Sir Lancelot du Lake

Among the knights of the Round Table there were some who increased so much in arms and in worth that they passed all their fellows in prowess and noble deeds. In especial, this was the case with Sir Lancelot du Lake. In all tournaments and jousts, both for life and for death, at no time was he ever overcome, except by treason or enchantment. Therefore Queen Guenevere held him in great favour above all other knights, and it is certain he loved the queen also, above all other ladies of his life.

After Sir Lancelot had resorted at the court of King Arthur for some long time, and had rested and disported himself with play and games of jousting and the like, he thought he would prove himself in strange adventures. He sent to Sir Lionel, saying, ‘Nephew, make ready, for we two will go and seek adventures.’

So, armed at all points, they rode from a forest onto a deep plain. The sun was high, and about noon Sir Lancelot had a great desire to sleep. Nearby Lionel saw a wide-spreading apple tree, and said, ‘Brother, yonder is a fair shade. Let us rest there.’

Then Sir Lancelot stretched under the apple tree, with his helm under his head, and slept while Sir Lionel watched.

Soon after, three knights galloped by, fleeing for their lives, and behind them followed a fourth knight, as large and grim and boldly armed as any seen. The strong knight overtook the first, and smote him to the cold earth. Then he tumbled the second, man and horse, to the ground, and rounded on the third, striking a mighty blow of his spear on the horse’s arse. The big knight jumped to the ground and bound his three prisoners with the reins of their own bridles.

‘This is a heavy man, a worthy man,’ Lionel marvelled. ‘It is meet that I try him myself.’

So Sir Lionel stole away privily, without waking Lancelot, and rode in haste after the big knight, calling loudly for him to turn. Then they fought. But the knight was too strong for Lionel, who was thrown up in the air and out of the saddle so that he landed in a lump without wind. The knight bound him also, and laid him across his own horse. He gathered the reins of all the horses, and went to his castle with the four unfortunate men lying like bundles of rags across their horses’ backs.

When the knight came to the castle, he stripped his prisoners all naked and beat them with thorns, and threw them in a deep dungeon where many more knights were making a piteous noise.

Now, when Sir Ector heard that his brother Lancelot was gone from Arthur’s court to seek adventures, he was angry with himself that he was left behind. He went after him, to search out whatever might happen. Soon he met a forester on the road and said to him, ‘Good fellow, what adventures are nigh at hand in this country?’

‘Within a mile,’ the man replied, ‘is a strong manor behind a deep dyke, with a ford on the left hand. Over the ford stands a wizened tree hung with many shields of fair knights. By a hole in the tree, there hangs a copper basin. Strike it thrice with the butt of your spear and you will soon hear strange tidings, enough to please the greatest lust for adventures.’

When Sir Ector came to the tree he saw hanging there the shield of his kinsman Sir Lionel, and many more besides that belonged to his fellows of the Round Table. This grieved his heart and he promised in his mind to avenge his brother knights. As his horse drank peacefully at the ford, Ector beat on the basin like a madman. At once the large knight appeared, saying with a grim smile, ‘Come, sir, out of the water, and make ready to suffer on land’.

Then Sir Ector set his spear, and the feet of his horse threshed the waters of the ford to foam, and Ector gave the knight such a great buffet that his horse turned about twice.

‘That was boldly done,’ cried the knight. ‘It was a knightly blow.’

Thereupon he drove his horse at Sir Ector, barging him, seizing him under the arms and lifting him clean from the saddle. Then he carried Sir Ector to his own hall like a swaddling child, and dumped him in the middle of the floor, saying, ‘Know and fear me, for I am Sir Turquin, and you have done this day more unto me than any knight did these twelve years.’ Then he stripped Sir Ector and whipped him with thorns, and cast him into the deep dungeon where he could make sorrow with his fellows.

‘Alas, brother,’ said Ector to Lionel, ‘are you here too? But where is Sir Lancelot?’

‘I left him asleep under an apple tree. What is become of him I cannot tell. Alas, unless Sir Lancelot help us, we may never be delivered, for I know no other knight to match this Turquin.’

While these things happened betwixt Turquin and his prisoners, Sir Lancelot awoke in the cool of the day, and rode away into thick woods where he could find no highway. At last, in a little clear vale, he saw a pavilion of red cloth with a bed inside that called him to sleep. He unarmed wearily, and fell asleep.

In the dark, when the knight of the pavilion returned home, he saw a body within the bed that he took to be his paramour. He entered under the covers beside Sir Lancelot and began to kiss him right heartily. When Lancelot felt a rough beard kissing him, he leapt from one side of the bed, and the knight leapt from the other, and they both reached for their swords. Then they ran all unclothed from the pavilion, slashing at each other in the blackness, till by luck Lancelot cut the knight with a sore wound. At once the knight cried mercy, and told Sir Lancelot the cause of their mistake.

‘I repent that I hurt you,’ replied Lancelot, ‘but I dreaded some treason.’ He carried the knight back to the pavilion. As he staunched the wound, the knight’s lady came and made a great moan over her lord.

