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The High History of the Holy Graal

U >> Unkown >> The High History of the Holy Graal




Forthwith the cloth came down above the altar, and she
straightway found taken away therefrom as much as it pleased Our
Lord she should have. Josephus telleth us of a truth, that never
did none enter into the chapel that might touch the cloth save
only this one damsel. She set her face to it and her mouth or
ever the cloth removed.


XIX.

Thereafter, she took the piece that God would and set it near
herself full worshipfully, but still the stout went on of the
evil spirits round about the church-yard, and they dealt one
another blows so sore that all the forest resounded thereof, and
it seemed that it was all set on fire of the flame that issued
from them. Great fear would the damsel have had of them, had she
not comforted herself in God and in His dear, sweet Mother, and
the most holy cloth that was within there. A Voice appeared upon
the stroke of midnight from above the chapel, and speaketh to the
souls whereof the bodies lie within the grave-yard: "How sore
loss hath befallen you of late, and all other whose bodies lie in
other hallowed church-yards by the forests of this kingdom! For
the good King Fisherman is dead that made every day our service
be done in the most holy chapel there where the most Holy Graal
every day appeared, and where the Mother of God abode from the
Saturday until the Monday that the service was finished. And now
hath the King of Castle Mortal seized the castle in such sort
that never sithence hath the Holy Graal appeared, and all the
other hallows are hidden, so that none knoweth what hath become
of the priests that served in the chapel, nor the twelve ancient
knights, nor the damsels that were therein. And you, damsel,
that are within, have no affiance in the aid of strange knight in
this need, for succoured may you never be save of your brother
only!"


XX.

With that the Voice is still, and a wailing and a lamentation
goeth up from the bodies that lay in the church-yard, so dolorous
that no man is there in the world but should have pity thereof,
and all the evil spirits that were without departed groaning and
making so mighty uproar at their going away that it seemed the
earth trembled. The damsel heard the tidings of her uncle that
was dead, and fell on the ground in a swoon, and when she raised
herself, took on to lament and cried: "Ha, God! Now have we lost
the most comfort and the best friend that we had, and hereof am I
again discomforted that I may not be succoured in this my next
need by the Good Knight of whom I thought to have succour and
aid, and that was so fain to render it. Now shall I know not
what to ask of him, for he would grant it right willingly, and
may God be as pleased with him thereof as if he had done it."

The damsel was in sore misdoubting and dismay, for she knew not
who the knight was, and great misgiving had she of her uncle's
death and right sore sorrow. She was in the chapel until it was
day, and then commended herself to God and departed and mounted
on her mule and issued forth of the church-yard full speed, all
alone.


XXI.

The story saith that the damsel went her way toward her mother's
castle as straight as she might, but sore dismayed was she of the
Voice that had told her she might not be succoured save of her
brother alone. She hath ridden so far of her journeys that she
is come to the Valley of Camelot, and seeth her mother's castle
that was surrounded of great rivers, and seeth Perceval, that was
alighted under the shadow of a tree at the top of the forest in
order that he might behold his mother's castle, whence he went
forth squire what time he slew the Knight of the Red Shield.
When he had looked well at the castle and the country round
about, much pleasure had he thereof, and mounted again forthwith.
Thereupon, behold you, the damsel cometh.

"Sir," saith she, "In sore travail and jeopardy have I been
sithence that last I saw you, and tidings have I heard as bad as
may be, and right grievous for my mother and myself. For King
Fisherman mine uncle is dead, and another of my uncles, the King
of Castle Mortal, hath seized his castle, albeit my lady mother
ought rather to have it, or I, or my brother."

"Is it true," saith Perceval, "that he is dead?"

"Yea, certes, Sir, I know it of a truth."

"So help me God!" saith he, "This misliketh me right sore. I
thought not that he would die so soon, for I have not been to see
him of a long time."


XXII.

"Sir," saith she, "I am much discomforted as concerning you, for
I have likewise been told that no force nor aid of any knight may
avail to succour nor aid me from this day forward save my
brother's help alone. Wherefore, and it be so, we have lost all,
for my lady mother hath respite to be in her castle only until
the fifteenth day from to-day, and I know not where to seek my
brother, and the day is so nigh as you hear. Now behoveth us do
the best we may and abandon this castle betimes, nor know I any
refuge that we now may have save only King Pelles in the
hermitage. I would fain that my lady mother were there, for he
would not fail us."

