Arthurian Romances (50 page)

‘My lady, if you are afraid that I will not return at once to your keeping after the tourney, I shall take an oath that I will never break and shall swear that nothing will ever keep me from returning to imprisonment here as soon as the tournament has ended.'

‘On my word,' she said, ‘then I will do it on one condition.'

‘My lady, what is that?'

‘Sir,' she answered, ‘that you will swear to return and will, moreover, assure me that I shall have your love.'

‘My lady, upon my return I will certainly give you all that I have.'

‘Then that leaves me nothing to hold on to!' the lady responded with a laugh. ‘I have the feeling that you've assigned and given to another this love I've asked of you. However that may be, I'm not too proud to take whatever I can have. I'll cling to what I can and will accept your oath that you will honour me by returning to imprisonment here.'

In accordance with her wishes Lancelot swore by Holy Church that he would not fail to return. Immediately the lady gave him her husband's red armour and his marvellously strong, brave, and handsome horse. Armed in his magnificent new armour, Lancelot mounted and rode forth until he reached Wurst. He selected this camp for the tournament and took his lodging just outside the town. Never had such a noble knight chosen such lodgings, for they were cramped and poor; but he did so because he did not wish to stay anywhere he might be recognized. Many fine and worthy knights had assembled within the castle walls, yet there were even more outside. Indeed, so many had come upon learning that the queen would attend that not one in five was able to find lodging within: for every one who would ordinarily have come, there were seven who attended only because of the queen. The many barons were housed for five leagues round about in tents, shelters, and pavilions. And so many noble ladies and maidens were present that it was a marvel to behold.

Lancelot had placed his shield before the door of his lodging place and, in order to relax, had removed his armour and was stretched out on an uncomfortably narrow bed, with thin matting covered by a coarse hemp cloth. Completely disarmed, Lancelot was lying in this bed, propped up on his elbow. While he was lying in this hovel, a barefooted young fellow clad only in his shirt came running up. He was a herald-at-arms who had lost his cloak and shoes gambling in the tavern, and who was now barefoot and with nothing to protect him from the cool air. He noticed the shield before the door and began to examine it, but there was no way for him to recognize it or to know who bore it. Seeing the door open, he entered and found Lancelot lying on the bed. As soon as he saw him, he recognized him and crossed himself. But Lancelot warned him not to tell a soul about this; if he mentioned seeing him, the boy would rather have his eyes put out or neck broken than receive the punishment Lancelot would give him.

‘Sir,' replied the herald, ‘I have always esteemed you highly and still do. As long as I live, no amount of money will ever make me do anything that might cause you to be unhappy with me.'

He hurried out of the house and ran off shouting: ‘The one has come who will take their measure! The one has come who will take their measure!'

The youth shouted this everywhere he went, and people hastened up from every side to ask him what this meant. He was not so rash as to tell them, but continued shouting as before. This is when the expression was coined: ‘The one has come who will take their measure.' (The herald, from whom we learnt this, is our teacher for he was the first to say it.)

Already the crowds had assembled on every side:
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the queen with all her ladies and the knights with their many men-at-arms. The most magnificent, the largest, and the most splendid viewing stands ever seen had been built there on the tournament field, since the queen and her ladies were to be in attendance. All the ladies followed the queen on to the platform, for they were eager to see who would do well or poorly in the combat. The knights arrived by tens, by twenties, by thirties – here eighty and there ninety, a hundred or more here, two hundred there. The crowd gathered before and around the stands was so great that the combat was begun.

Knights clashed whether or not they were already fully armed. There seemed to be a forest of lances there, for those who had come for the pleasure of the tourney had brought so many that, looking in every direction, one saw only lances, banners, and standards. Those who were to joust moved down the lists, where they encountered a great many companions with the same intent. Others, meanwhile, made ready to perform other deeds of knighthood. The meadows, fields, and clearings were so packed with knights that it was impossible to guess how many there were. Lancelot did not participate in this first encounter; but when he did cross the meadow and the herald saw him coming on to the field, he could not refrain from shouting: ‘Behold the one who will take their measure! Behold the one who will take their measure!'

