THE WEDDING OF KING ARTHUR
BECAUSE MERLIN’S COUNSEL HAD SO often proved valuable, it was King Arthur’s habit to consult him in matters of war and of government, as well as in personal plans. So it was that he called Merlin to him one day and said, “You know that some of my barons are still rebellious. Perhaps it would be well if I took a wife to assure the succession to my crown.”
“That is well reasoned,” Merlin said.
“But I do not want to choose a queen without your advice.”
Merlin said, “Thank you, my lord. One in your position should not be without a wife. Does any lady please you above all others?”
“Yes,” said Arthur. “I love Guinevere, the daughter of King Lodegrance of Camylarde. She is the fairest and noblest damsel I have seen. And did you not tell me that my father, King Uther, once gave a great round table to King Lodegrance?”
“That is true,” said Merlin. “And surely Guinevere is as lovely as you say, but if you do not deeply love her I could find another good and beautiful enough to please you. But if your heart is set on Guinevere, you will not look at anyone else.”
“That is the truth,” said the king.
“If I should advise you that Guinevere is an unfortunate choice, would that change you?”
“No.”
“Well then, if I should tell you that Guinevere will be unfaithful to you with your dearest and most trusted friend—”
“I would not believe you.”
“Of course not,” said Merlin sadly. “Every man who has ever lived holds tight to the belief that for him alone the laws of probability are canceled out by love. Even I, who know beyond doubt that my death will be caused by a silly girl, will not hesitate when that girl passes by. Therefore, you will marry Guinevere. You do not want advice—only agreement.” Merlin sighed and said, “Very well then, give me an honorable retinue and I will make formal request of King Lodegrance and Guinevere.”
And Merlin, properly attended, rode to Camylarde and asked that king for his daughter to be Arthur’s queen.
Lodegrance said, “That so noble and brave and powerful a king as Arthur wishes my daughter for his wife is the best news I have ever heard. If he wished her dowered with lands, I would offer them, but he has lands enough. I shall send him a gift that will please him more than anything—the Table Round that Uther Pendragon gave to me. The table seats a hundred and fifty and I will send a hundred knights to serve him. I cannot furnish the full number because so many of my knights have been killed in the wars.”
Then Lodegrance brought Guinevere to Merlin and also the Table Round, and a hundred knights richly armed and dressed, and the whole royal company took their way to London.
King Arthur was overjoyed and he said, “This fair lady is more than welcome to me, for I have loved her since I first saw her. And the hundred knights and the Table Round please me more than any riches.”
And Arthur married Guinevere and crowned her his queen with all possible dignity, and there was feasting and joy in his court.
And after the ceremony Arthur stood by the great Round Table and he said to Merlin, “Search through all my kingdom and find fifty honorable brave and perfect knights to fill the fellowship of the Table Round.”
And Merlin combed the country, but he found only twenty-eight and he brought them to the court. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury blessed the seats about the table. Merlin then said to the knights, “Go now to King Arthur and swear allegiance and do him homage.” When they returned to the table each man found his name in letters of gold inscribed on his seat but two places had no names. As they sat at the Round Table young Gawain came into the court and asked a gift in honor of the marriage of Arthur and Guinevere.
“Ask it,” said the king.
“I ask that you make me a knight,” said Gawain.
“I will gladly,” said Arthur. “You are my sister’s son and I owe you every honor.”
Then a poor man came into the court and with him a fair young man riding a skinny mare and the poor man said, “Where shall I find King Arthur?”
“There he is yonder,” said a knight. “Do you want something of him?”
“Yes, I do. That is why I am here,” and he approached the king and saluted him, saying, “Best of kings, I pray that Jesus may bless you. I have been told that now at the time of your marriage you will grant reasonable requests.”
“That is so,” said the king. “I have promised this and I will keep it, if your request does no harm to my dignity or my kingdom. What is your wish?”
“I thank you, my lord,” the poor man said. “I ask that you may make my son here a knight.”
“You ask a great thing,” said Arthur. “What is your name?”
“Sir, my name is Aryes and I am a cowherd.”
“Did you think of this?”
