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5 Balin and the Dolorous Stroke

So Balin and the damsel rode into the forest and there met a knight who had been hunting. And that knight asked why Balin made such great sorrow.

CII.13

“I would rather not tell,” said Balin.

“Now,” said the knight, “if I were armed as you are, I would fight with you unless you told me.”

“That would not be necessary,” said Balin, “I am not afraid to tell you.” And so he told him all that had happened.

“Ah!” said the knight. “Is this all? Here I pledge by the faith of my body never to depart from you as long as my life lasts.” So they went to their lodgings and the knight armed himself and so rode forth with Balin.

As they were coming by a hermitage that was next to a churchyard, Garlon came, invisible, and smote this knight, Perrin de Mounte Belaire, through the body with a glaive. “Alas!” said the knight, “I am slain by this traitor knight who rides about invisible.”

“Alas!” said Balin, “This is not the first offense he has committed against me.”

Then the hermit and Balin buried the knight under a rich stone in a royal tomb; in the morning they found letters of gold on the tomb that said that Sir Gawain would avenge the death of his father, King Lot, on King Pellinore.

Then after this Balin and the damsel rode forth until they came to a castle; Balin dismounted and went inside. As soon as he was inside the gate the portcullis was let down behind him, and many men surrounded the damsel and would have slain her. When Balin saw that, he was sorely upset that he could not help her. But then he went up into a tower and leapt over the walls into a ditch without hurting himself.

Then he pulled out his sword and would have fought with the men, but they all refused, saying they would not fight with him, for they were doing nothing but performing the custom of the castle; they told him that their lady was sick and had been for many years, and that she could not be made well except if she was brought a silver dish filled with the blood of a pure maiden who was a king’s daughter.

“Therefore, the custom of this castle is that no damsel shall pass this way without bleeding a silver dishful.”

“Well,” said Balin, “she shall bleed as much as she may bleed, but I will not let her lose her life while my life lasts.” So Balin allowed her to bleed of her own will, but her blood could not help the lady.

So she and he rested there all night in good cheer, and in the morning they went on their way. And as it tells in the story of the Holy Grail, Perceval’s sister helped that lady with her blood, which caused her death.

Then they rode on three or four days without any adventures, and by fortune they found lodgings with a gentleman. And as they sat at supper, Balin heard someone complaining grievously in a chamber nearby.

CII.14

“What is that noise?” said Balin.

“Truly,” said his host, “I will tell you. I was but recently at a jousting tournament and there I jousted with a knight who is King Pellam’s brother, and twice I smote him down. Then he promised to avenge himself on my best friend; so he wounded my son, and he cannot heal until I have some of that knight’s blood. He rides about invisible, but I do not know his name.”

“Ah!” said Balin. “I know that knight’s name: it is Garlon. He has slain two of my knights in the same manner. Therefore, I would rather meet with that knight than have all the gold in the realm because of the offense he has done to me.”

“Well,” said his host, “I shall tell you how. King Pellam of Listenoise has announced throughout the country that there will be a great feast within twenty days, and no knight may come there unless he brings his wife or his paramour. You shall see your enemy and mine that day.”

“Then I promise you,” said Balin, “some of his blood to heal your son.”

“Then we will set out tomorrow,” he said.

So in the morning all three rode toward King Pellam; the journey took fifteen days, and on the same day that they arrived, the feast began. So they dismounted and stabled their horses and went into the castle, but Balin’s host was not allowed to enter because he had no lady.

But Balin was well received and brought into a chamber where he unarmed himself. He was provided with luxurious robes, and they wished to have Balin leave his sword behind him. “Nay,” said Balin, “that I will not do, for it is the custom in my country for a knight to always keep his sword with him. If I may not, “ he said, “I will depart as I came.”

Then they gave him permission to keep his sword. So he went into the castle and mingled with knights of worship and his lady. Then Balin asked a knight, “Is there a knight in this court named Garlon?”

“Yes sir, yonder he goes, the knight with the black face. He is the most marvelous knight now living, and he destroys many good knights when he goes about invisible.

“Well,” said Balin, “is that he?” Then Balin studied him for awhile and thought, “If I slay him here, I shall not escape. But if I leave him now, perhaps I shall never meet with him again on another such occasion; and he will do much harm if he lives.”

