Historical Tales Volume Xiv Part 24

"That I cannot surely tell," she said. "Ride hence to a castle which is called Goothe, where he has a cousin-german. If he can give you no tidings, then ride straight to the castle Carbonek, where the maimed king lies, and there you shall hear sure tidings of him."

Percivale, leaving her, rode onward till eventide, and as he looked around him for shelter he heard a clock strike loud and clear. He now perceived before him a mansion, with lofty walls and deep ditches. Here he knocked loudly, and was let in without delay.

After laying off his armor, he was led to the supper hall, where he was well served, and afterwards spent the night in comfort. When morning dawned he entered the chapel for the ma.s.s, and found there a priest ready at the altar. On the right side was a pew closed with iron, and behind the altar a rich bed, covered with cloth of silk and gold. On this bed lay a person with covered visage, so that he could not tell if it were man or woman.

After the service was over the occupant of the bed sat up and threw back the covering, and then Percivale saw that it was a man of very great age, on whose head was a crown of gold. But his shoulders and body to the middle were unclad, and were covered with wounds, as were also his arms and face.

To all seeming he might have been three hundred years of age, for so venerable a face Percivale had never gazed upon, and as he sat up he prayed fervently, with joined hands. When the ma.s.s was over the priest bore the sacrament to the sick king. And when he had used it, he took off his crown and commanded it to be set on the altar. Then he lay down again.

Percivale now asked one of the attendants who this venerable man was.

"You have heard of Joseph of Arimathea," was the reply, "and how he came into this land to convert the heathen. With him came a king named Evelake, whom he had converted in the city of Sarras, in Palestine. This king afterwards had an earnest desire to be where the Sangreal was, and on one occasion he ventured so nigh it that G.o.d was displeased with him, and struck him almost blind. Then King Evelake prayed for mercy and pardon, and begged that he might not die until he who was to achieve the Sangreal should come, that he might see him and kiss him. There answered him a voice that said: 'Thy prayers are heard; thou shalt not die till he has kissed thee. And when he comes thy eyes shall be opened to see clearly, and thy wounds shall be healed; but not until then.' So King Evelake has lived in this mansion for three hundred winters, waiting for the coming of the knight who shall heal him. Now, sir, will you tell me what knight you are, and if you are of the Round Table fellows.h.i.+p?"

"That am I, and my name is Percivale de Galis."

On hearing this the good man welcomed Percivale warmly, and pressed him to remain. But the knight replied that he could not, for his duty led him onward.

Percivale now left the chapel, and, arming himself, he took his horse and rode onward. And that day more strange things happened to him than we have s.p.a.ce to tell. Not far had he ridden when he met twenty men-at-arms, who bore on a bier a dead knight. On learning that he was from King Arthur's court, they a.s.sailed him fiercely, killed his horse, and would have slain him; but when he was at the worst strait a knight in red armor came hastily to his rescue, and rode fiercely on the a.s.sailants.

He attacked these, indeed, with such fury that many of them were soon stretched on the ground; while the others fled into a thick forest, whither they were hotly pursued by their a.s.sailant.

On seeing him thus ride away, Percivale was deeply grieved, for he well knew his rescuer was Galahad, and he had no horse to follow him.

He went forward as fast as he could on foot, and had not gone far when he met a yeoman riding on a hackney, and leading a great war-horse, blacker than any bear.

Percivale begged that he would lend him this horse, that he might overtake a knight before him. But this the yeoman refused, saying that the owner of the horse would slay him if he should do so.

Not long afterwards, as Percivale sat woebegone beneath a tree, an armed knight came riding past on the black horse, pursued by the yeoman, who called him robber, and moaned bitterly that his master would kill him for the loss of his charge.

"Lend me your hackney," said Percivale; "I may get you your horse again."

This the yeoman gladly did, and Percivale pursued the robber knight, loudly bidding him to stand and deliver.

The knight at this turned and rode fiercely upon him, but directed his spear against the horse instead of the rider, striking it in the breast, so that it fell to the earth.

He now rode away, without heeding Percivale's angry demand that he should stop and fight it out on foot. When the dismounted knight found that his antagonist would not turn, he was so filled with chagrin that he threw away his helm and sword, and raved like one out of his wits.

Thus he continued till night came on, when he lay down exhausted and fell into a deep slumber.

Near the midnight hour he suddenly awakened, and saw in the road before him a woman, who said,--

"Sir Percivale, what do you here?"

