Chapter 18

'Sir,' said Perceval, when he had clasped the hands of the knights, all of whom were eager to know him, 'I vowed that I would not come to you until that I had avenged the blow which Sir Kay had given to my good friend Tod, who is my squire, and good fortune brought Sir Kay to me, or perhaps it was the will of Heaven. For as I came riding hitherwards this morning, I saw in the snow where a hawk had torn a thrush, and the blood lay on the whiteness of the ground. I stopped and gazed upon it, for I thought of the white life of Christ who gave His blood to save us all. Then I wondered whether the blood that He had shed upon the cruel Cross would ever be so pitiful a thing in men's minds that this dear Britain of ours would be rid of the evil which seems to be creeping into it, and in place thereof would turn as white as the sheets of snow that now lay over all the fields and ways. As I thought thus, I sank deeper and deeper in my thoughts. Suddenly I felt one strike me on the arm with the flat of his sword. I turned and saw a knight, who asked me why I gaped like a mooncalf at the torn bird. I told him it was my pleasure so to do. He asked if it was my pleasure to have to do with him, but I said I would liefer pursue my thoughts again. Nevertheless, he would not let me in quiet, and I drew my sword and beat him in my anger to the ground. When my squire unlaced his helm he knew him for Sir Kay, and told some passing men to bear him unto the court.

'So have I punished him both for the insult to my friend and squire and to myself.'

Men marvelled at the quiet speech and gentle looks and manners of one whose fame for great deeds was in all men's mouths; and Sir Gawaine said:

'Of a truth, young chieftain, it had served Sir Kay rightly if ye had slain him, and he should thank thee for sparing him.'

The other knights agreed that Sir Kay had done most unknightly in thus picking a quarrel with one who had not offended, and he had merited defeat.

Thereupon King Arthur knighted Perceval, and they made him great cheer and welcome; and the king knew in his heart that this was one of the three good knights whom St. David had spoken of, and he wondered who were the other two.

It chanced that seven nights before, the good Sir Bors had fared forth from the court of Arthur to seek knightly adventures. And his spirit was joyful as he rode, for he felt that some great adventure was to come to him, howbeit he knew not why he felt this was to be.

Northward he fared through the land, and the snow had not yet fallen, but so mild was the season that men's thoughts had stirred towards spring. For many days he journeyed and the ways were more lonely, the country more desolate, the rocky hills more bare. He wondered why it was that the land seemed so forsaken, as if the folk had long since left the fields to become solitary wastes.

At length it befell that one evening he could find no place wherein to shelter for the night; there was no hermit's cell nor castle nor knight's hold through all the way by which he had come that day. Towards twilight he came upon a wide moor, and the cold moon peered at him over the distant mountains. Far in the midst of the waste he saw a great pile, as of a castle, and pricked his horse towards it.

It was indeed a castle, but its walls were broken and mossy, as if long years had passed since it housed fire and gay company. He rode over the drawbridge into the great courtyard, and the echo of his horse's hoofbeats was the only sound that greeted him.

He sought the upper chambers, and found in one a rough bed of fern leaves, and, having supped from the scrip he carried with him, he composed himself to sleep, glad that at least a roof and thick walls shielded him from the freezing cold which now swept over the land.

Forthwith he slept; but at midnight he awoke and found it was deeply dark, and looking to the arrow slit in the wall he sought some friendly star. As he looked, a great red light burst through, and with that there came, thrusting fiercely, a great spear like a long flame, which darted at him, and then stayed just before him. The point of it burned blue and dazzling.

As he lay marvelling, the spear went back a space; then he grasped his sword that lay beside him, but before he could defend himself the flaming spear dashed forward again and smote him in the shoulder.

Then the spear went back and the chamber was deep dark again, and for very pain Sir Bors lay and groaned. Nor could he sleep more that night. When it was dawn he arose, thinking to ride forth, but when he went down into the courtyard to saddle his horse in the stable, he marvelled to see that where there had been an open ruined gateway the night before, was now a great black oaken door, spiked and bolted.