Then Garlon noticed Balin staring at him; he came over and slapped him on the face with the back of his hand and said, “Knight, why do you stare at me so? For shame! Eat your food and do what you came to do.”

“You speak the truth,” said Balin. “This is not the spiteful thing you have done to me. Therefore, I will do what I came to do.” Then he rose up fiercely and struck his head from his shoulders. “Now give me the truncheon,” said Balin to the maiden, “that he slew your knight with.” Then she gave it to him, for she always carried the truncheon with her. Then Balin smote him through the body and said, “With that truncheon you killed a good knight, and now it sticks in your body.” Then Balin called out to his host and said, “Now may you fetch enough blood to heal your son.”

Then all the knights rose from the table to set upon Balin, and King Pellam himself rose up fiercely and said, “Knight, why have you killed my brother? You shall die before you leave.”

CII.15

“Well,” said Balin, “do it yourself.”

“Yes,” said King Pellam, “no man shall have ado with you but I myself, for the love of my brother.” Then King Pellam took up a grim weapon and struck eagerly at Balin, but he put his sword between his head and the stroke, and Balin’s sword broke into pieces. When Balin was weaponless, he ran into another chamber to seek a weapon, and then from chamber to chamber, but no weapon could he find, and always King Pellam followed after him.

At last he entered a chamber that was marvelously and richly furnished, with a bed covered with a cloth of gold (the richest there might be) and a person lying therein. Nearby there stood a table of pure gold, and upon the table stood a marvelous spear, strangely wrought.

So when Balin saw the spear he grabbed it with his hand and turned to King Pellam and felled him, smiting him so surpassingly hard with that spear that King Pellam fell down in a swoon.

Then the roof and walls of the castle broke apart and fell down to the earth, and Balin fell down, unable to stir hand or foot. Most of the people in the castle were killed by that Dolorous Stroke.

King Pellam and Balin lay there three days. Then Merlin came there, and took Balin up and got him a good horse—for his was dead—and bade him get out of the country.

CII.16

“Sir, I would go with my damsel,” said Balin.

“Lo,” said Merlin, “there she lies dead.”

And King Pellam lay sorely wounded for many years and was never healed until Galahad the High Prince healed him in the quest of the Holy Grail. For in that place was some of the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which Joseph of Arimathea brought into this land, and he was lying there in that rich bed. The spear was that which Longinus used to smite our Lord through the heart.

King Pellam was close kin to Joseph, and was the most worshipful man alive in those days; his wound was a great pity, because through that stroke everything turned to great sadness, sorrow, and suffering.

Then Balin departed from Merlin. He said, “never in this world will we meet and part again.”

He rode forth through fair lands and cities and found people slain on every side, and those that were left alive cried out and said, “Ah, Balin! You have gone and caused great suffering in these lands, because through the Dolorous Stroke which you gave King Pellam these three countries are destroyed. Doubt not that vengeance will fall upon you in the end!”

When Balin had passed through these countries he was lacking in courage, and rode eight days without encountering any adventure. Finally he came to a fair forest in a valley, and he noticed a tower there. Beside it was a great horse, tied to a tree, and beside that sat a fair knight on the ground, making great mourning. He was a good-looking man, and well made.

Balin said, “God save you, why are you so sad? Tell me, and I will try to amend it, if it lies within my power.”

“Sir knight,” he said, “you cause me great grief, for I was lost in my thoughts and now you cause me more pain.” Then Balin stepped back from him a bit to look at his horse; and then Balin heard him say, “Ah! Fair lady! Why have you broken the promise you made to me? For you promised to meet me here at noon. I curse you for ever having given me this sword, for with it I will kill myself.” Then he drew the sword. Balin hurried to him and took him by the hand.

“Let go of my hand,” said the knight, “or else I will kill you!”

“That will not be necessary,” said Balin, “for I promise I will help you to get your lady if you tell me where she is.”

“What is your name?” said the knight.

“Sir, my name is Balin le Savage.”

“Ah, sir, I know you well enough! You are the Knight with the Two Swords, and the man of greatest prowess of his hands now living.”

“What is your name?” said Balin.

“My name is Garnish of the Mount; I am a poor man’s son, and through my prowess and hardiness, a duke made me a knight and gave me lands. His name is Duke Harmel, and his daughter is she that I love, and she had loved me in return, or so I thought.”

“How far is she from here?” said Balin.