‘Who is he?' they all asked. But the herald refused to answer.

When Lancelot entered the fray, he alone proved a match for twenty of the best. He began to do so well that no one could take their eyes from him, wherever he went. A bold and valiant knight was fighting for Pomelegoi, and his steed was spirited and swifter than a wild stag. He was the son of the king of Ireland, and he fought nobly and well, but the unknown knight pleased the onlookers four times as much. They were all troubled by the same question: ‘Who is this knight who fights so well?'

The queen summoned a clever, pretty girl to her and whispered: ‘Damsel, you must take a message, quickly and without wasting words. Hurry down from these stands and go at once to that knight bearing the red shield; tell him in secret that I bid him “do his worst”.'

The girl swiftly and discreetly did as the queen asked. She hurried after
the knight until she was near enough to tell him in a voice that no one could overhear: ‘Sir, my lady the queen bids me tell you to “do your worst”.'

The moment he heard her, Lancelot said that he would gladly do so, as one who wishes only to please the queen. Then he set out against a knight as fast as his horse would carry him, but when he should have struck him, he missed. From this moment until dark he did the worst he could, because it was the queen's pleasure. The other knight, attacking him in turn, did not miss, but struck Lancelot such a powerful blow that Lancelot wheeled and fled and did not turn his horse against any knight during the rest of that day. He would rather die than do anything unless he were sure that it would bring him shame, disgrace, and dishonour, and he pretended to be afraid of all those who approached him. The knights who had praised him before now laughed and joked at his expense. And the herald, who used to say, ‘This one will beat them all, one after another!' was very dispirited and embarrassed at becoming the butt of the knights' gibes.

‘Hold your peace now, friend,' they said mockingly. ‘He won't be taking our measure any more. He's measured so much that he's broken that measuring stick you bragged so much about!'

‘What is this?' many asked. ‘He was so brave just a while ago; and now he's so cowardly that he doesn't dare face another knight. Perhaps he did so well at first because he'd never jousted before. He just flailed about like a madman and struck so wildly that no knight, however expert, could stand up to him. But now he's learned enough about fighting that he'll never want to bear arms again as long as he lives! His heart can no longer take it, for there's no bigger coward in the world!'

The queen was not upset by anything she heard. On the contrary, she was pleased and delighted, for now she knew for certain (though she kept it hidden) that this knight was truly Lancelot. Thus throughout the day until dark he let himself be taken for a coward. When darkness brought an end to the fighting, there was a lengthy discussion over who had fought best that day. The king of Ireland's son felt that beyond any doubt he himself deserved the esteem and renown; but he was terribly mistaken, since many there were equal to him. Even the red knight pleased the fairest and most beautiful of the ladies and maidens, for they had not kept their eyes as much on anyone that day as on him. They had seen how he had done at first – how brave and courageous he had been. But then he had become so cowardly that he dared not face another knight, and even the worst of them, had he wanted, could have defeated and captured him. So the ladies
and knights all agreed that they would return to the lists the following day, and that the young girls would marry those who won honour then.

Once this was settled, they all returned to their lodgings, where they gathered in little groups and began to ask: ‘Where is the worst, the lowliest, the most despicable of knights? Where has he gone? Where has he hidden himself? Where might we find him? Where should we seek him? Cowardice has probably chased him away, and we'll never see him again. He's carried Cowardice off with himself, so that there cannot be another man in the world so lowly! And he's not wrong, for a coward is a hundred thousand times better off than a valorous, fighting knight. Cowardice is a wanton wench and that's why he's given her the kiss of peace and acquired from her everything he has. To be sure, Courage never lowered herself enough to try to find lodging in him. Cowardice owns him completely. She has found a host who loves and serves her so faithfully that he has lost all his honour for her sake.'

