ARTHURIAN CHIVALRY
The legends of chivalry are veiled accounts of man’s eternal search for truth…They are parts of an orderly tradition, unfolding throughout the centuries and bearing witness to a well-organized plan and program.
…
Manly Palmer Hall, Orders of the Quest
The Fellowship Begins
What did it mean to belong to the Fellowship of the Round Table? What does it mean today? To answer these questions, we need to look first at the early days of Arthur’s reign and at the establishing of the great fellowship.
Those first years were far from easy, according to the romances. Eleven kings raised their banners against the young Arthur, and he fought several resounding battles to defeat them and establish himself as King of Britain. But once the wars were over he decided to take a wife, and despite Merlin’s warnings that she would betray him, he sought the hand of Guinevere, the daughter of King Leodegrance of Cameliarde, who had fought at his side in the wars of succession. With her came, as part of her dowry, a great round table, which had, according to Malory’s account, been previously built by Merlin at the bidding of Arthur’s father, Uther Pendragon. Large enough to seat one hundred and fifty knights in a manner where none seem higher in favor than the rest, it was considered a marvel.
Merlin made the Round Table in tokening of roundness of the world, for by the Round Table is the world signified by right, for all the world, Christian and heathen, repair unto the Round Table; and when they are chosen to be of the fellowship of the Round Table they think them more blessed and more in worship than if they had gotten half the world.252
An earlier account, within the Brut of the English writer Layamon, gives a somewhat more prosaic account.
Afterwards it saith in the tale, that the king went to Cornwall; there came to him anon one that was a crafty workman, and met the king, and fair him greeted: “Hail be thou, Arthur, noblest of kings! I am thine own man; through many land I have gone; I know of tree-works (carpentry) wondrous many crafts, I heard say beyond the sea new tidings, that thy knights began to fight at thy board; on a midwinter’s day many there fell; for their mickle mood wrought murderous play, and for their high lineage each would be within. But I will thee work a board exceeding fair, that thereat may sit sixteen hundred and more, all turn about, so that none be without; without and within, man against man. And when thou wilt ride, with thee thou mightest it carry, and set it where thou wilt, after thy will; and then thou needest never fear, to the world’s end, that ever any moody knight at thy board may make fight, for there shall the high be even with the low.”
Timber was caused to be brought, and the board to be begun; in four weeks’ time the work was completed.
At a high day the folk was assembled, and Arthur himself approached soon to the board, and ordered all his knights to the board forthright. When all were seated, knights to their meat, then spake each with other, as if it were his brother; all they sate about; was there none without. Every sort of knight was there exceeding well disposed; all they were one by one (seated), the high and the low; might none there boast of other kind of drink other than his comrades, that were at the board.253
On the day of his marriage Arthur required of Merlin that he should find sufficient knights “which be of most prowess and worship” to fill at least fifty of the seats.
This Merlin did, and fifty more came from Leodegrance, so that a hundred sat down together at the table on that first day. And when they had all done homage to Arthur they returned to the hall where the Round Table stood and found that on the back of each chair their names were written in golden letters. Many others were written that were yet to come, but two remained blank, and of these Merlin would only say that they would be filled in due course.
Thus the Fellowship of the Round Table met for the first time on the day of the king’s wedding to Guinevere, and if the seeds were thus already sown for the downfall of Arthur’s great dream, the shadows were still distant on that day. Thus began the greatest ideal of chivalry ever to be known, the fame of which would resound through the ages, inspiring kings of many countries to emulate Arthur and to found orders of their own in the likeness of the Round Table.
Their first adventure followed swiftly, for as they sat at dinner there came into the hall a white hart pursued by a white dog and fifty couples of black hounds. As they raced around the table the white dog bit the hart, which leapt high in the air, knocking over a knight who sat to one side. This man seized the dog and departed hurriedly, and in the next moment a lady rode into the hall and demanded that he be brought back, for the dog was hers. But before anyone could answer, a fully armed knight rode amongst them, seized the lady, and carried her off by force.
Astonishment and perhaps some amusement attended these events, but Merlin stood forth and stated that the fellowship “might not leave these adventures so lightly,” so Arthur sent two of the new knights—his own nephew, Sir Gawain, and Sir Tor, the illegitimate son of King Pellinore—after the white hart and the dog respectively, and Pellinore himself, a tried and trusted warrior, after the lady who had been stolen away.
So at the outset this single incident had given rise to three separate adventures, which are then narrated at length. They are to be the first of many to begin in similar fashion, with the entry of knight or lady into the court, requesting succor or some favor of Arthur and of the fellowship. Nor may they refuse, so long as the request is a fair one and the demand honest. For at the end of that first triple quest, all of the fellowship swear an oath:
Never to do outrage nor murder, and always to flee treason; also, by no means to be cruel, but to give mercy unto him that asketh mercy, upon pain of forfeiture of their worship and lordship of King Arthur for evermore; and always to do ladies, damosels, and gentlewomen succor, upon pain of death. Also, that no man take no battles in a wrongful quarrel for no law, nor for world’s goods. Unto this were all the knights sworn of the Table Round, both old and young. And every year were they sworn at the high feast of Pentecost.
The rules are simply stated. They grew out of the ideals of medieval chivalry. Being human, not all of the knights keep to these demands placed upon them by their king. But despite some failings, they hold true to the honor of the Round Table, and, as if in answer to their existence, strange events seem to multiply on every side, seeing to it that they never lack the opportunity of being tested and tried.
At this point Arthur establishes a custom whereby at any high feast he will not eat until some wonder or adventure has been related to him. And so begins a pattern in which the knights ride “at errantry,” wandering hither and thither throughout the land in search of wrongs to right or villainy to combat. Brother knights are rescued, as well as ladies; evil knights are overthrown and either killed or sent to Arthur to crave pardon. Many of these become Round Table knights themselves, giving up their former negative pursuits. But there are always others and always further adventures to attempt as the great knights on their great horses thunder through the forests of Arthur’s realm in quest of their king’s dream of chivalry and the perfect earthly kingdom.
These things are still as relevant today as they were in the fifteenth century or the sixth. We have seen something of the outer as well as the inner course the stories took; if we look in more detail at the experiences of the Round Table knights, we will see how eternal are their actions and the experiences they suffer.
