distant places, into the heart of the land. And at length he arrived at
the valley which Conan had described to him, whereat he rejoiced
greatly.
He descended to the path beside the river, and journeyed along it till
he came to the castle of Sir Dewin, as Conan had described. And the two
youths were on the green before the gate wrestling together, and the
tall knight of proud mien was standing by. To Owen it seemed that he
was fiercer and prouder-looking than Conan had described. Nevertheless,
he returned the salute of Sir Owen courteously and led him into the
castle.
Sir Owen was entertained as well as Conan had been, though the hall
seemed poorer, the food coarser, and the maidens seemed careworn, and
not so fair as his friend had described. After the meal Sir Dewin asked
Sir Owen who he was and whither he wended, and Sir Owen replied:
'I have heard of the Knight of the Fountain, and I would fight him and
overcome him, if I may.'
Whereat Sir Dewin looked at him with keen fierce eyes, and observed
narrowly the build of Sir Owen's body.
'Knowest thou aught of the prize if thou slayest the Knight of the
Fountain?' asked Sir Dewin.
'Naught know I of that,' answered Sir Owen; 'but I would seek the
adventure, and whatever it will bring.'
At this the knight was silent, and seemed to brood for some moments,
with dark and frowning brows. Then he laughed and said:
'Take thou the path thou seest through the wood behind the castle.
Follow that till thou comest to a glade wherein is a great mound. There
ye will see a stone slab. Knock on that three times, and the troll-man
that dwells therein will tell thee thy further way.'
Sir Owen marked how evil was the smile with which Sir Dewin said these
words; but Sir Owen thanked him, and then he was shown to his pallet
and all retired to rest.
When he arose in the morning Sir Owen found his horse already prepared,
and, having put on his armour, he rode forth along the way which the
knight had indicated to him. And he came at last to the glade wherein
he saw the great mound, with grass growing all over it, as if it were a
little hill. In the side he saw a stone slab as if it were a door, and
he struck upon it with the butt of his lance.
Three times he struck, and at the third blow he heard a voice, rough
and loud, from somewhere above his head.
'Get thee gone,' cried the voice, 'darken not the door of my house, or
'twill be worse for thee.'
Sir Owen could not see who was speaking, for no one was visible.
'I would ask thee the way to the fountain,' he replied. 'Tell me, and I
will not trouble thee further, thou surly troll.'
'The fountain?' cried the voice. 'I will save thee thy journey, thou
overbearing knight, as I have saved it for others as proud and as
would-be valiant, whom my master hath sent to me!'
With that Sir Owen received so hard and fierce a blow upon his
headpiece that he was hard put to it to keep his wits and his seat; and
looking round he saw the troll, a fierce dark little man, on the very
top of the mound, wielding a long thick bar of iron, as thick as a
weaver's beam.
Sir Owen thrust at the troll with his lance; but the moundman seized it
below the point of steel, and so strong was he, that though Sir Owen
drew him down from the top of the hillock, he could not loose it from
the little man's hold.
Meanwhile, the troll was beating at Sir Owen with the staff of iron,
which, for all its weight and size, he wielded as if it was no more
than a stout cudgel. And hard bestead was Sir Owen to shield himself
from the smashing blows which rained upon him. At the seventh blow his
shield was cracked across and his shield arm was numbed.
Suddenly he dashed his horse forward, and the little man, still holding
the lance, was thrown backward upon the grassy slope of his own mound.
Swiftly Sir Owen leaped from his horse and drew his sword, and while
the troll was rising he dashed at him and wounded him.
But next moment the troll was up, his dark narrow face terrible with
rage, for the blood ran down the deer-skin tunic which half covered
him. And then the blows of his iron rod came thicker and faster, while
he moved so swiftly round about the knight that Sir Owen, though he
thrust quickly and fiercely, could not strike him again.
Sir Owen was becoming dizzy and weak, and felt that not for long now
could he bear up his dented and broken shield against the blows that
must at length smash his arm.
Suddenly the quick movements of the little troll ceased, and he
staggered. Then he dropped the iron bar and swayed like a drunken man
towards the knight. He fell on his knees before Sir Owen, put his head
upon the ground, and clutched the knight's steel-clad foot as if to put
it upon his neck. But he could do no more, and so lay panting and spent
with exhaustion.
