The High History of the Holy Graal

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The knights and ladies swoon over him as he departeth. Lancelot
hath heard all this and much marvelleth he thereof, but nought
thereof may he see.

XII.

Thereupon, lo you, the knight that cometh down into the midst of
the hall, clad in a short red jerkin; and he was girt with a rich
girdle of gold, and had a rich clasp at his neck wherein were
many rich stones, and on his head had he a great cap of gold, and
he held great axe. The knight was of great comeliness and young
of age. Lancelot seeth him coming, and looketh upon him right
fainly when he seeth him appear. And the knight saith to him,
"Sir, alight!"

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "Willingly."

He alighteth and maketh his horse fast to a ring of silver that
was on the mounting-stage, and putteth his shield from his neck
and his spear from his hand.

"Sir," saith he to the knight, "What is your pleasure?"

"Sir, needs must you cut me off my head with this axe, for of
this weapon hath my death been adjudged, but and you will not, I
will cut off your own therewith."

"Hold, Sir," saith Lancelot, "What is this you tell me?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "you must needs do even as I say, sith
that you are come into this city."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Right foolish were he that in such a
jeopardy should not do the best for himself, but blamed shall I
be thereof and I shall slay you when you have done me no wrong."

"Certes," saith the Knight, "In no otherwise may you go hence."

"Fair Sir," saith Lancelot, "So gentle are you and so well
nurtured, how cometh it that you take your death so graciously?
You know well that I shall kill you before you shall kill me,
sith that so it is."

"This know I well for true," saith the Knight, "But you will
promise me before I die, that you will return into this city
within a year from this, and that you will set your head in the
same jeopardy without challenge, as I have set mine."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Needeth no argument that I shall
choose respite of death to dying here on the spot. But I marvel
me of this that you are so fairly apparelled to receive your
death."

XIII.

"Sir," saith the Knight, "He that would go before the Saviour of
the World ought of right to apparel him as fairly as he may. I
am by confession purged of all wickedness and of all the misdeeds
that ever I have committed, and do repent me truly thereof,
wherefore at this moment am I fain to die."

Therewithal he holdeth forth the axe, and Lancelot taketh it and
seeth that it is right keen and well whetted.

"Sir," saith the Knight, "Hold up your hand toward the minster
that you see yonder."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Willingly."

"Thus, then, will you swear to me upon the holy relics that are
within this minster, that on this day year at the hour that you
shall have slain me, or before, you yourself will come back here
and place your head in the very same peril as I shall have placed
mine, without default?"

"Thus," saith Lancelot, "do I swear and give you thereto my
pledge."

With that, the Knight kneeleth and stretcheth his neck as much as
he may, and Lancelot taketh the axe in his hands, and then saith
to him, "Sir Knight, for God's sake, have mercy on yourself!"

"Let cut off my head!" saith the Knight, "For otherwise may I not
have mercy upon you!"

"In God's name," saith Lancelot, "fain would I deny you!"

With that, he swingeth the axe and cutteth off the head with such
a sweep that he maketh it fly seven foot high from the body. The
Knight fell to the ground when his head was cut off, and Lancelot
flung down the axe, and thinketh that he will make but an ill
stay there for himself. He cometh to his horse, and taketh his
arms and mounteth and looketh behind him, but seeth neither the
body of the Knight nor the head, neither knoweth he what hath
become of them all, save only that he heard much dole and a great
cry far off in the city of knights and ladies, saying that he
shall be avenged, please God, at the term set, or before.
Lancelot hath heard and understood all that the knights say and
the ladies, and issueth forth of the city.

BRANCH VIII.

Of the most Holy Graal here beginneth another branch in such wise
as the authority witnesseth and Joseph that made recoverance
thereof, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost.

TITLE I.

