Arthurian Romances (51 page)

‘In truth,' she replied, ‘that may well be.'

Then the queen returned to the window to observe the knights. Without a moment's hesitation Lancelot thrust his arm through the shield-straps, for he was inflamed with a burning desire to show all his prowess. He neck-reined his horse and let it run between two ranks. Soon all those deluded, mocking men, who had spent much of the past night and day ridiculing him, would be astounded: they had laughed, sported, and had their fun long enough!

With his arm thrust through the straps of his shield, the son of the king of Ireland came charging headlong across the field at Lancelot. They met with such violence that the king of Ireland's son wished to joust no more, for his lance was splintered and broken, having struck not moss but firm dry shield-boards. Lancelot taught him a lesson in this joust: striking his shield from his arm, pinning his arm to his side, and then knocking him off his horse to the ground. Knights from both camps rushed forward at once, some to help the fallen knight and others to worsen his plight. Some, thinking to help their lords, knocked many knights from their saddles in the mêlée and skirmish. But Gawain, who was there with the others, never entered the fray all that day, for he was content to observe the prowess of the knight with the red shield, whose deeds seemed to make everything done by the other knights pale by comparison. The herald, too, found new cause for happiness and cried out for all to hear: ‘The one has come who will take the measure! Today you will witness his deeds; today you will see his might!'

At this moment Lancelot wheeled his horse and charged towards a magnificent knight, striking him a blow that laid him on the ground a hundred feet or more from his horse. Lancelot performed such deeds with both his lance and sword that all the spectators marvelled at what they saw.
Even many of the knights participating in the jousts watched him with admiration and delight, for it was a pleasure to see how he caused both men and horses to stumble and fall. There was scarcely a knight he challenged who was able to remain in the saddle, and he gave the horses he won to any who wanted them. Those who had been mocking him now said: ‘We are ashamed and mortified. We made a great mistake to slander and vilify him. Truly he is worth a thousand of the likes of those on this field, since he has so vanquished and surpassed all the knights in the world, that there now remains no one to oppose him.'

The young women who were watching him in amazement all said that he was destroying their chances of marriage. They felt that their beauty, their wealth, their positions, and their noble births would bring them little advantage, for surely a knight this valiant would never deign to marry any one of them for beauty or wealth alone. Yet many of them swore that if they did not marry this knight, they would not take any other lord or husband in this year. The queen, overhearing their boastful vows, laughed to herself. She knew that the knight they all desired would never choose the most beautiful, nor the fairest among them, even if they were to offer him all the gold of Arabia. Yet the young women had but one thing in mind: they all wanted to possess that knight. And they were already as jealous of one another as if they were married to him, because they believed him to be so skilled in arms that they could not conceive of any other knight, no matter how pleasing, who could have done what he had done.

Indeed, he had fought so well that when the time came for the two camps to separate, those on both sides agreed that there had never been an equal to the knight who bore the red shield. It was said by all, and it was true. But as the tournament was breaking up, our knight let his shield, lance, and trappings fall where the press was thickest and hastened away. His departure was so furtive that no one in all that great crowd noticed it. He rode away swiftly and purposefully in order to keep his pledge to return directly to that place from where he had come.

On their way from the tournament everyone asked and inquired after him, but they found no trace, for he had left to avoid being recognized. The knights, who would have been overjoyed to have had him there, were filled instead with great sorrow and distress. But if the knights were saddened that he had left in this fashion, the young women, when they learned of it, were distraught and swore by Saint John that they would refuse to marry in this year: if they could not have the one they wanted, they would take no other. Thus the tournament ended without any one of them having taken a husband.

Lancelot returned to his prison without delay. The seneschal into whose charge he had been entrusted reached home some two or three days before Lancelot's return and inquired after his whereabouts. The lady who had equipped Lancelot with her husband's magnificent red armour, his trappings, and his horse, told her husband truthfully how she had sent their prisoner to take part in the jousting at the tournament of Wurst.

