Four Arthurian Romances
notice that thou hast not the strength or the resources to enable thee
to secure them again. And be assured that thou shalt die before thou
canst ever succour them." The King replies that he must needs endure
what he has not the power to change; nevertheless, he is filled with
grief. Then the knight makes as if to go away, and turns about, without
tarrying longer before the King; but after reaching the door of the
hall, he does not go down the stairs, but stops and speaks from there
these words: "King, if in thy court there is a single knight in whom
thou hast such confidence that thou wouldst dare to entrust to him the
Queen that he might escort her after me out into the woods whither I am
going, I will promise to await him there, and will surrender to thee all
the prisoners whom I hold in exile in my country if he is able to defend
the Queen and if he succeeds in bringing her back again." Many who
were in the palace heard this challenge, and the whole court was in
an uproar. Kay, too, heard the news as he sat at meat with those who
served. Leaving the table, he came straight to the King, and as if
greatly enraged, he began to say: "O King, I have served thee long,
faithfully, and loyally; now I take my leave, and shall go away, having
no desire to serve thee more." The King was grieved at what he heard,
and as soon as he could, he thus replied to him: "Is this serious, or
a joke?" And Kay replied: "O King, fair sire, I have no desire to jest,
and I take my leave quite seriously. No other reward or wages do I wish
in return for the service I have given you. My mind is quite made up to
go away immediately." "Is it in anger or in spite that you wish to
go?" the King inquired; "seneschal, remain at court, as you have done
hitherto, and be assured that I have nothing in the world which I would
not give you at once in return for your consent to stay." "Sire," says
Kay, "no need of that. I would not accept for each day's pay a measure
of fine pure gold." Thereupon, the King in great dismay went off to
seek the Queen. "My lady," he says, "you do not know the demand that the
seneschal makes of me. He asks me for leave to go away, and says he will
no longer stay at court; the reason of this I do not know. But he will
do at your request what he will not do for me. Go to him now, my lady
dear. Since he will not consent to stay for my sake, pray him to remain
on your account, and if need be, fall at his feet, for I should never
again be happy if I should lose his company." [43] The King sends the
Queen to the seneschal, and she goes to him. Finding him with the rest,
she went up to him, and said: "Kay, you may be very sure that I am
greatly troubled by the news I have heard of you. I am grieved to say
that I have been told it is your intention to leave the King. How does
this come about? What motive have you in your mind? I cannot think that
you are so sensible or courteous as usual. I want to ask you to remain:
stay with us here, and grant my prayer." "Lady," he says, "I give you
thanks; nevertheless, I shall not remain." The Queen again makes her
request, and is joined by all the other knights. And Kay informs her
that he is growing tired of a service which is unprofitable. Then the
Queen prostrates herself at full length before his feet. Kay beseeches
her to rise, but she says that she will never do so until he grants her
request. Then Kay promises her to remain, provided the King and she will
grant in advance a favour he is about to ask. "Kay," she says, "he will
grant it, whatever it may be. Come now, and we shall tell him that upon
this condition you will remain." So Kay goes away with the Queen to the
King's presence. The Queen says: "I have had hard work to detain Kay;
but I have brought him here to you with the understanding that you will
do what he is going to ask." The King sighed with satisfaction, and said
that he would perform whatever request he might make.
(Vv. 173-246.) "Sire," says Kay, "hear now what I desire, and what is
the gift you have promised me. I esteem myself very fortunate to gain
such a boon with your consent. Sire, you have pledged your word that you
would entrust to me my lady here, and that we should go after the knight
who awaits us in the forest." Though the King is grieved, he trusts him
with the charge, for he never went back upon his word. But it made
him so ill-humoured and displeased that it plainly showed in his
countenance. The Queen, for her part, was sorry too, and all those
of the household say that Kay had made a proud, outrageous, and mad
request. Then the King took the Queen by the hand, and said: "My lady,
you must accompany Kay without making objection." And Kay said: "Hand
her over to me now, and have no fear, for I shall bring her back
perfectly happy and safe." The King gives her into his charge, and he
takes her off. After them all the rest go out, and there is not one who
is not sad. You must know that the seneschal was fully armed, and his
horse was led into the middle of the courtyard, together with a palfrey,
as is fitting, for the Queen. The Queen walked up to the palfrey, which
was neither restive nor hard-mouthed. Grieving and sad, with a sigh the
Queen mounts, saying to herself in a low voice, so that no one could
hear: "Alas, alas, if you only knew it, I am sure you would never allow
me without interference to be led away a step." [44] She thought she
had spoken in a very low tone; but Count Guinable heard her, who was
standing by when she mounted. When they started away, as great a lament
was made by all the men and women present as if she already lay dead
upon a bier. They do not believe that she will ever in her life come
back. The seneschal in his impudence takes her where that other knight
is awaiting her. But no one was so much concerned as to undertake to
follow him; until at last my lord Gawain thus addressed the King his
uncle: "Sire," he says, "you have done a very foolish thing, which
causes me great surprise; but if you will take my advice, while they are
still near by, I and you will ride after them, and all those who wish
to accompany us. For my part, I cannot restrain myself from going in
pursuit of them at once. It would not be proper for us not to go after
them, at least far enough to learn what is to become of the Queen,
and how Kay is going to comport himself." "Ah, fair nephew," the King
replied, "you have spoken courteously. And since you have undertaken the
affair, order our horses to be led out bridled and saddled that there
may be no delay in setting out."