The Three Who Achieved
By the time the Vulgate or Lancelot-Grail254 Cycle came to be written in the thirteenth century, many of the stories had been synthesized into a detailed and specific set of allegories. Certain characters received greater emphasis than others, and the Grail Quest was seen as a winnowing process: one that literally separated the winners from the losers. Three knights in particular were deemed successful (though in a qualified way), and two who failed (each one spectacularly) were given particular attention. The three successful questers were Galahad, son of Lancelot and the Grail Princess; Perceval, the innocent, simple man who can be seen as blundering into the adventure without any real understanding; and Bors, who perhaps possesses the most human qualities. The pair deemed unsuccessful were Lancelot and Gawain.
These knights were considered the epitome of Arthurian chivalry, and one way to come to an understanding of this is to examine the roles of each of these five in turn.
Galahad
Galahad is a direct descendent, through his mother’s family, of Joseph of Arimathea. He is, from the start, destined to achieve what no other knight of the Round Table could: to take the Grail in his hands to the holy city of Sarras, and there to receive from the hands of the Grail’s true master the food of divine sustenance, at which point he dies in what is sometimes termed “an odor of sanctity” (from the sweet aroma supposed to issue from the dead bodies of holy saints). He had accomplished the work he was born to do, and there is no longer any reason for him to remain.
But what are Galahad’s special qualities, and how can an understanding of them help the modern seeker? First of all, it is important to understand that Galahad is very much a product of the Middle Ages, of the cult of the saints, and of the deeply mystical approach to religion that typifies the age. Once this is properly understood, much that appears strange or inhuman in the character of Galahad becomes surprisingly ordinary. Like Bors, he shows a single-minded determination for the task he has been bred for. No physical attack can overcome him nor temptation of the flesh beset him. It seems as though he could have walked straight into the Castle of the Grail without opposition and finished the quest there and then, but Galahad is seen as an aspect of Christ, and in this he shares a function of teaching by example—whether it consists of a buffet from the flat of a sword or an act of piety and Christian chivalry.
Thus he must accomplish the mysteries of the quest as Christ accomplished those of his ministry. He is a clear case of someone who believes implicitly in their own destiny—as very few do today—and partly for this reason his path is the hardest to follow. Yet he is also a living embodiment of divine love (agape) in operation: his perfection, as great as any earthly man can be expected to attain, is borne out of a love for all of creation; he needs to cure the wounds of the Fisher King and the Wasteland before he can enter into the higher mysteries of the Grail.
Galahad is, when all is said and done, little more than a cipher. As the Arthurian scholar Jean Frappier noted, he is “the culmination of the desire to fuse Chivalry with Religion.”255 His path is as clear as it could be: his coming, attended by signs and portents; his acquiring of arms, first sword and then shield of a special kind; his adventures in which he proves himself the superior, both physically and spiritually, of his peers—all mark him out as the destined Grail winner. Yet when he is done—when the great acts of affirmation, of healing and restoration, have been accomplished—there is nothing left for him to do but die; his quest is crowned by this personal apotheosis which, though many might aspire to emulate it, few would actually meet with such whole-hearted acceptance.
Thus, when he has partaken of the last mysteries, he takes leave of his companions:
therewith he knelt down before the table of the Grail and made his prayers, and then suddenly his soul departed to Christ, and a great multitude of angels bore his soul up to heaven, that his two fellows might see it…256
Not many would attempt this route to the Grail, but lest we dismiss Galahad as a proto-saint, let us remember that almost his last thought is to ask his companions to “remember me to my father Sir Lancelot and as soon as you see him bid him remember this unstable world”—a very human message indeed. For Galahad the world is more than a cloak of flesh soon to be put off; it is a beautiful and rare place, through which he moves with grace and honesty and as much love as he can muster. It is a place worth dying for. But he is his father’s son also, direct and powerful and to the point in all that he does. Behind the facade of this pious knight stands a very human figure—from whom, if we wish, we can learn much.
Perceval
Perceval, we may remember, was brought up by his mother in the depths of the forest, in ignorance of creatures such as knights or concepts such as chivalry. But this was one of the characteristics that enabled the young hero to come so near the center of the mystery—so much so that he becomes a future guardian of the Grail. The other particular feature was his simplicity—some would say his foolishness—which earned him the title of the “Perfect Fool.” This innocence of the world and of worldly matters makes him impervious to the kind of temptations undergone by both Galahad and Bors—to him women are like flowers, brightly colored creatures designed by nature to care for his needs and make him laugh. He has, in fact, something of the primal innocence of our first father, Adam.
His battles with other knights have a dreamlike quality, as though such pursuits are of little importance to him—as is perhaps the case. Indeed, like both his companions, he has a single-minded approach to the quest that cuts across the various trials set before him, almost as though they were not there. It is as though Perceval lived always a little bit outside the normal world.
It is this that constitutes much of Perceval’s success. His chivalry is both of this world and the other: he is a bridge between the worlds, able to see into the mists and mysteries of the Faery realm as well as into the harsher realities of daily life.
This is indeed a most important function of the would-be Grail seeker. To be able to relate the realms of the everyday and the otherworldly into some kind of unity is to move close to the central mystery of the Grail, the ability of which is to do the same thing in non-finite terms—one of its greatest gifts. To have one foot in both worlds, the infinite and the mundane, is a blessed state and one that only the truly innocent generally attain.
One could even say that it is necessary to learn how to become truly “foolish” before one can begin the quest, for as long as we are enamored of the reality offered by the outside world, we can hardly begin to step outside ourselves in the manner necessary to perceive the Grail. Perceval’s ability to do just this makes him a worthy successor to the line of the Grail kings, and thus, after the achievements of Galahad and the temporary withdrawal of the mystic vessel, he is to be found once more entered into the Castle of the Grail, taking up the role of the Fisher King until such time as a new seeker arrives with the keys of innocence and experience in his or her grasp—at which time Perceval, like his forebears, will step down, leaving the position open to the next initiate.
Bors
For various reasons there has been a tendency to overlook Bors in discussions of the successful candidates. He is generally considered the least romantic of the three, and, as Lancelot’s cousin, he lives always in the shadow of his more famous relation. Also, he is the only one of the three who is actually married, with a child, at the time of the quest. (Perceval marries later, when the quest is over.) But Bors thus understands the nature and mystery of human love, of desire and procreation, in a way that neither of his companions ever can.