This high history and profitable witnesseth us that the son of
the Widow Lady sojourned still with his uncle King Pelles in the
hermitage, and through distress of the evil that he had had since
he came forth of the house of King Fisherman, was he confessed to
his uncle and told him of what lineage he was, and that his name
was Perceval. But the good Hermit the good King had given him
the name of Parluifet, for that he was made of himself. King
Hermit was one day gone into the forest, and the good knight
Parluifet felt himself sounder of health and lustier than he wont
to be. He heard the birds sing in the forest, and his heart
began to swell of knighthood, and he minded him of the adventures
he wont to find in the forest and of the damsels and knights that
he wont to meet, and never was he so fain of arms as was he at
that time, for that he had been sojourning so long within doors.
He felt courage in his heart and lustiness in his limbs and
fainness in his thought. Right soon armeth he himself and
setteth the saddle on his horse and mounteth forthwith. He
prayeth God give him adventure that he may meet good knight,
setteth himself forth of his uncle's hermitage and entereth into
the forest that was broad and shady. He rideth until he cometh
into a launde that was right spacious, and seeth a leafy tree
that was at the head of the launde. He alighteth in the shadow,
and thinketh to himself that two knights might joust on this bit
of ground fair and well, for the place was right broad. And,
even as he was thinking on this wise, he heard a horse neigh full
loud in the forest three times, and right glad was he thereof and
said: "Ha, God, of your sweetness grant that there be a knight
with that horse, so may I prove whether there be any force or
valour or knighthood in me. For I know not now what strength I
may have, nor even whether my heart be sound and my limbs whole.
For on a knight that hath neither hardihood nor valour in
himself, may not another knight that hath more force in him
reasonably prove his mettle, for many a time have I heard say
that one is better than other. And for this pray I to the
Saviour and this be a knight that cometh there, that he may have
strength and hardihood and mettle to defend his body against mine
own, for great desire have I to run upon him. Grant now that he
slay me not, nor I him!"

II.

Therewithal, he looketh before him, and seeth the knight issue
from the forest and enter into the launde. The knight was armed
and had at his neck a white shield with a cross of gold. He
carried his lance low, and sate upon a great destrier and rode at
a swift pace. As soon as Perceval seeth him, he steadieth him in
his stirrups and setteth spear in rest and smiteth his horse with
his spurs, right joyous, and goeth toward the knight a great
gallop. Then he crieth: "Sir Knight, cover you of your shield to
guard you as I do of mine to defend my body, for you do I defy on
this side slaying, and our Lord God grant that I find you so good
knight as shall try what hardihood of heart I may have, for I am
not such as I have been aforetime, and better may one learn of a
good knight than of a bad."

With that he smiteth the knight upon his shield with such a sweep
that he maketh him lose one of his stirrups and pierceth his
shield above the boss, and passeth beyond full speed. And the
knight marvelleth much, and maketh demand, saying, "Fair Sir,
what misdeed have I done you?"

Perceval is silent, and hath no great joy of this that he hath
not overthrown the knight, but not so easy was he to overthrow,
for he was one of the knights of the world that could most of
defence of arms. He goeth toward Perceval as fast as his horse
may carry him and Perceval toward him. They mell together upon
their shields right stiffly, so that they pierce and batter them
with the points of their spears. And Perceval thrusteth his
spear into the flesh two finger-breadths, and the knight doth not
amiss, for he passeth his spear right through his arm so that the
shafts of the lances were splintered. They hurtle together
either against other at the passing so mightily, that the
flinders of iron from the mail of their habergeons stick into
their foreheads and faces, and the blood leapeth forth by mouth
and nose so that their habergeons were all bloody. They drew
their swords with a right great sweep. The knight of the white
shield holdeth Perceval's rein and saith: "Gladly would I know
who you are and wherefore you hate me, for you have wounded me
right sore, and sturdy knight have I found you and of great
strength."

Perceval saith not a word to him and runneth again upon him sword
drawn, and the knight upon him, and right great buffets either
giveth other on the helm, so that their eyes all sparkle of stars
and the forest resoundeth of the clashing of their swords. Right
tough was the battle and right horrible, for good knights were
both twain. But the blood that ran down from their wounds at
last slackened their sinews, albeit the passing great wrath that
the one had against the other, and the passing great heat of
their will, had so enchafed them they scarce remembered the
wounds that they had, and still dealt each other great buffets
without sparing.

III.

King Hermit cometh from labouring in the forest and findeth not
his nephew in the hermitage, whereof is he right sorrowful, and
he mounteth on a white mule that he had therewithin. She was
starred in the midst of her forehead with a red cross. Josephus
the good clerk witnesseth us that this same mule had belonged to
Joseph of Abarimacie at the time he was Pilate's soldier, and
that he bequeathed her to King Pelles. King Hermit departeth
from the hermitage and prayeth God grant him to find his nephew.
He goeth through the forest and rideth until he draweth nigh the
launde where the two knights were. He heareth the strokes of the
swords, and cometh towards them full speed and setteth him
between the twain to forbid them.

