The Love Of Lancelot And Guenever

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Title:     The Love Of Lancelot And Guenever
Author: Charles Morris [More Titles by Morris]

CHAPTER I.

THE POISONING OF SIR PATRISE.

After the quest of the Sangreal was ended, and all the knights who were left alive had come again to Camelot, there was great joy in the court, with feasts and merrymakings, that this fortunate remnant might find a glad welcome. Above all, King Arthur and Queen Guenever were full of joy in the return of Lancelot and Bors, both from the love they bore them and the special honor they had gained in the quest.

But, as is man's way, holy thoughts vanished with the holy task that gave them rise, the knights went back to their old fashions and frailties, and in Lancelot's heart his earthly love for the queen soon rose again, and his love of heaven and holy thoughts grew dim as the days went by. Alas that it should have been so! for such an unholy passion could but lead to harm. To fatal ills, indeed, it led, and to the end of Arthur's reign and of the worshipful fellowship of the Table Round, as it is our sorrowful duty now to tell.

All this began in the scandal that was raised in the court by the close companionship between Lancelot and the queen. Whisper of this secret talk at length came to that good knight's ears, and he withdrew from Queen Guenever as much as he could, giving himself to the society of other ladies of the court, with design to overcome the evil activity of slanderous tongues.

This withdrawal filled the queen with jealous anger, and she accused him bitterly of coldness in his love.

"Madam," said Lancelot, "only that love for you clung desperately to my heart, and drove out heavenly thoughts, I should have gained as great honor in the quest of the Sangreal as even my son Galahad. My love is still yours, but I fear to show it, for there are those of the court who love me not, such as Agravaine and Mordred, and these evil-thinking knights are spreading vile reports wherever they may. It is for this I make show of delight in other ladies' society, to cheat the bitter tongue of slander."

To this the queen listened with heaving breast and burning cheek. But at the end she burst into bitter tears and sobs, and wept so long that Lancelot stood in dismay. When she could speak, she called him recreant and false, declared she should never love him more, and bade him leave the court, and on pain of his head never come near her again.

This filled the faithful lover with the deepest grief and pain; yet there was anger, too, for he felt that the queen had shut her ears to reason, and had let causeless jealousy blind her. So, without further words, he turned and sought his room, prepared to leave the court. He sent for Hector, Bors, and Lionel, and told them what had happened, and that he intended to leave England and return to his native land.

"If you take my advice you will do nothing so rash," said Bors. "Know you not that women are hasty to act, and quick to repent? This is not the first time the queen has been angry with you; nor will her repentance be a new experience."

"You speak truly," said Lancelot. "I will ride, therefore, to the hermitage of Brasias, near Windsor, and wait there till I hear from you if my lady Guenever changes her mood. I pray you do your best to get me her love again."

"That needs no prayer. Well you know I will do my utmost in your behalf."

Then Lancelot departed in haste, none but Bors knowing whither he had gone. But the queen showed no sign of sorrow at his going, however deeply she may have felt it in her heart. In countenance she remained serene and proud, as though the world went well with her, and her heart was free from care.

Her desire, indeed, to show that she took as much joy in the society of other knights as in that of Lancelot led to a woful and perilous event, which we have next to describe. For she gave a private dinner, to which she invited Gawaine and his brethren and other knights, to the number of twenty-four in all. A rich feast it was, with all manner of dainties and rare devices. Much was the joy and merriment of the feasting knights.

As it happened, Gawaine had a great love for fruits, especially apples and pears, which he ate daily at dinner and supper; and all who invited him to dine took care to provide his favorite fruits. This the queen failed not to do. But there was at the feast an enemy of Gawaine's, named Pinel le Savage, who was a cousin of Lamorak de Galis, and had long hated Gawaine for the murder of that noble knight.

To obtain revenge on him, Pinel poisoned some of the apples, feeling sure that only Gawaine would eat them. But by unlucky chance a knight named Patrise, cousin to Mador de la Porte, eat one of the poisoned apples. So deadly was the venom that in a moment he was in agony, and very soon it so filled his veins that he fell dead from his seat.

Then was terror and wrath, as the knights sprang in haste and turmoil from their seats. For they saw that Patrise had been poisoned, and suspicion naturally fell upon the queen, the giver of the feast.

"My lady, the queen," cried Gawaine in anger, "what thing is this we see? This fate, I deem, was meant for me, since the fruit was provided for my taste. Madam, what shall I think? Has this good knight taken on himself the death that was intended to be mine?"

The queen made no answer, being so confused and terrified that she knew not what to say.

"This affair shall not end here," cried Mador de la Porte in great wrath. "Here lies a noble knight of my near kindred, slain by poison and treason. For this I shall have revenge to the utterance. Queen Guenever, I hold you guilty of the murder of my cousin, Sir Patrise. I demand from the laws of the realm and the justice of our lord the king redress for this deed. A knight like this shall not fall unrevenged, while I can wield spear or hold sword."

The queen, at this hot accusation, looked appealingly from face to face; but all stood grave and silent, for greatly they suspected her of the crime. Then, seeing that she had not a friend in the room, she burst into a passion of tears, and at length fell to the floor in a swoon.

The story of this sad business soon spread through the court, and quickly came to the ears of the king, who hastened to the banqueting hall full of trouble at what he had heard. When Mador saw him, he again bitterly accused the queen of treason,--as murder of all kinds was then called.

"This is a serious affair," said the king, gravely. "I, as a rightful judge, cannot take the matter into my own hands, or I would do battle in this cause myself, for I know well that my wife is wrongly accused. To burn a queen on a hasty accusation of crime is no light matter, though you may deem it so, Sir Mador; and if you demand the combat, fear not but a knight will be found to meet you in the lists."

"My gracious lord," said Mador, "you must hold me excused, for though you are our king, you are a knight also, and held by knightly rules. Therefore, be not displeased with me, for all the knights here suspect the queen of this crime. What say you, my lords?"

"The dinner was made by the queen," they answered. "She or her servants must be held guilty of the crime."

"I gave this dinner with a good will, and with no thought of evil," said the queen, sadly. "May God help me as an innocent woman, and visit this murder on the base head of him who committed it. My king and husband, to God I appeal for right and justice."

"And justice I demand," said Mador, "and require the king to name a day in which this wrong can be righted."

"Be it so, then," said the king. "Fifteen days hence be thou ready armed on horseback in the meadow beside Winchester. If there be a knight there to meet you, then God speed the right. If none meet you, then my queen must suffer the penalty of the law."

When Arthur and the queen had departed, he asked her how this case befell.

"God help me if I know," she answered.

"Where is Lancelot?" asked the king. "If he were here, he would do battle for you."

"I know not," she replied. "His kinsmen say he has left the land."

"How cometh it," said the king, "that you cannot keep Lancelot by your side? If he were here your case would be won. Sir Bors will do battle in his place, I am sure. Go seek him and demand his aid."

This the queen did, begging Bors to act as her champion; but he, as one of the knights who had been at the dinner, demurred, and accused her of having driven Lancelot from the country by her scorn and jealousy.

Then she knelt and begged his aid, and the king, coming in, also requested his assistance, for he was now sure the queen had been unjustly defamed.

"My lord," answered Bors, "it is a great thing you require of me, for if I grant your request I will affront many of my Round Table comrades. Yet for your and Lancelot's sake I will be the queen's champion on the day appointed, unless it may happen that a better knight than I come to do battle for her."

"Will you promise me this, on your faith?" asked the king.

"I shall not fail you," said Bors. "If a better knight than I come, the battle shall be his. If not, I will do what I can."

This promise gladdened the king and queen, who thanked Bors heartily, and were filled with hope, for they trusted greatly in this good knight's prowess and skill.

Bors, however, had other thoughts than they dreamed of, and left the court secretly, riding to the hermitage of Brasias, where he found Lancelot and told him of what had occurred.

"This happens well," said Lancelot. "The queen shall not suffer. Do you make ready for the battle, but tarry and delay, if I am not there, as much as you may, till I arrive. Mador is a hot knight, and will be hasty to battle. Bid him cool his haste."