He is, then, in the world where they are only of the world—and this gives him a special degree of insight into the mystery as a whole, which makes him the natural choice to be the one who returns to Camelot after the quest is over, to relate all that has happened to Arthur and the rest of the world.
Bors thus represents earthly chivalry, where Perceval stands for unearthly chivalry and Galahad for purely spiritual chivalry. He is the ordinary man whose aims are neither so high nor as lofty as his companions, but who is nonetheless raised by the power of the Grail to a position from which he may witness and experience the greater mysteries. As the poet Charles Williams put it:
…if we allow Sir Bors his marriage and his work in the world and his honest affections, see how perfect the companionship of the three lords becomes! There is the High Prince (Galahad), wholly devoted to his end in the Grail; and there is Perceval with his devout and self-less spiritual sister; and there is Bors with his wife and child. These are functions each of the others. The High Prince is at the deep centre, and the others move towards him; but also he operates in them towards the world. These are three degrees of love. Their conclusion is proper to them…Bors returns to Camelot, joins Lancelot, is made king, goes on a crusade, and in the last sentence of (Malory’s) book dies…“upon Good Friday, for God’s sake.”257
To take this a step further, we may see the three knights as aspects of the Arthurian mysteries. Bors is “he that has come to bear witness to the truth,” to the mystery itself; Perceval is “he upon whom the mystery shall be founded”; while Galahad, quite simply, undergoes the great transformations of the Grail in a manner that is the nearest any human being can come to sharing in the Crucifixion and Resurrection of the body. When he first goes aboard the Ship of Solomon, which is to carry him to the country of the Grail, he lies down on the bed made from the wood of the true cross, thus emulating Christ in symbolic fashion even before he comes to the celebration of the mysteries at Sarras.
Bors, the witness, the man-in-the-street, watches and observes everything with a kind of open-mouthed wonder, almost bewilderment. He does not know why he has been chosen or even what he has been chosen for, yet he willingly accepts and treads the path of the Grail along a road that is often far harder for him because he is less spiritually oriented than his fellows.
For this reason, perhaps, his temptations are always more rigorous and produce the most dramatic effects. In Malory, for example, he is already feeling overwhelmed by being faced with a grim choice: that of rescuing his brother or a lady who was carried off against her will. Bors had chosen the latter and as a result earns the bitter enmity of his brother. Now he is tested yet further when he comes to a castle where he is gently treated, given food and wine, and then introduced to “the richest lady and the fairest of all the world…more richly clothed than ever he saw Queen Guinevere or any other.” She is surrounded by fair ladies of her own who tell Bors that she will have no other man but him to be her champion. But there is more to it than this, for the lady then declares that she has always loved him, will do anything for him, so long as he does her will. But Bors is steadfast.
“Madam,” said he, “there is no lady in the world whose will I can fulfil in this way.”
“Ah, Bors,” said she, “I have loved you long for the great beauty I have seen in you, and the great strength I have heard of you, that needs must you lie with me this night, and therefore I pray you grant this to me.”
“Truly” said he, “I shall not do it by no means.”
Then she made such great sorrow as though she would have died…And she departed and went up to a high battlement, and led with her twelve gentlewomen; and when they were above, one of them cried out: “Ah, Sir Bors, gentle knight have mercy on us all, and suffer my lady to have her way, for if you do not we must all suffer death by falling from this high tower…”
Then Bors looked up, and they seemed all ladies of great estate and beauty, and he had of them great pity, but he counselled himself that it were better for them to lose their souls than that he should lose his…And with that they all fell down upon the earth, and Bors crossed himself…and anon he heard a great crying, and he saw neither tower or ladies, or castle, for all had vanished away as though they had never been.258
This is, admittedly, an extreme example, and one that hardly puts Bors in a sympathetic light. He seems far more concerned with his own well-being than that of the supposed lady and her companions. Yet this is typical of his approach to the wonders and tests that happen to him: he comes to them with a solid, clear-eyed sensibility. He knows what is right with a kind of inner certainty, and he does his best to recognize it.
Such an approach may seem old-fashioned and moralistic, yet it shows a single-minded devotion to the quest that puts Bors firmly among the three Grail winners because he is virtually unable to fail. He is typical of the kind of person who precedes, steadily and cautiously, towards a goal he or she may be scarcely aware of and who follows the code of “earthly chivalry” to the letter. He may seem unsympathetic—but then so does Galahad, who often follows the dictates of his faith so blindly that it is to the cost of others. What he, Bors, and Perceval ultimately show us is that one has to trust to the inner directives of the quest whatever the cost, and often without knowing for a long time after if one really did choose wisely. But then, the quest is not expected to be easy, and neither are the tests that its participants undergo.
The Two Who Failed
Lancelot
So much for the successful candidates, but what of the two who failed? It is difficult not to feel greater sympathy for these, who seem altogether more human and down-to-earth than their peers. Both—Lancelot especially—aim high, throwing their not-inconsiderable abilities into becoming Grail winners. Lancelot, according to the Christian tradition in which the texts relating to his failure were written, is a “fallen” man, one who has become very deeply enmeshed in the glamour of the world and allowed an image of human perfection (Guinevere) to supplant the image of God. Thus, his open-heartedness, his willingness to set all his earthly desires aside to climb the spiritual heights of the Grail Mountain, where the Temple of the Mysteries is situated but where so few ever come, is not enough.
Throughout texts such as Malory’s Morte d’Arthur 259 or La Queste del Saint Graal 260 this point is labored again and again. As, for instance, when Lancelot, early on in the quest, comes to a crossroad and poses to rest there:
…and so he fell asleep; and half waking and half sleeping he saw come by him two horses all fair and white; bearing between them a litter, in which lay a sick knight. And when he was close to the Cross, he paused. All this Sir Lancelot saw for he slept only lightly. And he heard the knight say: “O Sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me? And when shall the Holy Vessel come to me, through which I shall be blessed? For I have endured long without committing any evil…” Then Sir Lancelot saw a candlestick with six lights come before the Cross, though no one brought it there that he could see. Also there came a Table of silver, and the Holy Vessel…And the sick knight sat up and held out his hands and said: “Fair Sweet Lord, who art here with this vessel, take heed of my need that I may be made whole.” And he went on his hands and knees to the vessel and kissed it, and immediately he was made whole and gave thanks.261
All this Lancelot sees but is unable to move or speak, so that he cannot tell if he is dreaming or not. But apparently the sick knight can see something that remains hidden from Lancelot, which enables him to be healed. He then comments to his squire that the knight lying close by (Lancelot) must be a great sinner since he is unable to do homage to the Grail. Then, lacking either sword or helmet of his own, he takes Lancelot’s, along with his horse, which is a better mount than his own.
