lances upon the shield of the other, the people eyed Sir Geraint with
some regard. When it seemed that the proud knight was the better
jouster, the earl and his people shouted, and Inewl and Enid had sad
looks.
'Pity it is,' said Enid, 'that our young knight hath but that old
gaping armour. For when they clash together, I feel the cruel point of
the proud knight's spear as if it were in my heart.'
'Fear not, my dear,' said the old dame, her mother. 'I feel that him
you have learned to love so soon is worthy a good maiden's love, and I
think that his good knighthood will overcome the other's pride.'
Then the old knight went to Geraint.
'O young chief!' he said, 'since all other lances break in thy strong
young hand, take you this. It was the lance I had on the day when I
received knighthood. It was made by the wizard smith who lives in the
Hill of Ithel, and it hath never failed me.'
Then Sir Geraint took the lance and thanked the old earl, and looked
back to where stood Enid. And his heart leaped to see how proud and
calm she stood, though her lips trembled as she smiled at him.
With that the strength seemed to course like a mountain stream through
all his body; and from the uttermost end of the meadow he pricked his
horse and rushed towards the proud knight. His blow was so mighty, and
the good lance so strong, that the shield of the proud knight was cleft
in twain, and he was thrust far beyond his horse and fell crashing to
the ground.
Then Geraint leaped from his horse and drew his sword, and the other
rising to his feet, they dashed together with the fury of wild bulls;
and so battled long and sore until the sweat and blood obscured their
sight. Once, when the proud knight had struck Sir Geraint a mighty
blow, the young knight saw, as he fought, how the maid Enid stood with
clasped hands and a pale face of terror, as if she feared for his life.
With the sight of the maiden's dread and the memory of the insult done
by the proud knight to Queen Gwenevere, Sir Geraint waxed both fiercer
and stronger; and gathering all his might in one blow, he beat with his
sword upon the crown of the knight's helm, and so fierce was it that
the headpiece broke and the sword-blade cut to the bone.
Straightway the knight fell down upon his knees and craved mercy.
'Why should I give mercy to one so full of pride and arrogance?' said
Sir Geraint. 'Thou, through thy servant, hast shamefully insulted the
queen of my lord, King Arthur.'
'Fair knight,' cried the other, 'I confess it, and I give up my
overbearing henceforth, and I crave for mercy. And if ye give me my
life, I will be your man and do your behest.'
'I will give thee mercy on one condition,' said Geraint, 'which is that
thou and thy lady and thy dwarf page go instantly and yield yourselves
into the hands of the queen, and claim atonement for your insult. And
whatsoever my lady the queen determines, that shall ye suffer. Tell me
who art thou?'
'I am Sir Edern of the Needlands,' replied the other. 'And who art
thou, sir knight,' he asked, 'for never have I met so valiant and good
a knight of his hands as thou art.'
'I am Geraint of Cornwall,' said the young knight.
'It giveth comfort to me to know that I am overcome by so noble a
knight,' said the other. Then he got upon his horse, all wounded as he
was, and with his lady and the page beside him took his way sadly to
Arthur's court.
Then the young earl rose and came to Sir Geraint, and asked him to stay
with him at his castle, for he loved all knights of great prowess and
would have them to talk to him.
'Nay, I will not,' said Sir Geraint coldly; 'I will go where I was last
night.'
'Have your will, sir knight,' replied the young earl courteously. 'But
I will ask Earl Inewl to permit me to furnish his manor as it should be
furnished for your honour and ease.'
Sir Geraint went back to the manor, conversing with Earl Inewl and his
wife, and with the maiden Enid.
When they reached the house, they found it full of the servants of the
earl, who were sweeping the hall and laying straw therein, with tables
and benches as were suitable, and soon a great fire leaped and crackled
on the stone in the centre. Then when Sir Geraint's wound had been
washed and salved and bound, and he had placed upon himself his walking
attire, the chamberlain of the young earl came to him and asked him to
go into the hall to eat. Sir Geraint asked where was Earl Inewl and his
wife and daughter.
'They are in the bower putting on robes which my lord the earl hath
sent, more befitting their station and your honour,' said the earl's
chamberlain.
Sir Geraint liked it not that the maiden should be dressed in robes
given by the man who had stripped her father of all his wealth, and he
said coldly:
'I would that the damsel do not array herself, except in the vest and
veil she hath worn till now. And those she should wear,' he said,
'until she come to the court of Arthur, where the queen shall clothe
her in garments fitting for her.'
