King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table
felons, full of mischief and hardness and shame."
"For that good reason," said the old man, "thou wert well-advised to
turn thee back."
"For that same reason," quoth Sir Galahad, "will I the more certainly
ride on."
Then, looking at his armor carefully, to see that nothing failed him, he
went forward, and presently there met him seven damsels, who cried out,
"Sir knight, thou ridest in great peril, for thou hast two waters to
pass over."
"Why should I not pass over them?" said he, and rode straight on.
Anon he met a squire, who said, "Sir knight, the masters of this castle
defy thee, and bid thee go no further, till thou showest them thy
business here."
"Fair fellow," said Sir Galahad, "I am come here to destroy their wicked
customs."
"If that be thy purpose," answered he, "thou wilt have much to do."
"Go thou," said Galahad, "and hasten with my message."
In a few minutes after rode forth furiously from the gateways of the
castle seven knights, all brothers, and crying out, "Knight, keep thee,"
bore down all at once upon Sir Galahad. But thrusting forth his spear,
he smote the foremost to the earth, so that his neck was almost broken,
and warded with his shield the spears of all the others, which every one
brake off from it, and shivered into pieces. Then he drew out his sword,
and set upon them hard and fiercely, and by his wondrous force drave
them before him, and chased them to the castle gate, and there he slew
them.
At that came out to him an ancient man, in priest's vestments, saying,
"Behold, sir, here, the keys of this castle."
Then he unlocked the gates, and found within a multitude of people, who
cried out, "Sir knight, ye be welcome, for long have we waited thy
deliverance," and told him that the seven felons he had slain had long
enslaved the people round about, and killed all knights who passed that
way, because the maiden whom they had robbed of the castle had foretold
that by one knight they should themselves be overthrown.
"Where is the maiden?" asked Sir Galahad.
"She lingereth below in a dungeon," said they.
So Sir Galahad went down and released her, and restored her her
inheritance; and when he had summoned the barons of the country to do
her homage, he took his leave, and departed.
Presently thereafter, as he rode, he entered a great forest, and in a
glade thereof met two knights, disguised, who proffered him to joust.
These were Sir Lancelot, his father, and Sir Percival, but neither knew
the other. So he and Sir Lancelot encountered first, and Sir Galahad
smote down his father. Then drawing his sword, for his spear was broken,
he fought with Sir Percival, and struck so mightily that he clave Sir
Percival's helm, and smote him from his horse.
Now hard by where they fought there was a hermitage, where dwelt a pious
woman, a recluse, who, when she heard the sound, came forth, and seeing
Sir Galahad ride, she cried, "God be with thee, the best knight in the
world; had yonder knights known thee as well as I do, they would not
have encountered with thee."
When Sir Galahad heard that, fearing to be made known, he forthwith
smote his horse with his spurs, and departed at a great pace.
Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival heard her words also, and rode fast after
him, but within a while he was out of their sight. Then Sir Percival
rode back to ask his name of the recluse; but Sir Lancelot went forward
on his quest, and following any path his horse would take, he came
by-and-by after nightfall to a stone cross hard by an ancient chapel.
When he had alighted and tied his horse up to a tree, he went and looked
in through the chapel door, which was all ruinous and wasted, and there
within he saw an altar, richly decked with silk, whereon there stood a
fair candlestick of silver, bearing six great lights. And when Sir
Lancelot saw the light, he tried to get within the chapel, but could
find no place. So, being passing weary and heavy, he came again to his
horse, and when he had unsaddled him, and set him free to pasture, he
unlaced his helm, and ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleep
upon his shield before the cross.
And while he lay between waking and sleeping, he saw come by him two
white palfreys bearing a litter, wherein a sick knight lay, and the
palfreys stood still by the cross. Then Sir Lancelot heard the sick man
say, "O sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and the holy
vessel pass by me, wherethrough I shall be blessed? for I have long
endured."
With that Sir Lancelot saw the chapel open, and the candlestick with the
six tapers come before the cross, but he could see none who bare it.
Then came there also a table of silver, and thereon the holy vessel of
the Sangreal. And when the sick knight saw that, he sat up, and lifting
both his hands, said, "Fair Lord, sweet Lord, who art here within this
holy vessel, have mercy on me, that I may be whole"; and therewith he
crept upon his hands and knees so nigh, that he might touch the vessel;
and when he had kissed it, he leaped up, and stood and cried aloud,
"Lord God, I thank Thee, for I am made whole." Then the Holy Grail
departed with the table and the silver candlestick into the chapel, so
that Sir Lancelot saw it no more, nor for his sins' sake could he follow
it. And the knight who was healed went on his way.
Then Sir Lancelot awake, and marveled whether he had seen aught but a
dream. And as he marveled, he heard a voice saying, "Sir Lancelot, thou
art unworthy, go thou hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place."
And when he heard that, he was passing heavy, for he bethought him of
his sins.
So he departed weeping, and cursed the day of his birth, for the words
went into his heart, and he knew wherefore he was thus driven forth.
