Sir Galahad and the God in the Cavern

A Lost Lost Tale of Sir Galahad

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This tale is part of an ongoing series of The Lost Lost Tales of Sir Galahad, not to be confused with The Lost Tales of Sir Galahad that were discovered in the bust of St. Plagiarus. Read the full history of the discovery of these tales here.

Photo by Ian Noble on Unsplash

What does adventure smell like? Galahad wasn’t sure he could explain it to another person. It was almost like the scent of nutmeg, or the trace of iron in blood or a whiff of tea-tree oil¹, but not exactly like any of those things.

Still, if any forest path had ever smelled like adventure, this one had, which was why the knight had turned his steed away from the main road willy nilly a few days earlier to follow the winding path as it snaked through the trees. Funny thing, his horse was a good horse, but it seemed frustratingly determined not to go down that path. It never had liked tea-tree oil (who did?). Still, despite the horse’s shying and repeated attempts to stay on the main road, Galahad had persevered (it helps to be the one wearing spurs.)

It had been five days since Galahad had eaten anything other than the dried meat and hard biscuits in his pack, and two days since he and the horse had come across any forest streams. Still, his heart was full of strength and hope. Perhaps the small strangely well-maintained dirt path would lead somewhere with fresh water.  As he rode, he considered all the divers events and circumstances that had led him to this place, and the destiny that awaited him. 

Arthur had wept when he heard of Galahad’s decision to pursue the grail. The old king felt that Galahad’s and the others’ search for the grail would be the end of the marvelous fellowship of the round table. Galahad and the others had laughed secretly at Arthur’s fears. But there was no reason to fear, Galahad mused. He  would find the grail as had been foretold and all would go back to normal, and Camelot would be stronger and better for it. Everyone knew the old king was getting sentimental as he approached the ripe age of 40.

Birds warbled and chirped from their perches in the trees as Galahad rode beneath the lattice-like branches pondering his destiny and the glory he was surely riding toward. The bards would sing of his purity, his prowess, his good looks and charm that would never be claimed by a woman².

The horse lifted its hooves carefully to avoid tripping over tree-roots. The trees seemed particularly old in this section of the forest. Galahad considered the stories of travelers and magicians who, it was said, could understand the Language of the Birds. What a wonderful skill that would be to add to his collection of many skills!³ He sighed.

In truth, if the birds were trying to share a message with him, he did not understand it, but soon another voice joined the song of the birds- and this Galahad could understand. The voice was singing—high and thin, and almost, but not quite, lovely.

“Would a lad be pure of heart? Would he gain great glory?
Would he earn a noble start in legends and in story?
If thou wouldst be a hero, lad, if thou wouldst be a legend,
Come this way, and be made glad, thou future has been destined.”

The horse backed up. Its nostrils flared. It began licking and chewing, and saliva dribbled out of its thick black lips.

“Woah, steed,” said Galahad, “What has spooked you? ‘Tis only a damsel singing mysteriously near an abandoned forest path. What possible dangers could that hold? Don’t look at me so reproachfully! No doubt there is a well nearby and her (almost) lovely voice is guiding us to it.”

He urged the horse forward, and it obeyed him reluctantly. They emerged in a deserted open glade, in the center of which lay a large pile of marble ruins. There were flat paving stones, and carved columns, some with their capitals still intact, some broken apart. An extensive portico lay cracked on the ground in innumerable pieces. Relief sculptures littered the space around the ruins, carved with worn and almost unrecognizable animals. The whole glade put Galahad in mind of an abandoned, half-toppled chess set⁴. Near the ruins a little marble fountain, still mainly intact, bubbled merrily in the sunshine, but there was no sign of anyone singing.

Galahad directed his still-resisting horse toward the fountain.

“It’s water, horse! Aren’t you thirsty?” said Galahad, as he urged his horse forward. As they neared the fountain, the horse stepped onto a flat area of wide marble pavers and its hooves rang on the stones. Galahad and his steed were mere inches away from the fountain when the flat marble stones collapsed under them. The horse bucked and retreated, propelling Galahad forward, pack and all. The knight tumbled straight into a deep, black pit.