Then Sir Lancelot awoke, and sat up, and considered what he had seen and whether or not it was a dream. And then he heard a voice that said “Sir Lancelot—more hard than the stone, more bitter than the wood, and more naked than the leaf of the fig tree art thou: therefore go hence and withdraw from this holy place.”262
So Lancelot departs and discovers that his horse, sword, and helm are gone, from which he understands that it was no simple dream that he experienced. And he realizes that he is too sinful to achieve the quest because, in his own words,
All my great deeds of arms, I did for the Queen’s sake, and for her sake I did battle were it right or wrong, and never did I battle only for God’s sake, but to win worship and be the better beloved.263
All Lancelot’s strength has been channelled towards winning greater fame or attracting the attention of Guinevere; of acts done for their own sake or out of love for God he knows nothing. Thus, even when he does attempt an act of selfless goodness for the most honest of reasons, he is struck down.
Even here, out of a simple desire to help, Lancelot is not permitted to approach the holy things; good intentions are not enough for the Grail seeker. It is necessary to believe, to an almost terrifying degree, in the quest itself and to exclude all other things, however honorable, from the mind.
But Lancelot is given a kind of forgiveness. It is his son, Galahad, who finally achieves the quest. Indeed, it is hard to forget once one has read it: the description of the meeting of father and son on the mysterious Ship of Solomon, where they are permitted to spend some time together and talk as father and son should.
From that point onwards it is clear that Lancelot will never reach a successful conclusion in his search, but that Galahad is destined to succeed, in some way, for himself. This is surely one of the most astonishing and moving parts in the whole story, for we must remember that Galahad is begotten upon the Grail princess Elaine through Lancelot being made to think he is with Guinevere. Even out of the depths of Lancelot’s fault comes healing—the child who will one day outshine his father in the greatest adventure of all.
Gawain
Gawain is a different matter. For him, except in a single version of the quest story, there is scarcely even the chance of achievement. Yet there is a reason to believe that Gawain was once the original Grail winner in the time before it became Christianized. Then, as I have shown elsewhere,264 Gawain was the knight of the Goddess, rather than expressing devotion to the Blessed Virgin, as he was later described as doing. This places him in a unique position as one who bridges the gap between the Christian and Pagan images of the Grail, and it makes him especially important as a subject for deeper study on the part of modern-day questers.
In the version of the story given by Chrétien de Troyes, Gawain does indeed find a way to the enchanted castle where the Grail is kept, but like Perceval before him he fails to ask the question that will set in motion the healing of the Wasteland and the Wounded King. Yet he still achieves more than Lancelot, for he does remark upon the spear that drips blood, which is carried in the Grail procession, and this is sufficient to undo some of the harm done to the land through the striking of the Dolorous Blow.
But Gawain still fails to ask more and is deemed unworthy to succeed further. Instead, his quest becomes one for the sword of Judas Maccabeus or sometimes for what beheaded John the Baptist. But the sword is always broken, and Gawain’s task is to discover how to unite the two pieces of the blade; only after many adventures is he able to do so. For Gawain’s fault is impatience, the kind of behavior that results, right at the beginning of his career, in his beheading an innocent woman who had begged for his help. Thereafter, perhaps not unrelatedly, Gawain is plagued by women and gains the reputation of a libertine. Yet this is actually an unfair judgment since he was also famed for his courtesy towards all women, and through his service to the Goddess saw all aspects of the feminine as representatives of deity.
Time has done a considerable disservice to this great knight, who once occupied a place superior to that of Lancelot and may well have been the queen’s champion before him. A nephew of King Arthur, he is brave, honest, and a great fighter in the cause of right. Yet at some point he fell from popularity, perhaps because of the lingering association with Paganism, and literary judgment afterwards relegated him to a subordinate position that he never wholly lost.
Thus in Malory’s version we find him, late upon the quest, riding with Ector de Maris, Lancelot’s brother. Both complain that they have met with no good adventures or indeed seen anything of the wonders and marvels promised at the start of the quest; they arrive at a ruined chapel and decide to rest there. Both have a dream vision that tells us a good deal about the nature of their failure and the success of the other three.
Sir Gawain seemed to come into a meadow full of herbs and flowers, and there he saw a heard of one hundred and fifty bulls, that were proud and black, save for three of them, that were all white, and one had a black spot, but the other two were so fair that they might be no whiter…And the black bulls said, among themselves, “Let us go forth to seek better pasture,” and some went and came again, but they were so thin they could hardly stand; but of the three bulls that where white only one returned…And Sir Ector saw himself and his brother Sir Lancelot getting upon their horses, and one said to the other, “let us go seek that which we shall not find.” And then he seemed to see that a man beat Sir Lancelot, and despoiled him and put old and torn clothing on him and set him upon an ass. And so he rode until he came to a well, but when he would have drunk from it, the water sank down and he could get no sustenance.265
This is a straightforward allegory that tells of the working out of a prophecy made by Merlin at the founding of the Round Table—that many would search for the Grail but few find it. When asked how this might be, he replied:
…that there should be three white bulls that should achieve it, and the two should be maidens, and the third should be chaste. And that one of the three should pass his father as much as the lion passes the strength of the leopard.266
Merlin is referring to the three successful knights, two of whom, Galahad and Perceval, were considered sinless and virgin, and Bors, who is chaste but married. Galahad is the lion that surpasses his father, the leopard. But of Gawain there is once again no mention.
