Part 6

Thus fared they, having heard the tale and speaking of the twain, till that they touched the sand. Then did the boatman shew them the way they should ride thence to where the hermitage stood, and declared to them the road. Thus left they the boatman, who was much rejoiced to be safely quit of them. But the knights went on their way till they knew that they drew near to the hermitage, and came even unto it. Then they dismounted, and made fast their steeds before the door, and cried with a loud voice to those within: "Let us in! Open of your goodwill!" A lad came to the door and asked them what they desired, and if aught ailed them that they required aid.

Then Sir Gariët spake, and said that an it were pleasing to them, they would fain have speech with the hermit and with Sir Agloval. And the messenger went his way to the twain, and told them how two knights stood without the gate. "The one is a goodly man to look upon and well armed, and so, forsooth, is the other, but his armour and his limbs, so far as I might see, were blacker than soot or pitch. I wot not if ye know aught of them or of their errand. They said that they would fain speak with ye, and they prayed me straitly, the twain of them, that I should come hither and tell ye this."

Sir Agloval, who deemed this passing strange, went, as best he might, to the gate, and his uncle the hermit followed him with no delay. Sir Agloval looked through the wicket, and was ware of Sir Gariët, Sir Gawain's brother, and bethought him how that he belonged to King Arthur's court and was worthy of great honour, for though he were not so well known throughout the land as was his brother Sir Gawain, yet was he a strong knight and bold, and a doer of valiant deeds.

When they beheld each other they gave fair and courteous greeting, the one to the other, and Sir Gariët spake. "May He who can do all things shew favour and honour to ye Sir Knight, and to all who be with ye there within!"

Sir Agloval looked upon Morien, and marked right well the fashion of him, and marvelled within himself what manner of knight he might well be who bare such guise. And Morien stood before him and asked him if he yet remembered how, seeking for Sir Lancelot, he came into the land of the Moors, and how he there loved a maiden, and plighted to her his troth, and how she granted to him her favours ere he departed from her upon his quest. He asked him if he yet thought thereupon, how, when he departed from the land he pledged his word to her that he would return, so soon as might be, to the country of the Moors, for her profit and for her honour? Did he yet think upon this?

Sir Agloval made answer: "Sir Knight, I make no denial, yet have I but seldom been at rest. I rode in quest of Sir Lancelot awhile; and thereafter had I but little respite, since I brought my brother to court, where he was held in high honour, and so soon as he was made knight must I ride forth with him upon a journey which he would in no wise delay; for he was fain to avenge the harm done to our father many a year agone--that must ye understand. My brother knew well that our foes had taken to themselves the heritage that should have been ours, when they drave my father forth. This would he avenge, and spare not, and herein had we much strife ere we might regain it; but now have we done so much that we have won back our heritage and slain all those who had possessed themselves of our land. That so many years have fled since I sware to the maiden that I would return to her, that came of necessity. Now have I failed to keep mine oath, and needs must that I bethink me well, and seek counsel in the matter. I know not, and have no true tidings, whether that lady of whom ye speak be living or dead; naught do I know thereof!"

Quoth Morien: "But I shall tell ye more thereof! She to whom ye gave your troth yet liveth and is my mother, and ye, Sir Knight, are my father! If ye will come with me, at her prayer and mine, then will ye do well and courteously. Ye begat me upon her who should be your wife, had ye kept your oath. Now bethink ye well, and say if ye will come or no. When ye parted from my mother she bare me though she knew it not. Thus, Sir Knight, did the matter fall out."

Sir Agloval made answer: "By Heaven Sir Knight, I believe ye, every whit. That which the lady claimeth from me, in that I have thus betrayed her and foresworn mine oath, that will I make good, by the help of God. I will yet win her grace. Come ye to me here within to mine uncle and my brother, they shall counsel us well when they hear our tale--so shall we be more at ease."

With that he undid the wicket. 'Twould have done any heart good, who understood their speech, to see how Sir Agloval and Morien embraced and kissed each other. Any heart would have been the gladder who had seen and heard their gestures and their words, and in what love and friendship they betook themselves within, where they were right well received. Sir Agloval forthwith made known to his uncle and to Sir Perceval the true tale of his doings, and how that his son had come hither.

When Sir Perceval heard this, never did knight receive so glad a welcome as that which he gave unto his nephew; so likewise did the hermit. 'Twas bliss and fair speech there betwixt those knights, and in their honour did they bring forth such food and drink as was there within, and did all they might for their comfort. That even was there naught but gladness; each made great joy of the other, and erst as the knights were weary did they get them to sleep, as men are wont to do, till the day brake, and the sun shone forth.

