Chapter 9

"Fair maid, I beg you to let me try to draw the sword, for though I am poorly clad I feel in my heart that I am as good as many who have tried, and I think I can succeed."

The damsel looked at Balin, and though she saw that he was a strong and handsome man, yet she looked at his poor raiment and thought that he could not be a noble knight without treachery and villainy. So she said to him, "Sir, put me to no more trouble, for I cannot think you will succeed where so many others have failed."

"Ah, fair damsel," said Balin, "perchance good deeds are not in a man's clothing, but manliness and bravery are hid within the person, and many a worshipful knight is not known to all the people. Therefore honor and greatness are not in raiment."

"By the Lord," said the damsel, "you speak well and say the truth. Therefore shall you try the sword."

And Balin grasped the scabbard and drew the sword out easily, and when he saw the sword he was greatly pleased, for it was a marvelous weapon of finest steel.

"Certainly," said the damsel, "this is a good knight, the best I have ever found, without treason, treachery or villainy; and many noble deeds shall he do. Now, gentle and gracious knight, give back the sword to me."

"No," said Balin, "this sword will I keep unless it be taken from me by force."

"Well," said the damsel, "you are unwise to hold the sword from me, for with it you shall slay the best friend that you have, the man you best love in all the world; and the sword shall also be your destruction."

"Nevertheless," replied Balin, "I shall take the event as God gives it me. But the sword you shall not have."

"Within a very short time," said the damsel, "you shall repent it. I ask the sword more on your account than mine, for I am sad for your sake. It is a great pity that you will not believe that the sword will be your destruction."

Speaking thus the damsel departed from the court, sorrowing as she went. As soon as the damsel had gone, Balin sent for his horse and his armor and made ready to depart from the court.

"Do not leave us so lightly," said King Arthur, "for though I have in ignorance misused thee, I know now that thou art a noble knight, and if thou wilt stay, I will advance thee much to thy liking."

"God bless your highness," said Balin. "Though no man may ever value your kindness and bounty more, yet at the present time I must thank you for your kindness and beseech your good grace."

"If you must go," said Arthur, "I pray you not to tarry long, for right welcome will you be on your return, and then I shall take pains to make right what I did amiss before."

"God reward your lordship," said Balin, as he made ready to depart.

Ere he could leave, however, there came riding into the court the Lady of the Lake, from whom King Arthur had received his sword. She was richly clothed, and as she entered she saluted Arthur royally and said, "I come now to ask the gift you promised me when I gave you the sword."

"That is right," said Arthur; "a gift I certainly promised you, but I have forgotten the name of the sword you gave me."

"The name of the sword is Excalibur. That is to say, 'Cut Steel.'"

"That is right," said the king. "Now ask what you will and you shall have it if it lies in my power to give it."

"I ask," returned the Lady, "the head of the knight that to-day has won the other sword, or else the head of the damsel who brought the sword. By right I should have the heads of both, for he slew my brother, a good and true knight, and that woman caused my father's death."

"Indeed," said Arthur, "I cannot grant such a request as that with any justice to myself. Therefore, ask what else you will and I will grant it."

"I want nothing else," said the Lady; "I will ask no other thing."

Now when Balin was leaving the court he saw this Lady of the Lake. Three years before she had slain Balin's mother, and all this time he had been searching for the wicked woman. Then some one told him that she had asked his head of Arthur.

On hearing this, Balin went straight to the woman and said, "It is unlucky for you that I have found you to-day. You asked my head of King Arthur, and therefore you shall lose yours."

With these words Balin drew his sword, and before any one could interfere struck off her head, even before the face of King Arthur.

"Alas," said Arthur, "why have you done this deed? You have shamed me and all my court, for this was a lady to whom I was indebted, and she came here under my safe conduct. I shall never forgive you this vile deed."

"Sire," said Balin, "withdraw your displeasure, for this same lady was the falsest lady living, and by enchantment and sorcery she has destroyed many good knights. She it was who through falsehood and treachery caused my mother to be burned."

"No matter what cause you had," replied the king, "you should have waited till she left my presence. You shall certainly repent this deed, for such another insult I never had in my court. Therefore, withdraw from my presence with all the haste you may."

Balin took up the head of the Lady and carried it to his hostelry, where he met his squire.

"Now," said Balin, as the two rode out of the town, "much I regret to have displeased King Arthur. You must, however, take this head and carry it to my friends in Northumberland, and tell them that my most bitter enemy is dead. Tell them, too, that I am out of prison, and how I came to get this sword."

"Alas," said the squire, "you were greatly to blame for so displeasing King Arthur."

"As for that," said Balin, "I will go with all the haste I can to meet King Rience that I may destroy him or die myself. If perchance I may happen to overthrow him, then Arthur will forgive me and be my gracious lord."