‘Peace, my lady and my love,’ said the knight, who was named Belleus. ‘This is a good man and a knight adventurous. He has wounded me by misfortune, and now he staunches my blood.’

On the morn, Sir Lancelot commended the knight and his lady to God and went on his way in search of Sir Lionel. By many paths he came again to the apple tree where Lionel had left him. He saw there a maiden sitting on a white pony, as if waiting for him. She greeted him by name, and at his questioning told him all that had befallen Sir Lionel at the hands of Sir Turquin. ‘Now, good Lancelot,’ she urged him, ‘hurry to help him.’ So she brought him to the ford and the tree where the basin hung.

Sir Lancelot let his horse drink while he beat on the basin so hard that the bottom fell out. But no man came. Then Lancelot rode to the manor, prowling the gates and the walls for nigh on half an hour before he saw a big knight coming, leading a horse with a bound man athwart its back. As they came nearer, Lancelot thought he should know the bound knight. Then he saw that it was Sir Gaheris, Gawain’s brother.

So he cried aloud, ‘Bold knight, now put down that wounded man, and let us two prove our strengths. I am told that you have done despite and shame to many knights of the Round Table. So now defend yourself.’

‘Are you too of the Round Table?’ Turquin mocked him. ‘So much for you and all your fellowship. I despise you all.’

‘That is one word too many,’ said Lancelot.

Without more prattle, they came together as fast as their horses might run. Their meeting was like the crashing of winter seas. For two hours or more they fought, but neither could find the bare or undefended place that means woe or death. At last, both breathless, they stood leaning on their swords.

‘Now fellow,’ gasped Sir Turquin, ‘hold your hand a while and tell me what I ask.’

‘Say on.’

‘You are the biggest man that ever I met, strong-armed and well-breathed. Indeed, you are very like the one knight I hate above all others. If you are not that man, tell me your name and we shall make accord. I will deliver my prisoners, to the number of three score and four. Then you and I shall be fellows together, and never fail.’

‘Well,’ replied Lancelot, ‘what man is he whom you hate?’

‘Sir Lancelot is his name. He slew my brother Carados at the Dolorous Tower. If ever I meet him, I vow one of us shall find his end. In search of him I have slain a hundred good knights, and as many more I have maimed utterly, while still others have died in my prison. Now, say not that you are Sir Lancelot.’

‘I see well,’ said Lancelot, ‘if I were that man, there should be mortal war betwixt us. Then know, sir knight, that I am truly Lancelot du Lake, son of King Ban of Benwick, a very knight of the Round Table. Now do your best.’

‘Ah, Lancelot,’ cried Turquin, ‘you are now as dear to me as any man. Welcome to death!’

Again they took up arms and bespeckled the ground with their best blood. At last Sir Turquin began to wax faint, and his shield dropped somewhat for weariness. Seeing this, Lancelot leapt within Turquin’s guard, got him by the beaver of his helmet and plucked him down on his knees. Then he tore off his helm and smote his neck in sunder.

Sir Lancelot unbound Gaheris and went with him towards the manor of Turquin. At the gate, he looked on the old gnarled tree and saw the many sad shields hanging there.

‘What a sight is this,’ he said to Gaheris. ‘There is Kay’s shield, and many more belonging to knights of the Round Table. And there, alas, are those of my brothers Sir Ector and Sir Lionel. I pray you, good Gaheris, release them and greet them all from me. Bid them sack the manor of such stuff as they please and go to Arthur’s court to await me. For I must go on now to meet my adventures, as I have promised this maiden on the white pony.’

Then Gaheris released all the knights and told them that their freedom was Lancelot’s doing, who killed Turquin with his own hands. Happily, the knights sought arms, armour and horses. When they were dressed and armed, they called to the forester to bring four mules laden with fat venison. That night they ate right well on venison roasted, baked and boiled, and after a full supper they lay at ease in feather beds.

Meanwhile, Sir Lancelot took the highway again, saying gently to the maiden, ‘Will you need any more service of me?’

‘Nay, sir, not at this time,’ she replied. ‘But Jesu preserve you, for you are the most courteous and meekest knight that now lives. One thing only you seem to lack. You are without wife, and I hear say that you will take none, which is the greater pity. It is noised that you love Queen Guenevere, and that she has enchanted you to love no other. No maid nor lady rejoices you, wherefor many in this land, of high and low estate, make great sorrow.’

‘Fair maid,’ he said, ‘people may speak of me as they please. But to be a wedded man, I think not. For then I must couch with my wife, and leave arms and tourneys, battles and adventures. And as for taking my pleasure with paramours, that I refuse for dread of God. Lecherous knights will never be fortunate in war. Either they are undone by simple folk, or by mishap and their cursedness they slay better men than themselves. All things about a lecher are unhappy.’

So she left him, and Sir Lancelot rode on for two days. On the third, as he was passing over a long bridge, a foul churl came suddenly and smote his horse on the nose, and rudely demanded why Lancelot crossed that bridge without a licence.