It was so done, and the maiden sat in her poor robes while the other
knights and ladies in the young earl's company glittered and shone in
satin and jewels. But she cared not for this, because Sir Geraint had
bidden her.
When meat was done and mead was served, they all began to talk, and the
young earl invited Sir Geraint to visit him next day.
'It may not be,' said Sir Geraint; 'I will go to the court of my lord
Arthur with this maiden, for I will not rest while Earl Inewl and his
dame and daughter go in poverty and rags and trouble. And it is for
this I will see my lord, so that something may be done to give them
maintenance befitting their station.'
Then, because the young earl admired Sir Geraint for his knightly
strength, his nobility of manner and his prowess, there was sorrow in
his heart for the old Earl Inewl.
'Ah, Sir Geraint,' he said, 'I am sorry if your heart is sore because
of my kinsman's poor condition; and if you will give me your
friendship, I will abide by your counsel and do what you think I should
do of right.'
'I thank thee, fair sir,' said Geraint, 'and I will ask ye to restore
unto the Earl Inewl all the possessions that were rightly his, and what
he should have received up to this day.'
'That I will gladly do for your sake,' said the young earl.
Thus it was agreed; and such of the men in the hall who held lands
which rightly belonged to Earl Inewl came and knelt before him and did
homage to him. And next morning the lands and homesteads and all other
his possessions were returned to Earl Inewl, to the last seed-pearl.
Thereafter Sir Geraint prepared to return to the court of King Arthur,
and the Earl Inewl came to him with the maiden Enid, whose gentle face
went pale and red by turns. Putting her hand in the hand of Sir
Geraint, the old man said:
'Fair sir, your pursuit of that knight, Sir Edern, and your revenge for
his insult, I shall bless until the last day of my life. For you have
done more goodness and justice than I can ever repay you. But if this
my daughter, for whom ye fought yesterday, is pleasing unto you, then
take her for your wife, with the blessing of myself and my countess.'
Sir Geraint clasped the hand of the young maiden, and said:
'My lord, I thank thee, and if my lord King Arthur shall give this
maiden unto me for wife, then will I love her and cherish her all the
days of my life, if she in her heart would choose me for her husband.'
'My lord,' said the maiden, raising her frank eyes and flushing face to
him, 'I have never known a knight to whom I gave so great goodwill as I
find in my heart for thee. And if thy lord Arthur shall give me unto
thee, I will plight thee my love and loving service till I die.'
Thereupon they proceeded on their way to the court of King Arthur, and
what had seemed a long journey to Geraint when he had followed Sir
Edern, now seemed too short, for he and the maid Enid passed it in much
pleasant converse.
Towards evening they arrived at Caerleon-upon-Usk, and Queen Gwenevere
received Sir Geraint with great welcome, calling him 'her glorious
knight and champion,' and telling him that Sir Edern had yielded
himself into her hands to do such atonement as seemed fitting, when he
should have recovered from his wounds.
At the beauty of the maid Enid all the court marvelled; and the queen
hastened to clothe her in robes of satin, rich and rare, with gold upon
her hair and about her throat. And when she was so dressed, all were
glad that one of so sweet a dignity and rare a beauty had come among
them.
King Arthur gave her to Sir Geraint with many rich gifts, and Enid and
Geraint were married in the abbey church, and the court gave itself up
to feasting and sport, and acclaimed her one of the three most lovely
ladies in all the isle of Britain.
When a year had passed in great happiness, ambassadors came from King
Erbin of Cornwall, with a request to King Arthur that he should let Sir
Geraint go home to his father.
'For,' said the messengers, 'King Erbin waxes old and feeble, and the
more he ageth the more insolent and daring are the barons and lords on
his marches, trying to wrest parts of his lands to add to their own.
Therefore,' said they, 'the king begs you to let his son Sir Geraint
return home, so that, knowing the fame of the strength of his arm and
his prowess, the turbulent lords would desist, and if they would not,
Sir Geraint would hurl them from his boundaries.'
King Arthur, though very reluctant to let so great an ornament of his
court depart, let him go, and Geraint and Enid went with a great party
of the best knights of the Round Table, and rode to the Severn Shore,
and there took ship to the shores of Cornwall.