The knights lay longer abed than did the hermit, who had said and sung his orisons and his Mass ere day had dawned, or that the knights had arisen and done on their garments. Then spake Morien to his father, even as ye shall hear, and said he would ride thence, and was fain to know, without contention, if he would come with him to his mother, and do that which he promised when he departed from her, for the sake of God and of his own honour, and for their profit. He told how they had been deprived of their rightful heritage which had fallen to his mother from her father. "'Twas altogether denied her by the law of the land; yet 'twas the shame rather than the loss that grieved her, in that men called her son fatherless, and she might bring no proof of her word, nor shew them to their face the man who had begotten me!"

Then said Sir Agloval, his father: "I will tell ye out and out how the thing stands with me, and tell ye all my counsel. Believe me well, I will not lie to ye in one word." And Morien hearkened and answered that he believed him fully.

Thus they abode that day with the hermit, and were better served, in all that men might prepare for them, than I may well tell ye; and Morien prayed his father straitly that he would delay not, but would tell him what was in his thought and in his intent. Thus did he urge his father, till Sir Agloval told him all his mind.

He said that he beheld a vision in a dream; it seemed to him that he rode throughout the day in a land where he saw naught but wilderness and wood, and trees, many and fair. By whiles he rode through hail and snow, by whiles through noontide heat, so that he was sore vexed. Whiles he saw the sun shine bright, whiles it was as if the twilight fell. He saw all kinds of beasts run through the forest, and folk, young and old, go up and down the woods. All this did he see in his dream, but nowhere in all this land did he come to where he might find shelter. But as it drew towards evening, and the light failed, did he think to see a tower, so strongly builded that none by force might lightly win their way within; but no doorway might he see, only, as it were, another tower that stood there. Within this he beheld a stairway, that wound upward to a doorway at the end. The door seemed to him high as a church, and of wrought ironwork. Were a man sick he might well be healed by the light that streamed forth from within, for, as he saw and looked upon it, it seemed as it might well be Heaven. And every step of the stairway was of good red gold. And he thought within himself that since those steps were so fair he might well set foot thereon, and tell the tale of them, how many they might be, that hereafter he might speak of the great marvel he had seen. But as he had counted sixty, and would set foot upon the next, lo! he saw none of all those he had left below him, save that upon which he stood, and on which his foot was set, and above him he saw naught. And it seemed to him that the door was distant from the step as high as one might shoot with a bow. Thus might he go neither forward nor backward. Then he beheld, and on the ground beneath were serpents and wild bears, even as if they would tear him; they gnashed their teeth as if they would seize him, and gaped with their jaws as they would swallow him. It seemed to him as if they were even at his heels, and he saw the snakes and dragons all twist themselves upwards. "And as I was thus fearful the step brake beneath me, and I fell downwards." From his great discomfort and his fear of the dragons he awoke, and slept no more.

The dream vexed him sorely whenever he thought thereon; he was angry and wroth, and wist not what the portent of the vision might be. But his heart forbode him that pain and mischief, and sore labour withal, drew nigh to him. Then it fell out that he met with a learned clerk, to whom he told the vision even as it had appeared to him; and when he had hearkened to his tale, and understood it well, he interpreted it in this wise: "Concerning our lands, great and small, that we thereof should be in great stress and fear ere we might win to them again; for strong were the castles and mighty the armies, therefore did the vision foretell ill to my brother and myself each and singly. And further he spake concerning my brother Perceval, and the Spear, and the Grail; for that golden stairway betokened the Holy Grail, and that Perceval should aid in the winning thereof, and in that service should he die. Thus did he foretell me. And the door that stood above and the stairway itself both alike betokened the heavenly kingdom, as might well be known by the light that shone within; and the steps that lay before it they betokened the days of Perceval's life. 'This I tell ye of a truth, each betokeneth a day, or a week, or it may be a month; but of this be ye sure, and doubt not, so long shall he live, and then shall he yield up his life. And that the steps brake beneath ye, 'twas for your sins; ye had well-nigh climbed them had not sin laid hold on ye. The bears, and the dragons, and the serpents that there lay in wait, know ye well that they gave sure and certain sign that the fiends deemed they had ye for their own in that hour, and would carry ye to Hell.'" Thus did the wise master make known to him his dream, and bade him thereof take warning and order his ways with wisdom, and that speedily, and delay not, for here should he abide no long time, but drew nigh to his end.