The Woman of the Grail
No consideration of the fellowship of Arthurian chivalry would be complete without some mention of a fourth character, who also made the journey to Sarras with the Grail and who was with the knights that carried the miraculous vessel to its final destination. This is Perceval’s sister, sometimes referred to as Dindrane. Her story is simple and brief. Brought up, like her brother, in ignorance of the world, she becomes an anchoress, living out her days in a tiny cell and relying on the generosity of the faithful to sustain her in her daily regime of prayer and fasting. She is actually the first to set out in search of the Grail, having received a vision of the sacred vessel before any of the Round Table knights. She finally joins the three knights aboard the Ship of Solomon when they already have the Grail on board and are journeying to the holy city. On the way they stop at a castle where the custom is that any virgin who travels that way must give some of her blood to heal the lady of the castle, who is sick with leprosy. The Grail knights would have defended Dindrane to the death, but she willingly offers her own blood as a sacrifice—for such it becomes with her subsequent death when the bleeding cannot be stanched. The lady of the castle is healed, however, and we can see here a foreshadowing of the healing actions of the Grail itself.
Much can, and has, been written of this episode. Some have chosen to see it as an allegory of Christian sacrifice.267 Others have sought deeper anthropological or psychological meanings in menstrual customs or the right of women to serve at mystery of the Eucharist.268 It is perhaps more appropriate, in the context of the story, to see her as the embodiment of feminine wisdom, completing the quaternity of Grail winners and representing the ability to create new life.
There is much in the story of Dindrane that is mysterious beyond even the Grail itself, which touches upon the role of the divine feminine in the Arthurian mysteries. It will repay considerable meditation by those who undertake the path to the Grail, and it is, of course, particularly important in that it demonstrates that the fellowship of this new knighthood does not have to be exclusively male.
The Quest
An understanding of the search for the Grail is necessary if we are to fully understand the call of Arthur. As we have noted before, to answer one call is to answer the other. The divine vessel was active in restoring the Wasteland and the Wounded King—symbols for the wounds of creation itself, laid waste by our inability to understand the divine purpose, or so the argument goes. But we must also be able to see it all in another way—as neither necessary nor, indeed, desirous. In this way it is possible to see fresh aspects of the stories that may have been obscured by a natural reverence for the subject of the quest.
So let us not forget that the quest for the Grail resulted in the deaths of many of its seekers, the humiliation of others, and that it hastened the breaking of the Round Table fellowship by giving its adversaries opportunity to fill the empty places at the table with their own supporters; and that the quest ultimately broke the spirit of men like Lancelot and Gawain, so that they were no longer able to resist the tide of darkness that swept in upon them from all sides, and perhaps raged within them as well. For them the Grail was hardly a good thing at all, but it shows how easy it was, and is, to fail the tests of Arthurian chivalry.
Galahad’s victory was a purely personal apotheosis; he is able to ascend to heaven, as Malory says “with a great multitude of angels,” while Perceval remains to take up the burden of guarding the Grail, and Bors returns to his old life.
This point is raised to indicate the different ways in which it is possible to view the Grail Quest and to show how we may learn more from a mingling of such approaches. We can say that the quest was a failure; it brought destruction in its wake and did nothing for the general good of more than a few people. Or we can look at it another way and say again: the Grail is for all time, and by choosing not to work more than an occasional miracle or so, it leaves the quest open—a challenge to all who come after.
It is time that is important here. It goes with the realization that there is a right time and a wrong time to go in search of the Grail. Arthur’s time, the age of the Round Table, whether we take that as an inner reality or a reflection of the ideals of chivalry, was the wrong time. The apparitions and wonders of the quest are activated by the seekers themselves as much as by the high powers that work through the Grail. Their experience—even their defeat, if such it was—is not wasted. We can learn from it just as we can learn from any great spiritual teaching. Indeed, we might think of it as a sublime exemplum from which we can all learn—from both success and failure.
Like all inner impulses—and the Grail, however else we may see it, is most certainly this—it has its own purpose, which we may not always recognize. One aspect only of this may be seen in the transformative energy of the Grail, its ability to make things other. No one who goes in search of it remains unchanged, and if it had no greater purpose than this, it would be sufficient to fulfil its existence. Without it the chivalry of the Round Table would certainly have been diminished.
The Three Tables
The fellowship was far from stable; darkness hid within several of the great families that provided many of the foremost heroes of the table, pitting one against another. The two greatest houses were those of the lords of Orkney and the house of de Galles. The Orkney clan, Gawain, Gaheries, Agravaine, and Gareth, were the sons of King Lot of Orkney and his queen, Morgause, who was Arthur’s half sister and also the mother of his bastard son, Mordred. The de Galles family—Perceval, Lamorack, and Aglovale—were the sons of King Pellinore (the mother is not named), who had also numerous illegitimate children including the great Sir Tor or Torre and a legitimate daughter who is sometimes named Dindrane and who, as we saw, played an important part in the quest for the Grail.
There was much rivalry between these two families, sparked off by the killing of Lot by Pellinore, after which the Orkney faction, led by Gawain, carried out several murderous vengeance attacks that led to the deaths of Morgause and Lamorack, who were lovers until Gaheries killed his own mother and the brothers together slew Lamorack.
Despite such internecine struggles, Malory referred to the fellowship as “the high order of chivalry” and made of it something above average for the time, more in line with the kind of idea expressed in treatises on the subject such as that of the Spanish mystic Ramon Lull, who saw chivalry as akin to priesthood, with the “Emperor” (King) taking a role similar to that of the Pope as a perfect exemplum of chivalry.
The Round Table itself came to represent far more than a meeting place for the fellowship. Robert de Boron,269 tracking backward again, as he had done in the story of Merlin, added a further dimension. The table of Arthur, he declared, was made in the likeness of two earlier tables. The first was that at which Christ and the apostles sat to celebrate the Last Supper, and this was later copied by the Grail kings as a suitable resting place for the Holy Cup, of which they were guardians. Finally, Merlin built the third table, at which the fellowship would meet until the Grail itself appeared and sent them forth on the greatest quest of all, for which they had long been prepared.
Behind this idea lies another subtler set of symbolic references. In the starry realms, according to many ancient traditions, met a council of mighty beings whose concern was with the execution of the divine plan of creation. They too sat at a round table, and when Merlin created the one that would house the new fellowship, he made it circular not only in the likeness of the world but to echo the Starry Table.