Then he went to seek his arms and horse, but could not find them; and
then he called himself the wretchedest and most unhappy of all knights,
and said, "My sin hath brought me unto great dishonor: for when I
sought earthly honors, I achieved them ever; but now I take upon me holy
things, my guilt doth hinder me, and shameth me; therefore had I no
power to stir or speak when the holy blood appeared before me."
So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and he heard the birds sing; then
was he somewhat comforted, and departing from the cross on foot, he came
into a wild forest, and to a high mountain, and there he found a
hermitage; and, kneeling before the hermit down upon both his knees, he
cried for mercy for his wicked works, and prayed him to hear his
confession. But when he told his name, the hermit marveled to see him in
so sore a case, and said, "Sir, ye ought to thank God more than any
knight living, for He hath given thee more honor than any; yet for thy
presumption, while in deadly sin to come into the presence of His flesh
and blood, He suffered thee neither to see nor follow it. Wherefore,
believe that all thy strength and manhood will avail thee little, when
God is against thee."
Then Sir Lancelot wept and said, "Now know I well ye tell me truth."
Then he confessed to him, and told him all his sins, and how he had for
fourteen years served but Queen Guinevere only, and forgotten God, and
done great deeds of arms for her, and not for Heaven, and had little or
nothing thanked God for the honor that he won. And then Sir Lancelot
said, "I pray you counsel me."
"I will counsel thee," said he: "never more enter into that queen's
company when ye can avoid it."
So Sir Lancelot promised him.
"Look that your heart and your mouth accord," said the good man, "and ye
shall have more honor and more nobleness than ever ye have had."
Then were his arms and horse restored to him, and so he took his leave,
and rode forth, repenting greatly.
Now Sir Percival had ridden back to the recluse, to learn who that
knight was whom she had called the best in the world. And when he had
told her that he was Sir Percival, she made passing great joy of him,
for she was his mother's sister, wherefore she opened her door to him,
and made him good cheer. And on the morrow she told him of her kindred
to him, and they both made great rejoicing. Then he asked her who that
knight was, and she told him, "He it is who on Whit Sunday last was clad
in the red robe, and bare the red arms; and he hath no peer, for he
worketh all by miracle, and shall be never overcome by any earthly
hands."
"By my goodwill," said Sir Percival, "I will never after these tidings
have to do with Sir Galahad but in the way of kindness; and I would fain
learn where I may find him."
"Fair nephew," said she, "ye must ride to the Castle of Goth, where he
hath a cousin; by him ye may be lodged, and he will teach you the way to
go; but if he can tell you no tidings, ride straight to the Castle of
Carbonek, where the wounded king is lying, for there shall ye surely
hear true tidings of him."
So Sir Percival departed from his aunt, and rode till evensong time,
when he was ware of a monastery closed round with walls and deep
ditches, where he knocked at the gate, and anon was let in. And there he
had good cheer that night, and on the morrow heard mass. And beside the
altar where the priest stood, was a rich bed of silk and cloth of gold;
and on the bed there lay a man passing old, having a crown of gold upon
his head, and all his body was full of great wounds, and his eyes almost
wholly blind; and ever he held up his hands and said, "Sweet Lord,
forget not me!"
Then Sir Percival asked one of the brethren who he was.
"Sir," said the good man, "ye have heard of Joseph of Arimathea, how he
was sent of Jesus Christ into this land to preach and teach the
Christian faith. Now, in the city of Sarras he converted a king named
Evelake, and this is he. He came with Joseph to this land, and ever
desired greatly to see the Sangreal; so on a time he came nigh thereto,
and was struck almost blind. Then he cried out for mercy, and said,
'Fair Lord, I pray thee let me never die until a good knight of my blood
achieve the Sangreal, and I may see and kiss him.' When he had thus
prayed, he heard a voice that said, 'Thy prayers be heard and answered,
for thou shalt not die till that knight kiss thee; and when he cometh
shall thine eyes be opened and thy wounds be healed.' And now hath he
lived here for three hundred winters in a holy life, and men say a
certain knight of King Arthur's court shall shortly heal him."
Thereat Sir Percival marveled greatly, for he well knew who that knight
should be; and so, taking his leave of the monk, departed.
Then he rode on till noon, and came into a valley where he met twenty
men-at-arms bearing a dead knight on a bier. And they cried to him,
"Whence comest thou?"
"From King Arthur's court," he answered.
Then they all cried together, "Slay him," and set upon him.
But he smote down the first man to the ground, and his horse upon him;
whereat seven of them all at once assailed him, and others slew his
horse. Thus he had been either taken or slain, but by good chance Sir
Galahad was passing by that way, who, seeing twenty men attacking one,
cried, "Slay him not," and rushed upon them; and, as fast as his horse
could drive, he encountered with the foremost man, and smote him down.
Then, his spear being broken, he drew forth his sword and struck out on
the right hand and on the left, at each blow smiting down a man, till
the remainder fled, and he pursued them.
Then Sir Percival, knowing that it was Sir Galahad, would fain have
overtaken him, but could not, for his horse was slain. Yet followed he
on foot as fast as he could go; and as he went there met him a yeoman
riding on a palfrey, and leading in his hand a great black steed. So Sir
Percival prayed him to lend him the steed, that he might overtake Sir