“No, sir,” said Aryes, “I must tell you how it is. I have thirteen sons and all of the rest of them work as I tell them good sons should. But this boy will not do laborers’ work. He is always shooting arrows and throwing spears and running to tournaments to look at knights and fighting, and day and night he gives me no rest, for he thinks only of knighthood.”
The king turned to the young man. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Sir, my name is Torre.”
The king looked at the boy and saw that he was handsome and tall and well made, and he said to Aryes, “Bring in your other sons.”
When the brothers stood before Arthur he saw that they were laborers like Aryes and not like Torre in face and carriage. Then the king said to the cowherd, “Where is the sword with which to make him knight?”
Torre threw back his mantle and displayed his sword.
Arthur said, “Knighthood may not be granted unless it is requested. Draw your sword and ask.”
Then Torre dismounted from his lean mare and drew his sword, and kneeling before the king, he begged to be knighted and to be joined to the fellowship of the Round Table.
“A knight I will make you,” the king said, and he took the sword and struck Torre symbolically on the neck with the flat of the blade, saying, “Be a good knight. I pray to God that you may be. And if you prove brave and honorable you will be of the Round Table.” And then the king addressed Merlin. “You know the future,” he said. “Tell us whether Sir Torre will be a good man.”
“Sir,” said Merlin, “he should be. He comes of royal blood.”
“How so?” the king asked.
“I will tell you,” said the wizard. “Aryes the cowherd is not his father or any kin to him. King Pellinore is his father.”
“That is not so,” said Aryes angrily, and Merlin commanded, “Bring your wife here.”
And when she came into the court she was a fair and well-made housewife and she spoke with dignity. She told the king and Merlin that when she was a young maiden she went out to milk the cows one evening, and she said, “A stern knight saw me and half by force took my virginity, and I conceived my son Torre. I had a greyhound with me and that knight took it away, saying he would keep my greyhound for love of me.”
The cowherd said, “I wish this were not true, but I believe it now, for Torre has never been like me or like my other sons.”
Sir Torre said angrily to Merlin, “You dishonor my mother, sir.”
“No,” Merlin said, “it is more honor than insult, for your true father is a good knight and a king. And he will advance both you and your mother. You were conceived before she was married to Aryes.”
“That is the truth,” said the wife.
And the cowherd said, “I will not grieve about it then if it happened before I knew her.”
The next morning Sir Pellinore came to the court and Arthur told him the story and how he had made Sir Torre a knight. And when Pellinore looked at his son he was greatly pleased with him and he rejoiced.
Then Arthur made Gawain his nephew a knight, but Sir Torre was the first to be knighted at the feast when the fellowship of the Round Table was created.
Arthur looked at the great table and he asked Merlin, “How does it happen that there are vacant places with no names?”
And Merlin said, “Two of the seats may be held only by most honorable knights, but the last is the Siege Perilous. Only one knight shall sit there and he will be the most perfect ever to live. And if any other knight shall dare to take that place, he will be destroyed.” Then Merlin took Sir Pellinore by the hand and led him to one of the vacant seats, and he said, “This is your place, sir. No one deserves it more.”
Then Sir Gawain was filled with envy and with anger and he said softly to his brother Gaheris, “That knight who is so honored killed our father, King Lot. My sword is sharpened for him. I will kill him now.”
“Be patient, brother,” Gaheris advised. “This is not the time. I am only your squire now, but when I am knighted we will kill him and later take our vengeance away from the court. We would suffer for it if we brought violence to this feast.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Gawain said. “We will wait our chance.”
At last the preparations for the marriage of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were completed, and the best and bravest and most beautiful of the realm poured into the royal city of Camelot. The knights and barons and their ladies gathered in St. Stephen’s Church and there the wedding was celebrated with regal ceremony and religious solemnity. That being done, the feast was called, and in the court the guests and retainers were seated each in the place proper to his position in the world.
Then Merlin said, “Let everyone sit quietly and do not move, for now begins an age of marvels, and you will see strange happenings.”
Then all sat motionless in their places as though frozen and the great hall was silent and waiting. The preparing was over, Arthur was king, the Table Round existed, and its fellowship of courage and courtesy and honor sat each in his place—the king above, rigid and still, and Merlin beside him listening. They might have been asleep as they have been and will be many times over, sleeping but listening for the need, the fear, the distress, or the pure and golden venture that can call them awake. King Arthur and his knights quiet and waiting in the great hall at Camelot.