Perceval is silent, and hath great pity in his heart of this that
the damsel saith. She followeth him weeping, and pointeth out to
him the Valleys of Camelot and the castles that were shut in by
combes and mountains, and the broad meadow-lands and the forest
that girded them about.

"Sir," saith she, "All this hath the Lord of the Moors reaved of
my lady mother, and nought coveteth he so much as to have this
castle, and have it he will, betimes."


XXIII.

When they had ridden until that they drew nigh the castle, the
Lady was at the windows of the hall and knew her daughter.

"Ha, God!" saith the Lady, "I see there my daughter coming, and a
knight with her. Fair Father God, grant of your pleasure that it
be my son, for and it be not he, I have lost my castle and mine
heirs are disherited."

Perceval cometh nigh the castle in company with his sister, and
knoweth again the chapel that stood upon four columns of marble
between the forest and the castle, there where his father told
him how much ought he to love good knights, and that none earthly
thing might be of greater worth, and how none might know yet who
lay in the coffin until such time as the Best Knight of the world
should come thither, but that then should it be known. Perceval
would fain have passed by the chapel, but the damsel saith to
him: "Sir, no knight passeth hereby save he go first to see the
coffin within the chapel."

He alighteth and setteth the damsel to the ground, and layeth
down his spear and shield and cometh toward the tomb, that was
right fair and rich. He set his hand above it. So soon as he
came nigh, the sepulchre openeth on one side, so that one saw him
that was within the coffin. The damsel falleth at his feet for
joy. The Lady had a custom such that every time a knight stopped
at the coffin she made the five ancient knights that she had with
her in the castle accompany her, wherein they would never fail
her, and bring her as far as the chapel. So soon as she saw the
coffin open and the joy her daughter made, she knew that it was
her son, and ran to him and embraced him and kissed him and began
to make the greatest joy that ever lady made.


XXIV.

"Now know I well," saith she, "that our Lord God hath not
forgotten me. Sith that I have my son again, the tribulations
and the wrongs that have been done me grieve me not any more.
Sir," saith she to her son, "Now is it well known and proven that
you are the Best Knight of the world! For otherwise never would
the coffin have opened, nor would any have known who he is that
you now see openly."

She maketh her chaplain take certain letters that were sealed
with gold in the coffin. He looketh thereat and readeth, and
then saith that these letters witness of him that lieth in the
coffin that he was one of them that helped to un-nail Our Lord
from the cross. They looked beside him and found the pincers all
bloody wherewith the nails were drawn, but they might not take
them away, nor the body, nor the coffin, according as Josephus
telleth us, for as soon as Perceval was forth of the chapel, the
coffin closed again and joined together even as it was before.
The Widow Lady led her son with right great joy into her castle,
and recounted to him all the shame that had been done her, and
also how Messire Gawain had made safe the castle for a year by
his good knighthood.


XXV.

"Fair son," saith she, "Now is the term drawn nigh when I should
have lost my castle and you had not come. But now know I well
that it shall be safe-guarded of you. He that coveteth this
castle is one of the most outrageous knights on live. And he
hath reaved me of my land and the Valleys of Camelot without
reasonable occasion. But, please God, you shall well repair the
harm he hath done you, for nought claim I any longer of the land
since you are come. But so avenge your shame as to increase your
honour, for none ought to allow his right to be minished of an
evil man, and the mischiefs that have been done me for that I had
no aid, let them not wax cold in you, for a shame done to one
valiant and strong ought not to wax cold in him, but rankle and
prick in him, so ought he to have his enemies in remembrance
without making semblant, but so much as he shall show in his
cheer and making semblant and his menaces, so much ought he to
make good in deed when he shall come in place. For one cannot do
too much hurt to an enemy, save only one is willing to let him be
for God's sake. But truth it is that the scripture saith, that
one ought not to do evil to one's enemies, but pray God that He
amend them. I would fain that our enemies were such that they
might amend toward us, and that they would do as much good to us
without harming themselves as they have done evil, on condition
that mine anger and yours were foregone against them. Mine own
anger I freely forbear against them so far forth as concerneth
myself, for no need have I to wish evil to none, and Solomon
telleth how the sinner that curseth other sinner curseth himself
likewise.