"Leave that to me," said Bors. "Doubt not that it will go as you wish."

Meanwhile the news spread throughout the court that Bors had taken on himself the queen's championship. This displeased the most of the knights, for suspicion of the queen was general. On his return many of his fellows accused him hotly of taking on himself a wrongful quarrel.

"Shall we see the queen of our great lord King Arthur brought to shame?" he demanded. "To whom in the world do we owe more?"

"We love and honor our king as much as you do," they answered. "But we cannot love a destroyer of knights, as Queen Guenever has proved herself."

"Fair sirs," said Bors, "you speak hastily, methinks. At all times, so far as I know, she has been a maintainer, not a destroyer, of knights, and has been free with gifts and open-handed in bounty to all of knightly fame. This you cannot gainsay, nor will I suffer the wife of our noble king to be shamefully slain. She is not guilty of Sir Patrise's death, for she never bore him ill will, nor any other at that dinner. It was for good will she invited us there, and I doubt not her innocence will be proved; for howsoever the game goeth, take my word for it, some other than she is guilty of that murder."

This some began to believe, convinced by his words, but others still held their displeasure, believing the queen guilty.

When at length the day that had been fixed for the battle came, there was a great gathering of knights and people in the meadow beside Winchester, where the combat was to take place. But many shuddered when they saw another thing, for an iron stake was erected, and fagots heaped round it, for the burning of the queen should Mador win the fight.

Such, indeed, was the custom of those days. Neither for favor, for love, nor for kindred could any but righteous judgment be given, as well upon a king as upon a knight, upon a queen as upon a poor lady, and death at the stake was the penalty for those convicted of murder.

Now there rode into the lists Sir Mador de la Porte, and took oath before the king that he held the queen to be guilty of the death of Sir Patrise, and would prove it with his body against any one who should say to the contrary.

Sir Bors followed, and made oath as the queen's champion that he held her guiltless, and would prove it with his body, unless a better knight came to take the battle on him.

"Make ready then," said Mador, "and we shall prove which is in the right, you or I."

"You are a good knight, Sir Mador," said Bors, "but I trust that God will give this battle to justice, not to prowess."

He continued to talk and to make delay till Mador called out impatiently,--

"It seems to me that we waste time and weather. Either come and do battle at once, or else say nay."

"I am not much given to say nay," answered Bors. "Take your horse and make ready. I shall not tarry long, I promise you."

Then each departed to his tent, and in a little while Mador came into the field with his shield on his shoulder and his spear in his hand. But he waited in vain for Bors.

"Where is your champion?" cried Mador to the king. "Bid him come forth if he dare!"

When this was told to Bors he was ashamed to delay longer, and mounted his horse and rode to his appointed place. But as he did so he saw a knight, mounted on a white horse, and bearing a shield of strange device, emerge from a neighboring wood, and come up at all speed. He continued his course till he came to Sir Bors.

"Be not displeased, fair knight," he said, "if I claim this battle. I have ridden far this day to have it, as I promised you when we spoke last. And for what you have done I thank you."

Then Bors rode to the king and told him that a knight had come who would do battle for the queen and relieve him from the championship.

"What knight is this?" asked the king.

"All I may say is that he covenanted to be here to-day. He has kept his word, and I am discharged."

"How is this?" demanded Arthur. "Sir knight, do you truly desire to do battle for the queen?"

"For that, and that alone, came I hither," answered the knight. "And I beg that there be no delay, for when this battle is ended I must depart in haste on other duties. I hold it a dishonor to all those knights of the Round Table that they can stand and see so noble a lady and courteous a queen as Queen Guenever rebuked and shamed among them all. Therefore I stand as her champion."

Then all marvelled what knight this could be, for none suspected him. But Mador cried impatiently to the king,--

"We lose time here. If this knight, whoever he be, will have ado with me, it is time to end words and begin deeds."

"You are hot, Sir Mador. Take care that your valor be not cooled," said the other.

They now moved to their appointed stations, and there couched their spears and rode together with all the speed of their chargers. Mador's spear broke, but the spear of his opponent held, and bore him and his horse backward to the earth.

But he sprang lightly from the saddle, and drew his sword, challenging the victor to do battle with him on foot. This the other knight did, springing quickly to the ground, and drawing his sword. Then they came eagerly to the combat, and for the space of near an hour fought with the fury of wild beasts, for Mador was a strong knight, proved in many battles.

But at last the strange champion struck his opponent a blow that brought him to the earth. He stepped near him to hurl him flat, but at that instant Mador suddenly rose. As he did so he struck upward with his sword, and ran the other through the thick of the thigh, so that the blood flowed freely.

When he felt himself wounded he stepped back in a rage, and grasping his sword struck Mador a two-handed blow that hurled him flat to the earth. Then he sprang upon him to pull off his helm.

"I yield me!" cried Mador. "Spare my life, and I release the queen."

"I shall not grant your life," said the other, "only on condition that you freely withdraw this accusation from the queen, and that no charge against her be made on Sir Patrise's tomb."

"All this shall be done. I have lost, and adjudge her innocent."

The knights-parters of the lists now took up Sir Mador and bore him to his tent. The other knight went to the foot of King Arthur's seat. By that time the queen had come thither also, and was heartily kissed by her overjoyed lord. Then king and queen alike thanked the victor knight, and prayed him to take off his helmet, and drink some wine for refreshment. This he did, and on the instant a loud shout went up from all present, for they recognized the noble face of Lancelot du Lake.

"Sir Lancelot!" cried the king. "Never were you more heartily welcome. Deep thanks I and Queen Guenever owe you for your noble labor this day in our behalf."

"My lord Arthur," said Lancelot, "I would shame myself should I ever fail to do battle for you both. It was you who gave me the high honor of knighthood. And on the day you made me knight I lost my sword through haste, and the lady your queen found it and gave it me when I had need of it, and so saved me from disgrace among the knights. On that day I promised her to be ever her knight in right or wrong."

"Your goodness merits reward," said the king, "and therein I shall not fail you."

But as the queen gazed on Lancelot, tears came to her eyes, and she wept so tenderly that she almost sank to the ground from sorrow and remorse at her unkindness to him who had done her such noble service.

Now the knights of his blood came around Lancelot in the greatest joy, and all the Knights of the Round Table after them, glad to welcome him.

And in the days that followed Lancelot was cured of his wound, and Mador put under the care of skilful leeches, while great joy and gladness reigned in the court for the happy issue of that combat which had promised so fatal an ending.

About this time it befell that Nimue, the damsel of the lake, came to the court, she who knew so many things by her power of enchantment, and had such great love for Arthur and his knights. When the story of the death of Sir Patrise and the peril of the queen was told her, she answered openly that the queen had been falsely accused, and that the real murderer was Sir Pinel, who had poisoned the apples to destroy Gawaine, in revenge for the murder of Lamorak. This story was confirmed when Pinel fled hastily from the court, for then all saw clearly that Guenever was innocent of the crime.

The slain knight was buried in the church of Westminster, and on his tomb was written,--

"Here lieth Sir Patrise of Ireland, slain by Sir Pinel le Savage, through poisoned apples intended for Sir Gawaine." And to this was added the story of how Guenever the queen had been charged with that crime, and had been cleared in the combat by Sir Lancelot du Lake, her champion.

All this was written on the tomb, to clear the queen's good fame. And daily and long Sir Mador sued the queen to have her good grace again. At length, by means of Lancelot, he was forgiven, and entered again into the grace of king and queen. Thus once more peace and good-will were restored to Camelot.

 

CHAPTER II.

THE LILY MAID OF ASTOLAT.

It came to pass that, within fifteen days of the Feast of the Assumption, King Arthur announced that a great tournament would be held on that day at Camelot, where he and the king of Scots would hold the lists against all who should come. This tidings went far, and there came to Camelot many noble knights, among them the king of North Wales, King Anguish of Ireland, the king with the hundred knights, Sir Galahalt the high prince, and other kings, dukes, and earls.

