you to Lancelot, and I myself will make amends for him to
you."


VI.

"Sir," saith Briant, "By the faith that I owe to you, none amends
will I have of him nor other until such time as I have drawn as
much blood of his body as did he of mine, and I will well that he
know it."

With that Briant departeth from the court all wrathful, but if
that Lancelot had not feared to anger the King, Briant would not
have ridden a league English or ever he had followed and forced
him to fight.  Briant goeth toward the Castle of the Hard Rock,
and saith that better would it have been for the King that
Lancelot were still in prison, for that such a plea will he move
against him and he may bring it to bear, as that he shall lose
thereof the best parcel of his land.  He is gone into the land of
King Claudas, and saith that now at last hath he need of his aid,
for Lancelot is issued forth of the King's prison and is better
loved at court than all other, so that the King believeth in no
counsel save his only.  King Claudas sweareth unto him and maketh
pledge that never will he fail him, and Briant to him again.



BRANCH XXXV.

TITLE I.

Herewithal is the story silent of Briant and talketh of Perceval,
that the ship beareth away right swiftly; but so long hath he
held battle therein that every one hath he slain of them that
were in the ship save only the pilot that steereth her, for him
hath he in covenant that he will believe in God and renounce his
evil Law.  Perceval is far from land so that he seeth nought but
sea only, and the ship speedeth onward, and God guideth him, as
one that believeth in Him and loveth Him and serveth Him of a
good heart.  The ship ran on by night and by day as it pleased
God, until that they saw a castle and an island of the sea.  He
asked his pilot if he knew what castle it was.

"Certes," saith he, "Not I, for so far have we run that I know
not neither the sea nor the stars."

They come nigh the castle, and saw four that sounded bells at the
four corners of the town, right sweetly, and they that sounded
them were clad in white garments.  They are come thither.


II.

So soon as the ship had taken haven under the castle, the sea
withdraweth itself back, so that the ship is left on dry land.
None were therein save Perceval, his horse, and the pilot.  They
issued forth of the ship and went by the side of the sea toward
the castle, and therein were the fairest halls and the fairest
mansions that any might see ever.  He Looketh underneath a tree
that was tall and broad and seeth the fairest fountain and the
clearest that any may devise, and it was all surrounded of rich
pillars, and the gravel thereof seemed to be gold and precious
stones.  Above this fountain were two men sitting, their beards
and hair whiter than driven snow, albeit they seemed young of
visage.  So soon as they saw Perceval they dressed them to meet
him, and bowed down and worshipped the shield that he bare at his
neck, and kissed the cross and then the boss wherein were the
hallows.

"Sir," say they, "Marvel not of this that we do, for well knew we
the knight that bare this shield tofore you.  Many a time we saw
him or ever God were crucified."

Perceval marvelleth much of this that they say, for they talk of
a time that is long agone.


III.

"Lords, know ye then how he was named?"

Say they, "Joseph of Abarimacie, but no cross was there on the
shield before the death of Jesus Christ.  But he had it set
thereon after the crucifixion of Jesus Christ for the sake of the
Saviour that he loved so well."

Perceval took off the shield from his neck, and one of the
worshipful men setteth upon it as it were a posy of herbs that
was blooming with the fairest flowers in the world.  Perceval
looketh beyond the fountain and seeth in a right fair place a
round vessel like as it were ivory, and it was so large that
there was a knight within, all armed.  He looketh thereinto and
seeth the knight, and speaketh unto him many times, but never the
more willeth the knight to answer him.  Perceval looketh at him
in wonderment, and cometh back to the good men and asketh them
who is this knight, and they tell him that he may know not as
yet.  They lead him to a great hall and bear his shield before
him, whereof they make right great joy, and show thereunto great
worship.  He seeth the hall right rich, for hall so rich and so
fair had he seen never.  It was hung about with right rich cloths
of silk, and in the midst of the hall was imaged the Saviour of
the World so as He is in His majesty, with the apostles about
Him, and within were great galleries that were full of folk and
seemed to be of great holiness, and so were they, for had they
not been good men they might not there have remained.


IV.

"Sir," say the two Masters to Perceval, "This house that you see
here so rich, is the hall royal."

"By my faith," saith Perceval, "So ought it well to be, for never
saw I none so much of worth."

He Looketh all around, and seeth the richest tables of gold and
ivory that he saw ever.  One of the Masters clappeth his hands
thrice, and three and thirty men come into the hall all in a
company.  They were clad in white garments, and not one of them
but had a red cross in the midst of his breast, and they seemed
to be all of an age.  As soon as they enter into the hall they do
worship to God Our Lord and set out their cups.  Then went they
to wash at a great laver of gold, and then went to sit at the
tables.  The Masters made Perceval sit at the most master-table
with themselves.  They were served thereat right gloriously, and
Perceval looked about him more gladlier than he ate.


V.

And while he was thus looking, he seeth a chain of gold come down
above him loaded with precious stones, and in the midst thereof
was a crown of gold.  The chain descended a great length and held
on to nought save to the will of Our Lord only.  As soon as the
Masters saw it descending they opened a great wide pit that was
in the midst of the hall, so that one could see the hole all
openly.  As soon as the entrance of this pit was discovered,
there issued thence the greatest cry and most dolorous that any
heard ever, and when the worshipful men hear it, they stretched
out their hands towards Our Lord and all began to weep.  Perceval
heareth this dolour, and marvelleth much what it may be.  He
seeth that the chain of gold descendeth thither and is there
stayed until they have well-nigh eaten, and then draweth itself
again into the air and so goeth again aloft.  But Perceval
knoweth not what became thereof, and the Master covereth the pit
again, that was right grisly to see, and pitiful to hear were the
voices that issued therefrom.