Here we are speaking the symbolic language of myth, built layer upon layer in the consciousness of humanity. Thus, Merlin built his circular temple on the Table of the Earth, a third dimension, which completes the parallels with the imagery of Robert de Boron and may be expressed thus:
|
Traditional |
De Boron |
|
Round Table of the Stars |
Table of the Last Supper |
|
Round Table of Arthur |
Table of the Grail |
|
Round Table of the Land |
Table of the Starry Arthur |
Not only is there a hierarchical relationship established here, on the one hand, between the starry realms, the earthly kingship of Arthur, and the sacredness of the land, but also we see a direct relationship between the mystical opening up of the Christian message, the expression of this in the Grail mysteries and the Fellowship of the Round Table, who were destined to go in search of the sacred.
The Mysteries of the Sword
A central part of the mysteries of the Round Table, and one that can bring us close to the chivalry of the knights, concerns the swords they wielded. They were much more than weapons and were often laden with symbolic references and meaning. Primary amongst these is, of course, Arthur’s own sword, Excalibur, which has a complex history. In Latin its name was Caliburnus, from chablys, “steel,” while an older Welsh name has it as Caledfwlch. There is also an Irish equivalent, carried by the hero Cuchulainn, which is called Caladbolg, meaning “hard lightning.” Other less firmly established traditions suggest that it was made from metal derived from a meteorite, thus giving us the origin of the sword in the stone, but these were not, in any case, the same weapon, as the sword Arthur drew to prove his right to rule broke and was replaced by Excalibur, as we saw in chapter 1.270
Nearly all swords within Celto-Arthurian tradition draw upon the archetype of the Glaive, or Sword of Light, a weapon that can still be found in Celtic folk stories.271 In the Preiddeu Annwn we read that the sword of Llwch Lleminawc flashed before the cauldron of Annwn—the treasure that Arthur went in his ship Prydwen to obtain. In a parallel version of this story, from the Mabinogion story of “Culhwch and Olwen,” it further says that the sword Llwch the Irishman used was Caledfwlch—the old name for Excalibur.272
The Welsh hero Llwch Lleminawc (the earliest form of Lancelot) and Lugh Lamfadha (of the Long Arm) can be shown to be one and the same person; later tradition has made an Irish god into Arthur’s ally. From the internal evidence of many texts, it is evident that Llwch or Lugh passed down into Arthurian tradition as Lancelot, Arthur’s best friend and chief knight of the Round Table. Lancelot still retains Lugh’s prowess in battle and becomes the British king’s champion just as Lugh champions the failing Nuadu, even inheriting his famous sword. A further mythic parallel may be drawn with Cuchulain, the great hero of the Irish Red Branch Cycle of stories. He also had a sword that produced irreparable damage, as well as a fearsome spear, which will be discussed below.
Probably the best example from British tradition concerning the feats of the young hero comes in “Culhwch and Olwen,” where Culhwch is challenged to fulfil many impossible tasks, including the taking of a magical sword from Gwrnach, a giant. He is helped in this task by Cai (Kay) and Bedwyr (Bedevere), who both exert their cunning and trick their way into Gwrnach’s hall as burnishers of swords. The young and nameless son of Custennin, who accompanies these seasoned warriors of Arthur’s court, performs an astounding feat of great daring by penetrating the three gates of Gwrnach’s castle and coming to the inmost courtyard unscathed. It is thus that the boy gains his name: Goreu (the Best). He is destined to become the wielder of the Sword of Light, which until now was guarded by Gwrnach. With it, Goreu later beheads his father’s oppressor, the giant Yspaddaden Pencawr, thus releasing the land from great tyranny.
The sword is, then, a weapon for the young hero to win and wield. Its brightness and clean blade are sometimes supplemented by its ability to “sing” in battle as it cleaves the air. The sword, like the other hallows, is a dangerous implement to wield. It empowers its bearer with superhuman stature and ability and may not be wielded unworthily. It is a weapon that a young man must first measure up to.
In Peredur the hero, Peredur, comes to the court of his first uncle, where he is asked to engage in combat with a club and a shield: he is well able to win the engagement. At his second uncle’s house, however, he is asked to take up a sword and with it cut in two an iron column. He succeeds at first, but in so doing the sword breaks in pieces. He is then told to reunite the blade and try again. Again, the column and blade break in two. But on the third attempt he is unable to make either column or sword whole again. His second uncle tells him that he has only two-thirds of his strength yet, but that he will be the best sword fighter in the kingdom.273 Peredur has to fulfil many adventures until he is worthy of wielding the sword, each task becoming his practice until he completes the Grail Quest.
A similar story is also told of Gawain, who in the First Continuation of Le Conte del Graal274 undergoes several tests involving a mystical sword that is either broken and must be restored or that is restored but will break again at a crucial moment. The idea here seems to be that the seeker should not trust overly to the strength of the blade but depend rather on his personal abilities and intent. There are clear traces that Gawain, who was once himself a Grail winner, once had a fully fledged quest for the sword and that its finding was his own form of empowerment in the quest.275
In Perlesvaus it is Gawain who goes on a quest for the sword that beheaded John the Baptist. This sword bleeds at midday, the hour at which the saint was beheaded; when it is drawn, it flashes with emerald fire and becomes green. This whole episode overlays many traditions about the Grail, in particular its appearance as a vessel with a man’s head in it, as described in Peredur. Gawain wins the sword by overcoming a giant who has carried off a Pagan king’s son. Although the boy is dead by the time Gawain arrives, he is still given the sword as a reward. The dead boy is then ceremonially cut up and his body distributed to the people, all of whom eat a piece. The Pagan king is then baptized after this curious salvific ritual that restores his people to health. Although Gawain is not able to succeed in winning the Grail in this text, he is nevertheless a prime instigator of the quest, being the first to ride out in search of it. The fact that he obtains the sword that beheaded the Baptist is significant, since there is a well-evolved tradition concerning Gawain’s association with midday and midsummer. Another equally important tradition makes Gawain the recipient of Excalibur, which he holds in trust for Arthur for a time.276
La Queste del Saint Graal tells us of a sword that had belonged to the biblical King David. It is found on the Ship of Solomon, set about with dire warnings, when the Grail knights set sail for the mystical city of Sarras:
I am a marvel to behold and apprehend, for none was ever able to grip me, however big his hand, nor ever shall, save one alone; and he shall pass in excellence all who preceded and shall follow him.277
It further warns that whosoever draws it, unless he is the best knight, shall suffer injury or death. Perceval’s sister, Dindraine, who is with them on the ship, relates its history and tells them that this sword’s unworthy unsheathing was the cause of the Wasteland. The scabbard tells that a maiden who is a king’s daughter and a virgin shall remake the belt with her own hair. She shall call the sword by its true name. Dindraine then tells the story of Nasciens, who had a vision of the sword. He lusted for it more than any other weapon, but when he drew it, it broke in half. King Mordrains was able to reunite it, saying that it had broken because of Nasciens’s sin and presumption. She further tells of another unworthy unsheathing by a certain King Parlan, who is transfixed by a flying lance between his thighs—yet another example of a Wounded King. Dindraine then affixes a new belt made from her hair and names the sword “the Sword of the Strange Hangings” and calls the scabbard “Memory of Blood,” since part of the scabbard was made of the Tree of Life, which turned from green to red at Abel’s murder. All the knights and Dindraine urge Galahad to gird on the sword, “which has been more impatiently desired in the kingdom of Logres than was Our Lord Himself by His apostles.”278 Galahad’s mighty sword is thus symbolic of the ending of the Wasteland. Its lineage is crowded with mystic meanings; its function is to cut through evil custom and restore the land’s fertility, along with the faith of the people.