But when Arthur was ready to ride from London, where he then was, to Camelot, the queen begged to be excused from going with him, saying that she was not well. Lancelot, too, would not go, on the plea that he was not well of the wound which Sir Mador had given him. So the king set out in grief and anger, for the absence of his wife and Lancelot tried him sorely. On his way to Camelot he lodged in a town named Astolat, which is now known as Gilford, and here he remained for several days.

But hardly had he departed before the queen sought Lancelot, and blamed him severely for not going with the king, saying that he thus exposed her to slander.

"Madam, your wisdom comes somewhat late. Why gave you not this advice sooner?" said Lancelot. "I will go, since you command it; but I warn you that at the jousts I will fight against the king and his party."

"Fight as you will, but go," said Guenever. "If you take my counsel, however, you will keep with your king and your kindred."

"Be not displeased with me, madam," said Lancelot. "I will do as God wills, and that, I fear, will be to fight against the king's party."

So the knight took horse and rode to Astolat, and here in the evening he obtained quarters in the mansion of an old baron, named Sir Bernard of Astolat. It happened that this mansion was near the quarters of the king, who, as in the dusk he walked in the castle garden, saw Lancelot draw near to Sir Bernard's door, and recognized him.

"Aha!" said the king, "is that the game? That gives me comfort. I shall have one knight in the lists who will do his duty nobly."

"Who is that?" asked those with him.

"Ask me not now," said the king, smiling. "You may learn later."

Meanwhile Lancelot was hospitably received by the old baron, though the latter knew not his guest.

"Dear sir," said Lancelot to his host, "I thank you for your kindness, and I shall owe you deeper thanks if you will lend me a shield. Mine is too well known, and I wish to fight in disguise."

"That shall I willingly," answered his host. "I have two sons who were lately knighted, and the elder, Sir Tirre, has been hurt. His shield you shall have, for it is yet unknown in list or field. As for my younger son, Sir Lavaine, he is a strong and likely youth, whom I beg you will take with you. I feel that you must be a champion of renown, and hope you will tell me your name."

"Not at present, if you will excuse me," said Lancelot. "If I speed well at the tournament I will return and tell you. But I shall be glad to have Sir Lavaine with me, and to use his brother's shield."

"You are welcome to both," said Sir Bernard.

This old baron had a daughter of great beauty, and in the freshness of youth, who was known in that region as the Fair Maid of Astolat, by name Elaine le Blank. And when she saw Lancelot her whole heart went out to him in love,--a love of that ardent nature that never dies while she who wears it lives.

Lancelot, too, was strongly attracted by her fresh young face, of lily-like charm; but he had no love to give. Yet he spoke in tender kindness to the maiden, and so emboldened her that she begged him to wear her token at the tournament.

"You ask more than I have ever yet granted to lady or damsel," said Lancelot. "If I yield to your wish I shall do more for your love than any woman born can claim."

She besought him now with still more earnestness, and it came to his mind that if he wished to go to the lists disguised he could take no better method, for no one would recognise Lancelot under a damsel's token.

"Show me what you would have me wear, fair maiden," he said.

"It is a red sleeve of mine," she answered, "a sleeve of scarlet, embroidered with great pearls," and she brought it to him.

"I have never done this for damsel before," said Lancelot. "In return I will leave my shield in your keeping. Pray keep it safe till we meet again."

Then the evening was spent in merry cheer; but that night Elaine slept but lightly, for her slumber was full of dreams of Lancelot, and her heart burned with fears that he might come to harm in the lists.

On the next day King Arthur and his knights set out for Camelot. Soon afterwards Lancelot and Lavaine took leave of Sir Bernard and his fair daughter, while the eyes of Elaine followed the noble form of Lancelot fondly and far, as he rode. Both the knights had white shields, and Lancelot bore with him Elaine's red embroidered sleeve. When they reached Camelot they took lodging privately with a rich burgess of the town, that none might know them.

When came Assumption Day, the lists were set, the trumpets blew to the field, the two parties of knights gathered promptly to the fray, and fierce was the encounter between them. In the end, after hard fighting, the party of Arthur bore back their opponents, who were headed by the kings of Northumberland and North Wales.

All this was seen by Lancelot and Lavaine, who sat their horses at a distance looking on.

"Come," said Lancelot, "let us help these good fellows, who seem to be overpowered."

"Lead on," said Lavaine. "I shall follow and do my best."

Then Lancelot, with the red sleeve fastened upon his helmet, rode into the thickest of the press, and smote down such numbers of knights with spear and sword that the party of the Round Table were forced to give back, and their opponents came on with fresh heart. And close upon Lancelot's track Lavaine smote down several good knights.

"Who can this wonderful fighter be?" asked Gawaine of the king.

"I know him well," said Arthur, "but will not name him since he is in disguise."

"I could believe it was Lancelot," said Gawaine, "but for that red sleeve. No man ever saw Lancelot wear a woman's token."

"Let him be," said Arthur. "He will be better known before he is done."

Then nine knights of Lancelot's kindred, angry at seeing this one champion beat down all before him, joined together and pressed hotly into the din, smiting down all that opposed them. Three of them--Bors, Hector, and Lionel--spurred together on Lancelot, all striking him at once with their spears. So great was their force that Lancelot's horse was hurled to the ground, and his shield pierced by Bors, whose spear wounded him in the side, breaking and leaving its head deep in the flesh.

Seeing this misfortune, Lavaine spurred fiercely on the king of the Scots, thrust him from his horse, and, in despite of them all, brought that horse to Lancelot, and helped him to mount. Then, though so sorely hurt, Lancelot drew his sword, and, aided by Lavaine, did such deeds of arms as he had never surpassed in his hours of greatest strength. As the chronicles say, that day he unhorsed more than thirty knights; and Lavaine followed his example well, for he smote down ten Knights of the Round Table in this his first tournament. So does a noble example stir young hearts.

"I would give much to know who this valiant knight can be," said Gawaine.

"He will be known before he departs," answered Arthur. "Trust me for that."

Then the king blew to lodging, and the prize was given by the heralds to the knight with the white shield who bore the red sleeve. Around Lancelot gathered the leaders on his side, and thanked him warmly for gaining them the victory.

"If I have deserved thanks I have sorely paid for them," said Lancelot, "for I doubt if I escape with my life. Dear sirs, permit me to depart, for just now I would rather have repose than be lord of all the world."

Then he broke from them and galloped away, though his wound forced piteous groans from his steadfast heart. When out of sight of them all he checked his horse, and begged Lavaine to help him dismount and to draw the spear-head from his side.

"My lord," said Lavaine, "I would fain help you; yet I fear that to draw the spear will be your death."

"It will be my death if it remains," said Lancelot. "I charge you to draw it."

This Lavaine did, the pain being so deadly that Lancelot shrieked and fell into a death-like swoon, while a full pint of blood gushed from the wound. Lavaine stopped the bleeding as well as he could, and with great trouble got the wounded knight to a neighboring hermitage, that stood in front of a great cliff, with a clear stream running by its foot.

Here Lavaine beat on the door with the butt of his spear, and cried loudly,--

"Open, for Jesus' sake! Open, for a noble knight lies bleeding to death at your gate!"

This loud appeal quickly brought out the hermit, who was named Baldwin of Brittany, and had once been a Round Table knight. He gazed with pity and alarm on the pale face and bleeding form before him.

"I should know this knight," he said. "Who is he?"

"Fair sir," said Lancelot, feebly, "I am a stranger and a knight-errant, who have sought renown through many realms, and have come here to my deadly peril."

As he spoke the hermit recognized him, by a wound on his pallid cheek.

"Ah, my lord Lancelot," he said, "you cannot deceive me thus."

"Then, if you know me, help me for heaven's sake. Relieve me from this pain, whether it be by life or death."

"I shall do my best," said the hermit. "Fear not that you will die."