VI.

The Good Men rose from the tables when they had eaten, and gave
thanks right sweetly to Our Lord; and then returned thither
whence they had come.

"Sir," saith the Master to Perceval, "The chain of gold that you
have seen is right precious and the crown of gold likewise.  But
never may you issue forth from hence save you promise to return
so soon as you shall see the ship and the sail crossed of a red
cross; otherwise may you not depart hence."

"Tell me," saith he, "of the chain of gold and the crown, what it
may be?"

"We will tell you not," saith one of the Masters, "Save you
promise that which I tell you."

"Certes, Sir," saith Perceval, "I promise you faithfully, that so
soon as I shall have done that I have to do for my lady my mother
and one other, that I will return hither, so I be on live and I
see your ship so marked as you say."

"Yea, be you faithful to the end herein, and you shall have the
crown of gold upon your head so soon as you return, and so shall
you be seated in the throne, and shall be king of an island that
is near to this, right plenteous of all things good, for nought
is there in the world that is there lacking that is needful for
man's body.  King Hermit was the king thereof that thus hath
garnished it, and for that he approved himself so well in this
kingdom, and that they who are in the island consented thereto,
is he chosen to be king of a greater realm.  Now they desire that
another worshipful man be sent them for king, that shall do for
them as much good as did he, but take you good heed, sith that
you will be king therein, that the island be well garnished; for,
and you garnish it not well, you will be put into the Poverty-
stricken Island, the crying whereof you have but now since heard,
and the crown thereof will again be reft from you.  For they that
have been kings of the Plenteous Island and have not well
approved them, are among the folk that you saw in the Poverty-
stricken Island, lacking in all things good.  And so I tell you
that King Hermit, whom you will succeed, hath sent thither a
great part of his folk.  There are the heads sealed in silver,
and the heads sealed in lead, and the bodies whereunto these
heads belonged; I tell you that you must make come thither the
head both of the King and of the Queen.  But of the other I tell
you that they are in the Poverty-stricken Island.  But we know
not whether they shall ever issue forth thence."


VII.

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Tell me of the knight that is all armed
in the ivory vessel, who he is, and what is the name of this
castle?"

"You may not know," saith the Master, "until your return.  But
tell me tidings of the most Holy Graal, that you reconquered, is
it still in the holy chapel that was King Fisherman's?"

"Yea, Sir," saith Perceval, "And the sword wherewith S. John was
beheaded, and other hallows in great plenty."

"I saw the Graal," saith the Master, "or ever Joseph, that was
uncle to King Fisherman, collected therein the blood or Jesus
Christ.  Know that well am I acquainted with all your lineage,
and of what folk you were born.  For your good knighthood and for
your good cleanness and for your good valour came you in hither,
for such was Our Lord's will, and take heed that you be ready
when place shall be, and time shall come, and you shall see the
ship apparelled."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Most willingly shall I return, nor never
would I have sought to depart but for my lady my mother, and for
my sister, for never have I seen no place that so much hath
pleased me."

He was right well harboured the night within, and in the morning,
or ever he departed, heard a holy mass in a holy chapel the
fairest that he had seen ever.  The Master cometh to him after
the mass and bringeth him a shield as white as snow.  Afterwards,
he saith, "You will leave me your shield within for token of your
coming and will bear this."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "I will do your pleasure."

He hath taken leave, and so departeth from the rich mansion, and
findeth the ship all apparelled, and heareth sound the bells at
his forth-going the same as at his coming.  He entereth into the
ship and the sail is set.  He leaveth the land far behind, and
the pilot steereth the ship and Our Lord God guideth and leadeth
him.  The ship runneth a great speed, for far enough had she to
run, but God made her speed as He would, for He knew the passing
great goodness and worth of the knight that was within.


VIII.

God hath guided and led the ship by day and by night until that
she arrived at an island where was a castle right ancient, but it
seemed not to be over-rich, rather it showed as had it been of
great lordship in days of yore.  They cast anchor, and Perceval
is come toward the castle and entereth in all armed.  He seeth
the castle large, and the dwelling chambers fallen down and the
house-place roofless, and he seeth a lady sitting before the
steps of an old hall.  She rose up as soon as she saw him, but
she was right poorly clad.  It seemed well by her body and her
cheer and her bearing that she was a gentlewoman, and he seeth
that two damsels come with her that are young of age and are as
poorly clad as is the lady.

"Sir," saith she to Perceval, "Welcome may you be.  No knight
have I seen enter this castle of a long time."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "God grant you joy and honour!"

"Sir," saith she, "Need have we thereof, for none scarce have I
had this long while past."

She leadeth him into a great ancient hall that was right poorly
garnished.

"Sir," saith she, "Here will you harbour you the night, and you
would take in good part that we may do and you knew the plight of
this castle."

She maketh him be unarmed of a servant that was there within, and
the damsels come before him and serve him right sweetly.  The
lady bringeth him a mantle to do on.

"Sir," saith she, "Within are no better garments wherewith to
show you honour than this."

Perceval looketh on the damsels and hath great pity of them, for
so well shapen were they of limb and body as that nature might
not have better fashioned them, and all the beauty that may be in
woman's body was in them, and all the sweetness and simpleness.


IX.

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Is this castle, then, not yours?"