Then came the sharp quick beat of pointed hooves on the flagstones and a white stag bounded into the hall pursued by a pure white hound bitch and followed by a pack of black hounds baying on the scent. The stag leaped past the Round Table with the bitch on his flank, and as he raced by a sideboard the white hound fastened on his flank and tore out a piece of flesh. In pain the white stag leaped in the air and overturned a seated knight. And with that the knight caught the bitch and carried her from the hall in his arms, and he mounted his horse and rode away, carrying the brachet with him, while the white stag bounded away and disappeared with the black pack baying after him.
Then as the hall stirred alive a lady rode into the court mounted on a white palfrey and she called loudly to the king, “Sir, that knight has taken my white brachet. Do not permit this insult, my lord.”
“I have nothing to do with it,” said the king. And with that an armed knight on a great war horse galloped in and grasped the reins of the palfrey and pulled the lady by force from the hall, while she cried and screamed with anger and complaint. And when she was gone, the king was glad, for she made a great noise, but Merlin reproached him.
“You cannot know a venture from its beginning,” Merlin said. “Greatness is born little. Do not dishonor your feast by ignoring what comes to it. Such is the law of quest.”
“Very well,” said Arthur. “I will follow the law.” And he instructed Sir Gawain to hunt down the white stag and bring it to the feast. And he sent Sir Torre to find the knight who took the white brachet. Sir Pellinore was given the order to search out the lady and the forceful knight and return them to the court. “Those are the quests,” said Arthur, “and may you have marvelous adventures to tell about when you return.”
The three knights accepted their quests and armed themselves and rode away. And we will tell of each one separately.
Here begynnith the fyrst batayle that ever Sir Gawayne
ded after he was made knyght.
Sir Gawain, with his brother, Gaheris, as squire, rode through the green countryside until they came upon two knights on horseback fighting fiercely. The brothers separated them and asked the reason for the quarrel.
“It is a simple and a private matter,” said one of the knights. “We are brothers.”
“It is not good for brothers to fight each other,” Gawain said.
“That is your opinion,” said the knight. “We were riding toward the feast at King Arthur’s court when a white stag ran by, chased by a white brachet and a pack of black hounds. We understood that this was a strange adventure fit for telling in the court and I prepared to give chase to win fame before the king. But my brother said he should go because he was a better knight than I. For a time we argued about who was better and then decided that the only proof lay in combat.”
“This is a silly reason,” Gawain said. “You should prove your worth on strangers, not on brothers. You must go to Arthur’s court and beg his mercy for this foolishness or I will have to fight you both and take you there.”
“Sir Knight,” said the brothers, “through our willfulness we are exhausted and we have lost much blood. We could not fight with you.”
“Then do as I say—go to the king.”
“We will, but who shall we say sent us?”
Sir Gawain said, “You must say you were sent by the knight who follows the Quest of the White Stag. What are your names?”
“Sorlus of the Forest and Brian of the Forest,” they said, and they departed toward the court, and Sir Gawain continued on his quest.
And as they rode near to a deep forested valley the wind brought to them the full baying of hounds in chase, and they urged their horses to speed and followed the pack down the slope and to a swollen stream, where they saw the white stag swimming across it. And as Gawain prepared to follow, a knight stepped out on the other bank and called to him, “Sir Knight, if you follow this chase you must first joust with me.”
Gawain answered, “I am on quest. I will take any adventure that falls to me,” and he urged his horse to swim the deep swift water to the other side, where the knight awaited him with closed visor and couched spear. Then they rode together, and Sir Gawain unhorsed his opponent and called on him to yield.
“No,” said the knight. “You have beaten me on horseback, but I pray you, gallant knight, to dismount and prove if you can do as well with your sword.”
“Willingly,” said Gawain. “What is your name?”
“I am Sir Alardine of the Outer Isles.”
