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than in receiving, and was kind and gentle to everyone. But injustice of any kind aroused in him such fury that his bright and joyful eyes turned black as coals, his cheeks became blood red, his voice rang out like a trumpet, and it was difficult to calm him down. He believed that he was strong enough to accomplish whatever it was in his heart to do.
One day, when Lancelot was eighteen, he went hunting in the forest, where he never failed to bring down some worthy prey. This time, however, his quarry was exceptional – a stag of immense size, which he killed with a single arrow. He sent it as a gift to the Lady. He himself rested for a while through the heat of the afternoon, and then rode home. The Lady saw him arrive, sitting his horse with the grace of a born rider. He was dressed all in green, with a garland on his head, like springtime itself, she thought, or the promise of fruit not yet ripe, and her eyes filled with tears. When the youth came to greet her, she turned aside, weeping. He asked what was wrong, but she didn’t reply. At last she uttered a few words, ordering him to go away. Confused and upset, he rushed back to the courtyard where he had left his horse. He had just mounted again when she reappeared, seized the bridle, and told him to dismount. When they were alone in her room, she asked where he had intended to go.
“Since you were angry with me, and wouldn’t tell me why, I thought I would go to King Arthur and ask to be made a knight.”
She laughed at him, saying that he had no idea how courageous a knight had to be, how ready to risk his life for anyone who might need his help. What made him think, she asked, that he was capable of valor? “Your valor has never been tested.” In truth, she knew very well that he was by nature proof against fear and would freely sacrifice a life of comfort for the opportunity of winning the highest rewards of honor, but she still had to ask the question. Though heartsick at the thought of giving him up, the Lady realized that it was time. She embraced him, weeping with regret, and promised she would take him to King Arthur. She told him this about knighthood: “In the sight of God, all human beings are equal. There came a time, however, many years ago, when the strong began to take advantage of the weak; then other men, skilled in warfare and empowered by a sense of justice, became the defenders of those unable to defend themselves. Thus there arose an order of Knighthood. Knights live in the service of all who need protection, especially widows and orphans, and the Holy Church, which relies on them as a mother relies on her sons. To be a true knight is not a privilege of birth. It is granted only to the great of heart, and to those whose deeds demonstrate their worth. A knight’s true identity comes from the life he lives. A knight must achieve for himself an illustrious name. And so it will be with you.”
The journey that King Ban had undertaken was completed now by his son, although Lancelot had never heard his own name or his father’s. That spring, not long after Whitsuntide, the Lady of the Lake, her hopeful ward, and a great retinue set out on the lengthy journey to the coast of Gaul. From there, they went by boat to Great Britain and then started on the road to King Arthur’s court. It was a magnificent procession that rode across fields and through the forest toward Camelot, the horses and their riders all in white, silver, and ivory, silk and brocade. A squire carried a fine silver helmet, another a pure white shield, another a spear, another a ceremonial robe for Lancelot to wear when he was knighted. Then came the Lady in white samite, her cloak lined with ermine, riding an exquisite snow-white mare that moved as softly as a cloud. The boy who rode beside her on a tall and spirited hunter could not have been more wonderful to behold, princely in his bearing, with innocence and energy shining from his whole being. They were attended by Bors and Lionel, his young cousins, who would perhaps return this way themselves one day. No eyes could look elsewhere when the procession at last crossed the bridge into King Arthur’s high city.
The king was quick to agree that so promising a youth should become a knight. The Lady, however, insisted that he must be knighted in his own arms and attire. To this the king objected. He was accustomed to making his knights a gift of their armor, so that they would be known to belong to his household. When the Lady would not yield, Sir Yvain and Sir Gawain, both knights of the Round Table, convinced the king that an exception should be made.
So the Lady of the Lake succeeded in her mission. As she was taking leave of Lancelot, she told him for the first time that she was not his mother, although she loved him fully as much as if she were. His father was one of the noblest knights in the world, she said, and his mother one of the loveliest and most worthy ladies who ever lived. More than that, she told him, he would learn before long, but not from her. She commended him to God and kissed him and, just before leaving, said, “My prince, you will find that the more great and perilous deeds you undertake, the more you will be ready to do others. Should there be any that prove beyond your powers, be assured that no other knight on earth could accomplish them, either. So go your way with confidence, my beautiful, noble child. Your quality is such that men will always aspire to win your friendship, and women will love you above all others.” Too choked with sorrow to say anything more, she embraced him once again and turned away. The boy was deeply moved, and his eyes filled with tears. Wordlessly, he kissed his cousins to bid them farewell.
Queen Guenevere heard that the young man dressed in dazzling white who had come to court with the Lady of the Lake would be made a knight the very next morning. It was the Feast of Saint John, which some people still called Midsummer Eve. Such haste surprised her, but when the king and the two greatest knights of the realm assured her that the candidate was worthy of such an honor, she was eager to see him. Sir Gawain had promptly taken charge of the stranger, inviting him to rest and refresh himself in the comfort of his lodgings. In this welcome the young man found a reassuring promise of friendship, a kindness never to be forgotten. Radiant with expectation, he rode with Gawain through streets thronged with the curious, all of them gazing at the youth in admiration. The king received him in the great hall. The queen was at his side, and it was the queen alone whom the newcomer saw on entering. He could scarcely believe there was such beauty in the world – even the Lady of the Lake could not be compared with her. And in this he was right, for the queen was beauty itself, and her goodness was held to be even more perfect than her beauty. It was said of her that she ennobled all who came into her presence.
When she took his hand, he jumped at her touch as if she had awakened him from sleep. She asked his name and where he came from, but he was too abashed to utter a word. The ten years of age separating them made her too remote, too intimidating. When she asked him again, very gently, he murmured that he did not know. Realizing that she herself must be the cause of his embarrassment, and not wanting to add to his discomfort, the queen said nothing further. After a while she rose and went to her rooms.
That night the young man kept vigil in the church of Saint Stephen, wondering how his life would now be changed and praying for guidance. Yet always foremost in his mind was his memory of the queen. The next morning, in full armor, he knelt before the king, who touched his shoulders with the sword Excalibur. It was a jeweled and gleaming weapon, a marvel forged, it was said, by hands that were more than human, extracted by the sorcerer Merlin from an enchanted lake and entrusted to King Arthur for the duration of his life. With this sword, the king granted the young man knighthood. He gave him no sword of his own, planning to complete the ceremony later. Truth to tell, Arthur saw in this radiant youth the promise of a new and glowing presence at his Round Table. The manner of his arrival, his tie to the Lady of the Lake, his extraordinary beauty – everything suggested an exceptional destiny. The king wished to devise some special rite to mark his passage into knighthood.
The interruption pleased the youth, for he secretly hoped that the sword of knighthood would come to him from someone else. He went to take leave of the queen. Kneeling in front of her, he said, “My lady, if it please you, wherever I go in the world, and whatever I may do, it shall be as your knight.”
“Thank you,” she said,
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