The cavern Galahad found himself in did not smell of adventure. It smelled of damp and rotten things, and it was cold in a wet way. Galahad heard the horse snort far above him and looked up to see it prancing away from the edge. If horses could laugh this one would⁵.

In the low gleam of the light above, Galahad saw that he was inside a large earthen chamber. A long dark tunnel lay before him, and far into the tunnel, there was a glimmer of golden light.

Galahad unbuckled his pack and removed a small cloth to wipe his blade. His pack carried a few more days of biscuits and hardtack, one canteen with a few sips of water remaining, a bedroll, a clean tunic and hosen⁶, and a small leather sack of bronze coins.

For the second time that morning, he heard the voice that had lured him into the glade. It sang the same song in the same high, thin tone again.

“Would a lad be pure of heart? Would he gain great glory?”

With visor still raised, Galahad moved through the dark tunnel toward the noise and emerged into a cavern full of candles. In the middle of the cavern rose a dais on which stood a tall marble statue of a man, strong and handsome, holding a dove in one hand and a scroll in the other. Next to the statue was a low couch covered in gold and leopard skin. A pale statue of an (almost) beautiful woman lay on the couch, caught eternally in a moment of brushing her hair.

As he stared at the statues, he caught a whiff of—was it tea-tree oil? No, he thought, it was….it was….Thieves Oil!⁷

With a sudden lunge, Galahad drew his sword from its sheath and whirled around to face the monster that had appeared behind him. It was, as he had suspected, a Frumious⁸ Bandersnatch⁹. With a few strong strokes, Galahad’s blade went snicker snack, and the Bandersnatch dissolved into the thick air of the cavern, leaving only a whiff of essential oils behind.

From behind him, Galahad heard the sweet sound of applause fill the cavern. He spun, widdershins, toward the noise, his sword still at the ready. The two statues seemed to be clapping and cheering for him. The closer he looked at them, the more he wondered how he could have ever thought they were statues. The dove in the man’s hand flew away, and the man stepped forward, a whole head taller than Galahad. The woman on the couch had come to life, too, her pale skin suffused with a youthful glow¹⁰.

“You’re so clever,” the woman oozed, “How did you know there was a Bandersnatch behind you?  You have such fast reflexes! You must be a true hero.”

“Well, umm,” Galahad said. He couldn’t help but wonder how impressed the woman would be when she realized who he was, and what his destiny would be. “Everyone knows that Frumious Bandersnatches smell like Thieves Oil.”

“You’re so right,” said the woman breathily. “It’s not every day we come across a hero like you.”

Galahad was already making plans of how drop his name and destiny into the conversation without seeming prideful, when the tall man with the scroll spoke.

“Thank you, Delilah. That will be enough.”

“Greetings,” began Galahad, “I am a knight--“ but the man interrupted him.

“I know who you are, Sir Galahad,” said the man raising one arm dramatically toward the top of the cavern and speaking in a deep, theatrical voice. As he spoke, he sent small lightning bolts zooming toward the top of the ceiling, creating quite a dramatic effect. “It is I, Zelus, the god of destiny! Long have I waited for a hero such as yourself. I see in your face that you perchance have not heard of me- but no matter. You have, no doubt, heard of Sampson? Perseus? Heracles? Achilles! Odysseus?! Great heroes with great destinies- because of me. Songs and tales are still shared about them- And you, Sir Galahad, can take your rightful place among those heroes.”

“Good Zelus,” said Galahad, “I serve the One True and Living God and ask no boon of you. I seek only a way out of this cavern.”

“Directions?” laughed Zelus, continuing in his theatrical voice. “Here I stand, ready to grant you all that your heart desires- and all you can ask me for is directions? And you do desire fame, don’t you? You’ve been daydreaming about it every day in the forest as you ride along. I know because I can smell it on you, boy¹¹. You want to be the greatest knight who has ever lived. What do you think is going to get you there? Courage? Your purity of heart and knightly ways? It’s not as simple as that- it’s never as simple as that.”

“You presume too much,” began Galahad, backing away from the man/statue. “You know me not, nor what I seek.”

“I know everything about you!” spat Zelus, his voice suddenly scornful. “You’re the chosen one, the one who sits in the Seat Perilous, the pure one, the one who can do what your father in his lust never could. All those people are expecting it- All the other knights, all the ladies of the court- they all want you, no, need you, to be the hero you were destined to be.