"Sir," saith she, "So much is all that remaineth unto me of all
my land, and you see there my daughters of whom is it right sore
pity, for nought have they but what you see, albeit gentlewomen
are they and of high lineage, but their kinsfolk are too far
away, and a knight that is right cruel hath reft us of our land
sithence that my lord was dead, and holdeth a son of mine in his
prison, whereof I am right sorrowful, for he is one of the
comeliest knights in the world.  He had not been knight more than
four years when he took him, and now may I aid neither myself nor
other, but I have heard tell that there is a knight in the land
of Wales that was the son of Alain li Gros of the Valleys of
Camelot, and he is the Best Knight in the World, and this Alain
was brother of Calobrutus, whose wife was I, and of whom I had my
son and these two daughters.  This know I well, that and the Good
Knight that is so near akin to them were by any adventure to come
into this island, I should have my son again, and my daughters
that are disherited would have their lands again freely, and so
should I be brought out of sore pain and poverty.  I am of
another lineage that is full far away, for King Ban of Benoic
that is dead was mine uncle, but he hath a son that is a right
good knight as I have been told, so that and one of these two
should come nigh me in any of these islands right joyous should I
be thereof."


X.

Perceval heareth that the two damsels are his uncle's daughters,
and hath great pity thereof.

"Lady," saith he, "How is he named that is in prison?"

"Sir," saith she, "Galobruns, and he that holdeth him in prison
is named Gohaz of the Castle of the Whale."

"Is his castle near this, Lady?" saith he.

"Sir, there is but an arm of the sea to cross, and in all these
islands of the sea is there none that hath any puissance but he
only, and so assured is he that no dread hath he of any.  For
none that is in this land durst offend against him.  Sir, one
thing hath he bid me do, whereof I am sore grieved, that and I
send him not one of my daughters, he hath sworn his oath that he
will reave me of my castle."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "An oath is not always kept.  To the two
damsels, please God, shall he do no shame, and right heavy am I
of that he hath done already, for they were daughters of mine
uncle.  Alain li Gros was my father and Galobrutus my uncle, and
many another good man that now is dead."


XI.

When the damsels heard this, they kneeled down before him, and
began to weep for joy and kiss his hands, and pray him for God's
sake have mercy on them and on their brother.  And he saith that
he will not depart from their land until he hath done all he may.
He remaineth the night in the castle and his mariner likewise.
The lady made great joy of Perceval, and did him all the honour
she might.  When the morrow came they showed him the land of the
King that had reft them of their land, but the lady could not
tell him where her son was in prison.  He departeth and cometh
back to his ship when he hath taken leave of the lady and the
damsels, and right glad was he to know that the damsels were so
nigh to him of kin.  So he prayeth God grant him that he may be
able to give them back their land and bring them out of the
poverty wherein they are.  He roweth until that he is come under
a rock, wherein was a cave at top round and narrow and secure
like as it were a little house.  Perceval looketh on that side,
and seeth a man sitting within.  He maketh the ship draw nigh the
rock, then looketh and seeth the cutting of a way that went
upwards through the rock.  He is come forth of the ship and goeth
up the little path until he cometh into the little house.  He
findeth within one of the comeliest knights in the world.  He had
a ring at his feet and a collar on his neck with a chain whereof
the other end was fixed by a staple into a great ledge of the
rock.  He rose up over against Perceval as soon as he saw him. 

"Sir Knight," saith Perceval, "You are well made fast."

"Sir, that irketh me," saith the knight, "Better should I like
myself elsewhere than here."

"You would be right," saith Perceval, "For you are in right evil
plight in the midst of this sea.  Have you aught within to eat or
to drink?"

"Sir," saith he, "The daughter of the Sick Knight that dwelleth
in the island hard by, sendeth me every day in a boat as much
meat as I may eat, for she hath great pity of me.  The King that
hath imprisoned me here hath reft her castles like as he hath
those of my lady my mother."

"May none remove you hence?"

"Sir, in no wise, save he that set me here, for he keepeth with
him the key of the lock, and he told me when he departed hence
that never more should I issue forth."

"By my head," saith Perceval, "but you shall!  And you were the
son of Galobrutus, you were the son of mine uncle," saith
Perceval, "and I of yours, so that it would be a reproach to me
for evermore and I left you in this prison."


XII.

When Galobruns heareth that he is his uncle's son, great joy hath
he thereof.  He would have fallen at his feet, but Perceval would
not, and said to him, "Now be well assured, for I will seek your
deliverance."

He cometh down from the rock, and so entereth the ship and roweth
of a long space.  He looketh before him and seeth a right rich
island and a right plenteous, and on the other side he seeth in a
little islet a knight that is mounted up in a tall tree that was
right broad with many boughs.  There was a damsel with him, that
had climbed up also for dread of a serpent, great and evil-
favoured that had issued from a hole in a mountain.  The damsel
seeth Perceval's ship coming, and crieth out to him.

"Ha, Sir," saith she, "Come to help this King that is up above,
and me that am a damsel!"

"Whereof are you afeard, damsel?" saith Perceval.

"Of a great serpent, Sir," saith she, "that hath made us climb
up, whereof ought I not to be sorry, for this King hath carried
me off from my father's house, and would have done me shame of my
body and this serpent had not run upon him."

"And what is the King's name, damsel?" saith Perceval.

"Sir, he is called Gohaz of the Castle of the Whale.  This great
land is his own that is so plenteous, and other lands enow that
he hath reft of my father and of other."

The King had great shame of this that the damsel told him, and
made answer never a word.  Perceval understandeth that it was he
that held his cousin in prison, and is issued from the ship
forthwith, sword drawn.  The serpent seeth him, and cometh toward
him, jaws yawning, and casteth forth fire and flame in great
plenty.  Perceval thrusteth his sword right through the gullet. 

"Now may you come down," saith he to the King.

"Sir," saith he, "The key of a chain wherewith a certain knight
is bound hath fallen, and the serpent seized it."

