The High History of the Holy Graal

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"Sir," saith Joseus, "It is but just now since he lay here
within, and asked me tidings of Messire Gawain, and I told him
such as I knew. Another time before that, he lay here when the
robbers assailed us that he hanged in the forest, and so hated is
he thereof of their kinsfolk that and they may meet him, so they
have the might, he is like to pay for it right dear, and in this
forest won they rather than in any other. I told him as much,
but he made light thereof in semblant, even as he will in deed
also if their force be not too great."

"By my head," saith Perceval, "I will not depart forth of this
forest until I know tidings of him, if Messire Gawain will pledge
himself thereto."

And Messire saith he desireth nothing better, sith that he hath
found Perceval, for he may not be at ease until such time as he
shall know tidings of Lancelot, for he hath great misgiving sith
that he hath enemies in the forest.

V.

Perceval and Messire Gawain sojourned that day in the forest in
the hermitage, and the morrow Perceval took his shield that he
brought from King Arthur's court, and left that which he brought
with him, and Messire Gawain along with him that made himself
right joyous of his company. They ride amidst the forest both
twain, all armed, and at the right hour of noon they meet a
knight that was coming a great gallop as though he were all
scared. Perceval asketh him whence he cometh, that he seemeth so
a-dread.

"Sir, I come from the forest of the robbers that won in this
forest wherethrough you have to pass. They have chased me a full
league Welsh to slay me, but they would not follow me further for
a knight that they have beset in one of their holds, that hath
done them right sore mischief, for he hath hanged four of their
knights and slain one, as well as the fairest damsel that was in
the kingdom. But right well had she deserved the death for that
she harboured knights with fair semblant and showed them much
honour, and afterward brought about their death and destruction,
between herself and a dwarf that she hath, that slew the
knights."

"And know you who is the knight?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Not I, for no leisure had I to ask him,
for sorer need had I to flee than to stay. But I tell you that
on account of the meat that failed him in the hold wherein they
beset him, he issued forth raging like a lion, nor would he have
suffered himself be shut up so long but for two wounds that he
had upon his body; for he cared not to issue forth of the house
until such time as they were healed, and also for that he had no
horse. And so soon as he felt himself whole, he ventured himself
against the four knights, that were so a-dread of him that they
durst not come a-nigh. And moreover he deigneth not to go
a-foot, wherefore if they now come a-nigh, it may not be but he
shall have one at least out of their four horses, but they hold
them heedfully aloof."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Gramercy of these tidings."

They were fain to depart from the knight, but said he: "Ha,
Lords, allow me so much as to see the destruction of this evil
folk that have wrought such mischief in this forest! Sir" saith
he to Messire Gawain, "I am cousin to the Poor Knight of the
Waste Forest that hath the two poor damsels to sister, there
where you and Lancelot jousted between you, and when the knight
that brought you tidings thereof died in the night."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "These tidings know I well,
for you say true, and your company hold I right dear for the love
of the Poor Knight, for never yet saw I more courteous knight,
nor more courteous damsels, nor better nurtured, and our Lord God
grant them as much good as I would they should have."

Messire Gawain made the knight go before, for well knew he the
robbers' hold, but loath enough had he been to go thither, had
the knights not followed him behind. Lancelot was issued forth
of the hold sword in hand, all armed, angry as a lion. The four
knights were upon their horses all armed, but no mind had they
come a-nigh him, for sore dreaded they the huge buffets he dealt,
and his hardiment. One of them came forward before the others,
and it seemed him shame that they might not vanquish one single
knight. He goeth to smite Lancelot a great stroke of his sword
above in the midst of his head, nor did Lancelot's sword fail of
its stroke, for before he could draw back, Lancelot dealt him
such a blow as smote oft all of his leg at the thigh, so that he
made him leave the saddlebows empty. Lancelot leapt up on the
destrier, and now seemed him he was safer than before. The three
robber-knights that yet remained whole ran upon him on all sides
and began to press him of their swords in right sore wrath.
Thereupon behold you, the knight cometh to the way that goeth to
the hold and saith to Messire Gawain and Perceval, "Now may you
hear the dashing of swords and the melly."