"I do neither good nor ill," he replied.

"You need a horse," she said. "If you will promise to do my will when I shall summon you, I will lend you mine. You will find him no common one."

"I promise that," cried Percivale. "I would do much for a horse just now."

"Wait, then; I shall fetch you the n.o.blest animal you ever bestrode."

She departed, but quickly came again, leading a horse of midnight blackness, and richly apparelled for knightly service.

Percivale looked at it with admiration. He had not hoped for so great and n.o.ble a steed as this. Thanking her warmly, he sprang to his feet, leaped to the saddle, and put spurs to the horse, from whose nostrils fire seemed to glare.

Away went the black horse under the moonlight, making such marvellous strides that it seemed to leave the earth behind it in its magical progress. With such wondrous speed did it go that in an hour it had made a four days' journey. Then it came to the brink of a great body of water, whose waves foamed and leaped boisterously against the sh.o.r.e.

When Percivale saw the heaving waves, which stretched far away under the moonlight, he drew with all his force upon the rein; but the fiendish brute which he rode heeded not his hand, but bore him madly to the brink. Fear and doubt now filled the knight's mind, and with a hasty impulse he made the sign of the cross. At this the beast roared loudly in rage, while flame a foot long poured from its nostrils, and with a wild rear it shook off its rider, and plunged madly into the wild billows. And the showering drops which fell upon Percivale from the plunge burnt like sparks of fire.

"G.o.d be thanked that I am here alive," cried the knight, fervently. "I have ridden the foul fiend in the image of a horse, and barely have I escaped perdition."

Then he commended himself to G.o.d, and prayed earnestly to the Lord to save him from all such perils and temptations. He continued in prayer all the remainder of that night until the next day dawned upon the earth.

When sunrise came he looked needfully about him, anxious to learn whither he had been borne by the unholy brute. To his surprise and alarm he found himself in a wild waste, which was closed in on one side by the sea, and on the other by a range of rough and high mountains, impa.s.sable to human feet; a land that seemed without food or shelter, and the lurking-place of wild beasts.

He trembled with fear on seeing this, and went forward with doubtful steps. Not far had he gone before he saw a strange thing, for a great serpent pa.s.sed near him, bearing a young lion by the neck. Fiercely after it came a great lion, roaring with rage, and fell upon the serpent, which turned in defence, so that a mighty battle was waged before the knight.

"By my faith," he cried, "the lion is the most natural beast of the two, and it fights for its young. The lion it is my duty to help."

He drew his sword with these words and struck the serpent so fierce a stroke that it fell dead. Then he turned his s.h.i.+eld against the lion, but as the latter made no show of fighting him, but fawned upon him with every mark of joy and grat.i.tude, he cast down his s.h.i.+eld and removed his helm, and sat there stroking the neck and shoulders of the beast.

Until noon he comforted himself with the fellows.h.i.+p of the lion. Then it took up its whelp and bore it away, leaving Percivale alone. But he was not unhappy, for he believed fervently in G.o.d, and prayed with all earnestness that he might be saved from unholy things, and chosen as a champion of right and truth.

When night came, Percivale, to his joy, saw the lion coming towards him.

It crouched at his feet like a spaniel, and all that night the lion and the knight slept in company, his head being pillowed on the shoulder of the beast.

But during the night a strange dream came to him. He seemed to see two women, one of whom was young, and rode upon a lion, and the other was old, and sat upon a gliding serpent. And the younger spoke to him as follows,--

"Sir Percivale," she said, "my lord salutes you, and sends a warning to you to make ready, for to-morrow you will have to fight with the strongest champion in the world. And if overcome you will be shamed to the world's end."

"Who is your lord?" he asked.

"The greatest lord in all the world," she said; and then suddenly vanished.

Then came the lady upon the serpent, and said,--

"Sir Percivale, I have done you no harm, and yet you have worked me injury."

"What have I done? I have been always heedful to offend no lady."

"I have long nourished here a great serpent, and yesterday you killed it for seeking its prey. Why did you this? The lion was not in your care."

"I aided the lion because it was a n.o.bler beast than the serpent. In that I did nothing against you."

"You did me a great wrong, and in return for this injury I demand that you become my man."

"That shall I never be," he answered.

"Beware, then, proud knight, who pride yourself on your piety. You have robbed me of that which I loved; take heed that I catch you not unawares, or mine you shall be, body and soul."