All night long those given to slander gossiped in this manner. Though the one who speaks ill of another is often far worse than the one he slanders and despises, this did not keep them from having their say. When day broke, all the knights donned their armour once more and returned to the fighting. The queen, with her ladies and maidens, came back to the stands, and together with them were many knights without armour who had either been captured on the first day or had taken the cross, and who were now explaining to them the heraldry of the knights they most admired.
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‘Do you see the knight with the gold band across a red shield?' they inquired. ‘That's Governal of Roberdic. And do you see the one behind him who has fixed a dragon and an eagle side by side on his shield? That's the king of Aragon's son, who's come into this land to win honour and renown. And do you see the one beside him who rides and jousts so well? One half of his shield is green with a leopard upon it, and the other half is azure. That's dearly loved Ignaurés, a handsome man who pleases the ladies. And the one with the pheasants painted beak to beak upon his shield? That is Coguillant of Mautirec. And do you see those two knights beside him on dappled horses, with dark lions on gilded shields? One is called Semiramis, the other is his companion – they have painted their shields to match. And do you see the one whose shield has a gate painted upon it, through which a stag seems to be passing? On my word, that's King Yder.' Such was the talk in the stands.

‘That shield was made in Limoges and was carried by Piladés, who is always eager for a good fight. That other shield, with matching bridle and
breast-strap, was made in Toulouse and brought here by Sir Kay of Estral. That one comes from Lyons on the Rhône – there's none so fine under heaven! – and was awarded to Sir Taulas of the Desert for a great service. He carries it well and uses it skilfully. And that other shield there, on which you see two swallows about to take flight, yet which stay fast to take many a blow of Poitevin steel, is an English model, made in London. Young Thoas is carrying it.'

In this manner they pointed out and described the arms of those they recognized; but they saw no sign of that knight whom they held in such low esteem, so they assumed that he had stolen off in the night, since he did not return that day to the combat. When the queen, too, did not see him, she determined to have someone search through the lists for him until he was found. She knew of no one she could trust more to find him than that girl she had sent the day before with her message. So she summoned her at once and said to her: ‘Go, damsel, and mount your palfrey. I am sending you to that knight you spoke to yesterday. You must search until you find him. Make no delay! Then tell him once again to “do his worst”. And when you have so instructed him, listen carefully to his reply.'

The girl set off without hesitation, for the evening before she had carefully taken note of the direction he went, knowing without a doubt that she would once again be sent to him. She rode through the lists until she saw the knight, then went at once to advise him to continue ‘doing his worst' if he wished to have the love and favour of the queen, for such was her command. ‘Since she so bids me,' he replied, ‘I send her my thanks.' The girl left him at once.

As he entered the field, the young men, the squires, and men-at-arms began jeering: ‘What a surprise! The knight with the red armour has returned! But what can he want? There's no one in the world so lowly, so despicable, and so base. Cowardice has him so firmly in her grip that he can do nothing to escape her.'

The girl returned to the queen, who would not let her go until she had heard that reply which filled her heart with joy, for now she knew beyond a doubt that that knight was the one to whom she belonged completely; and she knew, too, that he was fully hers. She told the girl to return at once and tell him that she now ordered and urged him to ‘do the best' that he could. The girl replied that she would go at once, without delay. She descended from the stands to where her groom was waiting for her, tending her palfrey. She mounted and rode until she found the knight, and she told him immediately: ‘Sir, my lady now orders you to “do the best” you can.'

‘Tell her that it would never displease me to do anything that might please her, for I am intent upon doing whatever she may desire.'

The girl hurried back as quickly as she could with her message, for she was certain that it would please the queen. As she approached the viewing stands, eager to deliver her message, the queen stood up and moved forward to meet her. The queen did not go down to her, but waited at the top of the steps. The girl started up the steps, and as she neared the queen she said: ‘My lady, I have never seen a more agreeable knight, for he is perfectly willing to do whatever you command of him. And, if you ask me the truth, he accepts the good and the bad with equal pleasure.'