Therewithal the two good knights smite horse with spur and come
thither where the three robber-knights were assailing Lancelot.
Each of the twain smiteth his own so wrathfully that they thrust
their spears right through their bodies and bear them to the
ground dead. Howbeit the third knight was fain to flee, but the
knight that had come to show Messire Gawain the way took heart
and hardiment from the confidence of the good knights, and smote
him as he fled so sore that he pierced him with his spear to the
heart and toppled him to the ground dead. And the one whose leg
Lancelot had lopped off was so trampled underfoot of the knights
that he had no life in him.

VI.

When Lancelot knew Perceval and Messire Gawain he made great joy
of them and they of him.

"Lancelot," saith Messire Gawain, "This knight that led us hither
to save your life is cousin to the Poor Knight of the Waste
Castle, the brother of the two poor damsels that lodged us so
well. We will send him these horses, one for the knight that
shall be the messenger, and the two to the lord of the Waste
Castle, and this hold that we have taken shall be for the two
damsels, and so shall we make them safe all the days of their
life. This, methinketh, will be well."

"Certes," saith Perceval, "you speak of great courtesy."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Messire Gawain hath said, and right
willingly will I grant him all his wish."

"Lords," saith the knight, "They have in this forest a hold
wherein the knights did bestow their plunder, for the sake
whereof they murdered the passers by. If the goods remain there
they will be lost, for therein is so great store as might be of
much worth to many folk that are poverty-stricken for want
thereof."

They go to the hold and find right great treasure in a cave
underground, and rich sets of vessels and rich ornaments of cloth
and armours for horses, that they had thrown the one over another
into a pit that was right broad.

"Certes," saith he, "Right well hath it been done to this evil
folk that is destroyed!"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "in like manner would they have dealt with
me and killed me if they might; whereof no sorrow have I save of
the damsel that I slew, that was one of the fairest dames of the
world. But I slew her not knowingly, for I meant rather to
strike the knight, but she leapt between us, like the hardiest
dame that saw I ever."

"Sirs," saith the knight, "Perceval and Lancelot, by the counsel
of Messire Gawain, granted the treasure to the two damsels,
sisters to the Poor Knight of the Waste Castle, whereupon let
them send for Joseus the Hermit and bid him guard the treasure
until they shall come hither."

And Joseus said that he would do so, and is right glad that the
robbers of the forest are made away withal, that had so often
made assault upon him. He guarded the treasure and the hold
right safely in the forest; but the dread and the renown of the
good knights that had freed the forest went far and wide. The
knight that led the three destriers was right joyfully received
at the Waste Castle; and when he told the message wherewith he
was charged by Messire Gawain, the Poor Knight and two damsels
made great joy thereof. Perceval taketh leave of Messire Gawain
and Lancelot, and saith that never will he rest again until he
shall have found his sister and his widow mother. They durst not
gainsay him, for they know well that he is right, and he prayeth
them right sweetly that they salute the King and Queen and all
the good knights of the court, for, please God, he will go see
them at an early day. But first he was fain to fulfil the
promise King Arthur made to his sister, for he would not that the
King should be blamed in any place as concerning him, nor by his
default; and he himself would have the greater blame therein and
he succoured her not, for the matter touched him nearer than it
did King Arthur.

VII.

With that the Good Knight departeth, and they commend him to God,
and he them in like sort. Messire Gawain and Lancelot go their
way back toward the court of King Arthur, and Perceval goeth
amidst strange forests until he cometh to a forest far away,
wherein, so it seemed him, he had never been before. And he
passed through a land that seemed him to have been laid waste,
for it was all void of folk. Wild beast only seeth he there,
that ran through the open country. He entered into a forest in
this waste country, and found a hermitage in the combe of a
mountain. He alighted without and heard that the hermit was
singing the service of the dead, and had begun the mass with a
requiem betwixt him and his clerk. He looketh and seeth a pall
spread upon the ground before the altar as though it were over a
corpse. He would not enter the chapel armed, wherefore he
hearkened to the mass from without right reverently, and showed
great devotion as he that loved God much and was a-dread. When
the mass was sung, and the hermit was disarmed of the armour of
Our Lord, he cometh to Perceval and saluteth him and Perceval him
again.

"Sir," saith Perceval, "For whom have you done such service?
meseemed that the corpse lay therewithin for whom the service was
ordained."

"You say truth," saith the hermit. "I have done it for Lohot,
King Arthur's son, that lieth buried under this pall."

"Who, then, hath slain him?" saith Perceval.

"That will I tell you plainly," saith the hermit.

VIII.