For a long time he essayed by every means to get himself out of that castle, but he could not find a way. Yet never did he hear or see aught that showed that any one lived there. Many times he went throughout the place, but never found aught but ruin and emptiness, and the dust and darkness of long neglect everywhere.

When three days had gone, Sir Bors was faint with the pain of his wound and the hunger with which he suffered. Then, as he sat beside his horse in its stall, he suddenly heard the clank of armour, and going forth into the courtyard saw a knight all armed, with his shield on his shoulder and his sword naked in his hand.

Without a word the stranger darted at him, and hardly did Sir Bors have time to dress his shield; and then they lashed mightily at each other, and thrust and hewed sorely. Thus for half the day they fought, and so fiercely that soon Sir Bors had many wounds, so that blood oozed from the joints of his armour. But the other knight seemed to be unharmed, and never seemed to breathe heavily. Then Sir Bors became extremely wroth, and beat so fiercely upon the other that he pressed him always backward until the stranger was nigh to the door of a chamber which opened into the courtyard; and suddenly he dashed backwards into the chamber and shut the door.

Nor would he come forth, for all that Sir Bors called him coward and recreant. Nor would he answer one word, nor had he said one word since Sir Bors had seen him.

After some time Sir Bors resolved to go back and rest himself beside his horse, for his great wounds burned him sorely; but as he turned, suddenly, without a sound, the stranger knight dashed forth, and struck a felon blow at the good knight's neck. But Sir Bors was aware of him in time and defended himself full well.

So fiercely did Sir Bors lay on, that soon the other was beaten to his knees, and then the good knight rushed at him to hurl him headlong and to slay him. Suddenly the other knight seemed to fall together as if dead; but the armour sounded hollow as it fell, and Sir Bors marvelled.

Swiftly he hacked the fastenings of the helm and tore it from the neck armour. Then a great fear seized and shook him. The armour was empty!

He knew then that he had fought with a demon. He crossed himself and prayed, and weak with deadly fear and his wounds, he went into the stall and sat beside his horse, and marvelled how he could win with life from the fell power that seemed to hold him prisoner.

Suddenly, from a dark cavernous hole in the dungeons, came a great boar, with curving tusks keen as sword-blades, and rushed at Sir Bors full fiercely. Hardily did the knight defend himself from the strength and the fierce rushes of the great beast. The boar with its long tusks tore the shield from the grasp of Sir Bors, and slashed his shield arm sorely, and then Sir Bors was wroth, and with a very fierce blow he smote off the boar's head. Immediately thereupon, with the pain of his many wounds and the weakness of his famine, Sir Bors fainted, and lay upon the frozen snow as one dead. For long he stayed thus ere he revived, and then he rose and dragged himself into the stall where lay his horse, half dead with hunger, before an empty manger.

All that night Sir Bors lay in a sad pass, for he thought that now he would never see dawn again in life. He prayed and commended his soul to God, and confessed his sins and prepared himself for death as behoved a good knight; and thereafter he slept sweetly.

At the dawn he awoke, exceeding hungry, and looking forth into the court he had it in his mind to carve meat from the dead boar. But he was astounded beyond measure to find that it was not there. In its place was a great trencher of steaming hot collops of meat, and toasted bread, with hot milk in great plenty.

Sir Bors ran towards the food, and so ravenous was his hunger that he would have devoured it instantly. But he bethought him before he had placed any of it to his lips, and dropping it he crossed himself and ran back into the stall and tried not to look forth. He knew that the food was placed there by some fell fiend or demon to tempt him, and if he ate of that unholy food, his soul would be for ever lost.

Anon sweet voices sounded in the courtyard as if to attract him forth, and the smell of the hot food was wafted strongly into the stable. The fiends themselves could not enter, for there was a horse-shoe hung in the proper way upon the lintel of the door, and, moreover, Sir Bors had stuck his sword-point in the ground, and the holy sign of the cross prevented the evil things from crossing the threshold.

All that day did Sir Bors lie half dying, while the fiends tempted him, but the knight was too strong and manful of soul to yield, and would liefer die than become the slave of the powers of the Netherworld.

