The Knight Who Gave Us King Arthur

We are grateful to present the following article and excerpt from Dr. Cecelia Lampp Linton’s book The Knight Who Gave Us King Arthur published by Sophia Institute Press.                                                                                                  

In times and places without copyright laws, there will always be various ways to tell an already-told story. That fact matters in studying Sir Thomas Malory, for he took almost all the tales he told in Le Morte Darthur from existing works, some of them hundreds of years old, and changed them as he saw fit.

But there is also room in Le Morte for original composition, and Malory made good use of that liberty as well. “The Healing of Sir Urry” is a good example of Malory’s own contribution, which supports his main theme, the moral development of Sir Lancelot. It also supports the identification of Malory himself as a Hospitaller knight. Urry comes to Arthur’s court seeking the greatest knight in the world to heal him of his dreadful wounds, which cannot be healed except by that knight. Lancelot heals him. This is original work; before Malory there was no story of the healing of Urry, or at least none that scholars have been able to find.  But Le Morte Darthur, with “Urry” included, has always been vulnerable to the same kind of “borrowing” that made the old stories available to Malory, and “The Healing of Sir Urry” has been duly harvested for re-telling in many ways. In the 20th century, probably the most famous retelling was that in the film Camelot. It is interesting to compare that version to Malory’s original tale. 

In Camelot, there is no backstory of the wounded knight. Lancelot kills his opponent in a jousting match with the whole court watching, stunned with horror.  Arthur covers the dead knight’s face. Lancelot approaches, pushes the cover aside and kneels beside the knight, his face contorted with grief and tears. He bends over the victim, puts his hands on the bloody chest where it was struck by the lance, and presses as though he is trying desperately to make it whole again. Weeping all the while, Lancelot then puts his arm under the dead man and raises him somewhat, leaning towards him until his own face is pressed against the face of the victim. Then, with his mouth so close to the man’s mouth that Lancelot’s words are virtually forced into the dead mouth, the weeping Lancelot pleads, “Please live. Live. Live. Live. Live. Live.” Again and again, the word “live” is so intense and so rhythmic that the watching crowd is mesmerized, until Arthur starts to pull Lancelot away. At that moment, the victim begins to move and breathe. The astonished whisper goes through the crowd, “He lives!” Queen Guinevere stares into the eyes of Lancelot, who returns her stare, with Arthur watching as their eyes lock. The queen falls to her knees before Lancelot. He kisses her hand and then turns away.  Everyone in the crowd kneels to Lancelot as he walks past. The only sound is the soft music of “If Ever I Would Leave You” in the background. The movie has turned the miracle of the healing of a dead man into the moment when Lancelot and Guinevere, and Arthur, first recognize their love.

This version of the story is for modern times. For the modern audience, its great interest is the love triangle, so that is where the emphasis lies. There is no allusion to God or miracle, and full use is made of the widespread familiarity with “kiss of life” resuscitation, in order to sidestep any suggestion of miraculous healing. The people kneel not to God but to Lancelot. But “The Healing of Sir Urry” as Malory wrote it differs greatly from the version in Camelot, and the difference is easy to see.  Here is Malory’s telling as discussed in The Knight Who Gave Us King Arthur:

Urry is brought to court by his mother.  He has been wounded in battle, and although his opponent was a villain and Urry has killed him, Urry is desperately ill because the dead opponent’s mother is a sorceress and she has put a spell on Urry, specifying that he can never be whole again unless the greatest knight in the world “searches” his wounds. . . . Lancelot is absent from court when the sick man arrives. . . .All the knights in court that day, listed. . . to the total of 110, examine Urry’s wounds, but he does not get better.  Malory parades all the brave knights of the Round Table before us, demonstrating that the full embodiment of chivalry itself has no force to meet this challenge.  Then Lancelot arrives in court.  Arthur directs him to try to help the sick man.  At first, Lancelot shrinks from the job, protesting that he surely cannot do what so many good knights have fayled to do: “‘Jesu defende me,’ seyde Sir Launcelot, ‘whyle so many noble kingis and knyghtes have failed, that I shulde presume uppon me to enchyve that all ye, my lordis, myght not enchyve’”. Arthur says, “You have no choice.  I command you to try.”  Again Lancelot protests: “‘My most renowmed lorde,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I know well I dare nat, nor may not, disobey you. But and I might or durst, wyte you well I wolde nat take uppon me to towche that wounded knyght in that intent that I shulde passe all othir knyghtes.  Jesu deffende me from that shame!’”. Arthur assures Lancelot that he will not be trying to heal Urry from presumption but for fellowship with the other knights who have tried. .  .  . Finally, Lancelot humbly obeys, saying to Arthur, “I must do youre commaundement, whych ys sore ayenste my harte”.  He speaks to the wounded knight, addressing him as his lord, and thus reminding us of the ancient fourth vow of the Hospitallers, to be always “serfs and slaves to their lords the sick”: “‘A, my fayre lorde,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘Jesu wolde that I myght help you! For I shame sore with myselff that I shulde be thus requyred, for never was I able in worthynes to do so high a thyng’”. . .  . After speaking thus to Urry, he kneels beside the wounded knight and humbly prays, “saiynge secretely unto hymselff, ‘Now, Blyssed Fadir and Son and Holy Goste, I beseche The of Thy mercy that my symmple worshyp and honesty be saved, and Thou Blyssed Trynyte, Thou mayst yeff me power to help this syke knyght by the grete virtu and grace of The, but, Good Lorde, never of myselff.’”  When Lancelot, “devoutly knelyng,” handles Urry’s wounds, they are immediately healed. “Than kynge Arthur and all the kynges and knyghtes kneled downe and gave thankynges and lovynge unto God and unto Hys Blyssed Modir. And ever sir Launcelote wepte, as he had bene a chiyde that had bene beatyn!”

The thesis of The Knight Who Gave Us King Arthur is that Thomas Malory was not a secular knight at all but a monk-knight of the monastic order of Knights Hospitallers. Malory’s tale of Urry is a small part of the evidence for this thesis. The Hospitallers’ ideal knighthood included both humility and care of the sick, and Lancelot, the “greatest knight” in Malory’s tale, could not be a better embodiment of Hospitaller ideals.

Linton, The Knight Who Gave Us King Arthur, Sir Thomas Malory, Knight Hospitaller, 196-198.

Malory, Works, 814-815.

Author Bio – Dr. Cecilia Lampp Linton, Ph.D. 

Dr. Cecelia Linton credits her detection of a religious vocation in the author of Le Morte Darthur
to the fact that she was educated by nuns—they are attuned to such things—in parish schools
and then in the venerable St. Vincent’s Academy in Savannah, Georgia, which has been
enlightening girls since 1845. Higher education and a long career on the other side of the desk
have never overshadowed that early encounter with the rigors of her formation by the teaching
nuns. When she began reading P. J. C. Field’s work concerning Sir Thomas Malory’s identity,
Linton knew before the end of Chapter 1 that this book had to be written, and so she has
written it, with great joy along the way. She can be found at home, usually with some part of
her numerous family, in a certain old house in Manassas, Virginia, or else in another one, even
older, in Savannah.