Then Sir Gawain left his horse and dressed his shield before him, and with his first blow he cut through the helm and into the brain and the knight fell dead before him, and without pausing Gawain and his brother took up the chase again, and after a long run the exhausted stag ran into the gates of a castle and the brothers pursued it into the great hall and killed it there. Then a knight came from a side chamber with a sword in his hand and he killed two of the milling hounds and drove the rest of the pack from the hall, and when he returned he kneeled by the beautiful deer and said sadly, “My dear white pet, they have killed you. The sovereign lady of my heart gave you to me and I did not take care of you.” And he raised his head in anger. “It was an evil deed,” he said. “I will revenge you, my beauty.” He ran to his chamber and armed himself and came out fiercely.
Sir Gawain stepped out to meet him, saying, “Why have you taken your anger out on the hounds? They did only what they were trained to do. I killed the stag; vent your rage on me, not on a dumb beast.”
The knight cried, “That is true. I have vengeance on the hounds and I will have vengeance on you also.”
Sir Gawain engaged him with sword and shield, and they slashed and cut and parried, and each wounded the other so that blood spattered the floor, but gradually Sir Gawain’s greater strength began to tell on the failing knight and one last heavy blow drove him to the ground, and he yielded and begged for his life.
“You shall die for killing my hounds,” said Gawain.
“I will do anything to make amends,” said the fallen knight, but Sir Gawain was merciless and he unlaced the helmet to strike off his head. As he raised his sword a lady came running from the chamber, tripped on the helpless knight, and fell full length on him. The descending sword struck her on the neck and cut through her spine, and she lay dead on the fallen knight.
Then Gaheris said bitterly, “That was a foul deed, my brother, a shameful deed that will stick to your memory. He asked for mercy and you gave him none. A knight without mercy is without honor.”
Gawain was stunned by the accident to the fair lady. He said to the knight, “Arise. I will give you mercy.”
But the knight replied, “How can I believe you when I saw the cowardly blow that killed my dear and beloved lady.”
“I am sorry for it,” Gawain said. “I did not strike at her. The cut was meant for you. I release you now on condition that you go to King Arthur and tell him the whole story and tell him you are sent by the knight of the Quest of the White Stag.”
“Why should I care for your conditions,” said the knight, “when I do not care whether I live or die now?”
But when Sir Gawain prepared to kill him, he changed his mind and prepared to obey, and Gawain made him carry one dead hound before him on his horse and the other behind to prove his story. “What is your name, before you go?” Sir Gawain asked.
“I am Sir Blamoure of the Marys,” said the knight, and he rode away toward Camelot.
When he had gone, Gawain went back into the castle and in a chamber he started to remove his armor, for he was weary and wished to sleep. Gaheris followed him and said, “What are you doing? You cannot disarm in this place. News of your deed will make enemies spring up everywhere.”
And he had no sooner spoken than four well-armed knights came in with shields and drawn swords and they cursed Gawain, saying, “You are a new-made knight and already you have shamed your knighthood, for a merciless knight is dishonored. Also, you have slain a fair lady and your name will carry that burden for all time. You who would not give mercy will need mercy now.” And one of the knights aimed a great stroke at Gawain and staggered him, but Gaheris leaped to his brother’s aid and the two defended themselves against the four, who attacked them all at once. Then one knight stepped back and took up a bow and shot a steel-tipped arrow into Gawain’s arm so that he could not defend himself, and the brothers would have fallen soon, but four ladies came into the hall and pleaded for their lives. And at the request of the fair ladies, the knights granted the brothers mercy and made them prisoners.
Early in the morning, when Gawain lay moaning in his bed, one of the ladies heard him and went to him. “How do you feel?” she asked.
“Not good,” said Gawain. “I am in pain and I think I may be maimed for life.”
“It is your own fault,” the lady said. “It was a foul thing to kill the lady of the castle. Are you not one of King Arthur’s knights?”
“Yes, I am.”
“What is your name?”
“Fair lady, I am Sir Gawain, son of King Lot of Orkney. My mother is King Arthur’s sister.”
“You are a nephew of the king,” the lady said. “Well, I will plead for your release.”
And when she told the knights who he was they gave him leave to go, because they were loyal to King Arthur. And they gave him the white stag’s head to prove that the quest was completed. But in punishment they hung the dead lady’s head from his neck and made him carry her headless body before him on his horse.
