The Death of King Arthur Page 20

  ‘No, sir. I beg of you to let me have this adventure.’

  ‘Very well. Take it in God’s name.’

  Wherein Sir Melias is tested

  Sir Melias took the road and entered a great forest, in which he travelled for two days and two nights. He came out into a fair meadow, where he found a lodge of timber. When he entered this lodge he saw a chair upon which lay a crown of gold, richly and subtly wrought. On the floor was a white cloth, upon which had been heaped delicate and delicious meats. Melias was not hungry, but he had a great appetite for the crown. He went over and picked it up. As he did so a knight rode towards the lodge, calling out, ‘Put down that crown. It does not belong to you. You must fight for it.’

  Sir Melias crossed himself and murmured, ‘Fair lord of heaven, help this new-made knight!’

  He mounted his horse, and the two men advanced against each other. The unknown knight was the stronger, and with his sword struck the left side of Melias with such force that Melias fell as if dead to the earth. The victor took the crown, and rode away. By great good fortune, Sir Galahad had decided to follow his squire and to protect him from harm. He saw Sir Melias lying still, badly wounded, and rushed over to him. ‘Who has wounded you? It would have been better if you had taken the other road.’

  ‘Lift me up, sir. Do not let me die in this forest. Carry me to an abbey where I can confess my sins.’

  ‘I will. But where is the knight that has hurt you so badly?’

  At that moment Galahad heard someone calling from the forest. ‘Knight, protect yourself!’

  ‘Ah, sir,’ Melias said, ‘that is the man.’

  Sir Galahad mounted his horse. ‘Sir knight!’ he called out. ‘Come at your peril!’

  The two clashed, and Galahad thrust his spear through the shoulder of his opponent; the man fell to the ground, and Galahad’s spear was broken. Then a second knight rode from the forest, calling out a challenge, and lowered his spear against Galahad. Galahad turned and, taking out his sword, cut off the knight’s left arm. The wounded knight fled back into the forest.

  Sir Galahad then lifted Melias on to his horse; he had to be gentle, because the sword was still in him. Galahad took Melias in his arms, and together they went at a slow pace to the abbey. Melias was laid in a chamber, where he asked for Holy Communion. Once he had received it, he sighed. ‘Let death come to me when God wills it.’ He then extracted the sword from his own body, at which point he swooned.

  An old monk, who had once been a knight, came into the chamber. He examined Melias very carefully, and turned to Galahad. ‘By the grace of God, I will heal him of his wound within seven weeks.’

  Galahad was overjoyed, and stayed a further three days to be near the wounded man. Melias then told him that he was getting better, and that he would recover. ‘Thanks be to God,’ Galahad said. ‘Now I can leave you with an easy conscience. I must return to my quest.’

  A good man came up to them both. ‘You speak of the quest, sir. That is why, for his sin, this young man was wounded. I marvel that you, Sir Melias, did not make your confession before setting out. Do you remember the two roads? The road on the right was the sign of the highway leading to Jesus Our Saviour, and it is the path for the virtuous man. The road on the left is a sign for the path of sinners and unbelievers. That is the one you took. The devil saw all your pride and presumption, in taking on the quest for the Holy Grail, and he paid you back in kind. Only a righteous and worthy knight may see the Grail. When you took up the crown of gold, you were guilty of greed and of theft. That is not the behaviour of a true knight. The two men you fought, Sir Galahad, were the emblems of these two mortal sins. They could not defeat you, because you are not spotted by deadly sin.’ Then the holy man went on his way.

  Galahad now made ready for his departure. Melias saluted him. ‘As soon as I am able to ride,’ he said, ‘I will seek you.’

  ‘God send you health,’ Galahad replied.

  Wherein Galahad meets further adventures

  Galahad, mounting his horse, rode down many strange and rough paths. One morning he found himself by the side of a mountain, where there was a chapel of stone. It was old, and empty, except for an ancient altar. Galahad kneeled down before it and began to pray. Whereupon there came to him a voice. ‘Go now, good knight, and ride to the Castle of Sorrow. There is much wickedness there.’

