King Arthur's Knights
'Thou art,' went on Sir Turquine, 'the biggest man that ever I met
with, and like one knight that I hate above all others, and I would
liefer be thy friend than thy foe. Now, therefore, I will give up to
thee my captive knights if thou wilt tell me thy name, and if thou art
not the knight I hate most.'
'Willingly,' said Sir Lancelot. 'But what knight hatest thou above all
other? And why?'
'It is Sir Lancelot du Lake,' cried the knight, 'for he slew my brother
Sir Caradoc of the Dolorous Tower in the Marsh, who was one of the best
knights living. And ever I have sought this Lancelot, and slain and
maimed many good knights and imprisoned others in the quest. To slay
that fellow I have made a vow, and him I would meet above all others.'
'Ha!' laughed Sir Lancelot, 'and I am the first thou hast met whose
love thou wouldst liefer have than my hatred? Well, I will have thee to
wit that I am he ye seek, Sir Lancelot du Lake, and thy brother was an
evil knight and an oppressor.'
'What sayest thou?' cried Sir Turquine. 'Thou art he I seek? Then,
Lancelot, thou art unto me most welcome as ever was any knight, for we
shall never part till the one of us be dead.'
Then they ran at each other like two wild boars, lashing and dashing
with their swords and shields, so that sometimes in their fury they
slipped together on the grass, which was wetted with blood, and fell
striking at each other. But at last Sir Turquine waxed faint and tried
to avoid Sir Lancelot's blows, and his shield sank low, for his arm was
very weary. Seeing this, Sir Lancelot leaped upon him fiercely, and got
him by the banner of his helmet, and thrust him on his knees, and slew
him at a stroke.
When he had rested a while, he went to the castle of Sir Turquine and
released all his prisoners, and was rejoiced to see the damsel find her
father alive. He caused the old knight to have his lands again, and
bade the others that they should betake themselves to the court of King
Arthur to be cheered and comforted, while their possessions, which Sir
Turquine had robbed of them, should be given back to them.
Then fared Sir Lancelot further afield, glad exceedingly that he had
escaped the foul plots of the four witch queens, and also that he had
vanquished the evil Sir Turquine.
Then he rode a great while in a deep and dark forest, and as he
followed the winding ways, suddenly he saw a black hound before him,
with its nose to the ground as if seeking a scent. He followed the
beast, and ever she looked behind her. Soon she left the forest, and
picked her way through a great marsh, and Sir Lancelot followed, until
in the wide distance he saw a little hill with trees upon it, and in
the midst a ruined manor.
The hound went towards the ruin and Sir Lancelot followed. The wall was
broken down in many places, and the path all overgrown and weedy, and
as he came to the courtyard before the house, he saw the fishponds
choked with weeds and the horseblock green with moss, and in the great
doorway grew charnel and hellebore, and the spiked hemlock waved and
spilt its seed in the wind. The windows hung by their hinges, and the
green moss crept down the wide wet cracks in the walls.
But the dog ran over the drawbridge into the house, and Sir Lancelot
gat from his horse and tethered it to the post beside the horseblock,
and so went across the bridge, which was full sodden and worm-eaten,
and bent beneath his weight.
Coming into a great hall, foul with many rotting leaves, he saw a table
in the midst thereof, and on it was a knight that was a seemly man, and
he lay as if he were dead, and the black hound licked his wound. And by
his side there was a lovely lady, who started up, weeping and wringing
her hands, and she said:
'O knight, too much evil have you brought to me!'
'Why say ye so?' said Sir Lancelot; 'I never did harm to this knight,
for hither did this hound lead me, and therefore, fair lady, be not
displeased with me, for grief is upon me for your sorrow and your
sadness.'
'Truly, sir,' said the lady, and she laid her face in her hands and
sobbed full sorely, so that Sir Lancelot was much stirred thereat, 'I
trow, as ye say it, that you are not the knight that hath near slain my
love and my husband. And never may he be healed of his deadly wound
except some good knight aid me. But he must be so bold and valiant a
man, that never, I think, may I find such a one in the little time I
have before my dear lord shall die!'
'Now on the honour of my knighthood,' replied Sir Lancelot, 'I do not
presume that I am such a one as you desire; but if I may aid you and
ease your sorrow, that would I do most willingly. What is it I should
do?'
'Oh, sir knight!' cried the lady, and her lovely eyes looked full
thankfully at Sir Lancelot, 'if ye would, it were the greatest deed you
have ever done, however bold a knight ye may be. For this my lord is
sore wounded by a knight whom he met in the forest this day, and by one
thing only may he be made whole. For there is a lady, a sorceress, that
dwelleth in a castle here beside, and she hath told me that my
husband's wounds may never be whole till I may find a knight that would
go at midnight into the Chapel Perilous beside the Mere, and that
therein he should find before the high altar a sword, and the shroud in
which the dead wizard-knight is lapped, and with that sword my
husband's wounds should be searched, and a piece of the shroud should
bind them.'
'This is a marvellous thing,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and I will essay it.
But what is your husband's name?'
'Sir,' she said, 'his name is Sir Meliot de Logres.'
'That me repenteth,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for he is a fellow of the
Round Table, and for him will I do all in my power.'
Going to the table, he looked upon the ashen face of the wounded man,
and it was Sir Meliot, even as the lady said.