"Where shall I meet you?" said the squire.

"In King Arthur's court," answered Balin.

When Balin left King Arthur's court, Lanceor, a proud and arrogant knight who counted himself the best of Arthur's followers, went and offered to ride after Balin and bring him back dead or alive.

"Go," said King Arthur, "for I am wroth with Balin and would have revenge for the insult he has shown me."

So Lanceor departed to arm himself, and in the meantime, Merlin arrived, and hearing of the death of the Lady of the Lake, by the sword of Balin, went in to King Arthur.

"Now," said Merlin, "you should know that this damsel who brought the sword to the court is the falsest woman living. She has a brother whom she hates beyond measure, and it was to compass his death that she came hither, for it had been decreed that whoso drew the sword should slay her brother. This I know to be true. Would to God she had never come to this court, for the knight that drew the sword shall die by that sword, and this shall be a great reproach to you and your court; for no man liveth of greater ability and prowess than this same knight Balin, and much good will he do you. It is a great pity he may not live to serve you with his strength and hardiness."

In the meantime Lanceor, armed at all points, rode at full speed after Balin, and when he caught sight of him he called in a loud voice, "Stop, you false knight, for you shall return with me whether you will or not, and your shield and your sword shall not help you."

When Balin heard the voice he turned his horse fiercely and said, "What is it you will with me? Will you joust with me?"

"Yes," said the Irish knight. "For that reason have I followed you."

"Perchance," said Balin, "it would have been better if you had remained at home, for many a man who strives to overthrow his enemy falls himself in the struggle. From what court do you come?"

"I am from the court of King Arthur," said Lanceor, "and I came to seek revenge for the insult you showed Arthur and his court this day."

"I see," said Balin, "that I must fight with you, but I much regret that I have done wrong before King Arthur and his court. Your quarrel with me is foolish, for the lady that I slew did me, through falsehood and treachery, the greatest harm on earth, else would I have been as loath as any knight that lives to slay a lady."

"Cease talking," said Lanceor, "and face me, for only one of us shall remain alive."

Then they levelled their spears and clashed together as hard as their horses could. The spear of the Irish knight struck Balin on the shield and broke all in pieces, but Balin's spear pierced the shield of Lanceor, passed through his hauberk and body and even into his horse, so that Lanceor fell, a dead man.

Regretting much that he had slain one of Arthur's knights, Balin buried Lanceor and proceeded on his way.

He had not ridden far into the forest when he saw a knight coming towards him whom by his arms he recognized as his brother Balan. When they met they dismounted and kissed each other and wept for pure joy.

When they had calmed themselves a little, Balan said, "I had no thought of meeting you here; I had supposed you were still in prison, for a knight that I met at the castle of Four Stones told me how you had been imprisoned by the king. I came this way hoping to serve you."

Balin in reply told him of his adventures until the time they met, and added, "Truly I am very sad that King Arthur is displeased with me, for he is the most worshipful knight that reigneth on this earth. Now I mean to regain his love or perish in the attempt. King Rience is even now besieging the Castle Terrabil, and thither do I ride to see what I can do against him."

"I will go with you," said Balan, "and we will help each other as true knights and good brethren ought to do."

As they talked they saw coming toward them a misshapen old man. This was Merlin in a strange disguise, though the brothers did not know him.

"Ah, Balin," said the old dwarf, "too ready are you to strike in anger, for here you have slain one of the noblest knights of Arthur's court, and his kinsmen will follow you through the world till they have slain you."

"As for that," said Balin, "I have little fear, but I regret beyond words that I have displeased my lord, King Arthur."

"Be that as it may," answered Merlin, "you have given the saddest blow ever struck; and yet worse is to come, for with that same sword will you slay your brother."

"If I believed that," the sad knight replied, "I should kill myself now to prove you a liar."

At that moment the crippled old man vanished suddenly, and the brothers saw Merlin in his own person riding toward them.

"Where are you going?" inquired Merlin.

"At present we have little to do and ride as we please."

"I can tell you where you are going," said the magician. "You go to meet King Rience, but your journey will be a failure unless you are guided by my counsel."

"Ah, Merlin," said Balin, "we will be ruled by you."

"Come on then; but see that you fight manfully, for you will need all your strength and valor."

"Fear not," they both exclaimed. "We will do all that men can do."

"Then," said the magician, "conceal yourselves here in the woods behind the leaves. Hide your horses and rest in patience, for soon will Rience with sixty of his best knights come this way. You can fall upon them from ambush and easily destroy them."

It happened just as Merlin had predicted, and the brothers soon saw the sixty knights riding down the lane.