  Galahad blessed his good fortune in being given such a summons. He mounted his horse, and before long he came to a valley beside the River Severn. Within the valley stood a strong castle, with a river encircling it. A labourer was working in a field close by. ‘What is this castle?’ he asked him.

  ‘Well, sir, that is the Castle of Sorrow. It is a cursed place, where all knights come to grief. There is no pity there, only evil and pain. I counsel you to turn away.’

  ‘No. I will not turn.’ He put his shield before him, and prepared himself.

  Suddenly seven maidens appeared before him. ‘Sir knight,’ one of them said, ‘you are engaged in an act of folly. How can you pass over the river?’

  ‘Why should I not pass the river?’

  He rode on, through the swiftly running water, and on the opposite bank met a squire who spoke to him harshly. ‘My masters, the knights of this castle, forbid you to come any closer. They wish to know why you are here.’

  ‘Why? I am here to root out wicked men.’

  ‘You wish for too much. You will not succeed.’

  ‘Go on your way. Go quickly.’

  The squire rode back into the castle and then, a few moments later, seven knights came out of the gate. When they saw Galahad, they cried out in one voice, ‘Defend yourself! We are here to kill you!’ They were all brothers.

  ‘What?’ called out Galahad. ‘Do you intend that seven of you should attack me at once?’

  ‘So we do. Prepare for death.’

  Galahad lowered his spear and struck the first of them to the ground. He then set upon the other six with his sword, and scattered them; they rode off quickly, just as Galahad prepared to enter the castle. He was met by an old man in monk’s habit. ‘Greetings,’ the old man said. ‘Here are the keys to the Castle of Sorrow.’

  Galahad rode through the gate, where he saw a concourse of ladies waiting for him. ‘Welcome,’ they cried, ‘welcome! We have long waited for our deliverance!’

  A lady then came up to him. ‘The knights have fled the field, but they will return at nightfall. I am sure of it.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘You must blow upon this horn, and summon all the knights that owe service to this castle. You must persuade them to return to the ancient customs. They must swear to them. There is no other remedy.’ Galahad assented to this, and she brought to him a horn wrought richly with ivory and gold. ‘When you blow this,’ she said, ‘its sound will carry for two miles all around us.’

  Galahad did as he was bid, and then retired to a chamber in the castle. A priest came to him here. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘the seven knights whom you saw came to this place seven years ago. They were welcomed by its lord, Duke Lianour, but they did not return his welcome. They killed him and his eldest son. Then they took over the castle, and raped the duke’s daughter. She cried out in her agony that they had done great wrong to herself, to her father and to her brother. “I prophesy this,” she said to them. “You will not hold this castle for very long. There will come a knight who will conquer you.” They laughed at her, of course. “Well,” said one of them, “if that is the case then we will kill any knight who comes this way. We will also violate any virgin who falls into our power.” That is why this place became known as the Castle of Sorrow.’ And, at that, he sighed.

  ‘Does the daughter of the duke still live?’ Galahad asked him.

  ‘Alas, sir, no. She died three nights after she was raped. But they kept her younger sister here, by force, as well as other maidens. They were the ones who greeted you in the courtyard.’

  The knights of the territory, su
mmoned by the horn, now rode into the castle. Galahad made them swear fealty to the duke’s younger daughter. A messenger then came to announce that the seven knights had been killed by Sir Gawain, Sir Gareth and Sir Uwain. ‘They have done well,’ Galahad said. ‘Now I can go on my way.’

  Wherein Lancelot is vouchsafed a vision

  Galahad left the Castle of Sorrow and rode on until he came to a wild forest; in the dark depths of this place he came upon his father, Sir Lancelot, and Sir Percival. But they did not recognize him. The grace of God had covered his countenance. Sir Lancelot rode against him, but Galahad parried his blow and knocked him from his horse. Then he turned upon Sir Percival, and such was the force of his sword that Percival fell from his saddle.

  This scene took place before a female recluse, who emerged from her hut and hailed Galahad. ‘God be with you, best knight in the world. If those two knights had known you as well as I know you, they would never have ridden against you.’ Galahad, fearful of being revealed to them, rode away swiftly. But Lancelot and Percival had heard the words of the recluse, and knew well enough that they had come against Galahad. They went in pursuit, but Galahad was already out of sight.