‘Why should I not choose this way?’ said Lancelot.

‘You may not choose,’ said the churl, lashing at him with a huge iron-bound club. Lancelot answered him back with a stroke of the sword that divided the churl from his hair to his paps. But the village folk at the end of the bridge all cried to Sir Lancelot, ‘A worse deed you never did. Beware, for you have slain the chief porter of our castle. He will be avenged.’

Straightways Lancelot went to the castle and tied his horse to a ring on the wall of a pretty green court. It seemed a good place to fight in, so he prepared himself for battle. When he was ready, he called out to the many faces that peered from the windows, ‘Knight, whoever you are, come forth, for you are unhappy’.

Very soon two giants came upon him, well armed all save their heads, with horrible clubs in their hands. Sir Lancelot ran at the first one, thrusting the point of his sword through the unguarded neck. The second, seeing what passed with his brother, fled like a madman, but Lancelot tripped him and slew him. Then he went into the hall of the castle and delivered up three score maids and ladies, gentlewomen all, who had laboured at the silk-works of the giants for seven years.

Then Lancelot departed, commending them to God. As he rode along with ambling steps, without hurry or aim, except to see what adventures might come to him, suddenly his path was crossed by a black hound, sniffing as if on the track of a wounded deer. He followed the hound and saw on the earth a track of blood. With its nose in the dirt, the hound led Lancelot a long way, over an old, feeble bridge to an old house. Lancelot pushed the door of the house and entered a dim hall hung with many cobwebs. In the middle of the floor lay a dead knight. The hound whimpered and went to lick the wounds of the dead man.

A lady came forth from the dimness into the hall, weeping and wringing her hands. She saw Sir Lancelot and said, ‘O sir, here is too much sorrow. My husband is slain, and he who did this deed is himself sore wounded and never likely to recover, for which I have no regret.’

‘Who was your husband?’ said Lancelot.

‘His name was Sir Gilbert the Bastard, one of the best of men. But I know not the name of he who slew him.’

‘Now God send you better comfort,’ said Sir Lancelot.

Going from that gloomy place into the woods again, he met a maiden who knew him well. She greeted him. ‘Well found, my lord. On your oath of knighthood, give me your help. My brother is sore ill, and cannot stop bleeding from the wound he got from Sir Gilbert the Bastard when he fought and slew him in plain battle. A sorceress, who dwells here besides, this day told me that my brother would never be whole till I find a knight to go into the Chapel Perilous. There he will find a sword and a bloody cloth that the knight was lapped in. Only that sword and that piece of cloth will heal my brother’s wounds.’

‘This is a marvellous thing.’ said Lancelot. ‘But what is your brother’s name?’

‘He is Sir Meleot de Logris, your fellow of the Round Table. But hurry along this highway, and it will bring you to the Chapel Perilous. I shall abide here, till God speed you to me again.’

In haste Sir Lancelot rode to the chapel and saw by the door many rich shields turned upside down. And about the door he saw thirty knights, taller by a yard than most men, blocking his way with evil grins. The look of them made Lancelot’s heart quake. But he drew his sword and raised his shield, ready to do battle with those men in black armour with black shields. Yet in a sudden moment they scattered on every side, and he went through boldly into the chapel. Inside there was nothing but ghostly light and a corpse covered with a silk cloth.

Lancelot stooped and cut away a piece of that cloth, and as he did so the earth shook a little. In fear he snatched up the sword of the dead knight and ran from the chapel. In the yard beyond he heard the grim voices of the tall knights, saying, ‘Sir Lancelot, lay that sword aside, or you will die’.

‘Live or die,’ he shouted back, ‘I keep hold of it. Fight for it, if you want it.’

He rushed through the knights, who stopped him not, to the gate of the chapel yard. There a maiden stood who said to him, ‘Sir Lancelot, leave that sword, or you will die for it.’

‘I will not leave it,’ he said, ‘under no entreaties.’

‘Well said,’ she replied, ‘for had you left the sword, you would never again see Queen Guenevere. Now gentle knight, I require you to kiss me but once.’

‘Nay, God forbid.’

‘Ah, sir, had you kissed me all the days of your life would be over. But now, alas, I have lost all my labour. I ordained this chapel for thy sake. I have loved you this seven years, though I knew you loved none but Queen Guenevere. Since I may not rejoice you and have your body alive, I had no other joy in this world but to have your body dead. I would have embalmed it and kept it all my days, and daily I would have embraced you and kissed you, in despite of Queen Guenevere.’

‘Jesu preserve me,’ said Lancelot with blanched face, ‘from your subtle crafts.’

At once he took his horse and rode away with all speed, leaving her forlorn and in such sorrow that she died within a fortnight. And her name was Hellawes, the sorceress.

With hard riding, Lancelot soon returned to the sister of Sir Meleot, who clapped her hands when she saw him and wept for joy. Together they went to the castle where Meleot lay, as pale as water for loss of blood. Then Sir Lancelot touched his wounds with Sir Gilbert’s sword and wiped away the blood with the piece of cloth, and presently Sir Meleot was as whole a man as he had ever been.