‘My lady,' said the seneschal, ‘that truly was the most unfortunate thing you could have done! Great misfortune will surely come to me because of this, for I know that my lord Meleagant will treat me worse than the fierce giant would
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if I were shipwrecked. I shall be destroyed and ruined as soon as he hears of this. He will never show me pity!'

‘Dear husband, do not be dismayed,' replied the lady. ‘There is no need to be so fearful. He will not fail to return, for he swore to me by the saints above that he would be back as quickly as possible.'

The seneschal mounted his horse and rode at once to his lord, to whom he related the whole of this adventure. Meleagant was reassured when the seneschal told how Lancelot had sworn to his wife to return to prison.

‘He will never break his oath,' said Meleagant. ‘This I know. None the less, I'm greatly troubled by what your wife has done, for there was no way I wanted him to be at the tournament. But go back now and see to it that when he returns he is guarded so securely that he'll never be able to escape from prison or have any freedom of movement. Send me word as soon as this is done.'

‘It shall be as you command,' said the seneschal. When he reached his castle, he found Lancelot had returned and was a prisoner once more at his court. The seneschal sent a messenger straight back to Meleagant to inform him that Lancelot had returned. Upon hearing this, Meleagant engaged masons and carpenters who did as he ordered, whether they liked it or not. He summoned the best in the land and told them to work diligently until they had built him a tower. Meleagant knew an island set within an inlet on one shore of the land of Gorre, where there was a broad, deep arm of the sea. He ordered that the stone and wood for constructing the tower be brought there. The stone was shipped in by sea, and the tower was completed in less than two months. It was thick-walled and solid, broad and tall. When it was ready, Meleagant had Lancelot brought there and placed within the tower.
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Then he ordered that the doorway be walled up, and he forced all the masons to swear that they would never speak of this tower to anyone. He had it sealed so that there remained no door or opening, save only a small window, through which Lancelot was given niggardly portions
of poor food to eat at fixed hours, as the wicked traitor had stipulated. Now Meleagant had everything he wished.

Meleagant next went directly to Arthur's court. As soon as he arrived, he came before the king and, filled with perfidious arrogance, addressed him in these words: ‘My king, I have agreed to single combat at your court and in your presence, but I do not see Lancelot, who agreed to fight me! However, to fulfil my promises, I hereby offer him my challenge before your assembled court. If Lancelot is present, let him come forward and swear to meet me here in your court one year from this day. I do not know whether anyone here has told you under what circumstances this combat was arranged, but I see knights here who were present when we exchanged pledges and who can tell you everything if they are willing to acknowledge the truth. And if Lancelot should attempt to deny this, I'll not hire any second to defend me, but oppose him myself.'

The queen, who was seated at the time beside the king, leaned towards him and said: ‘Sire, do you know who this is? He is Meleagant, who captured me while I was in the protection of the seneschal Kay and caused him a great deal of shame and suffering.'

‘My lady,' the king replied, ‘I've heard all about that; I clearly understand that this is the man who held my people prisoner.'

The queen spoke no further. The king now turned to Meleagant and said: ‘My friend, so help me God, we've had no news of Lancelot, which grieves us deeply.'

‘My lord king,' said Meleagant, ‘Lancelot assured me that I would not fail to find him here, and I am bound not to undertake this combat except at your court. I want all of the barons here present to bear witness that I now summon him to be present here one year from this day, in accordance with the pledges we gave when we first agreed to this combat.'

On hearing these words my lord Gawain arose, for he was deeply troubled by the words he had heard.

‘Sire,' he said, ‘Lancelot is nowhere to be found in this land; but we shall have him sought and, if it please God, he will be found before the year is out – unless he is imprisoned or dead. But should he fail to appear, let me undertake the combat, for I am willing. I will take up my arms for Lancelot at the appointed day, if he is not here before then.'

