Arthurian Romances (77 page)

‘A maiden.'

‘Where did she come from?'

‘From a chamber.'

‘And where did she go?'

‘She entered another chamber.'

‘Did anyone precede the grail?'

‘Yes.'

‘Who?'

‘Only two squires.'

‘And what were they holding in their hands?'

‘Candelabra full of candles.'

‘And who came after the grail?'

‘Another maiden.'

‘What was she holding?'

‘A small silver carving platter.'

‘Did you ask the people where they were going in this manner?'

‘No question came from my mouth.'

‘So help me God, now it's even worse! What is your name, friend?'

And the youth, who did not know his name, guessed and said he was called Perceval the Welshman. But although he did not know if that were true or not, he spoke the truth without knowing it. And when the damsel heard him, she stood up before him and said as in anger: ‘Your name is changed, fair friend!'

‘To what?'

‘Perceval the wretched! Ah, unlucky Perceval, how unfortunate you were when you failed to ask all this, because you would have brought great succour to the good king who is maimed: he would have totally regained the use of his limbs and ruled his lands, and much good would have come of it! But understand this now: much suffering will befall you and others. And understand, too, that it came upon you because you sinned against your mother, who has died of grief on your account. I know you better than you do me, for you do not know who I am. I was raised with you for many years in your mother's house; I am your first cousin and you are mine. Your failure to have asked what is done with the grail and where it is carried is just as painful to me as your mother's death or the death of this knight whom I loved and held dear, who called me his dearest friend and loved me like a good and faithful knight.'

‘Ah, cousin,' said Perceval, ‘if what you say is true, tell me how you know it.'

‘I know it,' said the damsel, ‘as truly as one who saw her buried in the ground.'

‘May God in His goodness have mercy on her soul!' said Perceval. ‘You've brought me terrible news. And since she's buried in the ground
what reason have I to continue onwards, for I had set off only because I wished to see her again? I must change my course and if you wish to accompany me I'd be truly pleased, for I assure you that this dead knight will bring you help no longer. The dead to the dead, the living to the living. Let us go on, you and I, together. It seems foolish to me for you to watch alone over a corpse; let us pursue his killer, and I swear to you that either he will force me to surrender or I him if I manage to overtake him.'

And the maiden, who could not hold back the grief she felt in her heart, said to him: ‘Good friend, I can not possibly go off with you and leave my knight until I have buried him. If you'll heed my suggestion, follow that cobbled road over there, for that is the path followed by the wicked and boastful knight who took my sweet love from me. But so help me God, I haven't told you this because I want you to go after him, though I do wish him grief as much as if it were me he'd killed. But where did you get that sword hanging at your left side, which has never spilled a drop of blood or been drawn in time of need? I am well aware of where it was made and the name of the man who forged it. Be careful; don't trust it, since it will surely fail you when you enter the fray, for it will shatter to pieces.'

‘Dear cousin, one of my host's nieces sent it to him last evening, and he gave it to me. I consider it a fine gift, but if what you've told me is true you've given me cause for worry. Tell me now, if you know: if it were broken could it ever be repaired?'

‘Yes, but it would be difficult. If you knew the way to the lake beyond Cotouatre,
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there you could have it rehammered, retempered, and repaired. If by chance you go there, go only to Trabuchet's shop; he's the smith who made it and if he cannot repair it, it will never be repaired by any man alive. Be careful that no one else touches it, for they could never restore it properly.'

‘Indeed, if it were to break,' said Perceval, ‘I would regret it dearly.'