"Dear son," quoth Sir Agloval, "then did my brother cease his quest for the Spear and the Grail, and the adventure on which he was bound, and came hither as swiftly as he might to mine uncle the hermit, and clothed himself in this habit, through that which the clerk foretold me. Thus are we here together, and my brother would fain amend his life. Nor am I yet whole; for I was wounded wellnigh to death, and bruised and mishandled, so that I had no power left, and am yet scarce healed. Thus would I abide here awhile with my brother and mine uncle, that my wounds might be tended, and that with them I might save my soul. Now ye will that I journey with ye to your mother in the Moorish land, and I were fain to ride thither were I but healed. Yet is there another matter. I would gladly go with ye, that may ye know of a truth, for your honour, and to do away your shame, were it not that I thus brought about my death; nevertheless, I have trust in mine uncle, who is so wise, that he shall make my peace with God, and bring me to eternal bliss. Now, son, bethink ye of our profit, yours and mine, according to that which has befallen me, and that ye have now heard even as I tell ye. Counsel me as it seemeth ye best; since that I be your father, according as matters went afore 'twixt me and your mother, it behoves ye well so to do."

Then quoth Morien: "Were ye better healed I would ride gladly, but it becometh me well to shun aught that might do ye harm or mischief. I can give ye none other counsel than that ye abide here till ye be once more whole. King Arthur is captive and his land is beset and in sore stress. Here is his nephew Sir Gariët, who hath come hither with me, and now that I have learnt the truth I shall ride with him to court, to do him honour, and there abide till that ye be whole and healed; and I will return hither in the hour that I know ye be cured of your wounds and may keep the oath that ye sware to my mother, that ye be praised of men and in favour with God. So shall my mother once more be possessed of the lands of which she hath been disinherited, and which she hath this long time lacked. I shall depart and ye shall abide here, where may all good befall ye! I will aid the queen, and God grant that I may win such fame as shall be for the bettering of her cause and mine own honour and profit. I shall return, be ye sure of it, when the time is ripe, and shall ever think of ye as my father."

Then all thanked Morien, deeming that as at that time no better counsel might be found; and Sir Gariët and Morien alike besought of Sir Perceval that he would ride with them, to aid the queen and release King Arthur, and bring comfort to his land. This he sware to do would his uncle grant him leave thereto. Then did they all, and Sir Agloval with them, so straitly pray the uncle that he granted their request, and never might ye see at any time folk so blithe as were these knights in that Sir Perceval would ride with them. Thus did they take their leave and wend on their way. But now will I leave speaking of them and tell how it fared with Sir Lancelot, who would slay the evil beast. Now doth the adventure tell us that when Sir Lancelot departed from Sir Gawain at the cross-roads he delayed not, but rode that same hour till he came to the waste land wherein the beast had wrought havoc. Now in that land there dwelt a maiden who had caused it to be made known far and wide that whosoever might slay that beast him would she take for her husband. Never might man behold a fairer maiden, and the land was all in her own power. Now there dwelt also therein a traitor, a knight who loved the maiden, but had little mind to risk his life for her; he kept close watch upon that beast if so be that any man should slay it that he might play the traitor, so should the slayer pay with his life for the deed, and he should spread abroad that he himself had, of a verity, slain the monster.

Thus Sir Lancelot rode so far into the land that he came nigh to the place where he had heard that the fearful beast had made its lair. There did he see many a helm, and spear, and weapon of the knights it had slain, whose bones lay there stripped of flesh, which the monster had devoured; he might well be afraid! So soon as Lancelot might know where the beast was wont to lie, he made haste thitherward, and so soon as it was ware of his coming it came flying in such guise as it had been the Devil, and set upon Sir Lancelot straightway. It feared neither sword nor spear, nor armour, nor might of man. And Lancelot smote at the monster so that his spear brake in twain, yet had he not bruised it a whit, or pierced its hide; then he drew forth his sword and smote with great force, but he harmed it not, and it seized Lancelot by the throat and scored him in such wise that the knight was wroth thereof, for it tare a great rent through the hauberk even to the flesh, and wounded him sore. Many a time did Sir Lancelot strike and smite at the beast, but never a groat might he harm it; but the monster fell upon Sir Lancelot and scored him even to the feet, and dealt him many a wound, and breathed out venom upon him; had it not been for a ring which Sir Lancelot ware upon his finger he had fallen dead where he stood from the poison. Then the monster sprang towards him with gaping jaws, as it were fain to swallow him, and Lancelot watched his chance, and thrust his sword into its mouth, and clave the heart in sunder, and the beast gave a cry so terrible that 'twas heard a good two mile off.

Then the traitor who spied all from afar, when he heard the cry delayed not, but rode swiftly towards the lair, for he knew well from the cry that the monster was slain. When he came to the place he found Sir Lancelot sitting, binding up his wounds, which were many and deep. The knight began to bemoan his plight, and went towards him saying that he would bind his wounds for him. That cowardly and wicked knight, he came even to Sir Lancelot's side, and snatched stealthily at his sword, and sprang backward and smote at him, wounding him so that he fell as one dead.

When the false traitor saw this he deemed that he was dead, and left him lying, and went there, where the monster lay, and smote off the right foot, thinking to take it to the maiden of whom I have told ye, that he might therewith win her to wife.