Perceval rendeth open the throat and findeth the key forthwith,
all red-hot with the fire of the serpent.  The King cometh down,
that hath no dread of aught, but cometh, rather, as he ought, to
thank Perceval of the goodness he had done him, and Perceval
seizeth him between his arms and beareth him away to the ship.


XIII.

"Sir Knight," saith Gohaz, "Take heed what you do, for I am King
of this land."

"Therefore," saith Perceval, "I do it.  For, had it been another
I should do it not."

"Ha, Sir," saith the damsel, "Leave me not here to get forth as I
may, but help me until that I shall be in the house of my father,
the Sick Knight, that is sore grieved on my account."

Perceval understandeth that it is the damsel of whom Galobruns
spake such praise.  He goeth to bring her down from the tree,
then bringeth her into the ship, and so goeth back toward the
rock where his cousin was.

"Sir Knight," saith Gohaz, "Where will you put me?"

"I will put you," saith he, "as an enemy, there, where you have
put the son of mine uncle in prison; so shall I avenge me of you,
and he also at his will."

When the King heard this, he was glad thereof not a whit, and the
damsel was loath not a whit, whom he had thus disherited.  They
row until they come to the rock.  Perceval issueth forth of the
ship, and bringeth Gohaz up maugre his head.  Galobruns seeth him
coming and maketh great joy thereof, and Perceval saith to him: 
"Behold here your mortal enemy!  Now do your will of him!"

He taketh the key and so looseth him of the irons wherein he was
imprisoned.


XIV.

"Galobruns," saith Perceval, "Now may you do your pleasure of
your enemy?"

"Sir," saith he, "Right gladly!"

He maketh fast the irons on his feet that he had upon his own,
and afterward setteth the collar on his neck.

"Now let him be here," saith he, "in such sort and in such prison
as he put me; for well I know that he will be succoured of none." 

After that, he flingeth the key into the sea as far as he might,
and so seemed it to Galobruns that he well avenged himself in
such wise, and better than if he had killed him.  Perceval
alloweth him everything therein at his will.  They enter into the
ship and leave Gohaz all sorrowing on the rock, that never
thereafter are nor drank.  And Perceval bringeth his cousin and
the damsel, and they row until that they come into their land,
and Perceval maketh send for all the folk of King Gohaz and
maketh all the more powerful do sure homage to Galobruns and his
sisters in such sort that the land was all at their will.  He
sojourned there so long as it pleased him, and then departed and
took leave of the damsel and Galobruns, that thanked him much for
the lands that he had again through him.


XV.

Perceval hath rowed until that he is come nigh a castle that was
burning fiercely with a great flame, and seeth a hermitage upon
the sea hard by.  He seeth the hermit at the door of the chapel,
and asketh him what the castle is that hath caught fire thus.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I will tell you.  Joseus, the son of
King Pelles, slew his mother there.  Never sithence hath the
castle stinted of burning, and I tell you that of this castle and
one other will be kindled the fire that shall burn up the world
and put it to an end."

Perceval marvelleth much, and knew well that it was the castle of
King Hermit his uncle.  He departeth thence in great haste, and
passeth three kingdoms and saileth by the wastes and deserts on
one side and the other of the sea, for the ship ran somewhat
a-nigh the land.  He looketh and seeth on an island twelve
hermits sitting on the seashore.  The sea was calm and
untroubled, and he made cast the anchor so as to keep the ship
steady.  Then he saluteth the hermits, and they all bow down
to him in answer.  He asketh them where have they their repair,
and they tell him that they have not far away twelve chapels and
twelve houses that surround a grave-yard wherein lie twelve dead
knights that we keep watch over.  They were all brothers-german,
and right worshipful men, and none thereof lived more than twelve
years knight save one only, and none of them was there but won
much land and broad kingdoms from the misbelievers, and they all
died in arms; and the name of the eldest was Alain li Gros, and
he came into this country from the Valleys of Camelot to avenge
his brother Alibans of the Waste City that the Giant King had
slain, and he took vengeance on him thereof, but he died
thereafter of a wound that the Giant had given him."

"Sir," saith one of the hermits, "I was at his death, but nought
was there he so longed after as a son of his, and he said that
his name was Perceval.  He was the last of the brothers that
died."


XVI.

When Perceval heard this he had pity thereof, and issued forth of
the ship and came to land, and his mariner with him.  He prayed
the hermits that they would lead him to the graveyard where the
knights lay, and gladly did they so.  Perceval is come thither
and seeth the coffins right rich and fair, and the chapels full
fairly dight, and every coffin lay over against the altar in each
chapel.

"Lords, which coffin is that of the Lord of Camelot?"

"This, the highest," say the hermits, "and the most rich, for
that he was eldest of all the brethren."

Perceval kneeleth down before it, then embraceth the coffin and
prayeth right sweetly for the soul of his father, and in like
manner he went to all the other coffins.  He harboured the night
with the hermits, and told them that Alain li Gros was his father
and all the other his uncles.  Right joyous were the hermits for
that he was come thither, and the morrow, or ever he departed, he
heard mass in the chapel of his father and in the others where he
might.  He entered into the ship and sped full swift, and so far
hath the ship run that he draweth nigh the islands of Great
Britain.  He arriveth at the head of a forest under the Red Tower
whereof he had slain the lord, there where Meliot delivered
Messire Gawain.  He is issued forth of the ship and leadeth forth
his horse and is armed, and commendeth the pilot to God.  He
mounteth on his destrier, all armed, and goeth amidst the land
that was well-nigh void of people, for he himself had slain the
greater part thereof, albeit he knew it not.  He rideth so long,
right amidst the country, that he cometh toward evensong to a
hold that was in a great forest, and he bethought him that he
would go into the hermitage, and he cometh straight into the
hold, and seeth a knight lying in the entrance of the gate on a
straw mattress, and a damsel sate at the bed's head, of passing
great beauty, and held his head on her lap.