"Which is Rience?" asked Balin.

"There," said he, "the knight that rides in the midst--that is Rience."

The brothers waited till Rience was opposite them, and then they rushed upon him and bore him down, wounding him severely. Wheeling from the charge they fell upon the followers of Rience and smote them to right and left, so that many fell dead or wounded and the remainder broke into flight.

Returning to King Rience the brothers would have killed him, but he cried, "Slay me not. By my death you will win nothing, but by my life you may win."

"That is so," the two agreed: and they made a litter, and Balan bore Rience to King Arthur, but Balin would not go to the court till he had done more for Arthur.

The tale of Balin's deeds is too long for recital here, but it may be read in the book of King Arthur's knights. At last, after many days of wandering and many exciting combats, Balin saw by the roadside a cross upon which in letters of gold was written, "No man must ride to this castle alone."

Then, too, an old man came toward him and said, "Balin le Savage, turn now before it is too late. You have already passed the bounds of prudence." With these words the old man vanished, and Balin heard the blast of a horn, like that blown when a huntsman kills an animal.

"That blast," said Balin to himself, "is for me, for I am the prize, yet am I not dead."

As the echoes of the horn died away, Balin saw coming toward him a hundred knights and ladies: who rode up to him and smilingly greeted him.

"Come with us to the castle," said they, "and there shall be music and dancing and feasting and much joy."

Balin followed them to the castle and was surprised at the good cheer that awaited him. In the midst of the feast, when joy was at its height, the chief lady of the feast looked at Balin and said, "Knight with the two swords, no man may pass this way unless he fight with a knight who keeps an island near by. Now must you joust with him."

"That is an unhappy custom," said Balin, "that a knight may not pass this way unless he fight."

"You need to fight with but one man," said the lady.

"Well," said Balin, "if I must fight, then must I fight, but a traveling man and his horse are oft-times weary. However, though my horse and my body are weary, my heart is not weary, and I will go where danger awaits me."

"Sir," said one of the knights to Balin, "it seems to me that your shield is not in good condition. Take mine; it is a larger one, and you are quite welcome to it."

So Balin took the strange shield and left his own, with his arms blazoned on it, at the castle, and rode forth to the island. On his way he met a maid who called to him, "O Balin, why have you left your own shield behind? You have now put yourself in the gravest danger, for by the arms upon your shield all men might know you. It is a great pity, indeed, that evil should befall you, for you are the peer of any knight now living."

"I repent exceedingly," said Balin, "that I ever came into this country, but now that I have set foot upon this adventure I may not turn back without shame to myself. Be it life or death, now will I take whatsoever God willeth."

Then he looked carefully at his armor and saw that it was all in good condition and that his shield and spear were in good trim, and then, blessing himself, he mounted his horse. Out of the castle there now came riding toward him a knight on a powerful charger. Red was the armor of the knight, red his shield, without any arms or device, and red were the trappings on his horse. Now this knight in red was Balan, and when he saw coming toward him a knight with two swords he thought it must be his brother Balin, but when he looked at the shield it was strange, and thus, neither brother knowing the other, they levelled their spears and dashed together at full speed.

The spear of each struck fair in the center of the shield of the other, and their spears were so strong and their charge so fierce that both horses were thrown to the ground and the men lay on the ground unconscious. Balin was sadly bruised by the fall of his horse, and besides he was weary of travel, so that Balan was the first to get up and draw his sword. Balin, however, was little behind him, and was ready with his weapon to meet the onset. Balan was first to strike, and though Balin put up his shield the sword passed through it and cut through his helm. Balin returned the blow with that unhappy sword that carried so much misery with it, and well-nigh killed his brother, but both recovered themselves and fought together, charging back and forth until their breath failed them.

As they rested for a moment Balin looked up to the castle walls and saw that the towers were filled with ladies. Inspired by the sight, both went into battle again, and both were wounded many times. Often they rested and often renewed the combat, until the ground around them was red with blood. Both had been wounded seven times or more, and each wound so serious that it would have been the death of any less mighty man. Both were weary and weak from their exertions, but still they fought on. Their helmets were hewed off and their armor fell to pieces till they were almost naked and defenseless.

At last Balan withdrew a little and lay down in utter exhaustion.

"What knight art thou?" said Balin le Savage. "Never have I found a knight that so well matched me."

"My name," he said, "is Balan, brother of the great knight Balin."

"Alas," said Balin, "that ever I should see this day." And with these words he fell back unconscious.

Balan, on his hands and knees, crept to his brother and took the helm from off his head, but even then he did not know him, so bloody and wounded was his face.

When a few minutes later Balin recovered consciousness, he cried, "Oh Balan, my brother, thou hast slain me and I thee. On this account all the world shall speak of us."