Then he left and she remained, for she did not wish to leave the knight whose death had brought such sorrow to her heart. Perceval followed the tracks he found along the trail until he overtook a lean and weary palfrey walking along ahead of him. The palfrey was so thin and wretched that Perceval thought it had fallen into evil hands. It seemed to be as overworked and ill-fed as a horse that is hired out: overtaxed by day and poorly cared for at night. The palfrey appeared just like that. It was so thin that it trembled as if suffering from glanders;
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its mane had all fallen out and its ears drooped down. Before long it would be good only as food for the hounds and mastiffs, because there was nothing but hide hanging over its
bones. The lady's saddle on its back and the bridle on its head mirrored its own pitiful state. It was being ridden by the most wretched girl you have ever seen. Yet she would have been fair and noble enough had she had better fortune, but she was in such a bad state that there was not a palm's breadth of good material in the dress she wore, and her breasts fell out through the rips. The dress was held together here and there with knots and crude stitches. Her skin looked lacerated as though it had been torn by lancets, and it was pocked and burned by heat and wind and frost. Her hair was loose and she wore no hood so that her face showed, with many an ugly trace left by tears rolling ceaselessly down her cheeks; they flowed across her breasts and out over her dress down to her knees. Anyone in such affliction might well have a very heavy heart.

As soon as Perceval saw her he rode swiftly in her direction, and she gathered her dress around to cover her flesh. But holes appeared everywhere, for as soon as one was covered a hundred others opened. Perceval rode up to her in her pale and miserable state, and as he neared he heard her woefully lament her troubles and affliction: ‘My God, may it not please You to suffer me to live long in this state! I've been miserable for so long, I've endured so many woes, and I've not deserved it! My God, since You know that I've not deserved any of this, may it please You to send me someone to lift from me this misery or to deliver me Yourself from him who makes me live in such disgrace. In him I find no mercy, yet I cannot escape him alive and he refuses to kill me. I don't understand why he desires my company in this state, unless he just enjoys my disgrace and misfortune. Even if he had absolute proof that I deserved this misery, still he should have pity on me now that I've suffered so long – if I were at all pleasing to him. But surely I don't please him when he forces me to follow after him in such misery and shows no concern.'

Then Perceval, who had overtaken her, said: ‘Fair one, may God protect you!'

When the damsel heard him, she bowed and said softly: ‘Sir, for your words of greeting may your heart have whatever it desires, though I have no right to say so.'

And Perceval, blushing with shame, replied: ‘Dear friend, what do you mean? I'm absolutely certain that I have never seen you before or done you any harm.'

‘You have,' she said, ‘for I am so miserable and full of woe that no one should greet me. I sweat with anguish whenever anyone stops or looks at me.'

‘Truly,' said Perceval, ‘I was unaware of having wronged you. I assure you I didn't come here to cause you shame or injury, but because my path led in this direction; and since I've seen you so miserable, poor and naked, I could never again be happy until I learned the truth: what adventure has reduced you to this sad and painful state.'

‘Ah, sir,' she said, ‘have pity! Say no more, just fly from here and leave me in peace! Sin has made you stop here; now hurry on, it's the best you can do!'

‘I'd like to know,' he replied, ‘what fear or threat would make me flee when no one is pursuing me.'

‘Sir,' she said, ‘don't be offended but flee while you still have the chance, lest the Haughty Knight of the Heath, who seeks nothing but combat and battle, should catch us here together. For if he found you here he'd surely kill you on the spot. He becomes so angry if anyone stops me that if he gets there in time he beheads all those who speak to me. He killed a knight only a short while ago. But first he tells each one why he holds me in such disgrace and misery.'

Even as they were speaking the Haughty Knight came out of the woods charging like a thunderbolt across the sands and dust, shouting: ‘You will pay for lingering with this girl! Your end has come for having detained or delayed her a single step. But I won't kill you before I've told you what shameful and evil deed she did to cause me to make her live in such disgrace. Listen now and you'll hear the tale.