When they reached there, all the people came from their villages
welcoming Sir Geraint and his lovely bride, for the fame of his
prowess, and the way in which he had won his wife, had spread over all
the land. And King Erbin welcomed his son and was glad of his coming,
and the next day all the chief subjects, the lords and barons holding
land or offices, and the chief tenants of common degree, came into the
hall, and, kneeling before Sir Geraint, did honour to him and swore
fealty.
Then, with a great company of his chief warriors, Sir Geraint visited
all the bounds of his territory. Experienced guides went with him, and
old men learned in the marks of the boundaries, and priests, and they
renewed the mere-marks that were broken down, and replaced those which
had been wrongfully moved.
Thereafter men lived peacefully in the land, and on all the borders,
for under the shadow of the strong young chief no border lords dared to
invade the land, and no fierce baron used oppression.
Then, as had been his wont at the court of Arthur, Sir Geraint went to
all tournaments that were held within easy reach of his kingdom. Thus
he became acquainted with every mighty knight of his hands throughout
the lands of Cornwall, Wales and Logres; and so great in strength and
prowess did he become that men hailed him as one of the Three Great
Heroes of the Isle of Britain; the other two being Sir Lancelot du Lake
and Sir Tristram of Lyones. And though there Were other great and
valiant warriors, as Sir Lamorake, Sir Bors, Sir Gawaine and his
brother, Sir Gareth, and Sir Palomides, yet all these had been overcome
by one or other of the three heroes. For as yet Sir Perceval was in the
forest with his widowed mother, and knew no arms but a stone or a
stick; and Sir Galahad was not yet born. And these two were knights
stainless of pride or any evil desire, and by that force alone did
strike down every arm, however mighty, that relied on knightly prowess
alone.
When his fame had spread over all the kingdoms south of Trent, so that
no knight that knew him or saw the device of the golden falcon on his
shield would have to do with him, Sir Geraint began to seek ease and
pleasure, for there was no one who would joust with him. He began to
stay at home and never went beyond his wife's bower-chamber, but sat
and delighted in playing chess, or hearing the bards of the court sing
songs of glamour and wizardry, or tell him tales of ancient warriors
and lovers, long since dead.
The whole court marvelled at his slothfulness as time passed and he
changed not. He gave up the friendship of his nobles, and went not
hunting or hawking; and found no pleasure but in the company of his
wife, whom he dearly loved.
Men began to scoff and jeer at his name over their cups in hall, or as
they rode with hawk on fist to the hunting, or as they tilted in the
lists. And the lawless lords upon the marches of the land began to stir
and to dare, and when none came to punish them, their plunderings and
oppressions grew.
Soon these things came to the ears of the old King Erbin, and great
heaviness was upon him. And he called the Lady Enid to him one day, and
with stern sorrow in his eyes spoke thus:
'Fair woman, is it thou that hast turned my son's spirit into water? Is
it thy love that hath made his name a byword among those who should
love him because he is not as he once was--a man no one could meet in
arms and overcome? Is it thou that hath sunk him in slothfulness, so
that the wolfish lords and tyrant barons upon his marchlands begin to
creep out of their castleholds, and tear and maim his people and wrest
from them and him broad lands and fertile fields?'
'Nay, lord, nay,' said Enid, and he knew from the tears in her brave
eyes that she spoke the truth. 'It is not I, by my confession unto
Heaven! I know not what hath come to my dear lord. But there is nothing
more hateful to me than his unknightly sloth! And I know not what I may
do. For it is not harder, lord, to know what men say of my dear
husband, than to have to tell him, and see the shame in the eyes of him
I love.'
And Enid went away weeping sorely.
The next morning, when Enid awoke from sleep, she sat up and looked at
Geraint sleeping. The sun was shining through the windows, and lay upon
her husband. And she gazed upon his marvellous beauty, and the great
muscles of his arms and breast, and tears filled her eyes as she leaned
over him.
'Alas,' she said half aloud, 'am I the cause that this strength, this
noble and manly beauty have all lost the fame they once enjoyed? Am I
the cause that he hath sunk in sloth, and men scoff at his name and his
strength?'
And the words were heard by Geraint, and he felt the scalding tears
fall upon his breast, and he lay appearing to be asleep, yet he was
awake. A great rage burned in him, so that for some moments he knew not
what to do or say.
Then he opened his eyes as if he had heard and felt nothing, and in his
eyes was a hard gleam. He rose and swiftly dressed, and called his
squire.