“Just eleven miles,” said the knight.

“Now let us ride there!” said the two knights together. So they rode some distance until they came to a fair castle which was securely enclosed and surrounded by a deep ditch.

“I will go into the castle,” said Balin, “and see if she is there.” So he went in and searched from chamber to chamber; he found her bed, but she was not there. Then Balin looked out into a fair little garden, and he saw her lying under a laurel tree on a quilt of green samite. She and a knight were holding each other, embracing one another with grass and herbs under their heads.

When Balin saw her lying there with the foulest knight that he had ever seen—and she a fair lady!—then he went back out through all the chambers again and told the knight that he had found her fast asleep, and brought him to the place where she was lying, now fast asleep.

When Garnish beheld her lying there, his nose and mouth burst out bleeding for pure sorrow. With his sword he struck off both of their heads, and then made great sorrow out of measure, saying, “Oh Balin! Much sorrow have you brought me; if you had not shown me that sight, I would have overcome my sorrow.”

CII.17

“Truly,” said Balin, “I did it with the intent to better your spirit—I thought that if you might see and know her falsehood, it would cause you to stop loving such a lady. God knows I did only as I would have had you do for me.”

“Alas,” said Garnish, “now is my sorrow double! I am not able to endure, now that I have slain her that I loved most in all my life!” And therewith he suddenly drove his own sword through his body up to the hilt.

When Balin saw that, he hurried away, lest people might say that he had slain them. So he rode forth, and within three days he came upon a cross, and thereon were letters of gold that said, “No knight should ride alone toward this castle.”

Then he saw an old gentleman coming toward him, and he said, “Balin le Savage, you exceed your limits if you come this way! Therefore turn again; it will go better for you to do so.” Then he vanished. Then Balin heard a horn blow, as if it were signaling the death of a beast.

“That blast,” said Balin, “is blown for me. I am the quarry, but I am not dead yet.” Then he saw a hundred ladies and many knights who welcomed him with fair courtesy, and made passing good cheer at his coming. They led him to the castle, where there was dancing and singing and all manner of joy.

Then the chief lady of the castle said, “Knight with the Two Swords, you must challenge and joust with a knight who defends an island nearby. No man who comes this way is allowed to pass by without jousting.”

“That is an unhappy custom,” said Balin, “that a knight may not pass this way unless he jousts.”

“You will only have ado with one knight,” said the lady.

“Well,” said Balin, “since that is the case, I am ready. But travelling men are often weary—and their horses too. Although my horse is weary, my heart is not. I would rather not die here.”

“Sir,” said a knight to Balin, “I think your shield is not good. I will lend you a bigger one, and pray that you accept it.” So he took the stranger’s shield and left his own behind, and rode to the island, and he prepared himself and his horse for a great course of action.

When he arrived there he met a damsel, and she said, “Oh, knight Balin! Why have you left your own shield behind? Alas! You have put yourself in great danger, for you would have been recognized by your shield. It is a great pity that you, of all knights, would do so, for of prowess and hardiness you have no equal alive.”

“I repent,” said Balin, “that I ever came into this country. But I cannot turn away now, as that would bring me shame. So whatever adventure comes my way, be it life or death, I will take that adventure that falls to me.” Then he examined his armor and saw that he was well armed. He then crossed himself and mounted his horse.

Then he saw riding toward him out of a castle a knight on a horse whose trappings were all red, as was the knight’s armor. When this knight in the red beheld Balin, he thought at first that it was his brother, Balin, because of his two swords; but because he did not recognize the shield, he deemed it must not be he.

CII.18

So they positioned their spears and came together marvelously fast; they struck each other’s shields, but their spears and their charges were so strong that both horses and men fell down. They both lay in a swoon; Balin was seriously bruised by the fall of his horse, because he was weary of his travel and labor.

Balan was the first to rise to his feet. He drew his sword and went toward Balin, who arose and came at him. But Balan smote Balin first—he put up his shield and smote him through the shield and cut through his helmet. Then Balin returned the blow with that unlucky sword and almost killed his brother Balan. So they fought together until they were out of breath.