"This wasted land about this forest wherethrough you have come is
the beginning of the kingdom of Logres. There wont to be therein
a Giant so big and horrible and cruel that none durst won within
half a league round about, and he destroyed the land and wasted
it in such sort as you see. Lohot was departed from the land and
the court of King Arthur his father in quest of adventure, and by
the will of God arrived at this forest, and fought against
Logrin, right cruel as he was, and Logrin against him. As it
pleased God, Lohot vanquished him; but Lohot had a marvellous
custom: when he had slain a man, he slept upon him. A knight of
King Arthur's court, that is called Kay the Seneschal, was come
peradventure into this forest of Logres. He heard the Giant roar
when Lohot dealt him the mortal blow. Thither came he as fist as
he might, and found the King's son sleeping upon Logrin. He drew
his sword and therewith cut off Lohot's head, and took the head
and the body and set them in a coffin of stone. After that he
hacked his shield to pieces with his sword, that he should not be
recognised; then came he to the Giant that lay dead, and so cut
oft his head, that was right huge and hideous, and hung it at his
fore saddle-bow. Then went he to the court of King Arthur and
presented it to him. The King made great joy thereof and all
they of the court, and the King made broad his lands right freely
for that he believed Kay had spoken true. I went," saith the
hermit, "on the morrow to the piece of land where the Giant lay
dead, as a damsel came within here to tell me with right great
joy. I found the corpse of the Giant so big that I durst not
come a-nigh it. The damsel led me to the coffin where the King's
son was lying. She asked the head of me as her guerdon, and I
granted it to her willingly. She set it forthwith in a coffer
laden with precious stones that was all garnished within of
balsams. After that, she helped me carry the body into this
chapel and enshroud and bury it.

IX.

"Afterwards the damsel departed, nor have I never heard talk of
her since, nor do I make remembrance hereof for that I would King
Arthur should know it, nor for aught that I say thereof that he
should do evil to the knight; for right sore sin should I have
thereof, but deadly treason and disloyalty hath he wrought."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "This is sore pity of the King's son, that
he is dead in such manner, for I have heard witness that he ever
waxed more and more in great chivalry, and, so the King knew
thereof, Kay the Seneschal, that is not well-loved of all folk,
would lose the court for ever more, or his life, so he might be
taken, and this would be only right and just."

Perceval lay the night in the hermitage, and departed on the
morrow when he had heard mass. He rideth through the forest as
he that right gladly would hear tidings of his mother, nor never
before hath he been so desirous thereof as is he now. He heard,
at right hour of noon, a damsel under a tree that made greater
dole than ever heard he damsel make before. She held her mule by
the reins and was alighted a-foot and set herself on her knees
toward the East. She stretched her hands up toward heaven and
prayed right sweetly the Saviour of the World and His sweet
Mother that they would send her succour betimes, for that the
most discounselled damsel of the world was she, and never was
alms given to damsel to counsel her so well bestowed as it would
be upon her, for that needs must she go to the most perilous
place that is in the world, and that, save she might bring some
one with her, never would that she had to do be done.

X.

Perceval drew himself up when he heard the damsel bemoaning thus.
He was in the shadow of the forest so that she saw him not. The
damsel cried out all weeping, "Ha, King Arthur, great sin did you
in forgetting to speak of my business to the knight that bare
away the shield from your court, by whom would my mother have
been succoured, that now must lose her castle presently save God
grant counsel herein; and so unhappy am I, that I have gone
through all the lands of Great Britain, yet may I hear no tidings
of my brother, albeit they say that he is the Best Knight of the
world. But what availeth us his knighthood, when we have neither
aid nor succour thereof? So much the greater shame ought he to
have of himself, if he love his mother, as she, that is the most
gentle lady that liveth and the most loyal, hath hope that, and
he knew, he would come thither. Either he is dead or he is in
lands so far away that none may hear tidings of him. Ha, sweet
Lady, Mother of Our Saviour, aid us when we may have no aid of
any other! for if my lady mother loseth her castle, needs must
we be forlorn wanderers in strange lands, for so have her
brothers been long time; he that had the most power and valour
lieth in languishment, the good King Fisherman that the King of
Castle Mortal warreth on, albeit he also is my uncle, my mother's
brother, and would fain reave my uncle, that is his brother, of
his castle by his felony. Of a man so evil my lady mother
looketh for neither aid nor succour. And the good King Pelles
hath renounced his kingdom for the love of his Saviour, and hath
entered into a hermitage. He likewise is brother of my mother,
and behoveth him make war upon none, for the most worshipful
hermit is he of the world. And all they on my father's side have
died in arms. Eleven were there of them, and my father was the
twelfth. Had they remained on live, well able would they have
been to succour us, but the knight that was first at the Graal
hath undone us, for through him our uncle fell in languishment,
in whom should have been our surest succour."

