Sir Gawain encounters the Lady of the Lake

While in pursuit of another quest, I chanced across a rather peculiar episode. Where I stopped to water my horse, there was a rather large lake with an island at its center, shimmering with its blue hues. From this lake emerged a maiden, very comely in appearance but full of years. She implored me to come and stay for a spell on the island, for the day was waning fast. And so I, both out of gratefulness to the maiden and curiosity for the island, agreed to take my ease here.

As we came onto the island, I was immediately struck by what gave its blue appearance from afar. So much of the buildings, pavements, and people of the island were all covered in blue paint, drinking in the light of the moon, which was also blue. Those that wore the more elaborate paint were of higher status, namely the priestesses and parsons of their pagan religion. They all revered the maiden of the lake as highest of all (whose name, I came to learn, was Vivian), and respected her as Archpriestess. Now, as we ventured farther in, it dawned on me that there were vastly more women on the island as men, and what few men there were among them were greatly subservient to the women, very similar to the Island of the Amazons spoken of by Apollodorus. Consequently, these women were bizarre in their practices. Many of them had unkempt hair and went without skirt of slip, and rode on horses bareback.

After taking note of these remarkable differences, the Maiden Vivian showed me to the quarters where I would be staying. As I doffed my armor piecemeal, it seemed clear that the women in the vicinity were aroused by the sight of my features (for in general the men of the island are accustomed to being pursued by these maidens' passions). In the middle of the night, however, I awoke to the awareness of being carried off to a cavern by a crowd of the female clerics, crooning Druidish chants. In this cave a woman, bewitching in beauty, awaited my arrival to her bosom with enraged passion. She war only a girdle on her hips, with her breasts and forehead stained in deer blood. Not desiring to pursue this ritual, I struggled to free myself of these women's malevolent grip. Making sure not to harm any of their fragile bodies, I apprehended one of the ritual knives and used its threatening force to escape the fray. Finding my horse and armor once more, I quickly retreated back from the island as fast as I could.

O great King Arthur, my lord and uncle, I pray do not venture near that island yourself, for they are a brood of beguiling and crafty women, and among them is your sister who you have banished from the realm: Morgan Le Fay.