Then Balin looked up at the castle and saw that the towers were full of ladies watching. So they resumed the battle and each wounded the other seriously. They rested often, and then returned to battle so that the place where they were fighting was covered in blood. By then, each had given the other seven great wounds so severe that the least serious of them would have caused the death of the mightiest giant in the world. Then they renewed the battle again so fiercely that it was a marvelous thing to tell of, so great was the blood shedding. Their hauberks had come apart so that they were exposed on every side. At last Balan, the younger brother, withdrew a bit and laid himself down on the ground.

Then Balin le Savage said, “What knight are you? For until now, I had never found another knight who was my match.”

“My name is Balan, “ he said “brother to the good knight Balin.”

“Alas!” said Balin, “That ever I should see this day!” And with that he fell backward in a swoon. Then Balan went over to him on his hands and knees and took off his brother’s helmet. His face was so covered with wounds and blood that he could not recognize him.

When he came to, he said, “O Balan! My brother! You have slain me and I you, wherefore all the world shall speak of us both.”

“Alas!” said Balan, “that ever I saw this day—that through misfortune I should not recognize you! For I saw your two swords, but because you were using another shield, I thought you were a different knight.”

“Alas!” said Balin. “All this was caused by a troublesome knight in the castle; he caused me to leave behind my own shield, which has caused the destruction of us both. If I live, I will destroy that castle and its evil customs.”

“That would be well done,” said Balan, “for I have not been allowed to depart from here since I arrived. I happened to slay the knight who defended this island, and since then I have been unable to leave. The same would have happened to you, brother, if you had slain me and survived.”

Then the lady of the tower came with four knights and six ladies and six yeomen. And there she heard each say to the other: “We both came out of one womb—that is to say, one mother’s belly, and so we shall both lie in one pit.”

So Balan asked the lady of her kindness and for his true service to bury them both in the same place where the battle took place. Weeping, she granted that this would be done in the best manner possible.

“Now will you send for a priest, so that we may receive the sacrament of the blessed body of our Lord Jesus Christ?”

“Yes,” said the lady, “it shall be done.” So she sent for a priest to perform the last rites for them.

“Now,” said Balin, “when we are buried in one tomb with a mention made upon it how two brethren slew each other, then there will never be a good knight or a good man who sees our tomb and does not pray for our souls.” At this, all the ladies and gentlewomen wept for pity.

Then Balan died; Balin did not die until the next midnight. They were buried together, and the lady had written upon the tomb how Balan was killed by his brother’s hands, but she did not know Balin’s name.

In the morning Merlin came, and caused Balin’s name to be written upon the tomb in letters of gold: “Here lyeth Balin le Savage, the Knight with the Two Swords and he who smote the Dolorous Stroke.” Also Merlin caused a bed to be set there, in which no man could lie without going out of his wits (but later Lancelot du Lake overcame that bed through his nobility).

CII.19

After Balin was dead, Merlin took his sword, removed the pommel, and replaced it with another pommel. Then Merlin asked a knight who stood nearby to try and pick up that sword. He tried and was unable. Then Merlin laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” said the knight.

“For this reason” said Merlin: “there will never be a man who can handle this sword except the best knight of the world. That will be Sir Lancelot or his son, Sir Galahad. And with this sword, Lancelot will slay the man that he loves best in all the world, Sir Gawain.” And he had all this written on the pommel of the sword.

Then Merlin had a bridge of iron and steel built out to that island, which was just a half foot wide, and a man was never able to cross that bridge or even have courage to try going over it unless he were a passing good man without any villainy or treachery.

Merlin also left the scabbard of Balin’s sword on the island—where Galahad would later find it—and through his skill in magic, Merlin caused Balin’s sword to be set standing upright into a marble stone—as big as a millstone—and it floated above the water for many years. Later, by happenstance, it floated down the stream to the city of Camelot, which is called “Winchester” in English, and on that same day Galahad came there with King Arthur. Galahad took up the scabbard and drew the sword from the marble stone that was floating on the water. It was Whitsunday when he achieved the sword, as it is told in the story of the Holy Grail.

Soon after this was done, Merlin came to King Arthur and told him of the Dolorous Stroke that Balin had given King Pellam, how Balin and Balan had fought together the greatest battle that ever had been heard of, and how they were buried together in one tomb.

“Alas!” said King Arthur. “This is the greatest pity that I have ever heard tell of, for in this world I never knew two such knights.”

Thus ends the tale of Balin and Balan, two brethren who were born in Northumberland, who were two surpassingly good knights as ever lived in those days.