"Ha, sir," saith he to the Knight of the White Shield, "Right
great ill do you to combat against this knight that hath lain
sick this long time in this forest, and fight sorely have you
wounded him."

"Sir," saith the-knight, "As much hath he done by me, and never
would I have run upon him now had he not challenged me, and he is
not minded to tell me who he is nor whence ariseth his hatred of
me."

"Fair Sir," saith the Hermit, "And you, who are you?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "I will tell you. I am the son of King
Ban of Benoic."

"Ha, fair nephew," saith King Hermit to Perceval, "See here your
cousin, for King Ban of Benoic was your father's cousin-german.
Make him right great cheer!"

He maketh them take off their helmets and lower their ventails,
and then kiss one another, afterward he leadeth them to his
hermitage. They alight together. He calleth his own squire that
waited upon him, and made them be disarmed right tenderly. There
was a damsel within that was cousin-german to King Pelles and had
tended Perceval within in his sickness. She washeth their wounds
right sweetly and cleanseth them of the blood. And they see that
Lancelot is sorer wounded than Perceval.

"Damsel," saith the Hermit, "How seemeth you?"

"Sir," saith she, "Needs must this knight sojourn here, for his
wound is in a right perilous place."

"Hath he danger of death?"

"Sir," saith she, "In no wise of this wound, but behoveth him
take good heed thereto."

"God be praised!" saith he, "and of my nephew how seemeth you?"

"Sir, the wound that he hath will be soon healed. He will have
none ill thereof."

IV.

The damsel, that was right cunning of leech-craft, tended the
wounds of the knights, and made them whole as best she might, and
King Hermit himself gave counsel therein. But and Perceval had
borne his shield that was there within, of sinople with a white
hart, Lancelot would have known him well, nor would there have
been any quarrel between them, for he had heard tell of this
shield at the court of King Arthur. The authority of this story
recordeth that the two knights are in hermitage, and that
Perceval is well-nigh whole; but Lancelot hath sore pain of his
wound and is still far from his healing.

BRANCH IX.

TITLE I.

Now the story is silent about the two knights for a little time,
and speaketh of the squire that Messire Gawain meeteth in the
midst of the forest, that told him he went seek the son of the
Widow Lady that had slain his father. And the squire saith that
he will go to avenge him, wherefore cometh he to the court of
King Arthur, for that he had heard tell how all good knights
repaired thither. And he seeth the shield hang on the column in
the midst of the hall that the Damsel of the Car had brought
thither. The squire knoweth it well, and kneeleth before the
King and saluteth him, and the King returneth his salute and
asketh who he is.

"Sir," saith he, "I am the son of the Knight of the Red Shield of
the Forest of Shadows, that was slain of the Knight that ought to
bear the shield that hangeth on this column, wherefore would I
right gladly hear tidings of him."

"As gladly would I," saith the King, "so that no evil came to him
thereof, for he is the knight of the world that I most desire."

"Sir," saith the Squire, "Well behoveth me to hate him for that
he slew my father. He that ought to bear this shield was squire
when he slew him, wherefore am I the more sorrowful for that I
thought to be avenged upon him squire. But this I may not do,
wherefore I pray you for God's sake that you will make me knight,
for the like favour are you accustomed to grant unto others."

"What is your name, fair friend?" saith the King.

"Sir," saith he, "I am called Clamados of the Shadows."

Messire Gawain that had repaired to court, was in the hall, and
said to the King: "If this squire be enemy of the Good Knight
that ought to bear this shield, behoveth you not set forward his
mortal enemy but rather set him back, for he is the Best Knight
of the world and the most chaste that liveth in the world and of
the most holy lineage, and therefore have you sojourned right
long time in this castle to await his coming. I say not this for
the hindering of the squire's advancement, but that you may do
nought whereof the Good Knight may have cause of complaint
against you."

"Messire Gawain," saith Queen Guenievre, "well know I that you
love my Lord's honour, but sore blame will he have if he make not
this one knight, for so much hath he never refused to do for any;
nor yet will the Good Knight have any misliking thereof, for
greater shame should he have, and greater despite of the hatred
of a squire than of a knight; for never yet was good knight that
was not prudent and well-advised and slow to take offence.
Wherefore I tell you that he will assuredly listen to reason, and
I commend my Lord the rather that he make him knight, for much
blame would he have of gainsaying him."

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "So you are content, I am happy."