And when at last Sir Gawain came to Camelot and stood before the king and the fellowship, he humbly and truthfully told the whole story.
The king and queen were displeased with him for killing the lady. Then Guinevere set an eternal quest on Gawain that during his whole life he would defend all ladies and fight in their cause. And she further commanded that he should be courteous always and he should grant mercy when it was asked.
And Sir Gawain swore by the four Evangelists to keep this quest.
And thus endith the adventure of Sir Gawayne that he did at the mariage of Arthure.
Now go we to the questing of Sir Torre.
When he was armed and ready, he went in pursuit of the knight who had taken away the white hunting brachet, and on his way he came upon a dwarf who barred his way, and when Sir Torre tried to pass, the dwarf struck his horse on the head with his staff so that it reared and nearly fell backward.
“Why did you do that?” Torre demanded.
“You may not pass this way unless you joust with the two knights yonder,” said the dwarf.
Then Sir Torre saw among the trees two pavilions and two spears leaning against two trees and two shields hanging from the branches. “I cannot stop now,” Torre said. “I am on a quest and I must go on.”
“You may not pass,” the dwarf replied, and he blew a shrill blast on his horn.
An armed knight came from behind the tents, took spear and shield, and bore down on Sir Torre, but the young knight met him midway and unhorsed him.
Then the felled knight yielded and begged mercy and it was granted. “But, sir,” he said, “my companion will demand a joust with you.”
“He will be welcome,” said Torre.
The second knight came on at great speed, and at the shock of meeting his spear splintered, but Torre’s spear drove below the shield and entered the knight’s side but did not kill him. And as he struggled to his feet, Torre quickly dismounted and struck him a great blow on the helm, and he fell to the ground and begged for his life.
“I give you your life,” Torre said, “but both of you must go to King Arthur and yield to him as my prisoners.”
“Who shall we say defeated us?” they asked.
“Say you were sent by the one who went in quest of the knight with the white brachet—Now be on your way, and God speed you, and me.”
Then the dwarf approached him and begged a favor.
“What do you wish?” Torre asked.
“Only to serve you,” said the dwarf.
“Very well, take a horse and come with me.”
The dwarf said, “If you are searching for the knight with the white brachet, I can bring you to where he is.”
“Then lead me to him,” said Sir Torre, and they went forward into the forest for a time until they came to a priory, and beside it two tents were set up and in front of one hung a red shield and on the other a white shield.
Then Sir Torre dismounted and handed his spear to the dwarf and he went to the pavilion of the white shield and inside he saw three damsels sleeping. He looked in the other tent and there a lady slept and beside her was the white hound bitch of his quest and it barked furiously at him. Sir Torre grabbed the dog and took it howling to the dwarf. And the noise awakened the lady and she came from the tent and the damsels followed from their tent. And the lady cried out, “Why do you take my brachet?”
“I came in quest of this brachet all the way from King Arthur’s court,” said Torre.
“Sir Knight,” said the lady, “you will not get far with her before you will be met with force.”
“By God’s grace, I will accept what comes, my lady,” he said, and he mounted and turned back on the way to Camelot, but night began to fall as he rode and he asked the dwarf if he knew of any lodging nearby.
“There is nothing near but a hermitage,” the dwarf said. “We must take what we can find,” and he led the way to a dark stone cell beside a chapel and they fed their horses, and the hermit gave them what he had, a little coarse bread for their supper, and they slept on the cold stone floor of the cell. In the morning they heard Mass in the chapel and afterward Sir Torre begged the hermit’s blessing and his prayers and then he rode on toward Camelot.
They had not gone far before a knight came galloping after them, and he called out, “Knight, give back the brachet you took from my lady.”
Sir Torre turned about and saw that the knight was a handsome man, well mounted and well armed at all points. Then he took his spear from the dwarf and set his shield and he met the knight in full career and the shock of meeting drove both horses to the ground. Then both knights stepped clear and drew their swords, and they fought like lions. Their swords cut through shields and armor and each wounded the other severely and thick hot blood poured from the cloven mail and a great weariness fell on both. But Sir Torre felt that his opponent weakened more than he, and he drew on his young strength and redoubled his attack, until at last, under a heavy blow, the knight toppled to the ground, and Sir Torre demanded his surrender.