And Sir Owen could not find it in himself to pierce him through with
his sword, for the troll's subjection made pity come into his heart.
'Ah, sir troll!' said the knight, panting also, and very fain to rest.
'A brave troll thou art, seeing thou hast used no magic, but hath
fought me like a very man.'
'Chieftain,' gasped the troll, 'my heart is like to break, for thou
hast tried me sore. Never yet hath a knight that sought the fountain
withstood my rod as valiantly as thou hast, and thou hast put my
strength all to naught.'
'But I know not why thou didst try to slay me,' said Sir Owen, 'seeing
that I did but ask thee to show me my way to the fountain.'
'I am the slave of him that overcometh me,' answered the troll, 'and I
must do his bidding. Sir Dewin did conquer me by evil wizardry, and he
sent thee to me with the three knocks on my door, whereby I knew he
commanded me to slay thee.'
'Well, and what wilt thou do now, valiant troll?'
'I must hide me from the wrath of Sir Dewin,' said the troll, 'until my
sore wound is healed. Then will I be thy slave, sir knight, and help
thee in whatever adventure thou mayst wish!'
'Get thee gone, then, good troll,' said Sir Owen, with a smile. 'But
first tell me my way to the fountain.'
Whereupon the troll showed him the way and gave him certain directions,
and then said:
'Chieftain, thou wilt conquer in all thy fighting, and great honour and
reward shall be thine. But beware thee of leaving the side of her that
shall love thee, for more than a night and a day, or long woe shall
find thee. And do thou take this, for it may find thee friends.'
And the troll, whose name was Decet, held towards him a blue stone upon
a silver string. The stone burned with the dazzling blue of the
lightning flash, when the light caught it.
Sir Owen thanked him, put the string about his neck, and stood watching
the troll as he limped, faint and wounded, into the mound that was his
home.
Then, picking up his lance, Sir Owen mounted his horse, and rode
forward through the wood, thinking of this strange adventure.
When he reached the fountain where a silver cup hung by a silver chain,
he filled the cup with water, as the troll had bidden him, and threw it
over a pillar of stone that was set beside the fountain. And instantly
there came a clap of thunder as if the earth would dash asunder, and
after the thunder came the shower, and so fierce and heavy were the
hailstones that they would surely have slain horse and rider, but that
Sir Owen, as the troll had bidden him, had put his horse's forefeet in
the fountain, and kept his own hand therein, whereby the hailstones
became thin rain before they touched him.
Then the sky became bright, and the flock of birds descended on the
tree and began to sing. But Sir Owen heeded them not, but mounted his
horse, dressed his shield and lance, and prepared for the combat.
There came a mourning cry through the wood, and a sky-blue knight on a
high-stepping destrier dashed through the trees towards Sir Owen, and
came against him, lance in rest. Whereupon Sir Owen put spurs to his
horse, and furiously rode against the knight. At the first onset each
broke his lance; whereat they drew their swords and lashed at each
other most fiercely.
Sir Owen feinted, and then, quickly recovering, he smote the other so
hard and stern a blow that the blade bit through headpiece, skin and
bone, until it wounded the brain itself.
Then, with a great cry, the blue knight wheeled his horse and fled,
with Sir Owen in pursuit. But the other knight's horse was fleeter, and
Sir Owen could not overtake him, though he kept within a few yards.
In a little while a great castle, resplendent with new stone, shone
before them. The wounded knight thundered across the drawbridge, with
Owen close behind him; but when the blue knight gained the street
beyond, the portcullis was let fall with a rush. Sir Owen fell from his
horse, and looking round he found that the horse had been cut in twain
by the gate.
So that Sir Owen found himself, with the forepart of the dead horse, in
a prison between the two gates, while the hinder part of the horse was
outside. And Sir Owen saw that his death must be very near, for already
he saw one of the soldiers who were guarding the gate run after the
knight to the castle, as if for orders to slay him.
Looking through the inner gate, he saw a narrow street facing him, with
booths and little houses on each side; and coming towards him he beheld
a maiden, small but beautiful, with black curling hair and a circlet of
gold upon her forehead; and she was of high rank, for she wore a dress
of yellow satin, and on her feet were shoes of speckled leather.