  They parted, disconsolate, and Sir Lancelot entered a wild wood where there was no true path. He decided to wander wherever fate and fortune led him. He rode on until he came to a cross that, in the waning light, looked as if it had been made out of marble. Beside it was a small chapel of stone. He took off his shield, tied his horse to a tree, and walked towards the chapel. Its door was partly broken and, through the crack, he could see an altar covered by a rich cloth; upon it stood a silver candlestick holding six great candles. When he saw the light from their flames, he wished to enter and perform his devotions; but the door could not be forced. In his dismay he returned to his horse, unharnessed it and let it graze on pasture. Then he took his shield and, placing it before the door of the chapel, laid down upon it and slept.

  And as he slept he saw two white horses come beside him, bearing a litter in which lay a sick knight; as soon as they came up to the cross, they halted. Lancelot then heard the knight sigh and say aloud, ‘Sweet Lord and Saviour, when will this sorrow leave me? When will I see the Holy Grail and be cured? I have suffered so long for such a small sin!’

  Sir Lancelot saw the candlestick, with the six candles, appear before the sick knight. Then there came a salver of silver, on which stood the Holy Grail itself. The knight then sat up, and held up his arms in adoration. ‘Fair Lord,’ he whispered, ‘I know that You are within this holy vessel. Take heed of my suffering.’ He touched the chalice, and then kissed it. All at once he was healed. ‘Lord God, I have been delivered,’ he said. ‘All praise to Your name.’ The Holy Grail, and the candlestick, were then returned to the chapel. But Sir Lancelot did not know how that had happened. He was in any case so overburdened with sin that he had no power to rise.

  The sick knight walked over to the cross and kissed it; at this moment his squire came to him in wonder. ‘I am whole again, thanks be to Christ,’ the knight told him. ‘The holy vessel has healed me. Yet I am surprised that this knight here, before the chapel, slept. He was as still as any stone.’

  ‘I dare say,’ the squire replied, ‘that he dwells in some deadly sin for which he has not been confessed.’

  ‘Whoever he is, he is unhappy. I believe that he may be of the fellowship of the Round Table.’

  ‘Sir, I have brought you all of your armour, except for helmet and sword. Can you not take those from this man here?’

  ‘Of course.’ The knight, miraculously healed, also took Lancelot’s horse and, rejoicing, rode away from the cross.

  Lancelot woke up a little while later; he sat up, and considered whether he had been dreaming or not. And, as he sat there, he heard a voice coming from the chapel. ‘Sir Lancelot, harder than a rock, more bitter than the leaf of a fig tree, listen to me. Leave this holy place. You do not belong here.’

  He did not know what to do. He listened and wept, as the words went to his heart. He believed that he had lost all his honour, and he cursed the day that he was born. He went over to the marble cross, and realized then that his horse, his sword and his helmet had been taken. It had been no dream.

  ‘My sin and wickedness have brought me great shame and dishonour,’ he said. ‘When I rode out for worldly deeds I was always the victor. No one could defeat me. But now that I am on a sacred quest, I find that my sins hold me down. I could not stir or speak when the Holy Grail appeared before me. I am an unworthy wretch.’ So he lamented until dawn, when the song of the birds comforted him a little.

  Wherein Lancelot learns from a hermit

  He left the cross on foot, and went back into the wild wood without spear or helmet. After a few hours, he came to a high hill, on which stood a hermitage where a holy man was saying mass. Sir Lancelot kneeled down and called aloud on God to have mercy on him. When the mass was over he begged the hermit to hear his confession. ‘With a good will,’ the man said. ‘I believe that you are a knight of the Round Table. Am I correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I am Lancelot du Lake. I was once of great renown, but all has changed. I am now the most wicked wretch in the world.’

  The hermit was astonished at this. ‘You ought to thank God, Sir Lancelot. You have been given great gifts. Of all knights you were the most beautiful. You were strong, and brave, beyond measure. But you have also committed great sins. That is why you sleep in the presence of Our Saviour, and why you are banished from the grace of the Holy Grail. If God is against you, your strength and courage will count for nothing.’