The King made him knight right richly, and when he was clad in
the robes, they of the court declare and witness that never this
long time past had they seen at the court knight of greater
comeliness. He sojourned therein long time, and was much
honoured of the King and all the barons. He was every day on the
watch for the Good Knight that should come for the shield, but
the hour and the place were not as yet.

II.

When he saw that he did not come, he took leave of the King and
the Queen and all them of the court, and departed, thinking him
that he would go prove his knighthood in some place until he
should have heard tidings of his mortal enemy. He rideth amidst
the great forests bearing a red shield like as did his father,
and he was all armed as for defending of his body. And a long
space of time he rideth, until one day he cometh to the head of a
forest, and he espied his way that ran between two mountains and
saw that he had to pass along the midst of the valley that lay at
a great depth. He looketh before him and seeth a tree far away
from him, and underneath were three damsels alighted, and one
prayed God right heartily aloud that He would send them betimes a
knight that durst convoy them through this strait pass.

III.

Clamodos heareth the damsel and cometh thitherward. When they
espied him, great joy have they thereof and rise up to meet him.
"Sir," say they, "Welcome may you be!"

"Damsels," saith he, "Good adventure may you have! And whom
await you here?" saith he.

"We await," saith the Mistress of the damsels, "some knight that
shall clear this pass, for no knight durst pass hereby."

"What is the pass; then, damsel?" saith he.

"It is the one of a lion, and a lion, moreover, so fell and
horrible that never was none seen more cruel. And there is a
knight with the lion between the two mountains that is right good
knight and hardy and comely. Howbeit none durst pass without
great company of folk. But the knight that hath repair with the
lion is seldom there, for so he were there we need fear no
danger, for much courtesy is there in him and valour."

And the knight looketh and seeth in the shadow of the forest
three fair stags harnessed to a car.

"Ha," saith he, "you are the Damsel of the Car, wherefore may you
well tell me tidings of the knight of whom I am in quest."

"Who is he?" saith the Damsel.

"It is he that should bear a shield banded argent and azure with
a red cross."

"Of him am I likewise in quest," saith the Damsel; "please God,
we shall hear tidings of him betimes."

"Damsel" saith the knight, "that would I. And for that you are
in quest of him as am I likewise, I will convoy you beyond this
pass."

The Damsel maketh her Car go on before, and the damsels go before
the knight; and so enter they into the field of the lion, and
right fair land found they therewithin. Clamados looketh and
seeth the hall within an enclosure and seeth the lion that lay at
the entrance of the gateway. As soon as he espieth Clamados and
the damsels, he cometh toward them full speed, mouth open and
ears pricked up.

"Sir," saith the Damsel, "and you defend not your horse on foot,
he is dead at the first onset."

IV.

Clamados is alighted to his feet, by her counsel, and holdeth his
spear in his fist, and the lion rampeth toward him all in a fury.
Clamados receiveth him on the point of his spear, and smiteth him
therewith so stoutly that it passeth a fathom beyond his neck.
He draweth back his spear without breaking it, and thinketh to
smite him again. But the lion cheateth him, and arising himself
on his two hinder feet, setteth his fore feet on his shoulders,
then huggeth him toward him like as one man doth another. But
the grip was sore grievous, for he rendeth his habergeon in twain
and so teareth away as much flesh as he can claw hold on.

V.

When Clamados felt himself wounded, he redoubled his hardihood,
and grippeth the lion so straitly to him that he wringeth a huge
roar out of him, and then flingeth him to the ground beneath him.
Then he draweth his sword and thrusteth it to the heart right
through the breast. The lion roareth so loud that all the
mountains resound thereof. Clamados cutteth off his head and
goeth to hang it at the door of the hall. Then he cometh back to
his horse and mounteth the best he may. And the Damsel saith to
him, "Sir, you are sore wounded."

"Damsel," said he, "please God, I shall take no hurt thereof."

Thereupon, behold you a squire that issueth forth of the hall and
cometh after him full speed. "Hold, Sir Knight," saith he; "Foul
wrong have you wrought, for you have slain the lion of the most
courteous knight that may be known, and the fairest and most
valiant of this kingdom, and in his despite have you hung the
head at his door! Right passing great outrage have you done
hereby!"

"Fair sweet friend," saith Clamados, "it may well be that the
lord is right courteous, but the lion was rascal and would have
slain me and them that were passing by. And your lord loved him
so much he should have chained him up, for better liketh me that
I slew him than that he should slay me."