Then he had him borne into the hermitage, and laid in bed, his armor being removed. This done, the hermit stanched the bleeding, anointed the wound with healing ointments, and gave Lancelot a refreshing and healing draught.

Meanwhile King Arthur invited the knights of both parties to a great evening feast, and there asked the king of North Wales to bring forward the knight of the red sleeve, that he might receive the prize he had won.

"That I cannot do," was the answer. "He was badly, if not fatally, wounded, and left us so hastily that we know not whither he went."

"That is the worst news I have heard these seven years," said Arthur. "I would rather lose my throne than have that noble knight slain."

"Do you know him?" they all asked.

"I have a shrewd suspicion who he is; and I pray God for good tidings of him."

"By my head," said Gawaine, "I should be sorry enough to see harm come to one that can handle spear and sword like him. He cannot be far away, and if he is to be found I shall find him."

"Fortune aid you in the quest," said the king.

Then Gawaine took a squire, and they rode in all directions for six or seven miles around Camelot, but could learn nothing of the missing knight. Two days afterwards Arthur and his fellowship set out on their return to London. On their way they passed through Astolat, and here it happened that Gawaine lodged with Sir Bernard, Lancelot's former host.

He was well received, and the old baron and his fair daughter begged him earnestly for tidings of the tournament, being specially eager to know who had done best there.

"Two knights bore all before them," said Gawaine. "Both carried white shields, and one wore on his helmet a red sleeve, as some fair lady's token. Never saw I a man before do such mighty deeds, and his fellow seconded him nobly."

"Blessed be God that that knight did so well," broke out Elaine, "for he is the first man I ever loved, and shall be the last."

"You know him then?" said Gawaine. "Pray tell me his name."

"That I know not, nor whence he came; but this I truly know, that I love him, and that the token he wore was mine. This, and this only, I can justly affirm."

"This is a strange story," said Gawaine. "What knowledge have you of him? and how came you to know him?"

In response, she told him how the knight had left his shield with her, and taken that of her brother, with what else she knew.

"I would thank you much for a sight of that shield," said Gawaine.

"I have it in my chamber, covered with a case, and will send for it," said Elaine.

When the shield was brought Gawaine removed the case, and at sight he knew it to be Lancelot's shield.

"Ah, mercy!" said Gawaine, "the sight of this makes my heart heavy."

"Why so?" she demanded.

"For good cause," he answered. "Is the owner of this shield your love?"

"Truly so," she replied. "I love him dearly; would to God he loved me as dearly."

"Then must I say that you have given your love to the noblest and most renowned knight in the world."

"So it seemed to me; for he carries a noble soul in his face."

"This I may say," said Gawaine. "I have known this knight for more than twenty years, and never knew him before to wear a woman's token at joust or tournament. You owe him thanks, indeed, that he wore yours. Yet I dread greatly that you will never see him again, and it is for this that my heart is heavy."

"Why say you so?" she cried, starting up with pallid face. "Is he hurt? Is he slain?"

"Not slain; but sadly hurt. This more it is my duty to tell you: he is the noble knight, Sir Lancelot du Lake. I know him by his shield."

"Lancelot! Can this be so? And his hurt--who gave it? Is it really perilous?"

"Had the knight who wounded him known him, he would have been grieved almost to death. As for Sir Lancelot, I can tell you nothing more. On receiving his hurt he left the lists with his comrade, and cannot be found. He is somewhere concealed."

"Then shall I go seek him!" cried Elaine. "Give me leave to do so, dear father, if you would not have me lose my mind. I shall never rest till I find him and my brother, and nurse him back to health."

"Go, daughter, if you will," said her father, "for I am sick at heart to hear such tidings of that noble knight."

In the morning Gawaine rejoined King Arthur, and told him of what he had learned.

"I knew already it was Lancelot," said the king; "but never before knew I him to wear woman's token."

"By my faith, this lily maiden of Astolat loves him deeply," said Gawaine. "What it means I cannot say, but she has set out to seek him, and will break her heart if she fail to find him."

And so they rode on to London, where Gawaine made known to the court that it was Lancelot who wore the red sleeve and won the prize at the tournament.

This tidings made no small trouble in the court. Bors and his kinsmen were heavy at heart when they learned that it was Lancelot whom they had so hotly assailed. And Queen Guenever was beside herself with anger on learning that it was Lancelot who had worn the red sleeve at the tournament.

Meanwhile Elaine journeyed to Camelot in search of the wounded knight, and as she sought far and near about the town, sick at heart, it chanced that she espied her brother Lavaine, as he rode out to give his horse air. She called loudly to him, and when he came up asked him,--

"How does my lord, Sir Lancelot?"

"Who told you, sister, that my lord's name was Lancelot?"

She told him how she had learned this, and they rode together to the hermitage, where Lavaine brought her in to see the wounded knight.

But when she saw him lying there so sick and pale, and with a death-like hue upon his face, she stood gazing upon him with dilated eyes and whitening face, and then suddenly fell to the floor in a deep swoon.

"I pray you, Lavaine, take her up and bring her to me," said Lancelot.

When she was brought near him he kissed her pale face, and at the touch of his lips her cheeks flamed out with red, and life came back to her.

"Fair maiden," said Lancelot, "it pains me to see you so deeply afflicted. Comfort yourself, I pray you. If you come here to my aid you are truly welcome; but let not this little hurt trouble you; I shall soon be well of it."

Then they fell into discourse, and Elaine told Lancelot how Gawaine had seen and known his shield. This gave him no small trouble, for he knew well that the story of the red scarf would get to Queen Guenever's ears, and he feared its effect on her hasty and jealous temper. But Elaine never left Lancelot, but watched him day and night, nursing him back to health.

 

CHAPTER III.

HOW ELAINE DIED FOR LOVE.

When Sir Bors learned that his unlucky blow had brought Lancelot nearly to death's door, he became sore indeed at heart, and hastened to Camelot in search of his noble kinsman. Here he met Lavaine, who knew him and conducted him to the bedside of the wounded knight.

When he saw the pale and haggard countenance of Lancelot, he fell into a passion of tears, and accused himself bitterly. But Lancelot consoled him as well as he could, declaring that the fault was his own, and that he would bear the blame. Then Bors told him of the anger of the queen, and of his earnest but vain endeavor to overcome it.

"I deserve it not," said Lancelot. "I wore the sleeve only by way of disguise. As for Gawaine, he would have shown more wisdom and friendship had he been less free of speech."

"I told her all this," said Bors, "but she was past listening to reason. Is this maiden, who is so busy about you, she whom they call the lily of Astolat?"

"She it is," said Lancelot. "I cannot by any means put her from me."

"Why should you?" asked Bors. "She is a beautiful and tender-hearted damsel. Would to God, fair cousin, you could love her, for I see well, by her gentle and close care of you, that she loves you devoutedly."

"That I am sorry for," said Lancelot.

"She will not be the first that has loved you in vain," said Bors; "the more the pity."

Many other things they talked of, and Lancelot found such comfort in the presence of Sir Bors that in a few days he showed great signs of improvement. Then Bors told him of another tournament that King Arthur had ordered, to be held at Camelot on All-hallowmas day, between his party and that of the king of North Wales.

This filled Lancelot with an earnest desire to grow strong, and during the following month, under the kind care of his cousin, and the gentle ministrations of Elaine, he improved greatly in health. For Elaine waited upon him with loving diligence night and day, and never was child or wife more gentle and heedful to father or husband than this fair maid of Astolat to the wounded knight.

At length came a day when Lancelot felt so much stronger, through the healing influence of a bath of herbs which the hermit had gathered in the woods, that he determined to try if he could wear his armor and sit in his saddle. He thereupon armed and had his horse brought out. Mounting the mettled charger, in the high spirit of new health he spurred it to full speed.

But the courser's long rest in the stable had made it fresh and fierce, and on feeling the spurs it leaped forward so violently that Lancelot's wound burst open in the strain, and the blood gushed out again.

"Bors! Lavaine! help!" he feebly cried. "I am come to my end."