Then in the twilight he commended his soul to God, for he felt near to death. When he had finished his prayer, he heard great and horrible cries in the court as of rage and disappointment. Then came an old man at the door of the stable, white of hair and very reverend; and he came and put his hand upon Sir Bors' head and spoke mildly and said:

'Good and faithful knight, sorely tried have ye been, and now you shall have no more adventures here. Full worshipfully have ye done and better shall ye do hereafter. And now your wounds shall be healed and ye shall have good cheer until to-morrow.'

Therewith there was all manner of sweetness and savour in the place, and Sir Bors saw as in a mist a shining vessel borne by a wondrous maiden. He knew that this was the Holy Graal; and he bowed his head, and forthwith he was whole of his wounds.

On the morrow he departed after a night's sweet sleep, and rode to Arthur's court and told of his adventures.

The king and queen and all the fellowship of the Round Table were passing glad to see Sir Bors whole and well, and they made much of him, for they felt that he would do things of great renown.

Then at the feast of Pentecost went all the court to the minster to hear their service; and when they returned to the palace the king ordered that dinner should be prepared in the hall of the Round Table, for this was one of the days when he was wont to assemble all his knights at a great feast of knighthood.

While they waited for the horn to sound, warning them that the meal was ready, one came running to the king, saying that a thing of marvel had happened. And Arthur went to the hall of the Round Table with his knights, and there in the seats about the great circular board they found letters of gold written, which said, 'Here should sit Sir Bedevere,' or 'Here should sit Sir Gawaine,' and thus was the name of a knight written in every seat.

In the Siege, or Seat, Perilous, where twice or thrice a reckless knight had dared to sit, but only to be struck dead by a sudden flashing blow of mystery, there were written the words, 'In the four hundredth and fourth and fiftieth year after the passion of our Lord, shall he that shall fill this seat come among ye.'

All the knights marvelled and looked each at the other.

'It seemeth me,' said Lancelot, 'that this is the very day on which this seat shall be filled by him for whom it is appointed, for this is the four hundred and fifty-fourth winter since Christ died on the rood.'

It was seen that on each side of the Siege Perilous was written, on the right one, the name of Sir Perceval, and on the left one, the name of Sir Bors.

Then the horn was sounded to dinner, and each knight took the seat appointed for him, and young knights served them. All the sieges round the table were filled except the Siege Perilous.

Men ate and drank soberly, for they felt that an adventure strange and marvellous should happen that day, and so indeed it befell.

For when they had eaten, and the priest was saying in a great silence the grace after meat, suddenly a shrill wind sounded without, and all the doors and windows shut fast. Men looked at each other in the twilight thus caused, and many a face was white with fear.

Then the door opened and an old and reverend man entered, white of beard and head, and clothed also in white; and Sir Bors knew him for the same who had come to him at the Castle of Fiends. By the right hand the ancient man brought a young knight, clad in red armour, with a sword at his side, but with no shield.

'Peace be with you, fair lords,' said the old man. Then turning to the king he said:

'Sir, I bring here a young knight, the which is of king's lineage, whereby the marvels of this court shall be accomplished, and the trial of this thy kingdom shall be brought to a happy end, if that may be. And the name of him is Galahad.'

'Sir,' said the king, 'ye be right welcome and the young knight with you.'

The old man made the young knight unarm him, and he was in a coat of red sendal, and bare a mantle that was furred with ermine. Then was the young man led by the reverend man to the Siege Perilous, and sat him thereon, and men marvelled to see that the death-stroke did not flash like lightning and slay him.

'Sir,' said the old man to him, 'wit ye well that that is your seat. For you are he that shall surely achieve the Holy Graal, and such of these your fellows as are pure in heart and humble shall achieve it with you.'

'Sir,' said the king, 'if it may be that ye know, will ye tell us what my knights must do to achieve the Holy Vessel, and thus bring peace into my kingdom in place of war? For many of those that are kings and barons under me are warring with each other, and threaten to rend this island of Britain, and some are forsaking Christ and are turning to the evil faith and cruel worship of the pagan gods of Britain. And it goeth to my heart to know this, and I have much dread.'