When this task was done, Sir Lancelot took his leave. He still had strange countries to see and many fortunes to meet. He journeyed as the path took him, in valleys, plains and mountains, till in a certain place he heard two bells ringing. He saw a falcon tangled in the branches of a high elm, caught by the long leashes that streamed from its feet. As it threshed in the branches its little bells rang, and Lancelot felt sorry for the bird.

While he was looking upwards, a lady called to him, ‘O Lancelot, flower of all knights, help me get my falcon. If I lose it, my husband Sir Phelot will slay me.’

‘Lady,’ he replied, ‘since you know my name, I will do what I may. Yet God knows I am an ill climber, and the tree is very high, with few boughs to help me.’ But he unarmed and put off his clothes down to his shirt and breeches, and with might and force climbed up to the falcon. He untangled the leashes and threw the bird down to the lady below.

As soon as she had her falcon in her hand, her husband Sir Phelot stepped suddenly from a grove, with naked sword in his hand, and said, ‘You, knight Lancelot, now I have you as I want you’. And he stood at the bole of the tree, ready to kill him.

‘Lady,’ said Lancelot with reproach, ‘why have you betrayed me?’

‘She did it,’ said Phelot, ‘as I commanded her. But there is no help for you. The hour is come when you must die.’

‘Shame on you,’ said Lancelot, ‘an armed knight to kill an undressed man by treason.’

‘You get no further grace from me.’

‘Truly, that shall be to your shame. But take my harness and hang my sword on a bough, that I may reach it if I can. Then do your best to slay me.’

‘Nay, I know you better than that. You get no weapon from me.’

‘Alas,’ cried Lancelot, ‘that ever a knight should die weaponless.’

He reached around him in the tree until he found a heavy spike of a branch, which he broke away with his body. Then he climbed lower. When he was just above his waiting horse he leapt to the other side, to get the horse betwixt him and the knight. Sir Phelot ran after him, lashing with his sword, but Lancelot put away the stroke with the heavy bough. Then he returned a crushing blow to the head of the knight, so that he fell in a swoon. He picked up the knight’s sword and struck his head from his body.

When she saw this, the lady cried out weeping. But Sir Lancelot turned on her, saying with anger, ‘You are the causer of this death. With falsehood you would have slain me, and now it is fallen on you both.’

Without more words Lancelot dressed and armed himself as fast as he might, lest the knight’s people come to find him. Then he took horse and departed, with thanks to God that he had escaped this adventure.

Now Sir Lancelot was somewhat weary for travel. He wished to see again the face and person of Queen Guenevere. So, two days before the feast of Pentecost, he came home to the court of Arthur, all stained and bespattered from the road. The king and all his knights, and the queen also, were most glad of his coming. And there were in the court at that time many whom Sir Lancelot had helped and comforted in his adventures. With loud voices they spoke the praise of this knight.

Then Sir Lancelot had the greatest name of any knight in the world, and he was the most honoured by both high and low.

One time, upon Whit Sunday, a hermit came to King Arthur as the knights sat at the Round Table. And when the hermit saw the Seat Perilous left empty at the table, he asked the king why that seat was void.

‘One only shall sit there,’ said Arthur, ‘and he shall be destroyed.’

‘Know you who that man is?’

‘Nay, I know not.’

‘But I know,’ said the hermit, ‘though he that shall sit there is as yet unborn and ungotten. But his time comes, for this same year he shall be gotten. Then he shall sit in the Seat Perilous, and he shall win the Holy Grail.’ The hermit said his words, and went on his way.

Now, after the feast of Pentecost Sir Lancelot set out on adventures once more, as is the manner of knighthood. He rode through country strange to him, seeking new fortune. In a wild part, as he passed over the Bridge of Corbin, he saw a tall tower in a town full of people who cried out to him, ‘Welcome, Sir Lancelot, you are of such renown we know you by your device. O flower of knighthood, help us in our danger. Within this tower is a dolorous lady, suffering pains these many winters, for she boils in scalding water. Sir Gawain was here and could not help her, so he left her in pain.’

‘I am as likely as Gawain,’ said Lancelot, ‘to leave her in pain.’

‘Nay, we trust that you shall deliver her.’

‘Well,’ he replied doubtfully, ‘then show me what I shall do.’

They brought Sir Lancelot into the tower and unlocked the doors of iron into the scalding chamber. Inside it was as hot as any stew, and in the hot mist Lancelot saw a lady as naked as a needle. Five years before Queen Morgan le Fay had by enchantment put the lady into the pains of that heat, because the queen was jealous of her beauty; nor might the lady be delivered until the best knight in the world came to rescue her.

When the heat had rushed from the door, Sir Lancelot led her from the scalding chamber and the people brought her clothes. She arrayed herself, and Lancelot thought that she looked a fair lady, a most fair lady, just one jot less beautiful than Queen Guenevere herself. Then she and Lancelot went to the chapel of the tower to thank God for her deliverance. And all the people, rich and poor, as they gave thanks also, thought on one more request to ask this good knight. ‘My lord,’ they said, ‘since you have delivered this lady, save us also from a serpent that lives here in a tomb.’