XVII.

The knight reviled her from time to time, and said that he would
make cut of her head and he had not that he desired to have, for
that he was sick.  Perceval looked at the lady that held him and
served him full sweetly, and deemed her to be a good lady and a
loyal.  The Sick Knight called to Perceval.

"Sir," saith he, "Are you come in hither to harbour?"

"Sir," saith Perceval, "So please you, I will harbour here."

"Then blame me not," saith the knight, "of that you shall see me
do unto my wife."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Sith that she is yours, you have a right
to do your pleasure, but in all things ought one to be heedful on
one's way."

The knight made him be carried back into the dwelling, for that
he had been in the air as long as pleased him, and commanded his
wife that she do much honour to the knight that is come to lodge
within.

"But take heed," saith he, "that you be not seen at the table,
but eat, as you are wont, at the squire's table, for, until such
time as I have the golden cup I desire, I will not forego my
despite against you."


XVIII.

Perceval unarmed him.  The lady had brought him a surcoat of
scarlet for him to do on, and he asked her wherefore her lord
reviled her and rebuked her in such sort, and she told him all
the story how Lancelot had married her to him, and how her lord
ever sithence had dishonoured her.

"Sir," saith she, "Now hath he fallen into misease, sithence
then, and he hath a brother as sick as he is, and therefore hath
Gohaz of the Castle of the Whale reft him of his land, whereof is
he right sorry, and my lord hath never been heal since that he
heard thereof.  And well you know that such folk wax wroth of a
little, and are overjoyed when they have a little thing that
pleaseth them, for they live always in desire of somewhat.  My
lord hath heard tell of a cup of gold that a damsel beareth, that
is right rich and of greater worth than aught he hath seen this
long time, and a knight goeth with the damsel that beareth the
cup, and saith that none may have it save he be the Best Knight
in the World.  My lord hath told me many times, sithence he heard
tidings thereof, that never shall the despite he hath toward me
be forgone, until that he shall have the cup.  But he is so angry
withal with his brother that hath lost his land, that I aby it
right dear, for I do all his will and yet may I have no fair
treatment of him.  Howbeit, for no ill that he may do, nor no
churlishness that he may say, will I be against him in nought
that he hath set his mind on.  For I would have him, and I had
him, blessed be Lancelot through whom it was so.  As much as I
loved him in health, so much love I him in his sickness, and more
yet, for I desire to deserve that God shall bring him to a better
mind."

XIX.

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Great praise ought you to have of this
that you say; but you may well tell him of a truth that the sick
King his brother hath all his land freely and his daughter, for I
was at the reconquering thereof, and know the knight well that
gave it back unto him.  But of the golden cup can I give you no
witting"

"Sir," saith she, "The damsel is to bear it to an assembly of
knights that is to be held hard by this, under the White Tower.
There hath she to give it to the best knight, and him that shall
do best at the assembly, and the knight that followeth the damsel
is bound to carry it whither he that shall win it may command,
and if he would fain it should be given to another rather than to
himself."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Well meseemeth that he who shall win the
cup by prize of arms will be right courteous and he send it to
you, and God grant that he that hath it may do you such bounty as
you desire."

"Sir," saith she, "Methinketh well, so Lancelot were there,
either he or Messire Gawain, that, and they won it, so they
remembered them of me, and knew how needful it were to me, they
would promise me the cup."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "By one of these Ywain ought you well to
have it, for greater prize now long since have they won."

She goeth to her lord and saith to him: "Sir," saith she, "Now
may you be more joyous than is your wont, for that your brother
hath his land again all quit.  For the knight that is within was
at the reconquering."

The Sick Knight heard her and had great joy thereof.

"Go!" saith he to his wife, "and do great honour to the knight,
but take heed you sit not otherwise than you are wont."

"Sir," saith she, "I will not."


XX.

The damsel maketh Perceval sit at meat.  When he had washen, he
thought that the lady should have come to sit beside him, but she
would not disobey her lord's commandment.  When Perceval was set
at the table and he had been served of the first meats, thereupon
the lady went to sit with the squires.  Perceval was much shamed
that she should sit below, but he was not minded to speak, for
she had told him somewhat of her lord's manner.  Howbeit, he lay
the night in the hold, and, on the morrow when he had taken
leave, he departed, and bethought him in his courage that the
knight would do good chivalry and great aims that should do this
sick knight his desire as concerning the cup, in such sort as
that his wife should be freed of the annoy that she is in, for
that all knights that knew thereof ought to have pity of her.
Perceval goeth his way as he that hath great desire to accomplish
that he hath to do, and to see the token of his going again to
the castle where the chain of gold appeared to him, for never yet
saw he dwelling that pleased him so much.  He hath ridden so far
that he is come into the joyless forest of the Black Hermit, that
is so loathly and horrible that no leaves nor greenery are there
by winter nor by summer, nor was song of bird never heard
therein, but all the land is gruesome and burnt, and wide are the
cracks therein.  He hath scarce gone thereinto or ever he hath
overtaken the Damsel of the Car, that made full great joy of him.

"Sir," saith she, "Bald was I the first time I saw you; now may
you see that I have my hair."

"Certes, yea!" saith Perceval, "And, as methinketh, hair passing
beautiful."