'Sir king,' said the old white man, 'none may tell you what shall be the end of this quest of the Holy Graal, but I can tell you and these your knights what they must do to save this land from the ruin which doth threaten it. Ye know that the Holy Vessel was that wherein Christ ate the lamb on the Thursday before he was hung upon the Cross. And Joseph of Arimathea did bring it here to Britain, and here hath it been for more than four hundred and fifty winters. And while ye and your kingdom did love Christ and did do His word, the Sangreal stayed within your borders. But now ye war with each other, and are evil livers and full of pride and mastery, and if ye do not repent and stay your dishonour, then shall the Holy Vessel pass from Britain, and ruin and death and civil war shall stalk through the land and leave it desolate.'

Having spoken thus, the old man went from the hall, and none stayed him; for too many there were who knew that they had been the evil livers at whom his words had pointed.

Then uprose Sir Gawaine, who was a faithful knight and true man to his king, though a proud one and a hasty. He was filled with sorrow for the ruin that threatened his fair land.

'Now I do here avow,' he said, 'that to-morrow, without fail, I shall set forth, and I shall labour with all the strength of my body and my soul to go in quest of the Holy Graal, so that if I be fit to see it and to bring it hither, this dear land may be saved from woe.'

So hot were his words that many of the better knights rose also, and raising their right hands did make a like avowal; and those that cared not for the quest felt that they must seem to do as the others did, and so made avowal also, though in their hearts they thought more of pride and earthly power.

'Gawaine, Gawaine,' cried the king, and the great tears stood in his eyes, 'I know ye do right to avow this and to cause these others to avow also; but a great dread is upon me, for I have great doubt that this my fellowship shall never meet again.'

'Fear not,' said Lancelot, 'for bethink ye, my lord, in no better adventure can we find death than in this quest, and of death we are all sure.'

On the morrow the knights armed themselves, and bade farewell to King Arthur and his queen, and there was much weeping and great sorrow. And as the knights rode through the streets of Camelot the crowds stood and wept, both rich and poor. All were full of dread to see so many brave knights depart that never more would return.

Having passed through the gates of the town, every knight took the way that he liked best.

Now Sir Galahad was without a shield, and he rode four days without adventure. At evensong on the fourth day he came to an abbey of white monks, and there was given great cheer. He found two other knights of the Round Table at that abbey, the one King Bagdemagus and the other Sir Ulfin; and the three had supper together, and made great cheer one of the other, and spoke of the adventures each would desire to have.

'There is within this abbey, as men tell me, a shield,' said King Bagdemagus, 'which no man may bear about his neck, but he is injured or slain within three days. Yet to-morrow I will adventure to win it.'

In the morning, therefore, after they had heard mass, King Bagdemagus asked the abbot to show him where was the shield. Then was he led to the high altar in the church, and behind it was hung a shield which glowed with shining whiteness, and in the middle thereof was a red cross which seemed to quiver as if it were living.

'Sir,' said the abbot, 'this shield ought not to hang about any knight's neck unless he be one of the three best knights of the world, and I counsel you to beware.'

'No matter,' said King Bagdemagus, 'I will essay it, for though I am not Sir Lancelot, yet I am a good knight enough.'

This he said in his pride, and took the shield and put the strap about his neck, and bade good-bye to the other twain, and so went forth with his squire.

They had not ridden but two miles or more, when at the opening to a wood Sir Bagdemagus saw a knight in white armour on a horse, riding up and down as if to do battle with any that should venture to go into the forest drive.

When the white knight saw him he called out:

'Who art thou? Thou bearest the shield of a knight peerless, but not the armour.'

'Who am I?' replied King Bagdemagus scornfully. 'I am he that shall give a good account of myself with thee.'

With that he levelled his lance and ran furiously upon the knight. But the other stood still, and when the spear-head was nigh his shield, he lightly turned it aside, and as Sir Bagdemagus swept by, the knight, with a quick fierce stroke of his sword, smote him so hard that the blade bit through the mail even to the shoulder-bone; whereby Sir Bagdemagus fell to the ground in a swoon.