XXVI.

"Fair son, this castle is yours, and this land round about
whereof I have been reft ought to be yours of right, for it
falleth to you on behalf of your father and me. Wherefore send
to the Lord of the Moors that hath reft it from me, that he
render it to you. I make no further claim, for I pass it on to
you; for nought have I now to do with any land save only so much
as will be enough wherein to bury my body when I die, nor shall I
now live much longer since King Fisherman my brother is dead,
whereof right sorrowful am I at heart, and still more sorrowful
should I be were it not for your coming. And, son, I tell you
plainly that you have great blame of his death, for you are the
knight through whom he fell first into languishment, for now at
last I know well that and if you had afterwards gone back and so
made the demand that you made not at the first, he would have
come back to health. But our Lord God willed it so to be,
wherefore well beseemeth us to yield to His will and pleasure."


XXVII.

Perceval hath heard his mother, but right little hath he answered
her, albeit greatly is he pleased with whatsoever she hath said.
His face is to-flushed of hardiment, and courage hath taken hold
on him. His mother looketh at him right fainly, and hath him
disarmed and apparelled in a right rich robe. So comely a knight
was he that in all the world might not be found one of better
seeming nor better shapen of body. The Lord of the Moors, that
made full certain of having his mother's castle, knew of
Perceval's coming. He was not at all dismayed in semblant, nor
would he stint to ride by fell nor forest, and every day he
weened in his pride that the castle should be his own at the hour
and the term he had set thereof. One of the five knights of the
Widow Lady was one day gone into the Lonely Forest after hart and
hind, and had taken thereof at his will. He was returning back
to the castle and the huntsmen with him, when the Lord of the
Moors met him and told him he had done great hardiment in
shooting with the bow in the forest, and the knight made answer
that the forest was not his of right, but the Lady's of Camelot
and her son's that had repaired thither.


XXVIII.

The Lord of the Moors waxed wroth. He held a sword in his hand
and thrust him therewith through the body and slew him. The
knight was borne dead to the castle of Camelot before the Widow
Lady and her son.

"Fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "More presents of such-like
kind the Lord of the Moors sendeth me than I would. Never may he
be satisfied of harming my land and shedding the blood of the
bodies of my knights. Now may you well know how many a hurt he
hath done me sithence that your father hath been dead and you
were no longer at the castle, sith that this hath he done me even
now that you are here. You have the name of Perceval on this
account, that tofore you were born, he had begun to reave your
father of the Valleys of Camelot, for your father was an old
knight and all his brethren were dead, and therefore he gave you
this name in baptism, for that he would remind you of the
mischief done to him and to you, and that you might help to
retrieve it and you should have the power."

The Dame maketh shroud the knight, for whom she is full
sorrowful, and on the morrow hath mass sung and burieth him.
Perceval made arm two of the old knights with him, then issued
forth of the castle and entered the great dark forest. He rode
until he came before a castle, and met five knights that issued
forth all armed. He asked whose men they were. They answer, the
Lord's of the Moors, and that he goeth seek the son of the Widow
Lady that is in the forest.

"If we may deliver him up to our lord, good guerdon shal we have
thereof."

"By my faith," saith Perceval, "You have not far to seek. I am
here!"


XXIX.

Perceval smiteth his horse of his spurs and cometh to the first
in such sort that he passeth his spear right through his body and
beareth him to the ground dead. The other two knights each smote
his man so that they wounded them in the body right sore. The
other two would fain have fled, but Perceval preventeth them, and
they gave themselves up prisoners for fear of death. He bringeth
all four to the castle of Camelot and presenteth them to his lady
mother.

"Lady," saith he, "see here the quittance for your knight that
was slain, and the fifth also remaineth lying on the piece of
ground shent in like manner as was your own."

"Fair son," saith she, "I should have better loved peace after
another sort, and so it might be."

"Lady," saith he, "Thus is it now. One ought to make war against
the warrior, and be at peace with the peaceable."

The knights are put in prison. The tidings are come to the Lord
of the Moors that the son of the Widow Lady hath slain one of his
knights and carried off four to prison. Thereof hath he right
great wrath at heart, and sweareth and standeth to it that never
will he be at rest until he shall have either taken or slain him,
and that, so there were any knight in his land that would deliver
him up, he would give him one of the best castles in his country.
The more part are keen to take Perceval. Eight came for that
intent before him all armed in the forest of Camelot, and hunted
and drove wild deer in the purlieus of the forest so that they of
the castle saw them.