They brought him to the place, and Sir Lancelot could not deny them. He came near the tomb and saw these letters writ in gold:

Here shall come a leopard of kings’ blood, and he shall slay this serpent. And the leopard shall engender a lion in this foreign country, and this lion shall surpass all other knights.

Sir Lancelot lifted the tomb and out came a fiendish dragon, spitting fire from its mouth. He drew his sword on the dragon, skipping nimbly to avoid the horrible flames. They fought long but at last, by a lucky stroke, Lancelot cut through the dragon’s neck. While they were fighting many had come to watch, and among them was King Pelles, the good and noble knight.

When the dragon was dead, Pelles saluted Sir Lancelot. ‘I am King Pelles,’ he said, ‘king of the foreign country, and near kinsman of Joseph of Arimathea. What, sir, is your name?’

‘Know you well, sir, my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake.’

Then they made much of each other, and so went into the hall to take their repast. As they ate, a dove entered at the window with a little censer of gold in its mouth. Suddenly there was such a savour, as if the chamber were flooded with all the spices of the world. And there appeared on the table every manner of meat and drink that they could think on. Next a maiden came in, holding a golden vessel betwixt her hands. Then the king and all about him knelt devoutly and offered their prayers to God.

‘O Jesu,’ said Lancelot softly, ‘what may this mean?’

The king replied with reverence, ‘This is the richest thing in the world of men. This is the Holy Grail. When this thing goes about, the Round Table shall be broken.’

When this sight was gone, leaving all in amazement, King Pelles still made much of Lancelot, for he schemed to this intent: he wished Sir Lancelot to lie with his daughter Elaine and get a child upon her. Such a child would be named Galahad, and he would grow into the good knight by whom all the foreign country would be brought out of danger. By Galahad also the Holy Grail would be won.

Thus Pelles schemed, but it was not easily done. For the enchantress Dame Brisen told him that Lancelot loved none but Guenevere. Therefore, it must be the work of enchantment to make him lie with Elaine. So Brisen sent a false messenger to Lancelot, bearing as a token a ring such as Guenevere was wont to wear.

‘Where is my lady the queen?’ said Lancelot with most eager joy.

‘At the Castle of Case, but five miles hence.’

Lancelot rode there in all haste, and was received right worthily by such servants as a queen would have about her. The queen, they told him, was abed. Dame Brisen led him to a bedchamber and gave him a cup of enchanted wine. He drank and soon became so besotted and mad that he would brook no delay. He leapt from his clothes and into the bed, thinking that maid Elaine was Queen Guenevere. He was glad indeed; and so was Elaine, that she had Sir Lancelot in her arms. For she knew that that same night Galahad would be gotten on her, he who would prove the best knight of the world. All long night they twined together in joy and gladness, and the windows were covered so that no chink of light might disturb them.

Well after dawn, when the sun was high, Sir Lancelot awoke and went to the window. As he drew the covers and opened the window, the light flowed in and the enchantment was gone. Then he knew himself for what he was, and knew also that he had done amiss.

‘Alas,’ he cried, ‘that I have lived so long, for I am surely shamed.’

He went to the bed and took his sword in hand, saying, ‘Traitress, who are you with whom I have lain this night? Prepare to die.’

But Elaine sprang from the bed all naked and knelt before him shivering. ‘Good courteous knight,’ she implored him, ‘descended from kings’ blood, have mercy on me. I am Elaine, daughter of King Pelles. Slay me not, for you have planted in my womb he who shall be the most noble knight of the world.’

Sir Lancelot thought on this and considered it well, and then he forgave her. For the fault was not hers. She was a fair lady, and lusty and young, and as wise as any maid living. So he took her in his arms and kissed her, and wiped away a tear. Then he dressed and armed himself and made ready to depart, at which she said to him with a voice mild and sad, ‘My lord, I beseech you see me again as soon as you may, for I have only obeyed my father’s prophecy. By his command I have given you the greatest riches and the fairest flower, which is the maidenhead that I shall never have again. Therefore, gentle knight, owe me your goodwill.’

So Sir Lancelot took sweet leave of young lady Elaine and rode away to the Castle of Corbin. And when her time came she was delivered of a fine child, and this baby was christened Galahad.

About this time King Arthur came back in triumph from his wars in France and ordained a celebration, a great feast for all the lords and ladies of England. King Pelles spared no cost to send his daughter Elaine to the feast. She was finely arrayed in the richest robes, and a hundred lords and ladies were of her party on the highway. When she came to Camelot, she dazzled the eyes of the court, even the eyes of the king and queen. But Queen Guenevere gave her good greetings with her face only, not with her heart. And when Sir Lancelot saw her, he was so ashamed he would neither salute her nor speak to her, and yet he thought her as fair a woman as he had ever seen. This coldness made Dame Elaine so heavy she felt her heart would burst, for she loved him out of measure.