The white knight called the squire to him and said:

'Bear ye this shield to the young knight, Sir Galahad, who is at the white abbey. Greet him from me, and say that it is for him to wear this shield, and none other. And tell him that I shall meet him erelong, if God wills, and that we shall fare together to that which is appointed for us.'

The squire did as he was bidden, and told Sir Galahad of the white knight's words. Sir Galahad asked him what was the device upon the shield of the white knight, and he answered, 'A red heart.' Then said the young knight, 'It shall be even as he saith.'

Sir Galahad mounted his horse and rode alone, ever northward, for he knew that the Holy Graal was hidden in a castle somewhere in the north among the warring barons. Many days he rode without adventure, until on a day he came to an old and venerable wood, dark and thick and close, where the moss hung like thick beards from the hoary branches.

There, in a laund or glade in the midmost part of the forest, he found an old and white dame, kneeling before a green cross beside the path, weeping piteously as she prayed and beat her breast.

'What ails ye, lady?' asked Sir Galahad.

'Ah, good knight,' said the old dame, and as she rose it was well seen she was of gentle birth, I weep for that I have lived to see the day when sons of mine shall slay each the other. I have three sons, and all are of the worshipful company of the Round Table. But two are wasteful livers, and have taken from me all that whereby I lived; and ever hath my youngest boy, Sir Hewlin, withstood their evil ways. Wherefore they hated him. And yesterday did Sir Nulloth and Sir Dew, my elder sons, return, and did quarrel with my dear lad Hewlin. And now I fear they go about to slay him. Oh, if that they kill him, who is the prop and comfort of my old age, I shall surely die.'

'Sad it is, lady,' said Sir Galahad, and mournful was his mind, 'to think that in this dear land of Britain there should be knights that are given to such thoughts of evil as to slay their own kin. Lead me to them, I pray ye.'

He set the dame upon his saddle before him, and she led the way through the forest. When they had gone but a mile she started, and stopped the horse, and then they heard the sound of clashing steel. Sadly did that poor lady shriek and cry:

'Ah! they slay him now! My dear son! My dear boy!'

Swiftly Sir Galahad made his horse to leap forward, and in a little while they came upon a great meadow, where two knights on foot were together fighting another single knight with swords. Forthwith Sir Galahad cried with a loud and a stern voice, 'Hold, put up your swords, ye evil brothers, that would slay each other!'

All turned at the cry. Then, seeing his mother, the young knight Sir Hewlin threw down his sword. And leaping from Sir Galahad's horse the reverend lady tottered to her youngest son and threw herself upon his breast, and he clasped his mother in his arms.

But the two evil brothers laughed scornfully at Sir Galahad.

'Who art thou, thou knight in red?' they cried. 'Thinkest thou to frighten us with thy big words?'

Quickly they mounted their horses and ran upon Sir Galahad together. But the lance of one he received upon his shield, and the weapon snapped in twain; and that of the other he thrust aside and, as the knight thundered by, he brought down his sword, with so fierce and wrathful a stroke, that the head of the knight flew from his shoulders.

Seeing this, the other, who was Sir Nulloth, made haste to throw himself from his horse, and came and kneeled before Sir Galahad, praying mercy.

'I know who ye are,' he said. 'You are Sir Galahad, the stainless knight, who shall prevail in all thy deeds, and whom no weapon may wound until ye have fulfilled your high destiny. And I will do faithfully any behest ye may lay upon me.'

'I will then,' said Sir Galahad sternly, 'that thou makest peace with thy mother and thy brother here instantly; that thou seekest naught of them till thy dying day, which shall not be far from thee; and that thou goest this day and place thyself in the service of Sir Bedevere, or Sir Uriens upon the coasts, and help to thrust forth the hateful pagan from the land.'

The knight swore to do all this, and after he had made his peace with his kindred, he set forth to do Sir Galahad's bidding. And it was as the stainless knight had foretold, for in seven days Sir Nulloth had found death, bravely fighting the pagan pirates.