For he liked the seeming of the young man, and beside Lancelot’s own seat and the other three that waited, there were already empty places at the Round Table, whose knights had fallen during the past year; and those places must be filled. There would always be empty places, he realised suddenly, as though it were something he had not known before; and always they must be filled …
So all that night young Lancelot kept his vigil in the castle chapel, kneeling at the chancel steps with his sword and his armour laid before the altar in front of him. And all night long he prayed, and watched the moonlight through the high window move silverly across his harness, and prayed again, and thought long thoughts that he could not have shared with anyone.
Now Lancelot was as odd and ill-matching in his hidden inmost self as he was in his face for all to see. And maybe because of those strange lost years in his childhood, he always felt as though he was searching for something. He never felt he was quite like other boys; quite like other men. He had a great and terrible hope in him, more fitted to a monk than to a knight, that one day, if he proved himself worthy, God would let him perform a miracle. But for that to happen, he would have to be the best knight in all the world. So kneeling there in the moon-whitened chapel all night long, he prayed that he should become not just the strongest and bravest and most skilled knight, but the best. He prayed that he might never do anything to stain his honour or anybody else’s; and he prayed for his miracle.
And the moon sank and the sun rose, and when the proper ceremonies of bath and arming were over, he received his knighthood from King Arthur in the Great Hall on Easter morning.
And after, two of the Queen’s ladies buckled on his knightly spurs. But Queen Guenever herself buckled on his sword-belt; and this she did partly because he was a king’s son, but mostly in kindness, because she had heard Sir Kay, the King’s foster brother and Seneschal, sneering to another knight about the newcomer’s ill looks and saying that he would not likely find a maiden’s favour to wear on his crest at the jousts and tournaments.
The buckle was stiff, and though she was well used to fastening Arthur’s sword-belt for him, the Queen found it hard to make the tang go into the right place. And Lancelot, seeing this, put his own hand to help her, and so their fingers touched – and instantly they looked up from the buckle into each other’s eyes. And having looked, they did not know how to look away again. They both paled to curd white and the black pupils of their eyes grew enormous. For a long moment it seemed that nothing moved or sounded in the Hall, and even the fire on the hearth stopped crackling. Then they pulled their eyes away from each other, and Guenever finished securing the buckle. But her fingers were shaking.
During the next three days there was a certain muttering and complaining among some of the knights, led by Sir Kay, that a man so young and all untried as yet should have been knighted and given a place at the Round Table. And afterwards men thought this was the reason that Lancelot set off so soon on his first quest. They thought that he went to prove himself, and to quiet the muttering. And Lancelot let them think it; but he had another reason. On the first evening after his cousin Lional had been made a knight also, when supper was over in the Great Hall and the King and Sir Gawain were playing chess, he fell, without knowing it, to watching the Queen as she sat with the torchlight meshed in her dark hair, listening with her chin cupped in her hand to an old song that the King’s harper was singing.
‘Aye, is she not fair?’ said Lional softly beside him. ‘Surely she would be the fairest damosel in all this court, if she were not the Queen.’
And Sir Lancelot said, ‘Yes’ and began instead to watch his own hands. And in a little, he said, ‘I shall ask the King’s leave to go on a quest.’
‘Let me ride with you,’ said his kinsman.
And as soon as the game of chess was over, Lancelot went and knelt before the King and asked leave to ride out next morning in quest of adventure, his cousin Lional with him.
The King looked at him a moment and then said, ‘Pay no heed to them. Sir Kay was an unhappy boy and he’s an unhappy man, and I fear me he always will be.’
‘As to that,’ said Lancelot, ‘I do not care greatly whether Sir Kay thinks me worthy of my knighthood and my place at the Round Table, but I care whether I think myself worthy of them.’
So King Arthur gave him leave for the quest, and Lional also, and next morning after hearing Mass they rode out in search of whatever adventures awaited them.