"Sir," saith the squire, "there is no road this way, for it is a
forbidden land whereof certain would fain reave my lord, and it
was against the coming of his enemies that the lion was allowed
forth unchained."

"And what name hath your lord, fair friend?" saith Clamados.

"Sir, he is called Meliot of Logres, and he is gone in quest of
Messire Gawain, of whom he holdeth the land, for right dear is
he to him."

"Messire Gawain," saith Clamados, "left I at the court of King
Arthur, but behoveth him depart thence or ever I return thither."

"By my head," saith the squire, "faith would I you might meet
them both twain, if only my lord knew that you had slain him his
lion."

"Fair friend," saith Clamados, "and he be as courteous as you
say, no misliking will he have of me thereof, for I slew him in
defending mine own body, and God forbid I should meet any that
would do me evil therefor."

VI.

Thereupon the knight and the damsels depart and pass the narrow
strait in the lion's field, and ride on until they draw nigh a
right rich castle seated in a meadowland surrounded of great
waters and high forests, and the castle was always void of folk.
And they were fain to turn thitherward, but they met a squire
that told them that in the castle was not a soul, albeit and they
would ride forward they would find great plenty of folk. So far
forward have they ridden that they are come to the head of a
forest and see great foison of tents stretched right in the midst
of a launde, and they were compassed round of a great white sheet
that seemed from afar to be a long white wall with crenels, and
it was a good league Welsh in length. They came to the entrance
of the tents and heard great joy within, and when they had
entered they saw dames and damsels, whereof was great plenty, and
of right passing great beauty were they. Clamados alighteth,
that was right sore wounded. The Damsel of the Car was received
with right great joy. Two of the damsels come to Clamados, of
whom make they right great joy. Afterward they lead him to a
tent and made disarm him. Then they washed his wounds right
sweetly and tenderly. Then they brought him a right rich robe
and made him be apparelled therein, and led him before the ladies
of the tents, that made right great joy of him.

VII.

"Lady," saith the Damsel of the Car, "This knight hath saved my
life, for he hath slain the lion on account of which many folk
durst not come to you, wherefore make great joy of him."

"Greater joy may I not make, than I do, nor the damsels that are
herein, for we await the coming of the Good Knight that is
healed, from day to day. And now is there nought in the world I
more desire to see."

"Lady," saith Clamados, "Who is this Good Knight?"

"The son of the Widow Lady of the Valleys of Camelot," saith she.

"Tell me, Lady, do you say that he will come hither presently?"

"So methinketh," saith she.

"Lady, I also shall have great joy thereof, and God grant he come
betimes!"

"Sir Knight," saith she, "What is your name?"

"Lady" saith he, "I am called Clamados, and I am son of the lord
of the Forest of Shadows."

She throweth her arms on his neck and kisseth and embraceth him
right sweetly, and saith: "Marvel not that I make you joy
thereof, for you are the son of my sister-in-law, nor have I any
friend nor blood-kindred so nigh as are you, and fain would I you
should be lord of all my land and of me, as is right and reason."

The damsels of the tents make right great joy of him when they
know the tidings that he is so nigh of kin to the Lady of the
Tents. And he sojourned therewithin until that he was whole and
heal, awaiting the coming of the knight of whom he had heard the
tidings. And the damsels marvel them much that he cometh not,
for the damsel that had tended him was therewithin and telleth
them that he was healed of his arm, but that Lancelot is not yet
whole, wherefore he is still within the hermitage.

VIII.

This high history witnesseth us and recordeth that Joseph, who
maketh remembrance thereof, was the first priest that sacrificed
the body of Our Lord, and forsomuch ought one to believe the
words that come of him. You have heard tell how Perceval was of
the lineage of Joseph of Abarimacie, whom God so greatly loved
for that he took down His body hanging on the cross, which he
would not should lie in the prison there where Pilate had set it.
For the highness of the lineage whereof the Good Knight was
descended ought one willingly to hear brought to mind and
recorded the words that are of him. The story telleth us that he
was departed of the hermitage all sound and whole, albeit he hath
left Lancelot, for that his wound was not yet healed, but he hath
promised him that he will come back to him so soon as he may. He
rideth amidst a forest, all armed, and cometh toward evensong to
the issue of the forest and seeth a castle before him right fair
and well seated, and goeth thitherward for lodging, for the sun
was set. He entereth into the castle and alighteth. The lord
cometh to meet him that was a tall knight and a red, and had a
felon look, and his face scarred in many places; and knight was
there none therewithin save only himself and his household.

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