‘This unkindness,’ she wept to her woman Brisen, ‘near kills me.’

‘Peace, madam,’ said Dame Brisen. ‘Tonight I undertake he shall lie with you.’

In the evening, the queen commanded that Elaine should sleep in a chamber near unto hers, under the same roof. Then Guenevere sent for Lancelot and told him to come to her chamber in the night, saying, ‘Or else I am sure you will go to that woman’s bed, by whom you had Galahad.’ And Lancelot promised her faithfully. But Brisen, by her crafts, knew this promise.

When all folks were abed, Brisen came to Lancelot’s side and whispered, ‘Sir Lancelot, do you sleep? My lady Guenevere lies waiting for you.’ Lancelot threw on a long gown and grasped his sword. Then Brisen led him by a finger to Elaine’s bed, though he knew it not. As they welcomed each to the other’s arms, and began to kiss and fumble, the queen sent her own woman to fetch Sir Lancelot to her. But the woman found the bed cold and the knight away.

Then the queen was nigh out of her wits, writhing like a mad woman, so that she slept not four or five hours. In the chamber close by, Sir Lancelot embraced his lady and then fell asleep. Soon he began to talk in his sleep, calling often the name of his love Queen Guenevere. He chattered like a jay, and so loud that the queen, all restless in her chamber, heard him say her name. Then she was more mad than before, and began to choke and cough very loud in her confusion. At this, Lancelot awoke. He heard the hemming and hawing in the next chamber and suddenly saw where he was. Then he knew well that he lay not with the queen. As he leapt wildly from the bed in his shirt, he met Guenevere coming in at the door. She rebuked him fiercely, saying, ‘False traitor knight, avoid my sight, avoid my chamber, and never more abide in my court.’

‘Alas,’ cried Lancelot in despair, and in his shame he ran to the bay window and threw himself into the garden, plunging through thorns that scratched his face and body all over. Half-naked still, he rushed from the garden, as wild and mad as ever man was. And so he wandered for two years, so strange that none might know him.

When Dame Elaine saw her love leap from the window, she turned to the queen and rebuked her.

‘Madam,’ she said, ‘you are greatly to blame, for now you have lost him. Alas, you do great sin and dishonour to yourself, for you have a lord of your own. There is no queen in the world that has such a king as you have. And, but for you, I might have the love of Sir Lancelot. I have true cause to love him, because he has my maidenhead and I have gotten his son Galahad, who in his time shall be the best knight in the world.’

‘Dame Elaine,’ replied Guenevere, ‘when it is daylight I charge you to avoid my court. And for the love you owe Sir Lancelot, keep all this to your own counsel, or else it will be his death.’

‘As for that, madam, I dare say he is marred for ever. That is your doing. Neither you nor I are like to rejoice him again.’

‘Alas,’ sighed Queen Guenevere and ‘Alas,’ sighed Elaine, ‘for now I know we have lost him for ever.’

On the morn, Elaine departed in sadness from the court. And when King Arthur and his knights heard what had befallen, and how good Sir Lancelot was gone mad, they made great moan. For, as Sir Bors said, ‘All kings, Christian or heathen, may not find such another knight, of such nobleness and courtesy, such beauty and gentleness. Alas, what shall we do, those of us who are of his blood?’

Then Queen Guenevere took fright at this complaint. She knelt before Sir Bors, Sir Ector and Sir Lionel, those who were of Lancelot’s blood, and begged them to seek him, saying, ‘Spare neither cost nor goods. Find him by all means, for I know that he is out of his mind.’

Swiftly they went away, taking from the queen’s treasure enough for their expense. They rode from country to country, through wastes and wilderness, asking all manner of travellers if they had seen a naked man, in his shirt, with a sword in his hand. Thus they rode for nigh quarter of a year, along and about in many places, and ofttimes they were most poorly lodged for Lancelot’s sake. But never a word did they hear of him. So they returned home for the time being, with hands and hearts empty.

Meanwhile Sir Lancelot suffered and endured, running wild and mad from place to place, under snows and rains and hot sun. He lived on fruit and what else he could win from tree, hedge and field. He drank cold water from stream or ditch for two years. He had but little clothing, except his shirt and breeches.

One time in his wandering he came to a pavilion in a meadow and saw a white shield hung in a tree, with two swords and two spears standing near. Some remembrance of deeds of arms touched him, even in his madness. He leapt to one of the swords and began to beat about the shield with a noise of ten men fighting.

At once a little man came forth and tried to take the sword from Sir Lancelot. But Lancelot caught the little man and near broke his neck upon the ground, so that the cries brought from the pavilion a knight dressed in scarlet trimmed with fur. As soon as this knight saw Lancelot he deemed him to be out of his wits, and therefore soothed him with fair speech.

‘Good fellow,’ he said, ‘lay down that sword. It seems to me that you have more need of sleep and warm clothes than a sword.’

‘Nay,’ shouted Lancelot, ‘come not so near, or I will slay you.’