And adventures they were like to find in plenty, for although the Sea Wolves and the men from the dark North and the western mountains had been overcome and driven back to their own places, the land was not quiet, for the long years of warfare had left behind them much unrest. There were many lords who had come to think that the strong arm was all that mattered, and right was the same thing as might. And as the months of spring and summer passed, Sir Lancelot and his cousin met and fought with many such, and overcame them. And when they were defeated and cried his mercy, Sir Lancelot would make them swear to be the High King’s men thenceforth, and send them to swear fealty to Arthur. But sometimes the battle was to the death, as it was when he met with a certain Sir Carrados. Sir Carrados would not cry quarter, and Sir Lancelot slew him after a mighty battle, and freed the captives he was holding to ransom in his tower. And then he rode on his way, seeking the next thing.
But the time was to come when he would remember Sir Carrados.
Meanwhile, on a day of late summer when the air shimmered like a midge cloud with the heat, the two cousins came to a great old apple tree heavy with half-ripe fruit, that grew close beside a hedge. They were far over on the very borders of the land of Gore, though they did not know it. The shade lay deep and cool under the tree, and Lancelot, who was weary with riding and fighting and the aching heart that he carried within him for Guenever’s sake, felt a great desire to lie down in that shade and sleep. So they dismounted, knee-hobbled the horses and turned them free to graze, then lay down themselves in the blissful coolth of the long grass under the apple boughs.
Almost at once Lancelot was asleep, his head on his helm for a pillow. But lying beside him, Lional could not sleep, and in a while he sat up again, and propped his back against the apple trunk, and sat there chewing grass stems and idly watching the horses graze.
Presently he heard the hoof-beats of other horses, hard ridden, and looking out over the open country before him, he saw three knights riding for their lives, and behind them a fourth in hot pursuit, who was the biggest and most powerful-looking knight Lional had ever seen, and riding a warhorse that made the horses of the other three look no more than jennets. And even as Lional watched, he reached and overtook the first of the fleeing knights and struck him to the ground, then thundered on to serve the second and the third in the same way. Then he dismounted and, leading his own horse, returned on his tracks and flung each fallen knight across the back of his own mount, bound him there with his own reins, and then remounting, rode on, driving the three shamefully before him.
Sir Lional got up quietly and laced on his helm, taking care not to waken his cousin; for all that summer Lancelot had had most of the fighting, and he thought, Now this is surely my adventure; and if I can overcome this knight and free his captives, I shall win much honour. So he freed his horse’s hobbles and, mounting, rode hard after the little group now almost lost in the late summer haze.
Riding hard, he overtook them at last, and shouted to the huge knight to halt.
The other turned without a word, and setting his lance in rest came charging back upon Sir Lional, and got in a blow to the shoulder-piece that hove him backwards clean over his horse’s crupper; then he dismounted, bound Sir Lional and slung him over his own saddle, just as he had done with the others, and rode on, driving the four horses ahead of him. And when he reached his own manor, he had them stripped and beaten with thorn branches, and then flung into a stone chamber deep underground, where there were many doleful knights that he had taken cap
tive at other times.
Now a short while before this, Ector of the Marsh, Lancelot’s half-brother, had arrived at Camelot, craving knighthood; and finding Lancelot and Lional both away on quest, he asked leave to follow them; and rode out on his search. For a while he searched in vain, until one day he met with a forester, and knowing that wherever there was promise of adventure, there his kinsmen would be most likely found, he enquired, ‘Good fellow, is there any place near here where adventure is to be had for the asking?’
‘That there is, Sir Knight,’ returned the forester. ‘Not more than a mile from here there stands the strong fortified manor house of Sir Tarquine; and close by the house the river runs over a ford – a good place for horses to drink – and over the ford there leans a great willow tree, and from the branches of the tree there hang the shields of many knights who Sir Tarquine has overthrown and flung into a dungeon beneath his house. On this tree also hangs a basin of finest copper. Beat upon it with the butt of your spear, and Sir Tarquine himself will come out to fight with you. And may the good God be gentle with your soul.’
Sir Ector thanked the man, and rode on by the way that he had pointed out, until soon he came to the ford, and saw the ancient willow tree leaning over it; and hanging from the branches many shields, some of them rusted and weather-worn, others bright and new; and among them the shield of his cousin Lional. The anger rose in his throat, and seeing the copper basin, he beat upon it with the butt of his spear until all the forest rang and the wood pigeons clattered up from the trees. Then, since no one came, he rode knee-deep into the ford to let his horse drink. And while he was still in the water a great voice cried out to him from the bank, ‘Sir Knight! Since you have summoned me, come up from the water and make ready to joust with me!’