(Vv. 247-398.) The horses are at once brought out, all ready and with
the saddles on. First the King mounts, then my lord Gawain, and all the
others rapidly. Each one, wishing to be of the party, follows his own
will and starts away. Some were armed, but there were not a few without
their arms. My lord Gawain was armed, and he bade two squires lead by
the bridle two extra steeds. And as they thus approached the forest,
they saw Kay's horse running out; and they recognised him, and saw that
both reins of the bridle were broken. The horse was running wild, the
stirrup-straps all stained with blood, and the saddle-bow was broken and
damaged. Every one was chagrined at this, and they nudged each other and
shook their heads. My lord Gawain was riding far in advance of the rest
of the party, and it was not long before he saw coming slowly a knight
on a horse that was sore, painfully tired, and covered with sweat. The
knight first saluted my lord Gawain, and his greeting my lord Gawain
returned. Then the knight, recognising my lord Gawain, stopped and thus
spoke to him: "You see, sir, my horse is in a sweat and in such case as
to be no longer serviceable. I suppose that those two horses belong to
you now, with the understanding that I shall return the service and the
favour, I beg you to let me have one or the other of them, either as a
loan or outright as a gift." And he answers him: "Choose whichever you
prefer." Then he who was in dire distress did not try to select the
better or the fairer or the larger of the horses, but leaped quickly
upon the one which was nearer to him, and rode him off. Then the one he
had just left fell dead, for he had ridden him hard that day, so that
he was used up and overworked. The knight without delay goes pricking
through the forest, and my lord Gawain follows in pursuit of him with
all speed, until he reaches the bottom of a hill. And when he had gone
some distance, he found the horse dead which he had given to the knight,
and noticed that the ground had been trampled by horses, and that broken
shields and lances lay strewn about, so that it seemed that there had
been a great combat between several knights, and he was very sorry and
grieved not to have been there. However, he did not stay there long, but
rapidly passed on until he saw again by chance the knight all alone on
foot, completely armed, with helmet laced, shield hanging from his neck,
and with his sword girt on. He had overtaken a cart. In those days such
a cart served the same purpose as does a pillory now; and in each good
town where there are more than three thousand such carts nowadays, in
those times there was only one, and this, like our pillories, had to do
service for all those who commit murder or treason, and those who are
guilty of any delinquency, and for thieves who have stolen others'
property or have forcibly seized it on the roads. Whoever was convicted
of any crime was placed upon a cart and dragged through all the streets,
and he lost henceforth all his legal rights, and was never afterward
heard, honoured, or welcomed in any court. The carts were so dreadful in
those days that the saying was then first used: "When thou dost see and
meet a cart, cross thyself and call upon God, that no evil may befall
thee." The knight on foot, and without a lance, walked behind the cart,
and saw a dwarf sitting on the shafts, who held, as a driver does, a
long goad in his hand. Then he cries out: "Dwarf, for God's sake,
tell me now if thou hast seen my lady, the Queen, pass by here." The
miserable, low-born dwarf would not give him any news of her, but
replied: "If thou wilt get up into the cart I am driving thou shalt
hear to-morrow what has happened to the Queen." Then he kept on his way
without giving further heed. The knight hesitated only for a couple of
steps before getting in. Yet, it was unlucky for him that he shrank from
the disgrace, and did not jump in at once; for he will later rue his
delay. But common sense, which is inconsistent with love's dictates,
bids him refrain from getting in, warning him and counselling him to do
and undertake nothing for which he may reap shame and disgrace. Reason,
which dares thus speak to him, reaches only his lips, but not his heart;
but love is enclosed within his heart, bidding him and urging him to
mount at once upon the cart. So he jumps in, since love will have it
so, feeling no concern about the shame, since he is prompted by love's
commands. And my lord Gawain presses on in haste after the cart, and
when he finds the knight sitting in it, his surprise is great. "Tell
me," he shouted to the dwarf, "if thou knowest anything of the Queen."
And he replied: "If thou art so much thy own enemy as is this knight
who is sitting here, get in with him, if it be thy pleasure, and I
will drive thee along with him." When my lord Gawain heard that, he
considered it great foolishness, and said that he would not get in, for
it would be dishonourable to exchange a horse for a cart: "Go on, and
wherever thy journey lies, I will follow after thee."
(Vv. 399-462.) Thereupon they start ahead, one mounted on his horse, the
other two riding in the cart, and thus they proceed in company. Late in