XI.

At this word Perceval rode forward, and the damsel heareth him.
She riseth up, and looketh backward and seeth the knight come,
the shield at his neck banded argent and azure, with a red cross.
She clasped her two hands toward heaven, and saith, "Ha, sweet
Lady that didst bear the Saviour of the World, you have not
forgotten me, nor never may be discounselled he nor she that
calleth upon you with the heart. Here see I the knight come of
whom we shall have aid and succour, and our Lord God grant him
will to do His pleasure, and lend him courage and strength to
protect us!"

She goeth to meet him, and holdeth his stirrup and would have
kissed his foot, but he avoideth it and crieth to her: "Ill do
you herein, damsel!" And therewith she melteth in tears of
weeping and prayeth him right sweetly.

"Sir," saith she, "Of such pity as God had of His most sweet
Mother on that day He took His death, when He beheld Her at the
foot of the cross, have pity and mercy of my lady mother and of
me. For, and your aid fail us, we know not to whom to fly for
rescue, for I have been told that you are the Best Knight of the
world. And for obtaining of your help went I to King Arthur's
court. Wherefore succour us for pity's sake and God's and for
nought beside, for, so please you, it is your duty so to do,
albeit, had you been my brother that is also such a knight as
you, whom I cannot find, I might have called upon you of a
greater right. Sir," saith she, "Do you remember you of the
brachet you had at the court waiting for you until such time as
you should come for the shield, and that went away with you, how
he would never make joy nor know any save me alone? By this know
I well that if you knew the soreness of our need you would
succour us. But King Arthur, that should have prayed you
thereof, forgat it."

"Damsel," saith he, "so much hath he done that he hath not failed
of his covenant with you, for he sent for me by the two best
knights of his court, and, so I may speed, so much will I do
herein as that God and he shall be well pleased thereof."

XII.

The damsel had right great joy of the knight that he should grant
her his aid, but she knew not he was her brother, or otherwise
she would have doubled her joy. Perceval knoweth well that she
is his sister, but he would not yet discover himself and manifest
his pity outwardly. He helpeth the damsel to mount again and
they rode on together.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Needs must I go to-night by myself to
the Grave-yard Perilous."

"Wherefore go you thither?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith she, "I have made vow thereof, and moreover a holy
hermit hath told me that the knight that warreth upon us may not
be overcome of no knight, save I bring him not some of the cloth
wherewith the altar in the chapel of the Grave-yard Perilous is
covered. The cloth is of the most holiest, for our Lord God was
covered therewith in the Holy Sepulchre, on the third day when He
came back from death to life. Nor none may enter the holy
grave-yard that bringeth another with him, wherefore behoveth me
go by myself, and may God save my life this night, for the place
is sore perilous, and so ought I greatly to hate him that hath
procured me this dolour and travail. Sir," saith she, "You will
go your way toward the castle of Camelot: there is the Widow Lady
my mother, that awaiteth the return and the succour of the Good
Knight, and may you remember to succour and aid us when you shall
see how sore is our need of succour.

XIII.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "So God allow me I will aid you to the
utmost of my power."

"Sir," saith she, "See, this is my way, that is but little
frequented, for I tell you that no knight durst tread therein
without great peril and great dread. And our Lord God have your
body in keeping, for mine own this night shall be in sore
jeopardy and hazard."

Perceval departeth from the damsel, his sister, and hath right
great pity for that she goeth in so perilous place all alone.
Natheless would he nor forbid her, for he knew well that she
might not go thither with him nor with other, sith that such was
the custom of the grave-yard that twain might not pass the
entrance, wherefore needs must one remain without. Perceval was
not willing that his sister should break her vow, for never none
of his lineage did at any time disloyalty nor base deed
knowingly, nor failed of nought that they had in covenant, save
only the King of Castle Mortal, from whom he had as much evil as
he had good of the others.

XIV.