"Alas," said Balan, "that I ever saw this day, and shame on me that I knew you not, for I saw your two swords; but because you had a strange shield I thought you were some strange knight."

"There is a false knight in the castle," said Balin, "that got me to leave my own shield and gave me his, and for this reason are we both to die. Would that I might live to destroy the castle and prevent the foul customs that pertain here."

"That, indeed, were the right thing to do," said Balan, "for on the day that I came hither I happened to kill the knight that kept the island, and since then never have I been able to depart but have been compelled to keep this island against all comers. If you had slain me, then must you have kept the island, for no man may leave because of an enchantment."

While they were still talking, the chief lady of the castle, with four knights and six ladies and six yeomen, came to them and listened to their complaining.

"We are two brothers," said they, "born from one mother, and in one grave must we lie, so we pray you to bury us here where the battle was fought."

Weeping at the sad spectacle the lady granted their request and promised that they should be interred with great ceremonies.

"Now," said Balin, "will you send us a priest that we may receive our sacrament, the blessed body of our Lord Jesus Christ?"

"Yes," said the lady, "I will send at once."

When the priest had come and administered the last rite, Balin said, "When we are buried in a single tomb, and when the inscription upon it reads that two brothers in ignorance slew each other, then will every good knight who comes this way see our tomb and pray for the peace of our souls."

Amidst the weeping of the ladies and the gentlewomen there, Balan died, but Balin lingered on until after midnight. The lady kept her promise and buried both in one tomb, and placed before it the inscription:

HERE LIE TWO BRETHREN, EACH SLAIN BY HIS BROTHER'S HAND.

She knew not their names, but in the morning Merlin came that way, and in letters of gold wrote on the tomb, "Here lieth Balin le Savage, the knight with two swords, and Balan his brother." Then Merlin took the famous sword, unfastened the pommel, and offered the sword to a knight to try; but the knight could not handle it, and Merlin laughed in his face.

"Why do you laugh?" said the knight, angrily.

"For this reason," said Merlin. "No man shall ever handle this sword except Sir Launcelot or else Galahad, his son."

All this Merlin wrote in letters of gold on the pommel of the sword. The scabbard of Balin's sword he left on the side of the island where Sir Galahad would find it.

GERAINT AND ENID[1]

[Footnote 1: Tennyson, in his collection of poems known as the _Idyls of the King_ worked up in beautiful form many of the legends which had grown up around the names of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table _Geraint and Enid_ is one of the most popular of these.]

_By_ ALFRED TENNYSON

I

The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court, A tributary prince of Devon, one Of that great order of the Table Round, Had married Enid, Yniol's only child, And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven. And as the light of Heaven varies, now At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint To make her beauty vary day by day, In crimsons and in purples and in gems. And Enid, but to please her husband's eye, Who first had found and loved her in a state Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him In some fresh splendor; and the Queen herself, Loved her, and often with her own white hands Array'd and deck'd her, as the loveliest, Next after her own self, in all the court. And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart Adored her, as the stateliest and the best And loveliest of all women upon earth. At last, forsooth, because his princedom lay Close on the borders of a territory, Wherein were bandit earls, and caitiff knights, Assassins, and all flyers from the hand Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law: He craved a fair permission to depart, And there defend his marches; and the King Mused for a little on his plea, but, last, Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode, And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores Of Severn, and they past to their own land; Where, thinking, that if ever yet was wife True to her lord, mine shall be so to me, He compass'd her with sweet observances And worship, never leaving her, and grew Forgetful of his promise to the King, Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, Forgetful of the tilt and tournament, Forgetful of his glory and his name, Forgetful of his princedom and its cares. And this forgetfulness was hateful to her. And by and by the people, when they met In twos and threes, or fuller companies, Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him As of a prince whose manhood was all gone, And molten down in mere uxoriousness. And this she gather'd from the people's eyes: This too the women who attired her head, To please her, dwelling on his boundless love, Told Enid, and they sadden'd her the more: And day by day she thought to tell Geraint, But could not out of bashful delicacy; While he that watch'd her sadden, was the more Suspicious that her nature had a taint.

At last, it chanced that on a summer morn (They sleeping each by either) the new sun Beat thro the blindless casement of the room, And heated the strong warrior in his dreams; Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside, And bared the knotted column of his throat, The massive square of his heroic breast, And arms on which the standing muscle sloped, As slopes a wild brook o'er a little stone, Running too vehemently to break upon it. And Enid woke and sat beside the couch, Admiring him, and thought within herself, Was ever man so grandly made as he? Then, like a shadow, past the people's talk And accusation of uxoriousness Across her mind, and bowing over him, Low to her own heart piteously she said: