Part 3

Alas, what comfort might there be for the unhappy knight who had thus made an enemy of his king? The barons came and bade him follow them to court without delay, for the queen had accused him, and the king, by their mouth, commanded his presence. Launfal followed them, sorrowing greatly; had they slain him it would have pleased him well. He stood before the king, mute and speechless, his countenance changed for sorrow.

The king spoke in anger: "Vassal," he said, "you have greatly wronged me; an evil excuse have you found to shame and injure me, and insult the queen. Foolish was your boast, and foolish must be your lady to hold that her maid-servant is fairer than my queen."

Sir Launfal denied that he had dishonoured himself or insulted his liege lord. Word by word he repeated what the queen had said to him; but of the words he himself had spoken, and the boast he had made concerning his love, he owned the truth; sorrowful enough he was, since by so doing he had lost her. And for this speech he would make amends, as the court might require.

The king was sorely enraged against him, and conjured his knights to say what might rightfully be done in such a case, and how Launfal should be punished. And the knights did as he bade them, and some spake fair, and some spake ill. Then they all took counsel together and decreed that judgment should be given on a fixed day; and that Sir Launfal should give pledges to his lord that he would return to his hostelry and await the verdict. Otherwise, he should be held a prisoner till the day came. The barons returned to the king, and told him what they had agreed upon; and King Arthur demanded pledges, but Launfal was alone, a stranger in a strange land, without friend or kindred.

Then Sir Gawain came near, with all his companions, and said to the king: "Take pledges of all ye hold of mine and these my friends, fiefs or lands, each for himself." And when they had thus given pledges for him who had nothing of his own, he was free to go to his hostelry. The knights bore Sir Launfal company, chiding him as they went for his grief, and cursing the mad love that had brought him to this pass. Every day they visited him that they might see if he ate and drank, for they feared much that he would go mad for sorrow.

At the day they had named the barons were all assembled, the king was there, and the queen, and the sureties delivered up Launfal. Very sorrowful they were for him. I think there were even three hundred of them who had done all in their power without being able to deliver him from peril. Of a great offence did they accuse him, and the king demanded that sentence should be given according to the accusation and the defence.

Then the barons went forth to consider their judgment, heavy at heart, many of them, for the gallant stranger who was in such stress among them. Others, indeed, were ready to sacrifice Launfal to the will of their seigneur.

Then spoke the Duke of Cornwall, for the right was his, whoever might weep or rage, to him it pertained to have the first word, and he said:

"The king lays his plea against a vassal, Launfal ye call him, of felony and misdeed he accuses him in the matter of a love of which he boasted himself, thus making my lady, the queen, wrathful. None, save the king, has aught against him; therefore do ye as I say, for he who would speak the truth must have respect unto no man, save only such honour as shall be due to his liege lord. Let Launfal be put upon his oath (the king will surely have naught against it) and if he can prove his words, and bring forward his lady, and that which he said and which so angered the queen be true, then he shall be pardoned; 'twas no villainy that he spake. But if he cannot bring proof of his word, then shall we make him to know that the king no longer desires his service and gives him dismissal from his court."

Then they sent messengers to the knight, and spake, and made clear to him that he must bring forth his lady that his word might be proved, and he held guiltless. But he told them that was beyond his power, never through her might succour come to him. Then the messengers returned to the judges, who saw there was no chance of aid, for the king pressed them hard, urged thereto by the queen, who was weary of awaiting their judgment.

But as they arose to seek the king they saw two maidens come riding on white palfreys. Very fair they were to look upon, clad in green sendal over their white skin. The knights beheld them gladly, and Gawain, with three others, hastened to Sir Launfal and told him what had chanced, and bade him look upon the maidens; and they prayed him eagerly to say whether one of the twain were his lady, but he answered them nay.

The two, so fair to look upon, had gone forward to the palace, and dismounted before the daïs whereon King Arthur was seated. If their beauty was great, so also was their speech courteous.

"King," they said, "command that chambers be assigned to us, fair with silken hangings, wherein our mistress can fitly lodge, for with you will she sojourn awhile."

They said no more, and the king called two knights, and bade them lead the maidens to the upper chambers.

Then the king demanded from his barons their judgment and their verdict, and said he was greatly wroth with them for their long delay.

"Sire," they answered, "we were stayed by the coming of the damsels. Our decision is not yet made, we go but now to take counsel together." Then they reassembled, sad and thoughtful, and great was the clamour and strife among them.

While they were yet in perplexity, they saw, descending the street, two maidens of noble aspect, clad in robes broidered with gold, and mounted on Spanish mules. Then all the knights were very joyful, and said each to the other: "Surely now shall Sir Launfal, the valiant and courteous, be safe."

Gawain and six companions went to seek the knight. "Sir," they said, "be of good courage, for the love of God speak to us. Hither come two damsels, most beautiful, and richly clad, one of them must of a truth be your lady!" But Launfal answered simply; "Never before to-day have I looked upon, or known, or loved them."

Meantime, the maidens had come to the palace and stood before the king. Many praised them for their beauty and bright colour, and some deemed them fairer even than the queen.

The elder was wise and courteous, and she delivered her message gracefully. "King," she said, "bid your folk give us chambers wherein we may lodge with our lady; she comes hither to speak with you."

Then the king commanded that they should be led to their companions who had come before them. Nor as yet was the judgment spoken. So when the maidens had left the hall, he commanded his barons to deliver their verdict, their judgment already tarried too long, and the queen waxed wrathful for their delay.

But even as they sought the king, through the city came riding a maiden, in all the world was none so fair. She rode a white palfrey, that bore her well and easily. Well shaped were its head and neck, no better trained steed was there in all the world. Costly were the trappings of that palfrey, under heaven was there no king rich enough to purchase the like, save that he sold or pledged his land.

And thus was the lady clad: her raiment was all of white, laced on either side. Slender was her shape, and her neck whiter than snow on the bough. Her eyes were blue, her skin fair. Straight was her nose, and lovely her mouth. Her eyebrows were brown, her forehead white, and her hair fair and curling. Her mantle was of purple, and the skirts were folded about her; on her hand she bare a hawk, and a hound followed behind her.

In all the Burg there was no one, small nor great, young nor old, but was eager to look upon her as she passed. She came riding swiftly, and her beauty was no mere empty boast, but all men who looked upon her held her for a marvel, and not one of those who beheld her but felt his heart verily kindled with love.

Then those who loved Sir Launfal went to him, and told him of the maiden who came, if by the will of heaven she might deliver him. "Sir knight and comrade, hither comes one, no nutbrown maid is she, but the fairest of all fair women in this world." And Launfal heard, and sighed, for well he knew her. He raised his head and the blood flew to his cheek as he made swift answer: "Of a faith," he said, "_this_ is my lady! Now let them slay me if they will and she has no mercy on me. I am whole if I do but see her."

The maiden reached the palace; fairer was she than any who had entered there. She dismounted before the king that all might behold her; she had let her mantle fall that they might the better see her beauty. King Arthur, in his courtesy, had risen to meet her, and all around him sprang to their feet, and were eager to offer their service. When they had looked well upon her, and praised her beauty, she spoke in these words, for no will had she to delay:

"King Arthur, I have loved one of your knights, behold him there, seigneur, Sir Launfal. He hath been accused at your court, but it is not my will that harm shall befall him. Concerning that which he said, know that the queen was in the wrong; never on any day did he pray her for her love. Of the boast that he hath made, if he may by me be acquitted, then shall your barons speak him free, as they have rightfully engaged to do."

The king granted that so it might be, nor was there a single voice but declared that Launfal was guiltless of wrong, for their own eyes had acquitted him.

And the maiden departed; in vain did the king pray her to remain; and many there were who would fain have served her. Without the hall was there a great block of grey marble, from which the chief knights of the king's court were wont to mount their steeds; on this Launfal took his stand, and when the maiden rode forth from the palace he sprang swiftly upon the palfrey behind her. Thus, as the Bretons tell us, he departed with her for that most fair island, Avalon; thither the fairy maiden had carried her knight, and none hath heard man speak further of Sir Launfal. Nor know I more of his story.

Tyolet

_This is the Lay of Tyolet_

Aforetime when King Arthur reigned over the country of Britain, which is now called England, there were, I think me, far fewer folk in the land than there are to-day. But Arthur, whose valour men highly praise, had in his company many brave and noble knights. Of a sooth there are even now knights of high fame and renown, yet are they not such manner of men as they were of old time.

For then the best and bravest knights were wont to wander through the land seeking adventures by day and by night, with never a squire for company, and it might well be that in the day's journey they found neither house nor tower, or again perchance they would find two or three such. Or by dusky night they might find fair adventures, the which they would tell again at court, even as they had befallen. And the clerks of the court would write them fairly on parchment in the Latin tongue, so that in days to come, men, an they would, might hearken to them.

And these tales were turned from Latin into Romance, and from them, as our ancestors tell us, did the Britons make many a lay.

And one lay they made will I tell ye, even as I myself heard the tale. 'Twas of a lad, fair and skilful, proud and brave and valiant. Tyolet was he called, and he knew strange wiles, for by whistling could he call the beasts of the woodland to him and trap them, even as many as he would. A fairy had taught him this skill, and never a beast that God had made but would come to him at his whistle. A lady had he for mother, who dwelt in the wide woodland where her lord had made his abode by day and by night, and the spot was passing lonely, for ten leagues round was there no other dwelling.

Now the knight, his father, had been dead fifteen years, and Tyolet had grown fair and tall, but never an armed knight had he seen in all his days, and but rarely other folk in that wide woodland where his mother dwelt. Never had he gone forth into the world beyond, for his mother held him passing dear, but in the forest might he wander as it pleased him, and no other pastime had he ever known. When he whistled as the fay had taught him, and the beasts heard him, then they came to him swiftly and he slew what he would and bore them home to his mother, and on this they lived, they twain alone, for neither brother nor sister had he, and his mother was a noble and courteous lady of good and loyal life.

One day she called her son unto her and prayed him gently (for she loved him much) to go into the wood and slay her a stag; and the lad at her command went straightway into the forest and wandered the groves till noontide, but neither stag nor beast of any kind might he see. Then he was sorely vexed at heart and bethought him to turn again homewards, since nothing might he find in the woodland, when under a tree he saw a stag which was both great and fair, and at once he whistled to it.

The stag heard his whistle and looked towards him, but it came not at his call nor awaited his coming, but at a gentle pace issued forth from the wood, and Tyolet followed it till it came to a water and passed over. The stream was deep and swift-flowing, wide-reaching and perilous to pass, and the stag stood safe upon the further shore. Tyolet looked up and down, and saw a roebuck fat and well-grown coming towards him, then he stayed his steps and whistled, and as the deer came closer he put forth his hand and drew his knife and plunged it into its body, and so slew it straightway.

But even as he did so he looked across the river, and lo! the stag which had passed the water changed its shape and became a knight, fully armed as a knight should be, and mounted on a gallant warhorse. Thus he stood on the river bank, and the lad, who never in his life had seen the like, deemed it a great marvel and stood silent, gazing long upon him, and wondering what might be the meaning of this strange gear.

Then the knight spake to him across the water with gentle words, courteously asking his name, and who he was and what he sought. And Tyolet answered him: "Son am I to the widow lady who dwelleth in the great forest, and Tyolet do they call me who would name my name. Now tell me who thou art, and what may be thy name?"

Then he who stood on the bank of the river spake: "_Knight_ do men call me."

"What manner of beast may _Knight_ be," quoth Tyolet; "where doth it dwell and whence doth it come?"

"Of a faith that will I tell thee, truly and with no lie. 'Tis a beast that is greatly feared for it taketh and eateth other beasts. Oft-times doth it abide in the wood and oft-times in the open lands."