“And if you don’t…if you never prove yourself to be anything but a dressed up farm-boy who looks handsome on a horse….you will disappoint them all. Will those ladies still throw flowers at you and swoon when you walk by? Will King Arthur still grant you his favor? I think not.”

Galahad’s face grew red beneath his open visor, and he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I could never seek fame or fortune at the expense of my purity.”

Zelus took a step closer and peered down at him, “Purity! Bah! I could care less about your purity! There is no such thing in a fighting man. Sampson certainly proved that, didn’t he, Delilah? And Heracles, when she seduced him. Delilah here has had many names and faces over the years. She’s made a good Helen of Troy, and a surprisingly good Penelope. She’s the prize, you see. She’s the one they all fight for. Still, keep your purity. All I want you to do is kneel before me and beseech me for glory. A small offering of food, drink, or gold is also customary.”

Galahad suddenly found himself wishing for the company of his horse. “I will kneel only before my king and the One True God. I kneel before no pagan gods.”

Though it was hard to tell in the dim, candle-lit cavern, the man seemed to shrink a bit, but he continued speaking with authority, “And how do you know that your king, or your god, wouldn’t want you to have the blessings that I can bestow? Surely your god can’t be so petty that he would begrudge you a little help from one of the older gods? I am not jealous, you know- you can worship me and any other god you wish to believe in.”

“My God is the One True God,” replied Galahad. “He is much older than you, whatever you are. And He is a jealous God. Is it not written, “You shall have no other gods before me¹²?”

Zelus sighed. “I see I have a knight and a theologian on my hands. No matter- you don’t have to kneel. I will make an exception. A small offering perhaps, a tiny prayer?” His voice suddenly sounded more desperate.

“I will not kneel, make offerings, or make prayers to you,” said Galahad.

“Then you will never be a true hero!” spat Zelus, and Galahad found himself looking down on the wheedling man. “Never! And everyone will know you were a fraud. I tell you, I am the path to glory. I am the way. Without me, you will never fulfill your destiny. What could a tiny prayer hurt? No one would have to know. If you leave here without my blessing, you will be nothing.”

Galahad froze for a moment. Nothing. He would be nothing? Was the man/statue/god correct? Was this the way, then, to fame and glory—secretly worshipping old gods in caves? Had the One True God Himself sent Galahad to this cave to receive Zelus’s help?

Galahad swallowed painfully. In his chest, he felt a momentary constriction and then a release. He felt as if he had suddenly let something go that he didn’t even realize he was grasping.

When he spoke again, it was with a painful joy, and tears streamed down his cheeks. “Then I am a fraud. Then I am nothing, and I will never be anything, and none will ever tell stories about me, except perhaps a sad tale of a foolish knight who thought he could find the grail without bowing his knees to the likes of you. But I would rather be a fool who holds true to my God and lose all the fame and glory in the world than gain the world and lose my soul¹³.”

Before Galahad’s eyes, Zelus seemed to shrink. He collapsed onto the dais, weeping, and shrieking helplessly, looking suddenly shriveled and small, a small pale statue. All but one candle in the cavern disappeared, and even the dais sunk into the earth as if it had never been there. The woman rushed to Zelus and cradled the statue in her arms. She had changed as well, and Galahad suddenly realized that she was older than the oldest woman he had ever seen.

Delilah glared at Galahad and croaked, “You are heartless, knight, heartless! You couldn’t have just given him a little worship? Why not just a little? He’s so weak these days, what with your new Messiah and everyone believing in Him now. The ruins you passed through to get here used to be his temple, you know. He used to be very famous, but no one remembers anymore. Zelus and I used up the last of our powers just to lure you here and make ourselves appear the way we used to in the old days. Now we’re both going to just wither away and disappear.”

“Lady,” said Galahad sorrowfully, “I had no intention of causing you or this creature harm. But I cannot worship him, not even out of pity. If there is any other service I can render for you, I will gladly do it as long as it does not besmirch my honor.”