"Sir," saith she, "I was wont to carry my arm at my neck in a
scarf of gold and silk, for that I thought the service I did you
in the hostel of King Fisherman your uncle. had been ill
bestowed; but now well I see that it was not; wherefore now carry
I the one arm in the same manner as the other; and the damsel
that wont to go a-foot now goeth a-horseback; and blessed be you
that have so approved you in goodness by the good manner of your
heart, and by your likeness to the first of your lineage, whom
you resemble in all good conditions. Sir," saith she, "I durst
not come nigh the castle, for there be archers there that shoot
so sore that none may endure their strokes, and hereof will they
stint not, they say, until such time as you be come thither.  But
well know I wherefore they will cease then, for they will come to
shut you up within to slay and to destroy.  Natheless all they
that are within will have no power, nor will they do you evil,
save only the lord of the castle; but he will do battle against
you right gladly."


XXI.

Perceval goeth toward the castle of the Black Hermit, and the
Damsel of the Car after.  The archers draw and shoot stoutly.
Perceval goeth forward a great gallop, but they know him not on
account of the white shield.  They think rather that it is one of
the other knights, and they lodge many arrows in his shield.  He
came nigh a drawbridge over a moat right broad and foul and
horrible, and the bridge was lowered so soon as he came, and all
the archers left of shooting.  Then knew they well that it was
Perceval who came.  The door was opened to receive him, for they
of the gate and they of the castle within thought to have power
to slay him.  But so soon as they saw him, they lost their will
thereof and were all amared and without strength, and said that
they would set this business on their lord that was strong enough
and puissant enough to slay one man.  Perceval entered all armed
into a great hall, and found it filled all around with a great
throng of folk that was right foul to look on.  He that was
called the Black Hermit was full tall and Seemed to be of noble
lordship, and he was in the midst of the hall, all armed.

"Sir," say his men, "And you have not defence of yourself, never
no counsel nor aid may you have of us!"


XXII.

"We are yours to guard, to protect, and oftentimes have we
defended you; now defend us in this sore need."

The Black Hermit sate upon a tall black horse, and was right
richly armed.  So soon as Perceval espieth him, he cometh with
such a rush against him that he maketh all the hall resound, and
the Black Hermit cometh in like sort.  They mell together with
such force that the Black Hermit breaketh his spear upon
Perceval, but Perceval smiteth him so passing stoutly on the left
side upon the shield, that he beareth him to the ground beside
his horse, so that in the fall he made he to-frushed two of the
great ribs in the overturn.  And when they that were therein saw
him fall, they opened the trap-door of a great pit that was in
the midst of the hall.  So soon as they had opened it, the
foulest stench that any smelt ever issued thereout.  They take
their lord and cast him into this abysm and this filth.  After
that, they come to Perceval, and so yield the castle and put them
at his mercy in everything.  Thereupon, behold you, the Damsel of
the Car that cometh.  They deliver up to her the heads sealed in
gold, both the head of the King and of the Queen, and she
departeth forthwith, for well knoweth she that Perceval will
achieve that he hath to do without her.  She departeth from the
castle and goeth the speediest she may toward the Valleys of
Camelot.  And all they of the castle that had been the Black
Hermit's are obedient to Perceval to do his will, and they have
him in covenant that never more shall knights be harassed there
in such sort as they had been theretofore, but rather that they
should receive gladly any knights that should pass that way, like
as in other places.  Perceval departed from the castle rejoicing
for that he had drawn them to the believe of Our Lord, and every
day was His service done therein in holy wise, like as it is done
in other places.


XXIII.

Hereof ought the good knight to be loved that by the goodness of
his heart and the loyalty of his knighthood hath achieved all the
emprises he undertook, without reproach and without blame.
Perceval hath ridden until he hath overtaken the damsel that
carried the rich cup of gold and the knight that was along with
her.  Perceval saluteth him, and the knight maketh answer, may he
be blessed of God and of His sweet Mother.

"Fair Sir," saith Perceval, "Is this damsel of your company?" 

Saith the knight, "Rather am I of hers.  But we are going to an
assembly of knights that is to be under the White Tower to the
intent to prove which knight is most worth, and to him that shall
have the prize of the assembly shall be delivered this golden
cup."

"By my head," saith Perceval, "That will be fair to see!"

He departeth from the knight and the damsel, and goeth his way a
great pace amidst the meadows under the White Tower, whither the
knights were coming from all parts, and many of them were already
armed to issue forth.  So soon as it was known that the damsel
with the cup was come thither, the fellowships assembled on all
sides, and great was the clashing of arms.  Perceval hurleth into
the assembly in such sort that many a knight he smiteth down and
overthroweth at his coming, and he giveth so many blows and so
many receiveth that all they that behold marvel much how he may
abide.  The assembly lasted until evensong, and when it came to
an end the damsel came to the knights and prayed and required
that they would declare to her by right judgment of arms which
had done the best.  The more part said that he of the white
shield had surpassed them all in arms, and all agreed thereto.
The damsel was right glad, for well she knew that they spake
truth.  She cometh to Perceval; "Sir," saith she, "I present you
this cup of gold for your good chivalry, and therefore is it meet
and right you should know whence the cup cometh.  The elder
Damsel of the Tent where the evil custom was wont to be, sent it
to Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain made much joy thereof.  And
it came to pass on such wise that Brundans, the son of the sister
of Briant of the Isles, slew Meliot of Logres, the most courteous
knight and the most valiant that was in the realm of Logres, and
thereof was Messire Gawain so sorrowful that he knew not how to
contain himself.  For Meliot had twice rescued him from death,
and King Arthur once.  He was liegeman of Messire Gawain.
Wherefore he prayeth and beseecheth you on his behalf that you
receive not the cup save you undertake to avenge him.  For he was
loved of all the court, albeit he had haunted it but little.
Brundans slew him in treason when Meliot was unawares of him."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Were there no cup at all, yet
natheless should I be fain to do the will of Messire Gawain, for
never might I love the man that had deserved his hatred."  He
taketh the cup in his hand.  "Damsel," saith he, "I thank you
much hereof, and God grant I may reward you for the same."