XXX.

Perceval was in his mother's chapel, where he heard mass; and
when the mass was sung, his sister said: "Fair brother, see here
the most holy cloth that I brought from the chapel of the
Grave-yard Perilous. Kiss it and touch it with your face, for a
holy hermit told me that never should our land be conquered back
until such time as you should have hereof."

Perceval kisseth it, then toucheth his eyes and face therewith.
Afterward he goeth to arm him, and the four knights with him;
then he issueth forth of the chamber and mounteth on his horse,
then goeth out of the gateway like a lion unchained. He sitteth
on a tall horse all covered. He cometh nigh the eight knights
that were all armed, man and horse, and asketh them what folk
they be and what they seek, and they say that they are enemies of
the Widow Lady and her son.

"Then you do I defy!" saith Perceval.

He cometh to them a great run, and the four knights with him, and
each one overthroweth his own man so roughly that either he is
wounded in his body or maimed of arm or leg. The rest held the
melly to the utmost they might endure. Perceval made take them
and bring to the castle, and the other five that they had
overthrown. The Lord of the Moors was come to shoot with a bow,
and he heard the noise of the knights, and cometh thitherward a
great gallop all armed.

"Sir," saith one of the old knights to Perceval, "Look! here is
the Lord of the Moors coming, that hath reft your mother of her
land and slain her men. Of him will it be good to take
vengeance. See, how boldly he cometh."

Perceval looketh on him as he that loveth him not, and cometh
toward him as hard as his horse may carry him, and smiteth him
right through the breast so strongly that he beareth to the
ground him and his horse together all in a heap. He alighteth to
the ground and draweth his sword.

"How?" saith the Lord of the Moors, "Would you then slay me and
put me in worse plight than I am?"

"By my head," saith Perceval, "No, nor so swiftly, but I will
slay you enough, betimes!"

"So it seemeth you," saith the Lord of the Moors, "But it shall
not be yet!"

He leapeth up on his feet and runneth on Perceval, sword drawn,
as one that fain would harm him if he might. But Perceval
defendeth himself as good knight should, and giveth such a buffet
at the outset as smiteth off his arm together with his sword.
The knights that came after fled back all discomfited when they
saw their lord wounded. And Perceval made lift him on a horse
and carry him to the castle and presenteth him to his mother.

"Lady," saith he, "See here the Lord of the Moors! Well might
you expect him eftsoons, sith that you were to have yielded him
up your castle the day after to-morrow!"


XXXI.

"Lady," saith the Lord of the Moors, "Your son hath wounded me
and taken my knights and myself likewise. I will yield you up
your castle albeit I hold it mine as of right, on condition you
cry me quit."

"And who shall repay her," saith Perceval, "for the shame that
you have done her, for her knights that you have slain, whereof
never had you pity? Now, so help me God, if she have mercy or
pity upon you, never hereafter will I trouble to come to her aid
how sore soever may be her need. Such pity and none other as you
have had for her and my sister will I have for you. Our Lord God
commanded in both the Old Law and the New, that justice should be
done upon man-slayers and traitors, and justice will I do upon
you that His commandment be not transgressed."

He hath a great vat made ready in the midst of the court, and
maketh the eleven knights be brought. H e maketh their heads be
stricken off into the vat and bleed therein as much blood as
might come from them, and then made the heads and the bodies be
drawn forth so that nought was there but blood in the vat. After
that, he made disarm the Lord of the Moors and be brought before
the vat wherein was great abundance of blood. He made bind his
feet and his hands right strait, and after that saith: "Never
might you be satisfied of the blood of the knights of my lady
mother, now will I satisfy you of the blood of your own knights!"