"Of a faith," said Tyolet, "'tis a marvel--for never since I might wander in the wilderness have I seen such a beast; yet know I bears and lions, and every sort of venison. Nor is there a beast in all the forest that I know not, but I take them all without pain or trouble; thou alone I may not know. Yet thou seemest a brave beast. Tell me, thou Knight-Beast, what dost thou bear on thy head? And what is it that hangeth at thy neck, and is red and shining?"

"Of a truth I will tell thee, and lie not. That which I bear on my head is a coif, which men call helmet, with steel all around; and this is a mantle in which I am wrapped, and this at my neck a shield, banded with gold."

"And with what hast thou clad thyself, it seemeth me pierced through with little holes?"

"'Tis a coat of wrought mail, men call it a hauberk."

"And with what art thou shod? Tell me of thy friendship."

"Shoes and greaves of iron have I, right well wrought."

"And what hast thou girt at thy side? Tell me an thou wilt."

"Men call it a sword, 'tis fair to look upon, and the blade is hard and keen."

"And that long wood thou holdest? Tell me, and hide it not from me."

"Dost wish to know?"

"Yea, of a truth."

"'Tis a lance, this that I bear with me. Now have I told thee the truth of all thou hast required of me."

"Sir," quoth Tyolet, "I thank thee, and I would to God that I had also such vesture as thou hast, so fair and so comely; a coat and a coif and mantle even as thou wearest. Tell me, Knight-Beast, for the love of God and His fair Feast, if there be other beasts such as thou and as fair to look upon?"

"Of a truth," spake the knight, "I will shew thee more than a hundred such."

For as the tale telleth in a little space there came through the meadow two hundred armed knights, all of the king's court; they had even taken a stronghold at his command, and set it in fire and flames, and now they went their way homeward riding in three ranged squadrons.

The Knight-Beast spake to Tyolet and bade him come forward a little step and look beyond the river; and the lad did as he bade him, and saw the knights ride armed on their chargers; and cried aloud, "Now see the beasts who all bear coifs on their heads! Ne'er have I seen such a sight! If it please God and His fair Feast I too will be a Knight-Beast!"

Then the knight who stood on the bank of the river spake again and said: "Wilt thou be brave and valiant?"

"Yea, of a truth, I swear it to thee."

"Then go thy way, and when thy mother seeth thee, she will say, 'Fair son, tell me, what aileth thee, and of what art thou thinking?' and thou shalt answer that thou hast much to think on, for thou would'st fain be like a Knight-Beast which thou hast seen in the forest, and for that art thou thoughtful; and she will tell thee that it grieveth her much that thou hast seen such a beast which deceiveth and devoureth others. Then shalt thou say, Of a faith little joy shall she have of thee if thou may'st not be even such a beast, and wear such a coif on thy head; and when she heareth that, swiftly will she bring thee other raiment, coat and mantle, helm and sword, greaves, and a long lance, even as thou hast seen here."

Then Tyolet departed, for it seemed to him long ere he might be at home, and he gave his mother the roebuck he had brought, and told her all his adventures even as they had chanced. And his mother answered that it grieved her much that he had seen such a beast, "For it taketh and devoureth many another."

"Of a truth," said Tyolet, "now is it thus: if I may not be even such a beast as I saw, little joy shalt thou have of me henceforward." When his mother heard that she answered straightway that all the arms she had would she bring him, and she brought those which had belonged to her lord, and armed her son therewith, and when he was mounted on his horse he seemed indeed to be a Knight-Beast.

"Now," said she, "fair son, dost know what thou must do? Thou shalt go straight to King Arthur, and take good heed to my words, company not with man or woman save with those of gentle birth and breeding." Then she embraced and kissed him, and the lad went on his way, and journeyed for many days over hills and plains and valley, till he came to the court of King Arthur, that valiant and courteous monarch.

The King was seated at meat, for he was wont to be richly served, but Tyolet waited not at the hall entrance; clad even as he was in his armour and mounted on his steed, he rode up to the daïs, whereon sat Arthur the King, and spake no word, nor gave greeting to any man.