She stopped when but a few steps from the gate where the soldiers stood
watching Sir Owen; and he saw that her eyes were bent fixedly upon the
blue stone which lay on the knight's breast. And he saw that, in the
darkness of his prison, it shone with a fierce blue flame.
He looked up and saw the maiden's eyes bent on his, and he seemed to
hear the voice of the maiden speaking to him, as clearly as if she
stood beside him. In these words she spoke:
'Take that stone which is on thy breast, and hold it tightly in the
palm of one hand. And as thou concealest it, so will it conceal thee.
Thus wilt thou be able to pass unseen between the bars of the portcullis.
And I will wait for thee on the horseblock yonder, and thou wilt be
able to see me, though I cannot see thee. Therefore, come and place thy
hand on my shoulder, and I shall know that thou art come. And then thou
must accompany me to the place where I shall hide thee.'
He saw the maiden turn away and go up the street, and Sir Owen did as
the voice had bidden him. And looking down he saw nothing of himself,
although he could see the soldiers looking in, and he saw the surprise
and then the horror on their faces, as they realised that they had seen
him spirited away before their eyes.
Sir Owen passed between them and rejoined the maiden, as she had bidden
him. He went with her, still invisible, and she led him to a small
house, and in it was a large and beautiful chamber, all painted with
gorgeous colours, and well furnished. And there she gave him food, and
he rested securely until late in the afternoon.
Then, as he looked out of the window upon the wall of the castle, which
towered dark and high above him, he heard a clamour and sounds of a
mourning coming from it. He asked the maiden the cause of it.
'They are administering extreme unction to the Lord Cadoc, who owns the
castle, for he hath been wounded.'
'And who art thou, that thou shouldst save me who am a stranger?' he
asked of the maiden.
'My name is Elined,' said the maiden, 'and since thou bearest the Blue
Stone of the Little Folk, I must aid thee all I can.'
At that time she would tell him no more, but shortly left him to his
rest, saying she would come to attend upon him again at the dawning.
In the silence and darkness of the night Sir Owen awoke by reason of a
woful outcry and lamenting; and then he knew that Earl Cadoc, the
Knight of the Fountain, was dead from the wound he had given him.
Soon after dawn he arose and clothed himself; and looking out of the
window he saw the streets filled with a great host of people in black,
and the weeping and the mourning were pitiful to hear. Knights, with
their armour craped, rode in great companies before; then came the
men-at-arms with weapons reversed; then the ladies of the household,
and after these the priests came, and in their midst was the bier.
And over it was a veil of white linen, and wax tapers burning beside
and around it, and of the gentlemen who supported the bier on their
shoulders none was lower in rank than a powerful baron, owning broad
lands and great companies of retainers.
Last of all there came a lady walking behind the bier. And though her
face was stained with the many tears she had shed, and was pale with
sorrow, Sir Owen thought he had never seen so beautiful a lady, or one
so gentle and kind of mien.
Deeply he sorrowed because he had caused the death of her lord,
inasmuch as it had given her such grief.
Her hair, yellow and long and curled, hung dishevelled about her
shoulders, and her dress of rich yellow satin was torn, and across it
was a wide sash of black velvet. And it was a marvel that she could see
how to walk, for the tears filled her eyes.
Sir Owen could not take his gaze from her, and love and pity for her
filled his mind.
When the procession had passed out of the town the maiden Elined came
into the room, and Sir Owen asked her eagerly who was the lady he had
seen.
'Heaven is my witness,' replied Elined, 'but she is the fairest and the
sweetest and the most noble of women. She is my beloved mistress, and
her name is Carol, and she is Countess of the Fountain, the widow of
him thou didst slay yesterday.'
'I sorrow for that,' said Owen, 'for I have seen her grief. But,
verily, she is the woman that I love best. And if my hand hath wounded
her grievously, my arm would more willingly protect her.'
'Indeed, thou art brave and bold, sir knight,' said the maiden, 'and
much may you win, if you are as faithful in your service and devotion
to her as you have been in the service of your king, the great Arthur.'
And when it had passed midday, Elined said to Sir Owen:
'You must keep this chamber while I go and woo for thee. Stir not out
into the city lest ill befall thee.'
Elined went to the castle and found all was in confusion, with mourning
and lamentation. Her mistress she found sitting listlessly looking from
the window with pale sorrow on her face; and to Elined's greeting she
would respond not.