The woman peered out at him from beneath wrinkled eyelids. “You seem to know a lot about essential oils. Would you be interested in joining my MLM¹⁴? It’s a great work-at-home opportunity.”

Galahad coughed awkwardly. “No, thank you.”

Delilah looked slightly disappointed, but not surprised. “Help me carry him out of the cavern, then. He can at least spend the rest of his existence outside, near the ruins of his beloved temple. I will show you the way.”

Galahad gathered the statue up with one arm and grasped his shield with the other. Delilah snatched up the last candle and led Galahad up through a dark tunnel into the daylight where Galahad’s horse waited patiently. Galahad carried Zelus to a flat area in the ruined temple and placed him on a marble paver.

Delilah knelt before the small god, praying, “Oh Zelus, mighty Zelus, please bless me, mighty Zelus. I lift up my worship to you, and only you, my god.” But her prayers availed nothing. In the bright sunlight stood only a lifeless marble statue, two feet tall, of a man young and handsome, holding a dove in one hand and a scroll in the other. She collapsed, weeping on the ground next to the statue.

Galahad knelt beside her, “Dear Lady, there were many gracious women at the convent where I was raised. Surely they would welcome you and offer you safety and mercy. They would also tell you of the love of the new Messiah, a real God who will never disappoint you. Do you wish me to accompany you to a convent?”

“No,” she said, weeping, “Leave me here. I have spent too many lifetimes serving Zelus to leave him now. I know he is a small and paltry thing now, but I remember him as he was.”

“As you wish,” Galahad replied, “But think on what I have said and perhaps someday you will be ready to learn about the new Messiah.”

Galahad watered his horse and filled his canteen at the bubbling fountain (careful to avoid the area where the pavers had fallen away), took a last glance at the crying old woman, mounted his horse, and set off down the forest trail.

Up ahead, he came to a fork in the road. He smelled the air. The trail to the left was wide and broad and smelled faintly of lavender¹⁵. The trail to the right was narrow and poorly-maintained. Weeds overgrew the trail and a faint whiff of tea-tree oil emanated from it. The horse rolled its eyes as Galahad turned toward the trail that smelled of adventure.

1. Reportedly useful for preventing lice infestations and healing toenail fungus. These treatments are not endorsed by the FDA (Feudal Doctors and Alchemists Association).

2. Sounds kind of selfish when you put it that way, doesn’t it? I mean, courtly ladies need good husbands, too!

3. Archery, horse-back riding, swordsmanship, courtly talking, jousting, preaching, cooking a mean stew out of rabbit and onions, oh, and his knowledge of essential oils, etc.

4. But that’s a silly metaphor. Who would leave abandoned chess pieces just lying about near old ruins? This isn’t Narnia.

5. But that’s also silly because horses don’t laugh. (Except in Narnia, which this isn’t.) Galahad’s steed was taking all of this appropriately seriously. It was a very good horse. You can’t blame it for wanting to say, “I told you so.”

6. The knightly equivalent of always packing a clean pair of underwear. Just in case, you know.

7. Reportedly helpful for treating sore throats and healing wounds. Again, not endorsed by the FDA. Galahad knew the smell well, though, as most healers tossed a goodly amount of thieves oil into his wounds every chance they got.

8. Everyone knows Bandersnatches smell of Thieves Oil. At least the Frumious ones do.

9. So many medieval documents and texts have spent so much time describing the Bandersnatch at great length, that we won’t go into the creature’s actual appearance here, lest we bore the reader.

10. She probably used a daily dosage of Rose Oil to keep her skin looking healthy and vibrant.

11. Those sensitive to such things say that dreaming of fame smells like Myrrh.

12. Exodus 20:3

13. Mark 8:36

14. Medieval Ladder Marketing System. Some historians believe this is the second temptation Galahad must fight off in this account, but others argue that he didn’t have to fight very hard.

15. Lavender Oil is reported to improve mood and reduce stress. The FDA feels that this is nonsense, but what do they know?

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Sandra Rose Hughes is a mother of five, a poet, and a middle grade fantasy fiction writer. She resides in the epic and untamed Kern River Valley where she serves in her local church and puts down deep roots. She also has a cat, but has banished it outside.

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Did you enjoy this tale? Find the original Lost Tales of Sir Galahad here!