"Friend," quoth the King, "dismount, and come, eat with us. Then shalt thou tell me what thou seekest, and who thou art, and what men call thee."

"Of a truth," said the lad, "I will tell thee that ere ever I eat. King, my name is Knight-Beast; many a beast have I slain, and men call me Tyolet. Well do I know how to catch venison, for, an it please thee, sire, I am son to the widow of the forest, and of a surety she hath sent me to thee to learn skill and wisdom and courtesy. I would learn of knighthood, of tourney, and jousting, how I may spend, and how I may give, for never aforetime came I in a king's court, and I think me well that never again shall I come where I may learn such fair nurture and courtesy. Now have I told thee what I seek. What is thy mind thereon, Sir King?"

And Arthur said, "Sir Knight, thou shalt be my man, come now and eat."

"Sire," he said, "I thank thee well."

Then Tyolet dismounted, and they disarmed him and clothed him in a surcoat and light mantle, and brought water for his hands and he sat down to meat.

With that there entered a maiden, a proud and noble lady; of her beauty I may not speak, but I deem well that neither Dido nor Helen herself was so fair. She was daughter unto the King of Logres, and came riding upon a snow-white palfrey, bearing with her a white brachet of smooth and shining hair, at whose neck hung a little golden bell. Thus she rode up before the King, and gave him greeting: "King Arthur, God the all powerful who reigneth on high have thee in His keeping."

"Fair friend, may He who counteth the faithful for His own guard thee."

"Sire, I am a maiden, daughter unto king and queen, and my father ruleth over Logres. I ask of thee for love, as of a right valiant monarch, if there be one among thy knights who is of such prowess that for me he will smite off the white foot of a certain stag. If there be give him to me, I pray thee, sire, and I will take him for my lord; for indeed, none other will I have. For no man may win my favour if he bring me not the white foot of that great and fair stag, the hair of which shineth like gold, and which is guarded by seven lions."

"Of a faith," said the King, "such covenant will I make with thee that he who bringeth hither the stag's foot shall have thee for wife."

"And I, Sir King, swear to thee that such shall be the covenant."

So they made the pact fast between them, and never a knight in the hall who was of any praise or renown but said he would go and seek the stag, did he but know where it might be found.

The maiden spake: "This brachet shall guide ye where the stag is wont to have his dwelling-place."

Then Lodoer, who desired greatly to be the first to seek the stag, prayed the boon from Arthur, and the King would not say him nay. So he took the brachet, and mounted and set forth to seek the stag's foot. But the dog which went with him led him straight to a water which was great and wide, black, swollen, and hideous to look upon, four hundred fathoms was it wide, and well on a hundred deep, and the brachet sprang straightway into the flood, deeming perchance, as a dog may, that the knight was following it closely.

But follow it would Lodoer in no wise: he had no mind to enter the stream, for he had little desire of death, and he said within himself: "He who hath not himself hath naught; he keepeth a castle well, I think me, who taketh heed that it be not mishandled."

Then the dog came forth out of the water, and returned to Lodoer, and Lodoer turned himself again and took the brachet, and went swiftly on his way to the court, where was a great company assembled, and gave back her brachet to the maiden, the King's daughter of Logres.

Then King Arthur asked him if he had brought the foot; and Lodoer answered that an another would risk his life, the venture yet awaited him. Then they mocked at him throughout the hall, but he wagged his head at them and bade them go seek the foot, if by hap they might bring it back.

Then many set forth to seek the stag, and to win the damsel, but never a one might sing another song than that which Lodoer of need must sing (for he was indeed a valiant knight) save one only, who was brave and swift-footed, and whom men called _Knight-Beast_, though his name, as ye know well, was Tyolet. For this knight went his way to King Arthur, and prayed him straitly that the maiden be held at the court for him, since he would go forth to conquer the adventure of the stag's foot; never, he said, would he return till he had smitten off the white right foot of the stag.