The sword is one of the hallows most associated with Arthur himself. He gains his throne and is recognized as king by his action of pulling the sword from the stone, while Excalibur is given to him by the Lady of the Lake. Both stories merely reinforce the tradition that the sword is the proper empowerment for the young hero who is in the springtime of his days. We are given a portrait of Arthur’s sword in “The Dream of Rhonabwy” from the Mabinogion: it is imprinted with two dragons that shoot forth fire when the blade is drawn from the scabbard and is so bright that men cannot bear to gaze upon it. This is clearly a depiction of the hallow of the sword in the hands of a Master who has grown to his full strength. It is Arthur’s sword and the sword of all who answer the call.
The Crafting of Excalibur
(Govannon)
The modern Fellowship of the Round Table, established in 2008, took their understanding of the great blade to a profound level by crafting a sword of their own, using ritual and meditation alongside the practical realities of creating such a weapon. In a privately circulated note written for the modern company and only shared amongst their members, their forgemaster, Govannon, writes vividly about this.
…
Blacksmiths have built the world for the last 2,500 years or so. Before that the red smiths, stonemasons, and wood workers each had their hand in making our world. They each have their place in time, and still so in modern society. Though their duties and importance have waxed and waned over the years, it is their history that has made and kept their place within a modern society.
The sword has several purposes, but all are aimed at the same end. It is used to intimidate, maim, kill, and show authority. It has developed as society and defenses have developed, from the claymore (large and cumbersome) to the epée (small and delicate). But the end use for all is the same thing.
In later years, as warfare has changed, both armor (originally developed as a defense against stone and sticks, then blades/swords) and the blade/sword have diminished to mostly a ceremonial position. And yet, all other developed aspects are still real.
The US Marine Corps has ceremonial swords still. It is a remnant of a time, long ago, when it was necessary. Now, though not necessary for defense, it still commands the realm of intimidation and authority. What other icons of the past can you recommend that still hold such awe and position in modern society?
The sword holds no position in the world in our time, other than the display of authority and the enforcement thereof. If you look at the French Revolution you will see farmers had rakes, hoes, scythes, and axes. These were chosen because they were the tools of damage that were available to the common public and well-known in administering proper use. In certain countries it was illegal for someone to carry a sword. So they developed methods of using crank arms for weapons and other ingenious tools. Whether or not you own a sword, you certainly appreciate its meaning and ability.
If you could afford a sword, this said that you had success and wealth (or at least your family did). If you could wield a sword, this said that you had enough leisure time to practice and didn’t annoy anyone important until you learned how to do it well (or at least not yet). If you wore it in public, then you had a position in that society where you were allowed to do so.
The reality of iron in ancient times was that it took about some three man-weeks of effort to get a piece of iron about the size of your fist. This was a piece of raw iron, not something useful. Then it took specialized handling to make it into a sword. It would take another two man-weeks at minimum to make an acceptable sword. Remember the word acceptable. Even in modern times, the Japanese Katana maker only succeeds in making one successful sword of quality out of every four tries on average.
The sword was a status symbol and came in at a high cost. Added to the problems of making the sword, the sword smith had to develop special tools and skills that were of little use in the manufacture of more useful household articles.
If a sword were poorly made, it broke, bent, or became otherwise unusable. The dead person’s relatives would likely make certain that that smith did not make any more bad ones by whatever means they deemed appropriate. Remember that this was a rough time.
Until recent times, a man in a field could just make enough food to feed himself, his wife, and possibly a small child. Not much left over for a lord, a manor, or the arts and sciences. But as iron became more available (in relative terms), a person could use iron tools and make enough food to be able to make some of the more difficult areas of his life much easier. From the Bronze Age, when it took thirty families working to have enough food left over for a chieftain to live without farming, things progressed to the Early Middle Ages, when it only took five families to make enough food to support the leader.
Once enough food was left over, then people started thinking about what to do with it. The peasants still grubbed and eked a living out of the ground. But the leaders had time to sit and think: a castle instead of a mud hut, a horse instead of an ox, a sword instead of a belt knife.
As society progressed, and farming progressed, it was possible to have extra food to trade for trinkets that everyone wants, like a sword. Therefore, any sword that was better than another would climb through the countryside towards the hands of the leadership. Either the leader would purchase it directly or the person who wielded it successfully would become leader. Either way, the best would float to the top, at least sometimes.
In a land where horses and swords were of great (and desirable) value, most were known on sight. Every horse has its spots, and every sword has its marks that told the initiated who made it.
If you have read Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings you will realize the small difference between myth and legend. In a story someone writes that “the lord raised his sword above his head and it showered lightning down upon the heads of the miscreants,” it could mean that it showered lightning down, or reflected the sun like a lightning bolt, on the heads and faces of the soon-to-be vanquished. It is only a slip of the tongue or a creative word that separates myth from legend. Add the mists of time, and they become one.