"Sir," saith she, "Brundans is a right proud knight, and beareth
a shield party of vert and argent.  He is minded never to change
his cognisance, for that his father bore the same."

Perceval called the knight that was of the damsel's company.  "I
beseech you," saith he, "of guerdon and of service, that you bear
this cup for me to the hold of the Sick Knight, and tell his wife
that the Knight of the White Shield that was harboured there
within hath sent it her by you."

"Sir," saith the knight, "This will I do gladly to fulfil your
will."

He taketh the cup to furnish out the conditions of the message,
and so departeth forthwith.


XXIV.

Perceval lay the night in the castle of the White Tower, and
departed thence on the morrow as he that would fain do somewhat
whereof he might deserve well of Messire Gawain.  Many a time had
he heard tell of Meliot of Logres and of his chivalry and of his
great valour.  He was entered into a forest, and had heard mass
of a hermit, from whom he had departed.  He came to the Castle
Perilous that was hard by there where Meliot lay sick, lay
wounded, when Lancelot brought him the sword and the cloth
wherewith he touched his wounds.  He entered into the castle and
alighted.  The damsel of the castle, that made great dole, came
to meet Perceval. "Damsel," saith he, "Wherefore are you so
sorrowful?"

"Sir," saith she, "For a knight that I tended and healed
herewithin, whom Brundans hath killed in treason, and God thereof
grant us vengeance yet, for so courteous knight saw I never."

While she was speaking in this manner, forthwith behold you a
damsel that cometh.

"Ha, Sir," saith she to Perceval, "Mount you again and come to
aid us, for none other knight find I in this land nor in this
forest but only you all alone!"

"What need have you of my aid?" saith Perceval.

"A knight is carrying off my lady by force, that was going to the
court of King Arthur."

"Who is your lady?" saith Perceval.

"Sir, she is the younger Damsel of the Tent where Messire Gawain
overthrew the evil customs.  For God's sake, hasten you, for he
revileth her sore for her love of the King and of Messire
Gawain."

Perceval remounteth forthwith and issueth forth of the castle on
the spur.  The damsel bringeth him on as fast as the knight can
go.  They had not ridden far before they came a-nigh, and
Perceval heard the damsel crying aloud for mercy, and the knight
said that mercy upon her he would not have, and so smote her on
the head and neck with the fiat of his sword.


XXV.

Perceval espied the knight and saw that the cognisance of his
shield was such as that which had been set forth to him.

"Sir," saith he, "Too churlishly are you entreating this damsel!
What wrong hath she done you?"

"What is it to you of me and of her?"

"I say it" saith Perceval, "for that no knight ought to do
churlishly to damsel."

"He will not stint for you yet!" saith Brundans.  He raiseth his
sword and dealeth the damsel a buffet with the fiat so passing
heavy that it maketh her stoop withal so that the blood rayeth
out at mouth and nose.

"By my head," saith Perceval, "On this buffet I defy thee, for
the death of Meliot and for the shame you have done this damsel."

"Neither you nor none other may brag that you have heart to
attack me, but you shall aby it right dear!"

"That shall you see presently," saith Perceval and so draweth
back the better to let drive at him, and moveth towards him as
fast as his horse may run, and smiteth him so passing sore that
he pierceth his shield and bursteth his habergeon and then
thrusteth his spear into his body with such force that he
overthroweth him all in a heap, him and his horse, in such sort
that he breaketh both legs in the fall.

Then he alighteth over him, lowereth his coif, unlaceth the
ventail, and smiteth off his head.

"Damsel," saith he, "Take it, I present it to you.  And, sith
that you are going to King Arthur's court, I pray and beseech you
that you carry it thither and so salute him first for me, and
tell Messire Gawain and Lancelot that this is the last present I
look ever to make them, for I think never to see them more.
Howbeit, wheresoever I may be, I shall be their well-wisher, nor
may I never withdraw me of my love, and I would fain I might make
them the same present of the heads of all their enemies, but that
I may do nought against God's will."

The damsel giveth him thanks for that he hath delivered her from
the hands of the knight, and saith that she shall praise him much
thereof to the King and Messire Gawain.  She goeth her way and
carrieth off the head, and Perceval biddeth her to God.  He
returned back to Castle Perilous, and the damsel made great joy
thereof when she understood that he had slain Brundans.  Perceval
lay there that night, and departed on the morrow after that he
had heard mass.  When he came forth of the castle he met the
knight by whom he had sent the cup to the Sick Knight's wife.
Perceval asketh how it is with him.

"Sir, saith he, "I have carried out your message right well, for
never was a thing received with such good will.  The Sick Knight
hath forgone his grudge against his wife.  She eateth at his
table, and the household do her commandment."

"This liketh me right well," saith Perceval, "and I thank you of
doing this errand."

"Sir," saith the knight, "No thing is there I would not do for
you, for that you made my brother Knight Hardy there where you
first saw him Knight Coward."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Good knight was your brother and a right
good end he made, but a little it forthinketh me that he might
have still been living had he abided in his cowardize."

"Sir," saith he, "Better is he dead, sith that he died with
honour, than that he should live with shame.  Yet glad was I not
of his death, for a hardy knight he was, and yet more would have
been, had he lived longer."


XXVI.