Then Lancelot flew at him, and hit him such a buffet upon the helm that the stroke troubled his brains. He fell to the earth with blood bursting from his mouth, nose and ears. After this blow, Lancelot ran into the pavilion and dashed into the warm bed, and the lady who was already there abed tumbled from the other side in her smock. When she saw her lord lying stunned upon the ground, she wept so loud that her noise roused him. Weakly he shook his head and said, ‘What madman is this? Such a blow I never had before from any man’s hand.’

‘Do not hurt him,’ said the little man to his master. ‘’Tis not honourable to harm a man out of his wits. Yet doubtless he was once of some nobility, fallen mad from heartache. It seems to me he much resembles Sir Lancelot, whom I saw once at the great tournament of Lonazep.’

‘Jesu defend,’ replied the master, whose name was Bliant, ‘that ever noble Sir Lancelot should be in such a plight. Go to the castle and bring me a horse-litter, that we might bear this poor man home.’

They took up Sir Lancelot, still lying in the feather bed, and carried him in the horse-litter to the Castle Blank. Then they tied him hand and foot for his own safekeeping, and gave him good meat and drink to bring him back to his bodily strength. But his wits they could not recover. Thus Sir Lancelot lived for more than a year and a half.

Yet he was still not whole in his wit. For another half-year he languished. Then Sir Lancelot heard the noise of a great boar hunt going about the castle, with shouting and hallooing, and horns a-blowing. One of the huntsmen was taking breath under a tree, with his horse waiting and his sword and spear leaning against the saddle. When Lancelot saw this, he leapt on the horse, took the weapons and followed the hunt. After a long chase, Lancelot cornered the boar and dashed at it. But the beast turned nimbly, tore out the lungs and the heart of the horse, and slashed Sir Lancelot through the brawn of his thigh even to the bone. In a rage, he drew his sword and struck the head from the boar with one blow.

All this was seen by a hermit of the woods who went to help Sir Lancelot, asking him how he was hurt.

‘Fellow,’ said Lancelot in churlish anger, ‘this boar has given me a sore bite.’

‘Come with me,’ replied the hermit, ‘and I shall heal you.’

But Lancelot chased the hermit away. The hermit did not go far. He soon found a party of horsemen going through the woods, and together they fetched a cart to carry Sir Lancelot, who did not resist because he was now feeble from loss of blood. They took him to the hermitage, where his wound healed slowly. But the hermit was a poor man and could not find good sustenance for Lancelot, so he waxed feeble both in body and wits. He was as mad as before.

After a time Lancelot ran into the forest, looking like a scarecrow. By fortune his steps took him to the city of Corbin, where Dame Elaine was living. As he ran through the market, boys and young men ran after him, jeering at his madness, throwing turves and offal at him, tripping and striking him. Those Lancelot could lay hands on, he broke their bones, so that they wished they had been elsewhere. But the naked madman was a marvel to behold, and the noise and riot of his passage brought forth the gentlefolk from the castle to see him. They saw that he seemed to be a goodly man, though sore troubled and annoyed. There was some nobility about him, even in madness. They were sorry for him and put him in a little house, with clothes for his body and some straw to lie on. Every day they threw him some meat and set drink by his door, but few dared touch him or hand him food.

At Candlemas it so befell at Corbin that the nephew of King Pelles was made knight. After the ceremony he gave presents of gowns and robes to many about the court. Among these was Sir Lancelot, the fool without wits, who was awarded a scarlet robe. When he put this on and walked with lords and ladies, he seemed the handsomest and best-made man in the court.

Thus dressed, Sir Lancelot entered a little garden and lay down by a well to sleep in the heat of the day. Soon Dame Elaine and her maid came to play in the garden, and they saw this sleeping, goodly man.

‘Peace,’ said Elaine softly, ‘say no word.’

Then she looked closer and knew him truly for Sir Lancelot, and she fell so much to weeping that she was sick. She ran to King Pelles, crying, ‘O father, help me now if ever. Sir Lancelot lies sleeping by our garden well, and he is distracted out of his wits. He has on a scarlet robe and nought else besides.’

‘I may hardly believe it,’ said the king, ‘but hold you still, and let me deal.’ He called to him his most trusted people, and they carried him asleep to the chamber in the tower where the vessel of the Holy Grail stood. Then Lancelot was laid down and the priest uncovered the holy vessel, and it shone around the chamber. And so by miracle and virtue of the Holy Grail, Sir Lancelot was made whole and recovered his wits. In a little time, he awoke and groaned and sighed, saying, ‘Good folk, I am so sore’. He looked about him suddenly, and marvelled that King Pelles and Dame Elaine were there. He regarded himself, and felt shame at his condition.

‘Lord Jesu, how came I here?’ he said in wonder. ‘For God’s sake, my lord, tell me.’

Then all that had come to pass was told to him, and again he hung his head and said, ‘For the love of Christ, keep your counsel that I was mad, for I am sore ashamed that I have been thus miscarried. Now I am banished from Logris forever, that is to say banished out of the land of England.’