With the passage of time, legends (based upon reality) are told over and over, and new parts are added. Then they become Myth. The distinction between Myth and Legend is only in the mind of the listener. Both are the same but on opposite sides of the coin. Both are generated by reality, augmented by the telling, and become ingrained into society.
Was there a real King Arthur in England? Yes and no. The myth is so pervasive in the land that it exists as a tacit balm across the fields. You can smell it in the breath of the people; you can see it in the lay of the land. Though an actual Arthur may not have existed or may not have done all those incredible things so attributed, the legend has become such a part of the land that it exists within the persona of that land. It exists within the being of the people. It exists everywhere something old is venerated: tacit, visible, like water. Grab a handful of water. You get it and yet you do not. It slips just past your grasp. Thus flows the legend across the land.
Man is frail. Man is prone to fallacies, errors, vice, and greed, but good iron never fails. Combine hard iron with a good man and you have the makings of a legend or a myth.
Mankind believes in hope. Mankind believes that seldom is it all lost. Beliefs like this drag from the mud a physical form that becomes King Arthur and his great sword, particularly at a time when aggressiveness, sickness, and wrong cut a swath across the land. In many instances it is those who wield power who do this, usually merely because they actually have enough power to do so. Not all kings and petty leaders are bad, but during the times when the Arthurian romances were written, even the good ones were at best brutal.
Where does this take us? If you are looking for strength, look for a sword. If you are looking for justice and action, look for a leader. If you have both, then you have tales for late-night discussion that will last for generations.279
The Power of the Smith
Though few of us will either have the time or the wherewithal to create our own sword, the process by which this particular blade was made offers some powerful insights into the Arthurian mysteries. The ritual of consecrating the sword used by the modern fellowship will be found in chapter 13.
The smith was rightly seen as a godlike figure until the dawn of Christianity and was still revered long after. Excalibur is sometimes declared to have been made by Wayland, the smith of the Norse gods, and though this is unlikely, it expresses the way in which swords were revered. The power of the sword is evidenced by the fact that one of the hallows of the Grail was often depicted as a sword, one that cuts away the unnecessary aspects of life rather than being just a weapon of war. This is echoed in the Arthurian Tarot280, where the sword functions as a dispeller of illusions, cutting through obstacles, whether material or spiritual, and bringing light into dark places.
…
Here we have reached the end of the first part of this book, which collects the Knowledge Papers of our open Arthurian Mystery School teachings. When you have read these, you should possess all you need to begin your own exploration of the Arthuriad. Of course, we could not deal with every aspect of the stories and myths that make up the Great Matter of Britain—such a book would extend to many thousands of pages—and we have therefore referenced our own writings on these matters elsewhere for those who wish to go further. We have also included extensive lists of further reading at the end of the book.
We have focused on those aspects of the Arthuriad that are most closely associated with inner work. For those who have heard the call of Arthur and the Grail, we hope that you will have felt drawn to particular aspects of the mysteries and are ready to advance upon your own journeys into the Lands Adventurous.
Practice
The work particularly associated with this chapter will be found in chapters 11 and 13, and elsewhere throughout the book.
252. Malory, T. Le Morte d’Arthur, ed. J. Matthews (Cassell, 2000), book XIV, ch. 2.
253. The Brut of Layamon, see Layamon’s Arthur: The Arthurian Section of Layamon’s Brut (Exeter Medieval Texts and Studies, 2005). Eds. W.R.J Barron, S.C. Weinberg3: Malory, T. Le Morte d’Arthur, ed. J. Matthews (Cassell, 2000).
254. Lancelot-Grail (formerly Vulgate Cycle): The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post Vulgate in Translation, ed. N. J. Lacy (5 vols; Garland Publishing, 1993–1999).
255. Frappier, J. Chrétien de Troyes et le Mythe du Graal Etude sur Perceval ou le Conte du Graal, Societe d’edition d’enseignement (Superieur, 1972).
256. Malory, T. Le Morte d’Arthur, ed. J. Matthews (Cassell, 2000), book XVII, ch. 23.
257. Williams, C. and C. S Lewis. Arthurian Torso (Oxford University Press, 1948).
258. Malory, T. Le Morte d’Arthur, ed. J. Matthews (Cassell, 2000), book XVII, ch.12.
259. Ibid.
260. Quest of the Holy Grail (Queste del San Graal), trans. P. M. Matarasso (Penguin, 1969).
261. Malory, T. Le Morte d’Arthur, ed. J. Matthews (Cassell, 2000), book VIII, ch. 18.
262. Ibid.
263. Ibid.
264. Matthews, J. Gawain: Knight of the Goddess (Aquarian Press, 1990).
265. Malory, T. Le Morte d’Arthur, ed. J. Matthews (Cassell, 2000), book XVI, ch. 1–2.
266. Ibid., book XIV, ch. 2.
267. Quest of the Holy Grail (Queste del San Graal), trans. P. M. Matarasso (Penguin, 1969).
268. Luke, H. “The Return of Dindrane” in At the Table of the Grail, ed. J. Matthews (Watkins Publishing, 2002), 119–135.
269. de Boron, R. Joseph of Arimathea, Merlin and Perceval, trans. N. Bryant as Merlin and the Grail (D. S. Brewer, 2001).
270. Matthews, J. and C. Ladies of the Lake (Aquarian Press, 1992).
271. Matthews, C. and J. King Arthur’s Raid on the Underworld (Gothic Image Publications, 2008).
272. Mabinogion, trans. J. Gantz (Penguin Books, 1985).
273. Ibid., “Peredur.”
274. The Complete Story of the Grail: Chrétien de Troyes’ Perceval and Its Continuations, trans. N. Bryant (D. S. Brewer, 2015).
275. Matthews, J. Gawain: Knight of the Goddess (Aquarian Press, 1990).
276. Ibid.
277. Lancelot-Grail (formerly Vulgate Cycle): The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post Vulgate in Translation, ed. N. J. Lacy (5 vols; Garland Publishing, 1993–1999).
278. Ibid.
279. Govannon, a member of the modern Fellowship of the Round Table.
280. Matthews, J. and C. The Complete Arthurian Tarot (Connections, 2015).