Striking spurs to his horse, Sir Ector came plunging up from the ford, setting his spear in rest as he came, and charged the huge knight he saw waiting and ready for him on the bank with such dash and fury that he got in a blow which sent horse and rider plunging round in a full circle.
‘That was well struck! A knightly blow!’ said Sir Tarquine, and he laughed, and charged Sir Ector in his turn, and got him under the arm and lifted him clean out of the saddle and bore him away at a plunging gallop through his gates and across his courtyard and into his hall and flung him down all asprawl on the rush-strewn floor. ‘Now you are at my mercy,’ said the huge knight. ‘Do you cry quarter?’
‘Never!’ said Sir Ector through his teeth.
‘You shall have it, none the less; prisonment instead of death, for your boldness pleases me,’ said Sir Tarquine; and he called his servants and men-at-arms and had Sir Ector stripped and beaten with thorn branches and flung into the dark stone place beneath the house. And there he found many knights before him, the owners of the shields he had seen hanging from the willow tree. And among them Sir Lional.
When they had greeted each other, sorrowfully enough, Sir Ector said, ‘But tell me, where is Sir Lancelot my brother, for it was told me that you two rode together.’
‘Alas!’ said Sir Lional. ‘I left him sleeping under an apple tree this very noon, when I rode off to follow the tyrant lord of this place. And for all I know, he sleeps there still.’
And under the apple tree meanwhile, Sir Lancelot lay sleeping until well into the afternoon. And while he slept, there came by four queens riding on white mules, and with four mounted knights in attendance on them, holding up a canopy of green silk upon the points of spears to shield their delicate complexions from the sun. And as they came near, Lancelot’s horse caught the scent of the others and whinnied; and looking that way, they beheld a knee-hobbled warhorse, and hard by, a knight sleeping under an apple tree, fully armed save that his helm was off and serving him for a pillow. And one of them – it was Morgan La Fay – knew him by her magic powers. ‘It is Sir Lancelot of the Lake,’ she said, ‘he that shall be the greatest of all my brother’s knights.’
Then all four queens looked down at his sleeping face, seeing in its ugliness what most women saw in it all his life, and began to quarrel over which of them should have him for her lover.
‘We need not bide here making war over him,’ said Morgan La Fay at last. ‘I will cast a web of sleep upon him, that he shall not wake for three hours, and we will carry him back to my castle; and when he wakes, he shall choose among us for himself.’ For in her own dark heart she was sure that she had more beauty than the other three, and that if her beauty failed her she could win him to her by her spells.
So she dismounted, and kneeling beside him made the spell of sleeping, and laid it upon him with her two forefingers touching his closed eyes. And when she was mounted again, the knights laid Lancelot, sleeping now as deeply as Merlin beneath his hawthorn tree, upon his own shield, and so bore him between them, his own horse following aft, back to the Queen’s castle, that was called the Castle Chariot, and laid him sleeping still upon a pallet bed in one of the castle dungeons.
When Lancelot awoke and found himself in his strange prison, he found also a young maiden standing beside him with a platter of bread and meat and a cup of wine.
‘How is it with you, Sir Knight?’ she asked, kindly enough.
And Sir Lancelot looked about him in bewilderment and said, ‘How did I come to be in this place, when I fell asleep under an apple tree?’
‘Nay, there is no time now for words,’ said the maiden. ‘Make what cheer you may; and you shall know more in the morning.’ And her voice was soft, for she was sorry for a young knight in the clutches of her mistress and her mistress’s fellow queens. And she went away.
Lancelot did not touch his food, but lay hungry and wakeful and afraid and raging through the night.