Perceval departeth from the knight and commendeth him to God.  He
hath wandered so far one day and another that he is returned to
his own most holy castle, and findeth therein his mother and his
sister that the Damsel of the Car had brought thither.  The Widow
Lady had made bear thither the body that lay in the coffin before
the castle of Camelot in the rich chapel that she had builded
there.  His sister brought the cerecloth that she took in the
Waste Chapel, and presented there where the Graal was.  Perceval
made bring the coffin of the other knight that was at the
entrance of his castle within the chapel likewise, and place it
beside the coffin of his uncle, nor never thereafter might it be
removed.  Josephus telleth us that Perceval was in this castle
long time, nor never once moved therefrom in quest of no
adventure; rather was his courage so attorned to the Saviour of
the World and His sweet Mother, that he and his sister and the
damsel that was therein led a holy life and a religious.  Therein
abode they even as it pleased God, until that his mother passed
away and his sister and all they that were therein save he alone.
The hermits that were nigh the castle buried them and sang their
masses, and came every day and took counsel of him for the
holiness they saw him do and the good life that he led there.  So
one day whilst he was in the holy chapel where the hallows were,
forthwith, behold you, a Voice that cometh down therein:
"Perceval," saith the Voice, "Not long shall you abide herein;
wherefore it is God's will that you dispart the hallows amongst
the hermits of the forest, there where these bodies shall be
served and worshipped, and the most Holy Graal shall appear
herein no more, but within a brief space shall you know well the
place where it shall be."

When the Voice departed, all the coffins that were therein
crashed so passing loud that it seemed the master-hall had
fallen.  He crosseth and blesseth him and commendeth him to God.
On a day the hermits came to him.  He disparted the holy relics
among them, and they builded above them holy churches and houses
of religion that are seen in the lands and in the islands. 
Joseus the son of King Hermit, remained therein with Perceval,
for he well knew that he would be departing thence betimes.


XXVII.

Perceval heard one day a bell sound loud and high without the
manor toward the sea.  He came to the windows of the hall and saw
the ship come with the white sail and the Red Cross thereon, and
within were the fairest folk that ever he might behold, and they
were all robed in such manner as though they should sing mass.
When the ship was anchored under the hall they went to pray in
the most holy chapel.  They brought the richest vessels of gold
and silver that any might ever see, like as it were coffins, and
set therein one of the three bodies of knights that had been
brought into the chapel, and the body of King Fisherman, and of
the mother of Perceval.  But no savour in the world smelleth so
sweet.  Perceval took leave of Joseus and commended him to the
Saviour of the World, and took leave of the household, from whom
he departed in like manner.  The worshipful men that were in the
ship signed them of the cross and blessed them likewise.  The
ship wherein Perceval was drew far away, and a Voice that issued
from the manor as she departed commended them to God and to His
sweet Mother.  Josephus recordeth us that Perceval departed in
such wise, nor never thereafter did no earthly man know what
became of him, nor doth the history speak of him more.  But the
history telleth us that Joseus abode in the castle that had been
King Fisherman's, and shut himself up therein so that none might
enter, and lived upon that the Lord God might send him.  He dwelt
there long time after that Perceval had departed, and ended
therein.  After his end, the dwelling began to fall.  Natheless
never was the chapel wasted nor decayed, but was as whole
thereafter as tofore and is so still.  The place was far from
folk, and the place seemed withal to be somewhat different.  When
it was fallen into decay, many folk of the lands and islands that
were nighest thereunto marvel them what may be in this manor.
They dare a many that they should go see what was therein, and
sundry folk went thither from all the lands, but none durst never
enter there again save two Welsh knights that had heard tell of
it.  Full comely knights they were, young and joyous hearted.  So
either pledged him to other that they would go thither by way of
gay adventure; but therein remained they of a long space after,
and when again they came forth they led the life of hermits, and
clad them in hair shirts, and went by the forest and so ate
nought save roots only, and led a right hard life; yet ever they
made as though they were glad, and if that any should ask whereof
they rejoiced in such wise, "Go," said they to them that asked,
"thither where we have been, and you shall know the wherefore." 

In such sort made they answer to the folk.  These two knights
died in this holy life, nor were none other tidings never brought
thence by them.  They of that land called them saints.


XXVIII.

Here endeth the story of the most Holy Graal.  Josephus, by whom
it is placed on record, giveth the benison of Our Lord to all
that hear and honour it.  The Latin from whence this history was
drawn into Romance was taken in the Isle of Avalon, in a holy
house of religion that standeth at the head of the Moors
Adventurous, there where King Arthur and Queen Guenievre lie,
according to the witness of the good men religious that are
therein, that have the whole history thereof, true from the
beginning even to the end.  After this same history beginneth the
story how Briant of the Isles renounced King Arthur on account of
Lancelot whom he loved not, and how he assured King Claudas that
reft King Ban of Benoic of his land.  This story telleth how he
conquered him and by what means, and how Galobrus of the Red
Launde came to King Arthur's court to help Lancelot, for that he
was of his lineage.  This story is right long and right
adventurous and weighty, but the book will now forthwith be
silent thereof until another time.

THE AUTHOR'S CONCLUSION

For the Lord of Neele made the Lord of Cambrein this book be
written, that never tofore was treated in Romance but one single
time besides this; and the book that was made tofore this is so
ancient that only with great pains may one make out the letter.
And let Messire Johan de Neele well understand that he ought to
hold this story dear, nor ought he tell nought thereof to ill-
understanding folk, for a good thing that is squandered upon bad
folk is never remembered by them for good.

EXPLICIT THE ROMANCE OF PERCEVAL THE NEPHEW OF KING FISHERMAN.