Lancelot and the Lord of the Distant Isles. Patricia Terry

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!

      Celise led the White Knight to a graveyard outside the walls. Tombstones displayed the names of many of King Arthur’s knights, for there they were destined to lie. Among the stones the young man saw a great slab on which was written in gold that only the conqueror of Dolorous Guard would have the strength to lift it and that he would find his name inscribed underneath. Neither men nor machines had succeeded in raising this tombstone, to the great frustration of Brandis, who had always wanted to put to death the one whose name was written there. The White Knight stood imagining the weight of the slab. Then he took one end in both hands and lifted it with ease. On the under surface he read:

      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.

      The chambers to which the victorious White Knight was led were those that had been occupied by Brandis. They were a small part of the fortress but splendid with all the things that belonged in the court of a powerful, highborn man. Attendants disarmed their new lord and did everything they could for his pleasure and comfort. His wounds were carefully tended, and he was content to rest for a little while. This was his new home, the site that bound him to a father, the fortress that the Lady of the Lake had willed him to possess.

      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 servant led him down from the parapet, then, torch in hand, into a dank passageway through the rock foundation of the castle. They arrived at a wide and heavy iron door, before which the woman hesitated. Lancelot moved ahead to push it open. No sooner had he advanced across the threshold than the door swung shut behind him, leaving the old servant on the other side.

      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 his way was barred by a huge well, more than seven feet across, whose water had the stench of rotting things. On the other side stood an immensely tall man whose eyes glowed like coals in his shadowy face, and from whose mouth shot bright-green flames. The giant raised an axe above his head. The knight moved back far enough to get a running start, leapt over the well and caught the blow of the axe on his shield. He would have fallen into the water, had he not seized his opponent by the throat, holding him so tightly that the giant lost his footing. The White Knight turned him toward the edge of the well and threw him in.

      A beautiful bronze statue of a woman now stood where the giant had been, holding two keys in her hands. An inscription on a column in the middle of the room read:

      THE LARGE KEY

      OPENS THIS PILLAR.

      THE SMALL KEY WILL UNLOCK

      THE PERILOUS CASKET.

      He inserted the large key. Inside the column was the casket, from which came the anguished cries of people in torment; the whole chamber resonated with the sound. The knight crossed himself and, as he put the small key into the lock, a whirlwind erupted with terrifying force and a noise so overwhelming that he fell unconscious. When he revived, he stood up painfully, took the keys and started back. Where the well had been was only the stone floor; the three bronze figures had disappeared.

      He made his way outside to where the people of the castle were all waiting. Their joy on seeing him was immeasurable. He went to place the keys on the altar of the chapel and then proceeded to the great hall.

      The seneschal, stepping forward from the crowd, said, “There are no words to thank you, my lord. You have brought all our misfortunes to an end. The fortress is truly yours, and you are our undisputed lord.”

      “Then the name of this fortress shall be changed,” the White Knight declared. “Henceforth it shall be known as Joyous Guard.”

      The next morning there was sunlight everywhere. Gardens and orchards in bloom surrounded the castle, whose inhabitants felt that they, too, had been reborn. The days that followed were one splendid celebration.

      It was not long, however, before the lord of Joyous Guard was called away, having learned that Sir Gawain and nine other knights had been trapped by foes and imprisoned. When the news of Dolorous Guard had reached Camelot, these knights set out to learn if the fortress had really been taken. On their way they met a nobleman who told them that the White Knight had been killed. Their grief was immense, for they knew that this must be the young man who had come to Arthur’s court with the Lady of the Lake. The nobleman, who was in truth none other than Brandis, bent on