As he spoke he fell from his horse to the earth, and lay there like a corpse.

The two knights hurried up, full of fearful concern, and when Elaine, who had heard the pitiful call, came flying to the spot, she threw herself on the prostrate form, weeping like one beside herself with grief, and kissing the insensible knight as if she hoped thus to recall him to life.

"Traitors you are!" she cried wildly to her brother and Sir Bors. "Why did you let him leave his bed? I hold you guilty of his death."

At this moment the hermit Baldwin appeared. When he saw Lancelot in that plight he grew angry at heart, though he checked the reproachful words that rose to his lips.

"Let us have him in," he said, briefly.

Lancelot was thereupon carried to the hermitage, his armor removed, and the bleeding stanched, but it was long before he could be brought out of his death-like swoon.

"Why did you put your life thus in jeopardy?" asked the hermit, reproachfully, when the knight was again in his senses.

"I was too eager to attend the tournament, now near at hand," he said.

"Ah, Sir Lancelot, you have more courage than wisdom, I fear. As for the tournament, let Sir Bors attend it and do what he may. By the time it is over and he returned, I hope that you may be well once more, if you will but be governed by my advice."

This advice was taken and Bors went to the tournament, where he bore himself so valorously that the prize was divided between him and Gawaine. Gareth and Palamides also did noble deeds, but they departed suddenly before the prize was declared, as if called away by some adventure.

All this Lancelot heard with great pleasure from Bors on his return, his only regret being that he had not been able to take part in that knightly sport. But the remedies of the hermit and the care of Elaine had meanwhile done him wonderful service, and he was soon able again to mount his horse and wear his armor in safety.

A day, therefore, quickly came when the knight felt himself in condition for a journey, and when he and his companions took the road to Astolat, escorting the fair Elaine back to her father's home. Here they were gladly received by the old baron Bernard, and his son Tirre, who had now recovered.

But when the time approached which Lancelot had set for his departure, Elaine grew pale and drooping. At length, with the boldness of speech of that period, she came to him and said,--

"My lord Sir Lancelot, clear and courteous sir, will you then depart, and leave me alone with my love and sorrow? Have mercy on me, I pray you, and suffer me not to die of grief."

"What would you have me do?" asked Lancelot.

"I brought you back to life; give me your love in return; make me your wedded wife, and I will love you as never woman loved."

"That can I never do," said Lancelot, gravely. "I shall never wed."

"Then shall I die for your love."

"Think not of death, Elaine. If I could marry woman it would be you, for I could love you dearly were my heart free. For your gentleness and kindness thus only can I repay you. If you can set your heart upon some worthy knight who is free to wed you, I shall give to you and your heirs a thousand pounds yearly, as some small payment of the debt I owe you."

"You speak idly and coldly, Sir Lancelot. Your money I will have none of; and as for wedding, I have but the choice to wed you or wed my death."

"You rend my heart, fair Elaine. Would that it could be as you wish. Alas! that can never be."

At this, with a cry of heart-pain, the distressed maiden fell swooning at his feet. Thence she was borne by women to her chamber, where she lay, lamenting like one whose heart is broken.

Sir Bernard now came to Lancelot, who was preparing to depart, and said,--

"Dear sir, it grieves me to find my daughter Elaine in such a distressful state. I fear she may die for your sake."

"It grieves me as deeply," said Lancelot. "But what can I do? That she loves me so deeply I am sorry to learn, for I have done nothing to encourage it, as your son can testify. I know that she is a true and noble maiden, and will do all that I can for her as an honest knight; but love her as she loves me I cannot, and to wed I am forbidden. Yet her distress wounds me sorely."

"Father," said Lavaine, "I dare avow that she is as pure and good as my lord Sir Lancelot has said. In loving him she does but what I do, for since I first saw him I could never depart from him; nor shall I leave him so long as he will bear my company."

Then Lancelot took his leave, and he and Lavaine rode together to Camelot, where Arthur and the whole court received the errant knight with the utmost joy and warmest welcome. Queen Guenever alone failed to greet him kindly, her jealous anger continuing so bitter that she would not give him a word or a look, seek as he would.

But the joy and brightness at Camelot were replaced by darkness at Astolat, for the fair Elaine was in such sorrow day and night that she neither ate, drank, nor slept; and ever she sadly moaned and bewailed the cruelty of Sir Lancelot.

Ten days of this brought her so near her end, that her old father, with sad heart, sent for the priest to give her the last sacraments. But even then she made her plaints of Lancelot's coldness so mournfully, that the ghostly father bade her cease such thoughts.

"Why should I?" she cried. "Am I not a woman, with a woman's heart and feelings? While the breath is in my body I must lament my fate; for I hold it no offence to love, and take God to witness that I never have and never can love other than Lancelot du Lake. Since it is God's will that I must die from unrequited love of so noble a knight, I pray for his mercy and forgiveness of all my sins. Never did I offend deeply against God's laws; but it was not in my nature to withstand the fervent love that is bringing me to my death."

Then she sent for her father and brother, and prayed them to write a letter as she might dictate. This they did, writing down the mournful words which she spoke.

"Now," she said, "this more I command you to do. When I am dead, put this letter in my right hand before my body grows cold. Then see that I be richly dressed and laid in a fair bed, and take me in a chariot to the river Thames. There lay my body in a barge, covered with black samite, and with but one man to steer the barge down the river to Camelot."

All this they, weeping sadly, agreed to do, and soon afterwards the maiden died, slain by her love. Her sad old father then had all done as she had requested.

Meanwhile, in Camelot the world moved merrily. But one morning, by fortune, as King Arthur and Queen Guenever stood talking at a window, they espied a black barge drifting slowly down the river. Wondering much what it meant, the king called Sir Kay and two other knights, and sent them to the river, bidding them to bring him speedy word of what the barge contained.

This they did. On reaching the river-side they found that the barge had been turned inward, and lay beside the bank, and to their surprise they saw in it a rich bed, on which lay the corpse of as fair a woman as they had ever beheld. In the stern of the barge sat, with oar in hand, a poor man who seemed dumb, for no word would he speak.

"That corpse must I see," said the king, when word of this event was brought him. "Surely this betokens something strange."

He took the queen by the hand and went to the river-side with her. Here the barge had been made fast, and they stepped from the shore to its deck. There they saw the corpse of a beautiful maiden, dressed in costly attire, and lying in a bed which was richly covered with cloth of gold. And as she lay she seemed to smile.

The queen now espied a letter clasped closely in her right hand, and showed it to the king.

"That will surely tell us who she is, and why she has come hither," he said.

He thereupon took the letter and returned with the queen to the palace. Here, surrounded by many knights, he broke the seal, and gave the epistle to a clerk to read. This was its purport,--

"Most noble knight, Sir Lancelot, now hath death made us two at debate for your love. I was your lover, she whom men called the Fair Maid of Astolat; therefore unto all ladies I make my moan, and I beg you to pray for my soul, and at the least to bury me, and offer my mass-penny. This is my last request. God is my witness that I die a pure maiden. Pray for my soul, Sir Lancelot, as thou art peerless."

When this pitiful letter had been read, all who heard it shed tears, for never had they heard aught so moving. Then Lancelot was sent for and the letter read to him.

"A sorrowful thing is this," he said, in grievous tones. "Then she is dead, the fair Elaine, and thus, with silent lips, makes her last prayer. Truly it wounds me to the heart. Yet, my lord Arthur, God knows I had no just share in the death of this maiden, as her brother here, Sir Lavaine, can testify. She was fair and good, and I owed her much, but she loved me beyond measure, and her love I could not return."

"You might have shown her," said the queen, reprovingly, "some bounty and gentleness, and thus have preserved her life."

"Madam," said Lancelot, "naught would she have but my love, and my hand in marriage. I offered to endow her with a thousand pounds yearly, if she should love and wed any other, but to this she would not listen. As for me, I had no other comfort to give her, for love cannot be constrained, but must rise of itself from the heart."