‘Recently I had gone off into the woods leaving this damsel in one of my tents – and I loved no one but her. Then, by chance, along came a young Welshman. I don't know where he was headed, but he managed to force her to kiss him, so she told me. If she lied to me, what harm is there in it? But if he even kissed her against her will, wouldn't he have taken advantage of her afterwards? Indeed yes! And no one will ever believe he kissed her without doing more, for one thing leads to another: if a man kisses a woman and nothing more, when they are all alone together, I think there's something wrong with him. A woman who lets herself be kissed easily gives the rest if someone insists upon it; and even if she resists, it's a well-known fact that a woman wants to win every battle but this one: though she may grab a man by the throat, and scratch and bite him until he's nearly dead, still she wants to be conquered. She puts up a fight against it but is eager for it; she is so afraid to give in, she wants to be taken by force, but then never shows her gratitude. Therefore I believe this Welshman lay with her. And he took a ring of mine that she wore upon her finger and carried it
off, which makes me angry! But before that he drank and ate his fill of the hearty wine and three meat pies I had put aside for myself. But now my love has a splendid reward, as you can see. Anyone who makes a mistake must pay for it, so he won't make it again. You can imagine my anger when I returned and learned what had happened. And I swore, and rightly so, that her palfrey would have no oats and would not be reshod or groomed, and that she would have no other tunic or mantle than what she was wearing then, until I had defeated, killed and decapitated the one who raped her.'

When Perceval had heard him out, he answered point for point: ‘Friend, rest assured that she has done her penance: I am he who kissed her against her will, and she was upset by it. And it was I who took the ring from her finger, but I did no more than that. But I do acknowledge that I ate one and a half of the three meat pies, and drank as much wine as I pleased: but there was nothing foolish in this.'

‘By my head,' said the Haughty Knight, ‘now I am astounded at you for admitting these things! You deserve death since you've confessed in truth to it.'

‘My death is not so near as you think!' said Perceval.

Then without another word they charged one another and struck with such fury that both lances shattered and the two knights were knocked from their saddles to the ground. Yet they leapt immediately to their feet, drew their shining blades, and struck mighty blows. The battle was long and hard, but it seems to me a waste of effort to elaborate upon it, except to say that they fought one another until the Haughty Knight of the Heath admitted defeat and asked for mercy.

Perceval, ever mindful of the words of the gentleman who urged him never to kill a knight who has begged for mercy, said: ‘Knight, upon my word, I'll never show mercy for you until you show it for your sweetheart, for she never deserved the punishment you inflicted upon her: this I swear to you.'

He who loved her more than his own eye said: ‘Good sir, I wish to make it up to her according to your counsel: whatever you command of me I'm ready to do. My heart is sad and darkened for the suffering I made her bear.'

‘Go quickly now,' he said, ‘to your nearest manor house and have her bathed constantly until she's healed and healthy. Then make ready and escort her, dressed in her finest attire, to King Arthur's court; greet him in my name and cast yourself upon his mercy, equipped in your armour just as you are here. If he asks who sent you, tell him you were sent by the one he made a Red Knight on the advice and counsel of my lord Kay the
seneschal. And you must acknowledge to the court the sufferings and hardships you forced your damsel to endure; announce it to all present so that everyone will hear, even the queen and her maidens – and there are many beautiful ones with her. But I prize one above all others who, because she favoured me with her laughter, was given such a slap by Kay that she was quite stunned. I order you to seek her out and tell her on my behalf that I'll never under any circumstances attend any court held by King Arthur until I have avenged the insult in a way to make her joyful and happy.'

The Haughty Knight said he would go there most willingly and tell her everything Perceval had ordered, delaying only long enough to let his sweetheart recover and be clothed in a suitable attire. And he kindly offered to take Perceval himself somewhere to recover, in order to heal and dress his injuries and wounds.

‘Go now, and may good fortune be with you,' said Perceval. ‘Watch over her well; I shall seek shelter elsewhere.'

No further words were spoken; both Perceval and the Haughty Knight set off without further ado. That evening the knight had his lady bathed and richly attired, and he gave her such tender care that her beauty was soon restored. Afterwards they rode together straight to Caerleon where King Arthur was holding court: it was a small gathering, for there were only three thousand worthy knights in attendance. In front of all of them the Haughty Knight, who was escorting his damsel, came forward to surrender himself to King Arthur and said when he stood before him: ‘Sire, I am your prisoner to do with as you please, and this is very right and proper, for so I was commanded by the youth who requested and received the red armour from you.'