“I will never yield while I have life and soul, unless you give me the white brachet.”
“That I cannot do,” said Torre. “It is my quest to bring you and the white hound to King Arthur.”
Then a damsel on a palfrey galloped to them and pulled up short and said, “I beg a gift from you, gentle knight. And if you love King Arthur you will grant it.”
And Torre, without thinking, said, “Ask anything you wish. I will grant it.”
“Thank you, noble sir,” she said. “This fallen knight is Sir Arbellus and he is a murderer and a false knight. I demand his head.”
“Now I am sorry for my promise,” said Torre. “If he has injured you, perhaps he can make amends to your satisfaction.”
“Only his death can make amends,” the damsel said. “He fought my brother and overcame him and my brother begged mercy. And I kneeled in the mud and begged for my brother’s life, but he refused and killed my brother before my eyes. He is a treacherous man and has wounded many good knights. Now keep your promise to me or I will shame you in King Arthur’s court as a breaker of oaths.”
When Arbellus heard this he was filled with dread and he yielded to Sir Torre and asked mercy of him.
And Torre was puzzled. He said, “A moment ago I offered you mercy and you refused to yield unless I gave the brachet of my quest. But now that I have made a sad promise, you yield and ask the mercy you refused.”
Then in his fear Arbellus turned about and fled among the trees, and Sir Torre pursued him and struck him down and killed him, and stood wearily over his body.
The damsel came to him and said, “That was well done. He was a murderer. Night is coming and you are weary. Come to my house nearby and take your rest.”
“That I will,” said Torre. “My horse and I have had little rest and less food since we left Camelot on this quest.” Then he went with her and at her lodging her husband, an old and honorable knight, welcomed him and gave him good food and drink and a pleasant bed, and he fell into the bed and slept soundly. And in the morning after they heard Mass he prepared to leave the old knight and his young wife and they asked his name.
“I am Sir Torre,” he said. “I have only just now been made a knight and this was my first quest, to bring Arbellus and the white brachet to King Arthur’s court.”
“Truly you have fulfilled the quest,” said the lady. “And when in the future you are nearby, this is your lodging and we will always serve you and give you welcome.”
And then Sir Torre rode on toward Camelot and he came there on the third day at noon when the king and queen and all the fellowship sat in the great hall and they were glad of his coming. And as the custom was, he told his deeds and proved them with the white hound and the body of Arbellus—and the king and queen were pleased with him.
Merlin said, “He went on his quest with no help and no retainer. Pellinore, his father, gave him an old horse and Arthur worn-out armor and a sword. But this is nothing to what he will do, my lord. He will be a brave and noble knight, gentle and courteous and truthful, and he will never shame his knighthood.”
And when Merlin had spoken, King Arthur gave Sir Torre an earldom of lands and a place of honor in the court.
And here endith the queste of Sir Torre, Kynge Pellynors sonne.
Go we now to Sir Pellinore’s Quest of the Lady taken by force from the court.
While King Arthur and his noble fellowship sat in the great dim-lighted hall, feasting and hearing causes and minstrelry, Sir Pellinore went to his lodging and armed himself, and saw his horse well equipped and housed, and then he mounted and rode at a fast mile-covering trot after the lady who had been led away unwilling by an unknown knight. And he entered the forest and came to a little tree-shaded valley where, beside a gushing spring, he saw a damsel sitting on the moss-carpeted earth holding a wounded knight in her arms. And when she saw Pellinore she called out to him, “Help me, Sir Knight, for Jesus’s sake.”
But Pellinore was eager for his quest and he would not stop there. And the damsel called after him piteously, but when she saw that he would not pause she cried aloud a prayer to God that Pellinore might someday know a need as great as hers and find no help anywhere. It is said that soon afterwards the hurt knight died in the damsel’s arms and that she slew herself in her despair.
But Pellinore proceeded down the path through the valley until he came to a poor laboring man in the trail, and the knight asked whether he had seen a knight leading an unwilling lady.