"Truly must it," said the king. "Love is free in itself, and will not be bound, for if bonds be placed upon it, it looseth itself perforce. As for this unhappy maiden, nothing is left for you but to obey her last pitiful request."

"That shall I to the utmost of my power," said Lancelot.

Then many knights and ladies went to behold the fair maiden, who had come thither in such moving wise. And in the morning she was richly interred, and with all due honor, at Lancelot's command; and he offered her mass-penny, as did all the knights who were there present.

Then the poor dumb servitor returned again with the barge, rowing it slowly and sadly back to Astolat.

Afterwards the queen sent for Lancelot, and begged his pardon humbly for her causeless anger.

"This is not the first time," said Lancelot, "that you have been displeased with me without cause. What you will, I must bear, and keep my sorrow within my heart; yet I would that your love were less tainted by hasty jealousy. As for forgiving you, what else can I do, my queen? Love cannot live without forgiveness."

After these events the winter and spring passed on, with hunting and hawking, and jousts and tournaments, and the fate of the fair Elaine was wellnigh forgotten in the joy of the court. But her brother Lavaine gained great honor, and at a tournament that was given on Candlemas day did so nobly that the king promised he should be made a Knight of the Round Table at the next feast of Pentecost.

And at this tournament Lancelot again fought in disguise, wearing a sleeve of gold of the queen's, and did such deeds that the prize was adjudged to him. Thus a second time did he wear a woman's token in the lists.

 

CHAPTER IV.

THE CHEVALIER OF THE CART.

The year passed on from Candlemas till after Easter, and then came the month of May, when every lusty heart begins to blossom and to bear fruit; for as herbs and trees flourish in May, so does the heart of a lover, since in this lusty month all lovers gain courage, calling to their minds old vows and deeds of gentleness, and much that was forgotten in the winter's chill.

As winter always defaces and erases green summer, so fares it with unstable love in man and woman. But as May flowers and flourishes in many gardens, so flowers the lover's heart in the joy of her to whom he has promised his faith. Yet nowadays men cannot love seven days without their love cooling; for where love warms in haste it cools as hastily; thus fareth it in our days,--soon hot, soon cold. The old love was not so. Men and women could love together seven years in truth and faithfulness. Such was the way of love in King Arthur's days; but love nowadays I liken unto summer and winter; now hot, now cold, like the changing seasons. Therefore all ye who are lovers call to your remembrance the month of May, like as did Queen Guenever, who while she lived was a true lover, and therefore she had a good end.

So it befell in the month of May that Queen Guenever called unto her certain knights of the Round Table, inviting them to ride with her in the early morn a-maying in the woods and fields beside Camelot.

"And see that you all be well horsed," she said, "and clad in green, either in silk or cloth. I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every knight shall have a lady behind him, and bring with him a squire and two yeomen."

And so, when morning came, the ten knights invited put on their gayest robes of green, and rode with the queen and her ladies, a-maying in the woods and fields, to their great joy and delight.

Yet this pleasure party led to sad results, as we have now to tell. For there was a knight named Meliagrance, son of King Bagdemagus, who had a castle, the gift of King Arthur, within seven miles of Camelot. This knight loved the queen, and had done so for many years, and it had long been in his heart to steal her away; but he had never been able to find her without many knights about her, and, chief of all, Sir Lancelot.

When he heard of this Maying party, and that the queen would be attended by only ten knights, and these in green robes, he resolved to carry out his base design, and therefore placed in ambush twenty men-at-arms and a hundred archers.

So it happened that while the queen and her knights were merrily arraying one another in flowers and mosses, and with wreaths made of sprays of fresh green, this false knight rode suddenly from a wood near by, followed by a throng of armed men, and bade them stand, and yield up the queen on peril of their lives.

"Traitor knight," cried Guenever, "what seek you to do? Wouldst thou, a king's son, and a knight of the Round Table, seek to dishonor the noble king who made you what you are? You shame yourself and all knighthood; but me you shall never shame, for I had rather cut my throat than be dishonored by you."

"Madam, this language will avail you nothing," said Meliagrance. "I have loved you many a year, and now that I have you at advantage will take you as I find you."

"You must kill us first, unarmed as we are," cried the queen's knights. "You have taken us at a foul disadvantage; but you shall not have the queen so lightly as you deem."

"Fight, will you? Then fight it, if you will have it so," said Meliagrance.

Then the ten knights drew their swords, and the others spurred upon them with couched spears. But so skilfully did the queen's defenders use their blades that the spears did them no harm.

The battle then went on with swords, and the ten knights did noble deeds, slaying many of their assailants; yet they were so overmatched that they soon were all stretched upon the earth with bleeding wounds.

"Sir Meliagrance," cried the queen, in deep distress, "kill not my noble knights, I pray you. If you do them no more harm I will go with you, if you will take them with me. Otherwise I will slay myself before you shall take me."

"Madam, since you wish it, they shall be taken to my castle, whither you must come with me."

Then at the queen's command the battle ceased, and the knights had their wounds dressed. But Meliagrance watched keenly that none of the company should escape, for greatly he feared that news of this outrage might be borne to Lancelot du Lake.

But there was with the queen a little page who rode a swift horse, and to him she privily spoke.

"Slip away, when you see the chance," she said, "and bear this ring to Lancelot du Lake. Tell him what has happened, and pray him as he loves me to come in haste to my rescue. Spare not your horse, and stay not for land or water."

The page took the ring, and rode carelessly to the edge of the circle. Then, seeing his opportunity, he put spurs to his horse and rode away at full speed. When Meliagrance saw this he ordered instant pursuit, and the boy was hotly chased and fired at with arrows and javelins; yet the speed of his horse soon carried him beyond danger.

"Madam," cried Meliagrance, fiercely, to the queen, "you are plotting to betray me. But if you have sent for Lancelot du Lake, he shall find the road to you a perilous one, I warrant him."

And as they rode to the castle he placed an ambush of thirty archers by the road-side, charging them if they saw a knight come that way on a white horse to slay the horse. But he warned them not to assail him in person, as they would find him hard to overcome.

This done, the party proceeded to the castle; but here the queen would not let her ladies and knights out of her presence, and Meliagrance stood in such dread of Lancelot that he dared not use force.

In the mean time the page found Lancelot, and gave him the queen's ring and message, telling him the whole story of the treacherous assault.

"I would give all France to have been there well armed," cried Lancelot. "The queen shall be saved, or I will die in the effort. Haste you to Sir Lavaine and tell him where I have gone, and bid him follow me to Meliagrance's castle. Tell him to come quickly, if he wishes to have a hand in the rescue of the queen and her knights."

Lancelot was hastily arming as he spoke, and mounting, he rode with all speed, forcing his horse to swim the Thames in his haste. In no great time he reached the spot where the fight had taken place, and where he found the garlands the knights had worn, rent with sword-strokes and reddened with their blood. Then he followed the tracks of the party till he entered a narrow passage, bordered by a wood. Here were the archers stationed, and when Lancelot came by they bade him return, for that way was closed.

"Why should I turn?" he demanded. "Whence get you the right to close the way?"

"If you go forward it will be on foot, for we shall kill your horse."

"Go forward I shall, if there were five hundred more of you," said Lancelot.

Then a cloud of arrows whistled through the air, and the noble horse, struck by a dozen shafts, fell to the earth. Lancelot leaped lightly from the falling animal, and rushed in a rage into the wood; but there were so many hedges and ditches that he found it impossible to reach his light-armed assailants.

"Shame on this Meliagrance for a dastard!" he cried in anger. "It is a true old saw that a good man is never in danger but from a coward."

The angry knight, finding that his assailants were beyond his reach, set out on foot for Meliagrance's castle, but found himself so encumbered with his armor, shield, and spear, that his progress was but slow. Yet he dared not leave any of his arms, for fear of giving his foe an advantage.

At length, by good fortune, there appeared on the road a cart, that was used for hauling wood.

"Tell me, friend carter," said Lancelot, when the vehicle came near, "what shall I give you for a ride in your cart to a castle that lies a few miles away?"