The damsel goeth her way all alone and all forlorn toward the
grave-yard and the deep of the forest, all dark and shadowy. She
hath ridden until the sun was set and the night draweth nigh.
She looketh before her and seeth a cross, high and wide and
thick. And on this cross was the figure of Our Lord graven,
whereof is she greatly comforted. She draweth nigh the cross,
and so kisseth and adoreth it, and prayeth the Saviour of the
world that was nailed on Holy Rood that He would bring her forth
of the burial-ground with honour. The cross was at the entrance
of the grave-yard, that was right spacious, for, from such time
as the land was first peopled of folk, and that knights began to
seek adventure by the forest, not a knight had died in the
forest, that was full great of breadth and length, but his body
was borne thither, nor might never knight there be buried that
had not received baptism and had repented him not of his sins at
his death.

XV.

Thereinto entered the damsel all alone, and found great multitude
of tombs and coffins. Nor none need wonder whether she had
shuddering and fear, for such place must needs be dreadful to a
lonely damsel, there where lay so many knights that had been
slain in arms. Josephus the good clerk witnesseth us that within
the grave-yard might no evil spirit meddle, for that Saint Andrew
the apostle had blessed it with his hand. But never might no
hermit remain within for the evil things that appeared each night
all round about, that took the shapes of the knights that were
dead in the forest, wherof the bodies lay not in the blessed
burial-ground.

XVI.

The damsel beholdeth their sepulchres all round about the grave-
yard whereinto she was come. She seeth them surrounded of
knights, all black, and spears had they withal, and came one
against another, and made such uproar and alarm as it seemed all
the forest resounded thereof. The most part held swords all red
as of fire, and ran either upon other, and gashed one another's
hands and feet and nose and face. And great was the clashing
they made, but they could not come a-nigh the grave-yard. The
damsel seeth them, and hath such affright thereof that she nigh
fell to the ground in a swoon. The mule whereon she sate draweth
wide his nostrils and goeth in much fear. The damsel signeth her
of the cross and commendeth her to the Saviour and to His sweet
Mother. She looketh before her to the head of the grave-yard,
and seeth the chapel, small and ancient. She smiteth her mule
with her whip, and cometh thitherward and alighteth. She entered
therewithin and found a great brightness of light. Within was an
image of Our Lady, to whom she prayeth right sweetly that She
will preserve her senses and her life and enable her to depart in
safety from this perilous place. She seeth above the altar the
most holy cloth for the which she was come thither, that was
right ancient, and a smell came thereof so sweet and glorious
that no sweetness of the world might equal it. The damsel cometh
toward the altar thinking to take the cloth, but it goeth up into
the air as if the wind had lifted it, and was so high that she
might not reach it above an ancient crucifix that was there
within.

"Ha, God!" saith the damsel, "It is for my sin and my disloyalty
that this most holy cloth thus draweth itself away from me!"

XVII.

"Fair Father God, never did I evil to none, nor never did I shame
nor sinned deadly in myself, nor never wrought against your will,
so far as in me lay, but rather do I serve you and love and fear
you and your sweet Mother; and all the tribulation I receive,
accept I in patience for your love, for well I know that such is
your pleasure, nor have I no will to set myself against nought
that pleaseth you.

XVIII.

"When it shall please you, you will release me and my mother of
the grief and tribulation wherein we are. For well you know that
they have reaved her of her castles by wrong, and of her land,
for that she is a Widow Lady without help. Lord, you who have
all the world at your mercy and do your commandment in all
things, grant me betimes to hear tidings of my brother and he be
on live, for sore need have we of him. And so lend force to the
knight and power against all our enemies, that for your love and
for pity is fain to succour and aid my mother that is sore
discounselled. Lord, well might it beseem you to remember of
your pity and the sweetness that is in you, and of compassion
that she hath been unrighteously disherited, and that no succour
nor aid nor counsel hath she, save of you alone. You are her
affiance and her succour, and therefore ought you to remember
that the good knight Joseph of Abarimacie, that took down your
Body when it hung upon the rood, was her own uncle. Better loved
he to take down your Body than all the gold and all the fee that
Pilate might give him. Lord, good right of very truth had he so
to do, for he took you in his arms beside the rood, and laid your
Body in the holy sepulchre, wherein were you covered of the
sovran cloth for the which have I come in hither. Lord, grant it
be your pleasure that I may have it, for love of the knight by
whom it was set in this chapel; sith that I am of his lineage it
ought well to manifest itself in this sore need, so it come
according to your pleasure."

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