“That I did,” said the man. “I saw them both and the lady complained so loudly that her voice rang through the valley. A little below here,” the poor man said, “you will see two pavilions, and one of the knights there challenged the lady’s companion and said she was his cousin. Then one said the lady was his by right of force and the other that she was his by right of kinship, and when they had argued and insulted and challenged, they fell to fighting. It is not wise for a poor man to be near when knights are battle-minded and so I came away to avoid trouble. But if you will hurry you may find them still fighting. The lady is guarded by two squires in the pavilion awaiting the decision of the combat.”
“I thank you,” said Pellinore, and he put his horse to a gallop and came soon to the pavilions, where sure enough they were still fighting while the lady watched them from the shelter of the tent.
Pellinore came near to her and he said, “Fair lady, you must come with me to King Arthur’s court. It is my quest to return you there.”
But the squires stood before her and one said, “Sir, you see for yourself two knights fighting for this lady. Go and part them, and if they agree you may have the lady to do with as you please. Otherwise we cannot let her go.”
“I can see that you are obeying orders,” said Pellinore, and he rode out and put his horse between the fighting men and courteously asked them why they fought.
One said, “Sir Knight, she is my cousin, and when I heard the cry that she was taken against her wish, I challenged this man who abducted her.”
The other said rudely, “My name is Sir Ontelake of Wenteland. I took this lady by my own bravery and by force of arms as is my right.”
“That is not true,” said Pellinore. “I was there and I saw it. You came in armed to King Arthur’s marriage feast, where weapons and violence were forbidden, and you took this lady before any of the company could run for a sword to stop you. And because you broke the law of the court of the king, it is my quest to bring her back and you also, if you are alive to go. For believe me, sir, I have promised King Arthur to bring her back. Therefore, stop your fighting, because neither of you will have the lady. Of course, if either of you wish to fight with me for her, I am quite willing to accommodate you.”
Then the two knights who had been painfully trying to kill each other joined forces, and they cried, “You must fight both of us before you can take her.”
As Sir Pellinore tried to move his mount from between them, Sir Ontelake drove his sword into the horse’s side and killed it and shouted, “Now you will be afoot as we are.”
Sir Pellinore stepped lightly from his fallen beast and drew his sword, and he said bitterly, “That was a cowardly thing to do. Guard your health, my friend, for I have something here for a man who stabs a horse,” and with that Pellinore loosed a swinging sword cut that sliced through Ontelake’s helm and split his head down to the chin and he fell dead.
Then Pellinore turned on the other, but that knight had seen the terrible strength of Pellinore’s stroke and he kneeled on the ground and said, “Take my cousin and fulfill your quest, but I require you as a true knight to put no shame on her.”
“Will you not fight for her?”
“No, not with such a knight as you after what I have seen.”
“Well,” Pellinore said, “it is not my custom to dishonor my knighthood. The lady will not be molested—that I promise you. Now I need a horse. I will take Ontelake’s horse.”
“No,” said the knight, “come dine with me and lodge with me and I will give you a much better horse than that.”
“I will,” said Pellinore. And that night he had good cheer and good wine and slept softly, and in the morning after Mass he breakfasted.
“I should know your name,” said his host. “You are taking my cousin as your quest.”
“That is reasonable. My name is Sir Pellinore, King of the Isles and knight of the Round Table.”
“I am honored that such a famous knight conducts my cousin. My name, sir, is Meliot of Logurs and my lady cousin is named Nyneve. The knight in the other pavilion and my sworn brother in arms is Sir Bryan of the Isles, a man of purity. He will not fight any man unless he is forced to.”
“I wondered why he did not come out to fight with me,” said Pellinore. “Bring him to the court one day. You will be welcomed there.”
“We will come together,” said Sir Meliot.
And then Pellinore mounted and the lady accompanied him and they rode toward Camelot. But as they went through a stony valley, the lady’s horse stumbled and then fell and the lady was badly bruised by the fall. “My arm is hurt. I cannot go on for a while.”
“Very well, we will rest here,” said Pellinore, and he helped her to a pleasant grassy place under a spreading tree and lay down beside her and soon he fell asleep and did not waken until after dark. When he awakened, Pellinore was anxious to go on, but the lady said, “It is too dark. We could not find our way. Take off your armor and rest until dawn.”