‘By heavens!' said Meleagant. ‘In the name of God, King Arthur, grant Gawain this battle! He wants it and I beg it of you, for I know of no knight in the world against whom I would rather test myself, unless it were Lancelot himself. But you can be certain that if I cannot fight against one of
these two, I'll not accept any substitute or fight against anyone else.' And the king said that he would grant the challenge to Gawain if Lancelot failed to return in time.

Having received this promise, Meleagant left King Arthur's court and rode until he reached that of his father, King Bademagu. In order to appear noble and distinguished in front of him, he haughtily assumed an air of importance. On this particular day the king was hosting a festive celebration in his capital city of Bath. The court was assembled in all its splendour to celebrate his birthday: people of every sort came there to be with him, and the palace was overflowing with knights and maidens. There was one among them (she was Meleagant's sister) about whom I'll gladly tell you more later; I do not wish to speak further of her now, however, since it is not part of my story to tell of her at this point, and I do not want to inflate or confuse or alter my story, but develop it in a proper and straightforward manner. So now I shall tell you that upon his arrival Meleagant addressed his father in a loud voice, which commoner and noble alike could hear: ‘Father, as God is your salvation, please tell me truthfully whether one who has made himself feared at King Arthur's court by his feats of arms should be filled with great joy and considered most worthy.'

Without waiting to hear more, his father answered these questions: ‘My son, all good men should honour and serve one who has shown himself worthy in this fashion, and keep his company.'

Then his father cajoled him and urged him to say why he had asked this, what he was seeking, and from where he had come.

‘Sir, I don't know whether you recall the terms of the agreement that was established when you made peace between Lancelot and myself. But you must remember, I'm sure, that in front of many witnesses we were both told to be ready in one year's time to meet again at King Arthur's court. I went there at the appointed time, armed and equipped for battle. I did all that was required of me: I sought Lancelot and inquired after him, for it was he I was to fight, but I was unable to find any trace of him. He had turned and fled! So I left after ensuring that Gawain had pledged his word that there would be no further delays: even if Lancelot is no longer alive and fails to return within the fixed term, Gawain himself has promised to fight me in his stead. Arthur has no knight more praiseworthy than Gawain, as is well known. But before elderberries blossom, I will see when we fight whether his deeds match his fame. The sooner we fight the better!'

‘Son,' said his father, ‘now indeed you have shown yourself a fool to everyone here. Those who did not know it before have learned it now by
your own words. It is the truth that a good heart is humble, but the fool and the braggart will never be rid of their folly. Son, I'm telling you this for your own good: your character is so hard and dry that there is no trace of gentility or friendship in you. You are filled with folly and your heart lacks all mercy. This is why I find fault with you; this will bring you down. If one is of noble heart, many will bear witness to it at the appropriate time; a gentleman need not praise his courage to magnify his act, for the act is its own best praise. Self-flattery does not enhance your renown at all; rather, it makes me esteem you the less. Son, I chastise you, but to what avail? Advice is of little use to a fool, and he who tries to rid a fool of his folly wastes his efforts. The goodness that one propounds, if it is not transformed into works, is wasted: wasted, lost, and gone for ever.'

Meleagant was beside himself with fury and rage. I can assure you truthfully that no man alive was ever as full of wrath as he was; and in his anger the last bond between father and son was broken, for he did not mince words with his father, but said: ‘Are you dreaming or deluded to say that I am crazy to have told you of my triumph? I thought I'd come to you as to my lord, as to my father; but that doesn't seem to be the case, and I feel you've treated me more odiously than I deserve. Nor can you give me any reason for having done so.'

‘Indeed I can.'

‘What then?'

‘That I see nothing in you but lunacy and madness. I know only too well that heart of yours, which will yet bring you to great harm. Damned be anyone who could ever believe that Lancelot, this perfect knight who is esteemed by all but yourself, would ever flee out of fear of you! Perhaps he's buried in his grave or locked up in some prison, whose gate is so tightly kept that he cannot leave without permission. I tell you I would be sorely upset if he were injured or dead. It would be a great loss indeed if a person so skilled, so handsome, so valiant, and so just were to perish before his time. May it please God that this not be so!'