  Sir Lancelot wept. ‘I know the truth of it.’

  ‘Confess to me now,’ the holy man said.

  ‘Father, I have sinned. I have been in mortal sin for the last fourteen years.’ Then he told the hermit all about his love for Guinevere. ‘I have fought for her, right or wrong, in all that time. I have tried to win her love and favour, and I never once considered the claims of God upon me. I pray you, sir, to counsel me.’

  ‘I can advise you, if you wish. You must no more come into the queen’s company. You must forswear her for ever, as much as it lies within your power to do so.’

  ‘I do so swear.’

  ‘Make sure that your heart and mouth accord in this. If you are true to your word, I promise you that you will win more worship.’

  ‘Holy father, I must tell you of the words that came from the chapel.’ So he related all that had occurred.

  ‘That is no marvel,’ the hermit told him. ‘It is proof that God still loves you. You are as hard as stone because you refused to leave your sinfulness. God’s gifts did not soften you. A stone cannot be subdued by fire. In similar fashion the heat of the Holy Spirit cannot enter you. God gave you health and strength. He granted you wit and wisdom, to tell good from bad. You turned your face from Him. That is why you are more bitter than the leaf of a fig tree. You bear the weight of sin. When Our Lord preached in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, he found the people there to be steeped in their iniquity. There was no one in that city who would welcome Him. He left the city, and found a fig tree growing outside the walls. It was flourishing there; it was full of leaves, but it had no fruit. Then Our Lord cursed the tree that bore no fruit, as a very token of Jerusalem itself. You are the fig tree, Lancelot. He found in you no fruit. He found neither good thought nor good will; he saw only lechery.’

  ‘All this is true,’ Lancelot replied, with bowed head. ‘I repent of my wickedness. And I vow to you to do penance for my sins.’

  The hermit pronounced his penance, and then absolved him. ‘Stay with me for this day,’ he said to him.

  ‘Willingly. I have no helmet or horse.’

  ‘I will give them to you tomorrow evening.’

  And Lancelot kneeled down and prayed, in sorrow for his sins.

  Wherein Lancelot speaks to a fiend

  True to his word the hermit brought him a helmet, horse and sword on the following evening. Lancelot rode out, and
soon found himself beside a small chapel; from the door of this place came an old man, dressed all in white. Lancelot saluted him, and gave him greeting. The old man smiled at him. ‘God keep you safe, sir, and make you a good knight.’

  Lancelot then dismounted and went inside the chapel. He saw there a dead man lying on a bier, clothed in white. ‘This monk,’ the old man told him, ‘was a man of faith for one hundred years. Then he broke his oath by wearing a garment of white wool.’ The man then placed a stole around his neck and, taking up an ancient book, murmured certain words. At that moment a fiend, more foul than words can tell, came among them.

  ‘You have awoken me,’ the fiend said. ‘What is it that you want from me?’

  ‘I wish to know how this man lying here died. Is he in heaven or in hell?’

  Then in a horrible voice the devil replied to him, ‘He is not lost. He is saved.’

  ‘How can that be? He broke the oath of his order. He wore a white shirt when all clothes of that kind were forbidden to him.’

  ‘Not so. This man was of high lineage. His nephew came to him for help, in a war against Earl de Vale. So this hermit, lying here, left this place and fought against the earl, utterly defeating him. The earl decided to have his revenge. He sent two of his relations to the chapel here in order to waylay the holy man. They set upon him after he had finished saying mass. They drew out their swords, but no weapon could injure him. The Lord God was his protection. Then they tried to burn him by setting fire to his clothes. “Do you try to destroy me with fire?” he said to them. “Not one flame will affect me.”’

  ‘Then they took him up, forced him to wear this white shirt, and thrust him into a fire. He lay there all day and all night, but he did not die. I arrived here on the following morning. He was then dead, but not one thread of his shirt nor one inch of his skin had been singed by the flames. I took him from the fire, in great fear of such saintliness, and laid him here. This is the truth. Now I must leave you.’