'Now, sir,' said the lady, when Sir Lancelot had mounted his horse, 'do
ye follow that hard way across the marsh, and it will lead ye by
midnight to the Chapel Perilous, and may ye speed well.'
Right so, Sir Lancelot departed, and the sun was near its setting.
For some hours Sir Lancelot fared across the marsh, until it was deep
night, save for the stars; then he came upon a broad road, grass-grown
and banked high, where the night wind piped in the long grass. This he
knew was a road which the great Roman necromancers had wrought, and he
thought he had missed his way, for there was no other path.
As he stood marvelling, the figure of a man, tall and gaunt and but
half clad, came down the broad road towards him, and cried in a hollow
voice:
'For the love of charity, sir knight, give to a poor man who is
outcast.'
Sir Lancelot pitied the sunken eyes of the poor man, and gave him alms.
'God give thee comfort, poor soul,' said the knight, 'and get thee a
roof, for the night wind blows chill.'
'God bless thee, sir knight,' said the man, in awful tones, 'for
courtesy and pity such as thine are rare. Whither goest thou this
night?'
'I seek the Chapel Perilous,' said Sir Lancelot.
At which the shape threw back its head and cried out as if with great
sorrow.
'God fend thee, sir knight,' he said, 'and bring thee safe alive. What
thou gettest there, keep thou in thy hands until the dawn, or thy soul
shall suffer death.'
Then he vanished, and Sir Lancelot knew it had been a phantom.
Then as he crossed himself, he looked up, and through some thin and
withered trees a little way off upon a slope he saw the shimmer of
light, as if a chapel was lit up. He went towards it, and he saw a high
wall that was broken down in many places, and an old grey chapel
beyond, and the windows were shimmering with a ghostly light. As he
came through the trees he saw they were all dead, with neither leaf nor
twig upon them, their roots were crooked out of the ground as if they
would throw his horse, and their limbs were stretched as if they
strained to clutch him.
Coming to the gate in the wall, his horse trembled and plunged, and
would go no further; whereat Sir Lancelot alighted, and tied it to a
thorn-tree, and went through the gate. By the ghostly light that came
from the windows of the ruined chapel he saw that under the eaves were
hung fair shields, with rich devices, and all were turned upside down.
Many of them were those of knights he had known or heard of, long since
dead or lost. When he had made a few steps on the grass-grown pathway
towards the door, of a sudden he saw, coming from the church, thirty
tall knights, each a foot higher than he, each in black armour, and
each with sword uplifted, as they rushed towards him.
Their feet and their armour made no sound as they pressed forwards, and
a thin blue flame licked about each naked sword.
They came upon him, but Sir Lancelot, with a prayer to God, dressed his
shield and sword and stood firm, though his flesh quaked and his tongue
clave to the roof of his mouth. They mowed and gnashed at him, and
heaved their swords about him; then suddenly their vizors went up and
he looked into their faces. And at that he was sore adread, for he knew
they were dead men.
But he would not be overcome, and said in a loud voice:
'In the name of God, avaunt ye!'
He made a step forward, and they scattered before him, but followed
closely behind. Then he went into the chapel, where he saw no light but
a dim lamp burning upon the altar. It was an old, old chapel, with dust
upon its floor like a thick carpet, the walls and windows were holed
and broken, and the timber of the seats was rotten.
He went up to the high altar, and saw before it a trestle, and upon it
was a dead man, all covered with a cloth of silk. Sir Lancelot stooped
down, and with his sword cut a piece of that cloth away.
With that his blood seemed turned to water, and his feet seemed eager
to run towards the door, for with a mighty roar the earth shook beneath
him, and the walls of the chapel rocked. But he looked for the sword
which he must take, and saw it under the trestle, and picked it up and
went out of the chapel.
The ghosts of the knights pressed about him as he walked, and strove to
tear the sword from his grasp. But he would not suffer them to take it,
and when he reached the gate they could no further go, and so left him.
At the gate there came running up to him a fair damsel, crying to him:
'O brave knight, give me the sword and the cloth, that I may take them
at once to my mistress, the lady of Sir Meliot, for he is at the point
of death, and she is waiting in sorrow and tears beside him.'
But Sir Lancelot remembered the words of the phantom beggar, and made
reply:
'Fair damsel, I shall take them myself to the lady of Sir Meliot, for
these things I may not give to any until the dawning.'
The damsel would have torn the sword and the cloth full hastily from
his hands, but he was aware of her intent, and hindered her, and bade
her in the name of God to withdraw.
Whereat, with a great shriek, she vanished.
'Now,' said Sir Lancelot, 'may God, who has brought me through these
evil adventures, shield me from any further subtle crafts of these foul
things.'
Straightway he mounted his horse, and took his way towards the marsh,
so that he should give the sword and the cloth into the hands of the
lady of Sir Meliot, for the healing of her lord.
But at the dawn Merlin met him.
'Sir Lancelot,' said the old white wizard, 'ye have no need to go to
the ruined manor, except ye would have the proof of what I tell you.'
'And what is that?' asked Sir Lancelot.
'That all that hath befallen thee hath been done by evil magic,'
replied Merlin. 'The black dog that led thee to the manor was a fiend,
the fair lady that entreated ye was an evil witch, and she and the