"You can give me nothing," said the carter. "I am sent to bring wood for my lord, Sir Meliagrance, and it is not my fashion to work for two at once."

"It is Sir Meliagrance I seek."

"Then go on foot," said the carter, surlily. "My cart is for other work."

Incensed at this, Lancelot dealt the fellow a blow with his mailed fist that stretched him senseless on the ground. Then he turned to the carter's comrade.

"Strike me not, fair sir," pleaded this fellow. "I will bring you where you wish."

"Then drive me and this cart to the gate of Meliagrance's castle."

"Leap into the cart, and you shall be there before the day grows old."

This Lancelot did, and the carter lashed his horse forward with all speed, for he was in mortal fear of the knight's hard fist.

An hour and a half afterwards, as Guenever and her ladies stood in a window of the castle, they saw a cart approaching, in which stood upright an armed knight, resting on his spear. Even at that distance they knew him by his shield to be Lancelot du Lake.

"A noble and trusty friend he is, indeed, to come in such a fashion," said the queen. "Hard bested he must have been, to be forced to ride hither in a woodman's cart."

As they looked, the cart came to the castle gates, and Lancelot sprang from it to the ground, his heart full of rage and passion.

"Where art thou, traitor?" he cried, in a voice that rang throughout the castle. "Come forth, thou disgrace to the Round Table fellowship! Come, with all your men; for here am I, Lancelot du Lake, who will fight you all single-handed on this question."

As he spoke he thrust the gates open with such force that the porter, who sought to hold them shut, was hurled like a dead man to the earth.

When Meliagrance in the castle heard this loud defiance his cowardly soul sank within him, for well he knew from whom it came, and he ran in haste to the queen and fell on his knees before her, begging her to forgive him and to cool the wrath of Lancelot. So pitifully did he implore, that in the end Guenever was moved to compassion, and went with her ladies to the castle court, where Lancelot stood furiously bidding the traitor knight to come down and do battle.

"Why are you so moved, Lancelot?" asked the queen.

"Why should I not be?" he cried, in a rage. "The hound has killed my horse and stolen my queen. Is this the thing to bear like a lamb?"

"He sorely repents his fault, and has moved me to forgive him," said the queen. "Come in, then, peaceably, I beg you, for I have passed my word."

"You accord easily with this dog of a kidnapper," said Lancelot, sourly. "Had I looked for this I might have spared my haste and saved my horse."

"It is not through love or favor I have forgiven him," said the queen, "but to check the voice of scandal."

"I am no fonder of scandal than yourself," said Lancelot. "Yet if I had my will I would make this fellow's heart full cold before I left this castle."

"I know that well, but beg that you will be ruled by me in this affair."

"Let it be so, if you have passed your word. But you are too soft of heart Queen Guenever."

Then she took his hand, for he had taken off his gauntlet, and led him into the castle, and to the chamber in which lay the ten wounded knights, whose hearts warmed at his coming. From them he learned in full what had occurred, a story which stirred his blood again into such a flame, that only the soft hand of the queen hindered him from seeking Meliagrance through the castle to slay him.

As they stood talking, Sir Lavaine rode furiously in at the gate, crying,--

"Where is my lord, Sir Lancelot du Lake?"

"Here I am," cried Lancelot from a window. "All is well, Lavaine."

"I found your horse slain with arrows, and judged you were hard pushed."

"As for that, Lavaine, soft words have turned hard blows. Come in. We shall right this matter at another time, when we best may."

For many a day thereafter, as the French book says, Lancelot was called the Chevalier of the Cart, and many an adventure he had under that homely name.

All went peacefully that night at the castle, but the next morning there was new trouble. For one of the castle maidens brought word to Meliagrance that she had found what seemed to be the print of a bloody hand on the coverings of the queen's bed. Thither he hurried, full of jealous anger, and found what appeared, indeed, to be the crimson print of a man's hand. On seeing this he made a loud outcry, declaring that it was the blood of one of the wounded knights, and fiercely accused Guenever of having been false to her lord King Arthur.

When word of this accusation came to the wounded knights they were filled with indignation, and cried that they would meet Meliagrance or any man in the lists in defence of the queen's honor.

"Ye speak proudly," said Meliagrance. "Yet look here, and see if I have not warrant for what I say."

When he showed them the red witness of his words they were abashed, and knew not what to answer.

All this was told to Lancelot, and he came in haste and anger to the queen's chamber.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"It is that the queen has proved false to her lord and husband, and this I stand ready to prove with my body," said Meliagrance.

"Beware what you say, sir knight," cried Lancelot, "or you will find your challenge taken."

"My lord Lancelot," answered Meliagrance, "good knight as you are, take heed how you do battle in a wrong quarrel, for God will have a hand in such a cause."

"This I say," answered Lancelot, hotly, "that you accuse the queen wrongly, and these noble knights as falsely. This is the work of treason or magic."

"Hold," said Meliagrance; "here is my glove, in proof that she is traitress to the king, and that one of these wounded knights is her leman."

"I accept your challenge," said Lancelot, "and will fight you to the death in this cause. When shall we do battle?"

"Let it be in eight days from this," said Meliagrance, "in the field beside Camelot."

"I am agreed," said Lancelot.

"Then let us go to dinner," said Meliagrance, "and afterwards you and the queen and her knights may ride to Camelot."

Yet fairly as he spoke his heart was full of treachery, and before going to the table he asked Lancelot if he would care to see the rooms and passages of the castle.

"If you wish to show them," said Lancelot.

Then they went from chamber to chamber, Lancelot having no fear of peril or thought of treason. But as they traversed a long and dark passage the false-hearted host trod on a spring, and down fell a trap-door, giving Lancelot a fall of more than ten fathoms into a dark cell, whose floor was covered deeply with straw. This done, Meliagrance hastened away, after replacing the trap, and ordered one of his men to remove Lavaine's horse from the stable.

When the knights came to dinner all were surprised that Lancelot was not present.

"Is this one of his old tricks?" asked the queen. "He has a fashion of thus departing suddenly, without warning."

"But not on foot," said Lavaine, and left the room.

When he returned, it was to say that his horse had vanished from the stable, and that doubtless Lancelot had taken it and ridden off. So they sat quietly at dinner, and afterwards set out for the court, the wounded knights being carried under care of Lavaine, in easily litters.

When the court was reached, and Arthur was told of what had occurred, he was full of wrath.

"So this traitor Meliagrance chooses first to kidnap my queen, and then to accuse her of treason?" he cried. "By my crown, I would deal with him in another fashion only that Lancelot has taken the challenge. I fancy the fellow will have his hands full, without my care. But where is Lancelot?"

"That we know not," said the knights. "It is like him to go off in this hasty way. He took Sir Lavaine's horse, and left us without a word of parting."

"Let him he," said the king. "He will come in good time,--unless he be trapped by some treachery."

Little dreamed they of Lancelot's true situation at that moment. He had been sorely bruised by his fall, and lay in great pain in the cave, visited only by a lady, who came to him daily with food. Yet it happened, as had occurred so often to Lancelot, that the lady fell in love with his handsome face. Meliagrance had made a foolish choice in sending a woman with a soft heart to his prisoner, and was likely to pay dearly for his folly. Yet days passed on, and Lancelot continued deaf to her sighs and blind to her languishing looks.

"Sir Lancelot," she at length said, "do you not know that your lady, Queen Guenever, will be burnt at the stake unless you be there at the day of battle?"

"God forbid that such a disaster should come to pass!" cried Lancelot. "Yet if I should not be there, all men of worship will know that I am dead, sick, or in prison, for men know me well enough to know that nothing less would keep me away. Therefore, some knight of my blood or of my fellowship will take up this battle, and fight bravely in the queen's cause."

"I shall set you free, Sir Lancelot, to fight your own battle, if you will but give me your love; for truly I love you with my whole heart."

"I am sorry that I cannot return it," said Lancelot. "But I cannot lie to you in such a cause, even for life or honor."