A little before midnight they heard the sound of a trotting horse. “Be quiet,” said Pellinore. “Some strange thing is happening. Men do not ride at night.” And quietly he slipped on his armor and buckled it and the two sat silent. Then in the near darkness, in the path beside their retreat, they dimly saw two knights meet, one from the direction of Camelot and the other from the north, and they spoke quietly. One said, “What is the news from Camelot?” and the other replied, “I have been in the court, and they did not know I came as a spy. And I tell you that King Arthur has gathered such a fellowship of knights as you will not find anywhere. And the fame of these knights of the Round Table is traveling throughout the world. I am riding north to tell our chieftains how strong King Arthur has become.”
“I have with me a remedy for his strength,” said the other, “a little powder that will melt his power. We have a man trusted and near to the king who for a price has promised to put this poison in the king’s cup—then we will see this power disappear.”
The first knight warned, “Beware of Merlin then. He can detect such things.”
“I will be careful, but I am not afraid,” said the other and they separated and rode each his way.
When they had gone, Pellinore quickly made ready and they picked their way along the path until dawn. It was light when they came to the spring where Pellinore had refused help to the lady and the wounded knight. Wild beasts had torn them to pieces and eaten them all save their heads.
Pellinore wept when he saw them. “I might have saved her life,” he said. “But I was hot on my quest and I would not listen to her pleading.”
“It was not your quest. Why are you so sad?” she asked with the detachment of ladies for other ladies.
“I don’t know,” said Pellinore, “but my heart is torn to see this damsel, so fair and so young, destroyed when I could have helped her.”
“Then I advise you to bury what is left of the knight and take the lady’s head to King Arthur, and let him judge what you should have done.”
“She called a frightful curse after me,” said Pellinore.
“Anyone may curse. You were sworn to a quest,” Nyneve said primly. “I was your quest.”
Then Pellinore found a Holy Hermit nearby and asked him to bury the knight’s bones in blessed ground and to pray for his soul. And he gave the knight’s armor to the hermit for his trouble. Afterward Sir Pellinore took up the head of the damsel with golden hair and he grieved when he looked at the young and lovely face.
By noon they came to Camelot, where Arthur and Guinevere and the noble fellowship sat at their noonday feast. And Pellinore told his quest to the company and swore by the four Evangelists that every word was true.
Then Queen Guinevere said, “Sir Pellinore, you were greatly to blame that you did not save the lady’s life.”
And the knight replied, “Madame, you would be to blame if you would not save your own life if you could. My sorrow is greater than your displeasure, for I was so intent on my quest that I would not wait, and that will be a weight on my conscience all the days of my life.”
Then all eyes turned to Merlin where he sat at the high table, for this tale had the sound of fate.
Merlin’s eyes were sad when he spoke. “You have every reason to repent your thoughtless haste,” Merlin said. “This damsel was Alyne, your own daughter, born of your love for the Lady of Rule. And the knight was Sir Myles of the Lands, her affianced and a good man. They were coming to the court to be wedded when a cowardly knight, Loraine le Sauvage, attacked Sir Myles from behind and drove a spear through his back. When you refused your help, Alyne, in despair, killed herself with her lover’s sword.” Merlin paused and then he said, “You will remember that she cursed you. Well—that curse will be your fate. Your best friend will fail you in your greatest need as you failed your daughter. The man you trust most will leave you to be killed.”
“I am grieved at what you tell me,” said Pellinore, “but I believe that God can change destiny. I must have faith in that.”
And thus was ended the quests of the Wedding of King Arthur, but at the last the laws of the Round Table were laid down and every knight of the fellowship swore to keep the laws. They swore never to use violence without good purpose, never to fall to murder or treason. They swore on their honor to be merciful when mercy was asked and to protect damsels, ladies, gentlewomen and widows, to enforce their rights and never enforce lust on them. And they promised never to fight in an unjust cause or to fight for personal gain. All the knights of the Round Table took this oath. And every year at the high feast of Pentecost they renewed the oath.
Explicit the Weddyng of Kyng Arthur