In the morning the door opened again and the four queens came in, dressed each of them in her fairest silks and sparkling with her brightest jewels. And one of them, still beautiful but as old as his mother at home in Benwick – he did not know that she was Morgan La Fay – said to him, ‘Ah, Sir Lancelot of the Lake, we know you, though you do not know us; we know that you are a king’s son, and fated to be the greatest of all King Arthur’s knights, and we know that there is one woman only in your heart, and she King Arthur’s Queen. Yet now, you shall lose her and she shall lose you, for you shall never leave this place alive unless you choose one of us to be your love in her stead.’ And she smiled and arched her neck, sleek and purring as a well-fed cat, sure of what his choice would be. ‘Choose, then, sweet knight.’
‘This is a hard choice that you set before me,’ Sir Lancelot said, standing before them, ‘to die or to choose one of you for my love. Yet I do not find it hard to make. If it must be so, I will die in this place, rather than take one of you to my heart, for you are all false enchantresses, and with death at least I shall not lose my honour. As for the Queen, my Lady Guenever – give me back my horse and harness and I will prove in combat with any champion you may bring against me, that she is the truest lady to her lord the King that ever lived!’
‘So you refuse us?’ said Morgan La Fay, and she narrowed her eyes like a cat’s before it spits. ‘You refuse me?’
And they turned and swept out, trailing the scent of musk and rose-oil behind them; and the prison door clanged shut once more.
Presently, when the light through the small high windows showed that the day was drawing towards evening, the young damosel returned with more meat and bread and wine, which she set down on the wooden stool beside the bed, and asked Sir Lancelot again, ‘How is it with you?’
‘I think that it was never so ill with me as it is now,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘for I have gained the anger of the four queens who hold me here, and they will be quick to take some ugly revenge unless I can escape from them.’
The maiden looked at the food that she had just set down, and sighed a little. ‘That is true, for I have heard them talking; and for refusing their love indeed they love you not!’ And then, as though making up her mind all in a breath, she turned and looked into Lancelot’
s face. ‘Indeed it grieves me to see you in the power of these queens, for they have been the downfall of many good knights. I have no love for them nor duty to them, and I will help you, if you in turn will help me.’
Lancelot returned her look searchingly, wondering if he could trust her, and thought he could. ‘Help me to escape,’ he said, ‘and I will do whatever you ask of me, if it be not against my honour.’
‘Then, sir, my father King Bagdemagus has cried a tournament for next Tuesday, between himself and the King of Northgalis, whose queen is one of the four who hold you here. A great tournament of many knights, and at the last such tournament three of those who are to fight on Tuesday overthrew my father. Fight on his side that day, and I will contrive your escape.’
‘I have heard of your father as a good knight and a just ruler,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘and gladly I will fight in his ranks at this tournament.’
‘Then tomorrow morning before light, I will come for you and lead you out of this place, and bring you your horse and armour.’
Next morning the maiden returned with a great bunch of keys in her hand. ‘I have given drugged wine to the guards,’ she said, ‘but they will not sleep long. Therefore come quickly!’
And she led Sir Lancelot out by twelve locked doors; and the last door of all was a narrow postern in the curtain-wall of the castle, so that outside it was the scent of the forest in the early morning, and the scent of freedom. Then she brought him across the open ground to a hidden place among the elder and wayfaring trees of the forest verge where his horse and armour were waiting for him, and helped him to arm and mount.
‘Twelve miles north of this place,’ she said, ‘there is an abbey of Dominican monks. Wait for me there and I will bring my father to you.’
‘By the grace of God, I shall not fail you,’ said Sir Lancelot, and he urged his horse forward into the forest ways.
Towards evening, he came to the abbey, and the brethren made him welcome and stabled his horse and gave him supper and a place to sleep. And there he remained two days, waiting for the coming of King Bagdemagus. And on the third day came the maiden with the King her father and a brave company of knights. And that was on the Sunday; and on the Tuesday they rode together to the chosen tournament ground where the King of Northgalis and his knights waited for them, in a fair open meadow set about with pavilions striped and chequered in all the colours of a summer garden. And there, Sir Lancelot fought so nobly and so strongly among the knights of King Bagdemagus – none knowing who he was, for he carried the white shield, the Virgescue as men call it, such as knights carry who have as yet no device of their own – that he brought down three knights of the Round Table as well as many others, and King Bagdemagus was accounted the victor in that tournament.