'Go,' he said to the man, 'prepare my destrier, and get old armour and
a shield with no device thereon, old and rusty. And say naught to
none.'
'And do thou,' he said to his wife, 'rise and apparel thyself, and
cause thy horse to be prepared, and do thou wear the oldest riding-robe
thou hast. And thou wilt come with me.'
So Enid arose and clothed herself in her meanest garments.
Then Geraint went to his father and said, 'Sir, I am going upon a quest
into the land of Logres, and I do not know when I may return. Do thou
therefore keep our kingdom till I return.'
'I will do so, my son,' said Erbin, 'but thou art not strong enough to
go through the land of Logres alone. Wilt thou not have a company with
thee?'
'But one person shall go with me,' said Geraint, 'and that is a woman.
Farewell.'
Then he put on the old and rusty suit of armour, and took the shield
with no device, and a sword and a lance, and then mounting his horse he
took his way out of the town. And Enid went before him on her palfrey,
marvelling what all this might mean.
Geraint called unto her and said sternly:
'Go thou and ride a long way before me. And whatever ye see or hear
concerning me, say naught, and turn not back. And unless I speak to
thee, speak not thou to me.'
All day they rode thus, and deeper and deeper they sank into a desolate
land, where huge rocks jutted from the starved soil, and there was no
sound or sight of living thing, except it was the wolf looking from his
lair beneath a stone, or the breaking of a branch, as the brown bear on
a distant hillslope tore at a tree to get a honeycomb, and blinked down
at them, marvelling, maybe, to see a knight and a lady in his desolate
domain.
When, late in the afternoon, their long shadows marched before them
down a broad green road which they had struck upon, Enid's heart
suddenly lifted to see the white walls and roofs of what looked like a
rich town; for she knew not what was in her lord's mind, and feared
lest his strange anger should push him to go on through the night, and
so become a prey to robbers or wild animals. But she marvelled that
there was no sight or sound of people; no carters or travellers going
to or coming from the city, and no smoke rose above the housetops.
When they came nearer, she saw the wall of the gate was broken down,
and that along the broad road beyond the wall the grass waved high
across the street, and the little wooden booths and cabins beside the
road were rotting and decayed. Anon they rode into a broad market-place
or forum, where white buildings rose above them, the windows gaping,
grass growing on the roofs or in the crannies of the walls, and the
doorways choked with bushes. And out of the broad hallway of the
basilica she saw the grey form of a wolf walk and slink away in the
shadows.
With a sinking heart she knew that this was one of the fair cities
which the Romans had built, and when they had left Britain this town
had been deserted and left desolate, to become a place where the wolf
and the bear made their lairs, where the beaver built his dam in the
stream beneath the wall of the palace, and where robbers and wild men
lay hid, or the small people of the hills came and made their magic and
weaved their spells, with the aid of the spirits haunting the desolate
hearths of the Romans.
And as Enid checked her horse and waited for Geraint to come up, that
she might ask him whether it was his pleasure to pass the night there,
she saw, down the wide street before her, the forms of men, creeping
and gathering in the gloom. Then, fearing lest they should fall upon
her husband before he was aware of them, she turned her horse and rode
towards him and said:
'Lord, dost thou see the wild men which gather in the shadows there in
the street before us, as if they would attack thee?'
Geraint lifted up his angry eyes to hers:
'Thou wert bid to keep silent,' he said, 'whatsoever thou hast seen or
heard. Why dost thou warn one whom thou dost despise?'
Even as he spoke, from the broken houses through which they had crept
to assail the single knight, dashed ten robbers, naked of feet, evil of
look, clothed in skins. One leaped at the knight with a knife in his
hand, to be cut down, halfway in his spring, by Sir Geraint's fierce
sword-stroke. Then, while Enid stood apart, terror in her heart, prayer
on her lips, she saw him as if he were in the midst of a pack of
tearing wolves, and in the silent street with its twilight was the
sudden clash of steel, the howls and cries of wounded men.
Then she was aware that six lay quiet on the road, and the remaining
four broke suddenly away towards the shelter of the houses. But two of
these Sir Geraint pursued, and cut down before they could reach cover.
He rejoined her in silence and sought for a place of lodging; and in a
small villa they found a room with but one door. Here they supped from
the scrip of food and the bottle of wine which Enid had brought, and
there they slept that night.