"Take heed what you say, Sir Lancelot. Shame will be your lot if any but you fight this battle."

"As for the world's shame, may Christ defend me. As for my distress of heart, it is welcome, if God sends it."

The lady went away full of sorrowful thoughts. But on the morning of the day fixed for the battle she came to him again, and said, gently,--

"Sir Lancelot, I deem you hard-hearted and cruel; yet I love you too truly to see you disgraced. If you will solace my heart-pain with but one kiss, I will set you free, and deliver to you your armor, and the best horse in the castle stables."

"Surely there is no dishonor in a kiss; and well will you earn it by such service," said Lancelot. "You offer me new life, fair lady."

Then he kissed her; and with a face half glad, half gloomy, she led him from the prison by a secret passage to the chamber where his armor had been left. And when he was armed she conducted him privily to a stable where stood twelve good horses, and bade him make his choice.

Lancelot chose a white courser, whose size and spirit pleased him most, and this he deftly saddled and bridled. Then, with spear in hand and sword by side, he commended the lady to God, saying,--

"Lady, for this good deed I shall do you ample service if ever it be in my power. If not, may God reward you."

This said, he rode with proud mien from the castle, and galloped at headlong speed away, while she, with sad eyes and sighing lips, stood looking with loving regard on his departing form.

Sadly was his coming needed, for imminent was the peril of the queen. At the place fixed for the combat knights and lords had early gathered, and Meliagrance, feeling sure that Lancelot could not appear to do battle, put on a haughty mien, and loudly demanded justice, or the combat. Yet the hour appointed came and passed, and the queen's champion had not appeared; while the king and all the court grew full of pain and dread as the fatal moments went by. The laws were strict, and could not be set aside for queen or commoner. Guenever must perish at the stake, or be saved by a champion's sword and spear. Therefore, as the minutes slowly grew into hours, and nothing of Lancelot was seen, while Meliagrance more loudly demanded justice or a champion, all hearts sank deep in despair.

"My lord the king," cried Lavaine, at length, "some sad misfortune has happened to Sir Lancelot. Never did he fail to appear to do battle unless he were sick or in prison. I beseech you, therefore, give me leave this day to do battle for him, and to strike a knightly blow for my lady the queen."

"Thanks, gentle knight," said the king. "I dare avow that the charge which Meliagrance lays upon the queen is a false one, for of these ten wounded knights who were present, there is not one but would gladly do battle to prove its falsity were he able to wear armor."

"That shall I do in the service of my lord Lancelot," said Lavaine, "if you will give me leave."

"Full leave you have," answered the king. "I pray you do your best; for it seems sure that some treachery has been done to the noble Lancelot."

Lavaine now armed in all haste, and, mounting his war-courser, rode into the lists, where he faced Meliagrance, challenging him to do battle to the death.

"Lesses les aller!" cried the heralds.

The two champions couched their spears, clutched their bridles, and were about to plunge the spurs into their horses' flanks, when the sound of hoofs was heard without, and an armed knight came galloping at furious speed into the lists.

"Ho! and abide!" cried King Arthur.

"Raise your spears, sir knights, this quarrel is mine," said the new-comer. "You have my thanks, Lavaine, but only I must fight in this cause."

Then he rode to the king, lifted his visor, and showed the noble face of Lancelot, now hot with indignation.

"I am here to fight this villain and traitor," he called, loudly. "My lord the king, I have lain these eight days in a prison cell, into which the base hound entrapped me. By fortune I escaped, and here I am, ready to pay him in fitting coin for his foul treachery."

"The dog! has he done this thing?" cried the king, in anger. "Then, by my crown, whether he win or not Guenever shall not suffer from the charge which he has dared bring. But God's justice will not let him win."

That Meliagrance quaked at heart on seeing this seeming apparition from the grave need not be said. But he had dared the hazard of the die, and sat his horse in grim silence while his foul treachery was thus made known to the court. Lancelot now rode to his place in the lists, and faced his adversary.

"Lesses les aller!" cried the heralds again.

Then, spear in rest, the warriors spurred their horses, and met with a shock like thunder in the centre of the field. Lancelot kept his saddle, but Meliagrance was hurled over his horse's croup. Seeing this, Lancelot lightly sprang from his saddle, drew his sword, and advanced upon his foe, who was on his feet ready to meet him.

Hot and fierce was the combat that succeeded, many great strokes being given and returned; but at length Lancelot struck so fierce a blow that Meliagrance was felled to the ground. Then the dastard cried aloud in an agony of fear,--

"Noble knight, noble Sir Lancelot, spare my life, I humbly pray you! I yield me as overcome and recreant and beseech you, as a Knight and Fellow of the Round Table, not to slay me helpless. Alive or dead, I put myself in your hands and the king's."

Lancelot stood looking grimly down upon him, at a loss what to do. To slay him was the wish of his heart; yet it looked like murder to kill a praying wretch. In his doubt he turned towards the queen, and she nodded her head as if to bid him kill the villain.

"Rise, sir hound," cried Lancelot. "You shall fight this battle to the utterance."

"I will never rise," said Meliagrance, "till you grant me mercy as a yielding and recreant knight."

"Coward!" cried Lancelot. "If you fear to fight me as I am, I will give you odds in the combat. I will take off my armor from my head and the left side of my body, and let them bind my left hand behind me, and fight you with my right hand alone."

At this perilous offer Meliagrance started hastily to his feet, and loudly cried,--

"My lord Arthur, you have heard this offer! I accept it. Let him be disarmed and bound as he says."

"You do not mean to keep this foolish promise, Lancelot?" demanded the king.

"That do I," said Lancelot. "I shall not go back on my word, be it wise or foolish."

"Then so let it be; but you invite death by such a reckless compact."

The attendant knights thereupon removed Lancelot's helmet, and took from him his shield and the armor from his left side. They then bound his left arm behind him, and thus arrayed he was placed before his antagonist, whose heart burned with hope and with murderous designs.

All those who looked on were full of fear for Lancelot, deeming it the height of folly that he should take such a frightful risk, while many ladies closed their eyes, in dread to see him slain.

With the inspiration of hope, Meliagrance came up, bearing his sword uplifted, while Lancelot stood with his head and side fully open to his stroke. Down came the blade with a deadly sweep that caused many men to close their eyes, sure that the knights head would be cleft in twain.

But Lancelot had no such thought. With a light swing to the right he avoided the stroke, which cut idly through the air; then, stepping forward to give effect to the blow, he swung his own blade upward with giant strength, and brought it down on Meliagrance's helmet with such mighty force that the hard steel and the head it covered were shorn in twain, and the traitor knight fell dead upon the field.

Wild were the shouts of joy and triumph at this unlooked-for end to the combat. The king sprang from his seat and rushed into the lists, where he warmly clasped Lancelot in his arms; while Guenever, in joy at her deliverance, kissed him on both cheeks; and all the knights crowded around them with glad cries and warm congratulations.

As for Meliagrance, he was given the burial of a recreant and traitor, the cause of his death being inscribed on his tomb, that all might read his dishonor.

But for Sir Lancelot, the king and queen made more of him, and felt more love for him in their hearts, than ever before.

After this time many events of interest took place of which we have little space to speak. Among them, Lancelot healed the wounds of a knight of Hungary, named Sir Urre, who had been held in pain, through sorcery, for seven years, till his wounds should be touched by the best knight in the world. This knight had a lovely sister, named Felelolie, whom Lavaine married, whereupon King Arthur made him a Knight of the Round Table, and gave him a barony of land.

As for Lancelot, he gained great fame as the Chevalier of the Cart. For as many lords and ladies made sport of him as the knight who had ridden in a cart, like one sentenced to the gallows, for a whole twelvemonth he never mounted horse, but rode only in a cart, during which time he had many adventures and fought forty battles, in all of which he came off victor.

And so the days grew into years, and all went happily at Arthur's court, though each passing day brought the coming time of woe and disaster nearer to hand.

[The end]
Charles Morris's short story: Love Of Lancelot And Guenever

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