For a fortnight he lay without stirring, till all his hurts were better. Then he sent for Dame Elaine.

‘Lady,’ he said, ‘you know how for your sake I have had much travel, care and anguish. I know well that I did you wrong when I drew my sword upon the morn I lay with you. Will you now, for my love, beg from your father some little place where I may live? For I may never come again to the court of King Arthur.’

‘Sir,’ she replied, ‘I will live and die with you, or for your sake. Where you will be, my lord Lancelot, doubt not that I will be with you, to do you all the service that I may.’

So Sir Lancelot departed with Dame Elaine to the Castle of Bliant, a place upon an island removed from men, which they called the Joyous Isle. And here he hid under the name of Le Chevaler Mal Fet, that is to say ‘the knight who has trespassed’. He dressed in sable, and his shield was sable. On this isle he made a statue of a queen all in silver and another statue of an armed knight kneeling before her. Once every day he would look towards the realm of Logris, towards the court of King Arthur and Queen Guenevere, and his heart would nigh burst.

Now, even on this isle Sir Lancelot still had remembrance of past days and the adventures that had befallen him. And when he heard that there was jousting not three leagues from his castle, his heart yearned for that noble exercise of arms. So he announced a great tourney at the Joyous Isle, which was attended by five hundred knights. For three days together Lancelot did mighty deeds of arms and overcame all who stood against him. This contented him well, and at the end of the tourney he made a great feast.

While they feasted with banners and music and dancing, and all manner of good cheer, Sir Percival and Sir Ector rode through that country and would have gone to the castle. But they could find no bridge over the water to the Joyous Isle. As they were searching, they saw a lady with a sparrowhawk on the far bank. They called to her, to know who was in the castle.

‘Fair knights,’ she replied, ‘in this castle is Elaine, the most beautiful lady of the land. And with her is a knight, as mighty a man as ever lived, who is called Le Chevaler Mal Fet.’ Then she told them how the knight had come mad to this place, and how he had been cured. ‘Ride a way round the shore,’ she added, ‘and you shall find a boat for yourselves and your horses.’

When they found the boat, Percival dismounted and halted Ector, saying, ‘Abide here awhile, until I know what manner of knight he is. It would be shame for both at once to do battle with him.’

So Percival went over the water, and right gladly the knight of the isle fought with him. They were both strong men in prowess and worthiness. From noon to eve they fought, then they rested all breathless.

‘You fight boldly,’ said Lancelot. ‘My name is Le Chevaler Mal Fet. Now tell me, gentle knight, what is your name?’

‘Truly, it is Sir Percival de Gales, brother to the good knight Sir Lamorak, and King Pellinore was our father.’

‘What have I done to fight with you?’ cried Lancelot. ‘You are a knight of the Round Table, and once I was your fellow.’

He threw aside his sword and shield and fell on his knees, so that Sir Percival marvelled what he meant. ‘Knight, whosoever you may be,’ he said, ‘by the high order of knighthood, tell me your true name.’

‘So help me God, I am Sir Lancelot du Lake, son of King Ban of Benwick.’

‘But how is this?’ said Percival. ‘I was sent by Queen Guenevere to seek you two years ago. Yonder, on the other side of the water, is your brother Sir Ector. Now, for God’s sake, forgive me whatever offence I have done to you.’

‘It is soon forgiven,’ replied Sir Lancelot.

Sir Ector was sent for, and all night long they spoke, and many other nights besides, to tell each other the tales of their adventures. Thus they passed the time in joy and mirth. But when Percival and Ector were ready to depart, they asked Sir Lancelot what he would do now, whether or not he would go with them to King Arthur.

‘Nay, that may not be,’ said Lancelot. ‘I am too shamed to go there ever more.’

‘Sir, I am your brother,’ replied Sir Ector, ‘and you are the man in the world I love the most. I would never counsel you to do anything dishonourable. But King Arthur and all his court, and in especial Queen Guenevere, made such a grief at your absence that it was a marvel to hear. It has cost my lady the queen twenty thousand pound to seek you out. Will you disappoint her? And remember, my lord, your great renown, for there is none living that bears such a name. Therefore, brother, make ready to ride to the court with us, and I dare say never a knight will have a better welcome than you.’

Sir Lancelot thought well and long. Then he said, ‘Well brother Ector, ride on, and I will be with you’.

So he departed the Joyous Isle, and Dame Elaine watched him go in great sorrow. She could not prevent him, for his life must be lived amid great matters. Within five days Lancelot came to Camelot, that in English is called Winchester. The king, the queen and all the knights welcomed him with the greatest joy, and when they heard the whole of his adventure the queen wept as if she would have died.

‘O Jesu,’ said King Arthur, ‘I marvel for what cause you went out of your mind. I and many others deem it was for love of fair Elaine, by whom you are noised to have gotten the child Galahad.’

‘My lord,’ he replied, ‘if I did any folly I have paid my price.’

The king spoke no more. But all Sir Lancelot’s kin knew the lady of his love and the cause of his madness.