He maketh hang him by the feet in the vat, so that his head were
in the blood as far as the shoulders, and so maketh him be held
there until that he was drowned and quenched. After that, he
made carry his body and the bodies of the other knights and their
heads, and made them be cast into an ancient charnel that was
beside an old chapel in the forest, and the vat together with the
blood made he be cast into the river, so that the water thereof
was all bloody. The tidings came to the castles that the son of
the Widow Lady had slain the Lord of the Moors and the best of
his knights. Thereof were they in sore misgiving, and the most
part said that the like also would he do to them save they held
themselves at his commandment. They brought him the keys of all
the castles that had been reft of his mother, and all the knights
that had before renounced their allegiance returned thereunto and
pledged themselves to be at his will for dread of death. All the
land was assured in safety, nor was there nought to trouble the
Lady's joy save only that King Fisherman her brother was dead,
whereof she was right sorrowful and sore afflicted.


XXXII.

One day the Widow Lady sate at meat, and there was great plenty
of knights in the hall. Perceval sate him beside his sister.
Thereupon, behold you the Damsel of the Car that came with the
other two damsels before the Widow Lady and her son, and saluted
them right nobly.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Good adventure may you have!"

"Sir," saith she, "You have speeded right well of your business
here, now go speed it elsewhere, for thereof is the need right
sore. King Hermit, that is your mother's brother, sendeth you
word that, and you come not with haste into the land that was
King Fisherman's your uncle, the New Law that God hath stablished
will be sore brought low. For the King of Castle Mortal, that
hath seized the land and castle, hath made be cried throughout
all the country how all they that would fain maintain the Old Law
and abandon the New shall have protection of him and counsel and
aid, and they that will not shall be destroyed and outlawed."

"Ha, fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "Now have you heard the
great disloyalty of the evil man that is my brother, whereof am I
right sorrowful, for that he is of my kindred."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Your brother nor my uncle is he no
longer, sith that he denieth God! Rather is he our mortal enemy
that we ought of right to hate more than any stranger!"


XXXIII.

"Fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "I pray and beseech you that
the Law of the Saviour be not set aside in forgetfulness and
neglect there where you may exalt it, for better Lord in no wise
may you serve, nor one that better knoweth how to bestow fair
guerdon. Fair son, none may be good knight that serveth Him not
and loveth Him. Take heed that you be swift in His service nor
delay not for no intent, but be ever at His commandment alike at
eventide as in the morning, so shall you not bely your lineage.
And the Lord God grant you good intent therein and good will to
go on even as you have begun."

The Widow Lady, that much loved her son, riseth up from the
tables, and all the other knights, and seemeth it that she is
Lady of her land in such sort as that never was she better. But
full often doth she give thanks to the Saviour of the World with
her whole heart, and prayeth Him of His pleasure grant her son
length of life for the amendment both of soul and body. Perceval
was with his mother of a long space, and with his sister, and was
much feared and honoured of all the knights of the land, alike
for his great wisdom and great pains-taking, as well as for the
valour of his knighthood.



BRANCH XVI.

TITLE I.

This High History saith that Messire Gawain and Lancelot were
repaired to the court of King Arthur from the quest they had
achieved. The King made great joy thereof and the Queen. King
Arthur sate one day at meat by the side of the Queen, and they
had been served of the first meats. Thereupon come two knights
all armed, and each bore a dead knight before him, and the
knights were still armed as they had been when their bodies were
alive.

"Sir," say the knights, "This shame and this mischief is yours.
In like manner will you lose all your knights betimes and God
love you not well enough to give counsel herein forthwith of his
mercy."

"Lords," saith the King, "How came these knights to be in so evil
case?"

"Sir," say they, "It is of good right you ought to know. The
Knight of the Fiery Dragon is entered into the head of your land,
and is destroying knights and castles and whatsoever he may lay
hands on, in such sort that none durst contend against him, for
he is taller by a foot than any knight ever you had, and of
grisly cheer, and so is his sword three times bigger than the
sword of ever another knight, and his spear is well as heavy as a
man may carry. Two knights might lightly cover them of his
shield, and it hath on the outer side the head of a dragon that
casteth forth fire and flame whensoever he will, so eager and
biting that none may long endure his encounter."


II.

"None other, how strong soever he be, may stand against him, and,
even as you see, hath he burnt and evil-entreated all other
knights that have withstood him."

"From what land hath come such manner of man?"

"Sir," say the knights, "He is come from the Giant's castle, and
he warreth upon you for the love of Logrin the Giant, whose head
Messire Kay brought you into your court, nor never, saith he,
will he have joy until such time as he shall have avenged him on
your body or upon the knight that you love best."

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