the rest of his opponents withdrawn behind the portcullis. The young woman returned and took him to an inn in the town outside the castle walls. She let him go alone into his room. There he found three silver shields hanging on the wall, one traversed by a single red band, one with two bands on it, and one with three. This seemed to him strange and even troubling, but before he could give it any further thought, his guide came in, her face now unveiled. In the joy of recognition, he threw his arms around her, exclaiming, “Celise! You’ve come from my dear Lady! No messenger could be more welcome!”
The Lady of the Lake had sent Celise to bring the shields and to carry a prophetic message: the next day her prince would be master of the castle. There he would learn his father’s name and his own. As for the silver shields, the first would give him twice his usual strength, the second would triple it, and the third would make him four times as strong. On no account was he to rely on the energy of youth, but must instead take up one of the shields as soon as he was tired.
At the castle a knight confided to him, “The truth is I wish you had taken the castle already, and put an end to my lord’s cruel ways. But still I have to honor the fealty I swore.”
In the jousts that followed, the White Knight taunted his opponents to make them attack two or three at a time, so impatient was he to have done with them. But as soon as one of the defenders had had enough, he withdrew into the castle, sending another to take his place. The White Knight was offered no such respite. He was out of breath and bruised and bleeding; almost nothing was left of his shield. Then a squire brought him another with one red band across it, and he immediately felt twice as strong as before, agile, swift-moving, free of pain. He fought on through the day, becoming disheartened at how long it was taking to reach his goal. The squire brought him the two-banded shield, and with its help he killed or grievously wounded all his foes except for three, who made haste to declare themselves his prisoners. But beyond the first gate there waited ten more knights. Then Celise herself brought him the third shield and a beautiful new helmet, since his own had taken so many blows it offered no protection. The White Knight objected that she was helping him too much, but she said she wanted the second gate to be even more brilliantly won than the first.
And so it was. He attacked with such ferocity that the defenders wanted only to flee as fast as they could, and the lord of the castle, Brandis, watching from the battlements, felt his confidence drain away. Should the White Knight defeat all his men, Brandis would be obliged to fight him too. He paled when the second gate was flung open and the courtyard filled with people rejoicing at his imminent loss. The crowd assured the White Knight that all he had left to do was defeat the Lord of Dolorous Guard, and the knight asked nothing better. But just as Brandis was expected to emerge, word came that the coward had instead fled in despair. The White Knight had won!
HERE WILL LIE
LANCELOT OF THE LAKE,
THE SON OF KING BAN OF BENOIC
At that moment it seemed he had always known. He had always felt, deep within, that “my prince” was not just an expression of motherly tenderness and that his drive for knightly prowess was a sign of heroic forebears.
He let the tombstone drop back into place before the young woman could see the inscription. Lancelot understood that, although he was a king’s son, he was so in name alone. He could take no pride in his birth until he had fulfilled the promise of his parentage: only then would he identify himself.
One day, as the White Knight was inspecting the fortifications, an old servant approached him hesitantly. She had clearly been weeping and, when the knight asked her why, urging her to confide in him, she said, “You did the great deeds required of you – deeds no knight before you had ever accomplished – but if only you could have killed Brandis!” He ruled them still, she said. When they rejoiced at the White Knight’s victory, they had believed it would undo the magic spells that had made them live in the shadows, terrified and without hope. Now they realized that nothing had changed, yet no one wanted to further endanger the man who had fought so splendidly.
“What must I do?” said the new lord of Dolorous Guard.
“Evil has given Brandis terrible powers, but he is mortal. Knowing that you could defeat him in combat, he would not face you. You could search the world for him and never find him. But your courage is so great that perhaps you can destroy his creation, the cause of our misery. I am speaking of forces so great that the terror of them invades our sleep, and all our waking hours are filled with dread.”
Lancelot did not hesitate. “Show me the way, good woman,” he said.
The knight was at the entrance to a vast underground room. The only light came from a small barred window quite far away, toward which the knight advanced, sword in hand. As he drew closer, there was a trembling in the ground beneath his feet, and, with the sound of huge stones splitting apart, the whole chamber began to whirl around. Clinging to the wall and crawling, he slowly made his way toward the faint glow. Suddenly, the bars fell away and the tall, narrow panel in which they had been set sprang open. Just inside the gallery now revealed, the White Knight saw two gigantic bronze figures wielding immense swords that crisscrossed in a dazzling blur across the narrow entryway. Without an instant’s hesitation, he hurled himself toward them, holding his shield over his head. They struck through it so hard that the links of his hauberk split, and blood streamed from his left shoulder. He fell onto his hands, but the bronze figures were now behind him, and he went on.
Soon