On the morrow they pursued their way, and followed the green road out
of the ruined city until they reached the forest. And in the heat and
brightness of the high noon the green and coolness of the forestways
were sweet, and the sound of tiny streams hidden beneath the leaves was
refreshing.
Then they came upon a plain where was a village surrounded by a bank of
earth, on which was a palisade. And there was a wailing and weeping
coming from between the little mud-cabins therein; and as they
approached they saw in the middle green four knights in armour and a
crowd of poor frightened folk about them.
As they passed the gate of the village a poor man ran from the group,
and threw himself before Sir Geraint.
'O sir knight,' he cried full piteously, 'if thou art a good knight and
a brave, do thou see justice done here. For these four lords would cut
my father's throat if he say not where his money is hid.'
'Are they his proper lords?' asked Geraint.
'Nay, sir knight,' said the man. 'Our land is Geraint's, and these
lords say that he sleeps all day, and so they will be our masters. And
they do ever oppress us with fine and tax and torture.'
Therewith Sir Geraint rode through the gate of the village and
approached the group. He saw where the four knights stood cruelly
torturing a poor old man whom they had tied to a post, and the sweat
stood upon the peasant's white face, and the fear of death was in his
eyes.
'Lords! lords,' he cried in a spent voice, 'I have no money, for you
did take all I had when you told us our lord Geraint was become a court
fool.'
'Thou miser!' jeered one of the knights, 'that was two months agone,
and thou hast something more by now. Will this loose thy secret,
carrion?'
At the cruel torture the man shrieked aloud, and by reason of the pain
his head sank and he slid down the post in a swoon. And a young woman
rushed forth, threw her arm about the hanging body, and with flashing
eyes turned and defied the knights.
Next moment it would have gone ill with her, but the voice of Sir
Geraint rang out.
'Ho, there, sir knights,' he cried, 'or sir wolves--I know not which ye
are--have ye naught to do but to squeeze poor peasants of mean
savings?'
The knights turned in rage, and laughed and sneered when they saw but
one solitary knight in old and rusty armour.
'Ah, sir scarecrow!' cried one, leaping on his horse, 'I will spit thee
for thy insolence.'
'Knock him down and truss him up with this starveling peasant,' cried
another.
All now had mounted, and the first prepared to run at Sir Geraint, who
backed his horse through the gateway into the open plain. Anon the
first knight came, hurling himself angrily upon him. But deftly Sir
Geraint struck the other's lance aside with his sword, and as the rider
rushed past him, he rose in his stirrups, his blade flashed, and then
sank in the neck of the felon knight, who swayed in his saddle and then
crashed to the ground.
Then the second horseman attacked him furiously, being wroth at the
death of his companion. But Sir Geraint couched his lance, and caught
the other on the edge of his shield, and the spear passed through his
body.
And by good hap also he slew the other two, one with his lance, the
other with his sword on foot.
Enid, full of fear while the fight was raging, felt gladness and sorrow
when she saw how nobly her husband had smitten these torturers with
justice, and she said that of a truth she had been wrong, and that
there was no sloth in his heart, no weakness in the strong arm of her
lord.
Then Sir Geraint took off the armour from each of the four knights and
piled them on their horses, and tied them together, and bade her drive
them before her.
'And do thou go forward some way,' said he sternly, 'and say not one
word to me unless I speak first unto thee.'
As he mounted his horse, the man that had been tortured came forward
with his people and knelt before him, and kissed the mail-clad shoe in
his stirrup, and in rude few words they thanked him tearfully, asking
for his name, so that they could speak of him in their prayers.
'I am called Sir Slothful,' said Sir Geraint, 'and I deserve not your
worship. But, hark ye, if other evil lords come upon these marches and
seek to oppress thee, tell them that though Sir Geraint sleeps now, he
will soon awake and they shall not stand before his vengeance.'
And so he rode on, leaving the poor folks marvelling but happy.
Then in a little while they came upon a highroad, and the lady went on
first, and for all his anger, Geraint was sorry to see how much trouble
Enid had in driving the four horses before her, yet how patient she
was.
Soon they beheld a wide valley below them, the fairest and richest in
homesteads and farms that they had yet seen. A river ran through the
middle of it, and the road on which they passed ran down to a bridge
over the river, beyond which was a castle and a walled town.
Sir Geraint took the road towards the bridge, and soon a knight came
cantering towards them.