But in this while had Sir Gawain ridden so far that he had learned the truth how that Sir Lancelot had found the beast, and at this time he had followed upon his tracks and came unto the lair even as the traitor had wounded Sir Lancelot, and cut off the foot, and was mounted upon Sir Lancelot's steed, which that good knight, Sir Gawain, knew right well.

So soon as he saw the stranger upon the steed, and Lancelot, who lay there wounded, he rode fast towards him, and drew out his good sword, and cried, "Abide ye still, Sir Murderer, for this beast have ye slain my comrade, that do I see right well." That false and cruel knight had fain ridden thence, but Sir Gawain was so nigh to him that he could not avoid, and smote at him so fiercely that he must needs abide, and draw bridle, and pray for mercy.

Sir Gawain was of a mind to bring him to Sir Lancelot ere he made terms with him. Thus they came together, and Lancelot, who was now recovered from the swoon in which he had lain, and was ware of Sir Gawain, cried to him concerning the traitor who had smitten him all unarmed, "Dear comrade, slay him. I shall die the easier, knowing that he be already dead." As he spake thus, Sir Gawain made no more ado but smote off the traitor's head.

Then did he forthwith go to bemoan his comrade, and quoth, "Sir Knight, may ye not be healed? Tell me now the truth; I will aid ye as I may." Then Sir Lancelot did him to wit how he had fared with the beast, and how the traitor had thereafter wounded him. "And this hath wrought me the greater harm; yet might I but find a place wherein to rest methinks I might well be healed."

Then was Sir Gawain glad at heart, and he bound up his wounds forthwith with herbs of such virtue as should stay the bleeding; and he took Sir Lancelot and set him upon his steed, and turned him again towards the hermit's cell as best he might, for 'twas in both their minds that might they but come thither Sir Gawain should surely heal him. Thus did they ride until they had found the hermitage, and scarce had they come thither when they were ware of Morien with Sir Gariët and Sir Perceval, who came thither as at that time.

Then was there joy and gladness manifold. The Hermit made ready food for his guests, and prepared a couch for Sir Lancelot as best he might. Each told the other how matters had fallen out with them, and Morien gave them to wit how it had fared with his father.

That night were they well entreated by the hermit, but the morrow so soon as Sir Lancelot heard how it went with the queen, even should he gain the world thereby he had remained no longer, neither for wounds nor for weariness, for, he said, he was surely healed, and was fain to be at strife. Thus must they all ride forth, whether they would or no, with the early morning, for they might not lose a day. Sir Gawain would tend Sir Lancelot's wounds even as they rode on their way.

Thus they journeyed till they heard true tidings of their lady, the queen; how that she was beset on all sides by the King of Ireland. He had burnt and laid waste so much men scarce knew the tale thereof, and the queen had he beset in a castle to which he himself laid siege. For he had sworn a great oath, nor would he lightly break it, that might he win the castle he should spare no man of all that were within, but should put such shame upon them, and on the queen, that men should speak thereof for all time. Thus had the king sworn by his crown, and by all that may bind a king, that he would do them bitter shame.

When the knights of whom I tell ye came into Arthur's land they saw there a castle, around which ran a swift water, broad and deep. He who builded that burg was well counselled. The castle was of grey hewn stone. King Arthur had never a stronghold in the losing of which he had lost so much, and this was not yet lost. But the folk that were within had no more than a day's grace left to them, on the morrow must they fare forth, for would they defend it no quarter should be shown them, but they should be seethed or roasted alive. This had the king sworn and on the morrow would he come thither; he had laid waste the country and destroyed the churches, and made many widows and orphans; all the land was in terror for the harm thus wrought upon them. The knights who came thither saw the folk as they fled with all their goods and their foodstuff, they deemed theirs was a lost cause. They met many folk, men women and children who would flee the land; they drave their cattle before them and were laden with their goods; some were ahorse, some afoot, 'twas the best they might do to their thinking.

Then Sir Gariët gave courteous greeting to one whom he met, and asked who were this folk, and wherefore they fled thus in haste? And the goodman answered straight-way: "They deem that all is lost; the King cometh hither to this castle that standeth here, and the people of the land know not what they may do, they must lose their goods and all they possess. Here hath a great misfortune chanced, the ordeal hath gone over us; King Arthur hath been taken captive and we know not where he may be, he was waylaid and betrayed in a forest, whither he went to hunt, and we saw him never more. The King of Ireland hath seized upon all this land, he who would save his life must perforce yield to him, for he hath with him a mighty army and our folk are defenceless. We lack leaders--Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot have both of them left the land, and thereof hath great shame come to us--we are without king, or leaders, or counsel."

Quoth Morien: "This castle that standeth here, is there yet any man within?"