'It astounds me,' said Elined at length, 'to find you giving yourself
up to unavailing sorrow in this way.'
'It astounds me also,' said the countess reproachfully, 'that in my
time of trouble and affliction, you, whom I have enriched and favoured
beyond all my handmaidens, should desert me. If I did not love thee, I
should order thee to be executed.'
'It was for thy advantage that I was absent,' said Elined. 'I
reproached not thy grief when thy lord lay dying, but now you have
yourself to think of. Yet you seem more willing to live with the dead
than to take heed what may happen to yourself in a few hours. I would
have thee remember that a live dog is better than a dead lion.'
'Hence from my sight, unfeeling girl!' cried the countess in anger.
'There is no one in the world to compare with my dead lord in beauty,
in strength, and in prowess. Get thee gone!'
Without a word Elined turned and went from the room. But she had not
gone far before she heard the countess coughing behind her, and on
looking back her mistress beckoned to her.
'You are indeed hardhearted, Elined,' said she, 'to think to leave me
in my grief, and in my need of good counsel. I will overlook thy
cruelty if, as you say, you have been absent for my advantage. What
mean you by that?'
'This is my meaning,' said Elined. 'Thou knowest that without a man of
knightly prowess and bravery, thou canst not hope to guard the fountain
and keep these wide dominions in the power of thyself. Thou art the
prey and booty of any bold bandit lord that chooses to make war upon
thee, and to capture and wed thee. And dost thou forget the wiles and
treachery of thy old lover whom thou hast flouted, Sir Dewin of Castle
Cower? Hath he not sworn to take thee and thy kingdom, sooner or later,
by fair means or by foul? Therefore it behoves thee at once to find a
noble and generous knight, courtly and worshipful, who will guard thee
and love thee, and hold down the turbulent lords, thy vassals and thy
neighbours.'
'Hard will such a task be,' sighed the countess, 'for the Earl Cadoc
was a man among men.'
'Yet I will wager to find thee such another, even excelling him in
knightly prowess, in beauty of person, and for love and devotion to
thee more than his equal,' replied Elined, who remembered that the dead
earl had not been over tender to his gentle countess on many occasions.
'And where couldst thou find this paragon?' said the countess, flushing
a little at the reminder of her late lord's neglect.
'At the court of King Arthur,' replied Elined; 'for there are to be
found the peerless knights of the world, men of their knightly words,
and devoted to love and war.
'If it be that I must think of wedding again so soon,' sighed the
countess, 'go then to King Arthur, and find me such a knight. But let
him be gentle as well as brave, with fine and courtly manners--a man,
indeed, whom I can really love.'
Elined went and kissed the flushing cheek of her mistress.
'Trust me for that,' she said gently. 'I would do that as much for
myself as for thee, my dear Carol. For did it not often go to my heart
to see thee pine for gentle speech and affection, and sorrow at the
harsh words thou didst suffer? I will set forth at once to Caerleon,
and him that I bring shall be worthy of thee. And all others that may
come and woo thee, do thou keep at arm's length until I return.'
Elined departed from the castle, but she did not go beyond the town. It
was in her mind to lie hidden for as long a time as it would take her
to go to Caerleon and return therefrom. Meanwhile, going about
disguised, she would be able to see what the many lords were doing who
would essay to woo the countess, seeing that, lovely and rich as she
was, she would be a splendid prize.
And things happened as she had foreseen. Every day there came into the
town one cavalcade or more, with some baron or earl in flashing armour
at the head of his vassals, come to try his fortune and to win the
lovely Countess of the Fountain, and to possess her wide dominions.
Daily the countess was compelled to receive fresh comers in audience,
and while with deft excuses she kept each at arm's length, they crowded
her audience-chamber, proud and insolent, humble or crafty, eyeing each
other with high looks, each prepared to slay his rival if the need
arose.
At last there came an earl who, as he came up the street at the head of
a large company of knights, seemed to shine like the sun. For his
armour was all of gold, and jewels were about his neck, and on his
girdle and his wrists. Every toss of his destrier's head dazzled the
eyes with the fountain of flashing lights given off by the jewels which
adorned the cloth of gold about its head.
This knight called himself the Earl of Drood, but Elined was in the
crowd of gaping townspeople that saw him enter, and she knew him for
the old insolent lover of her mistress, whom the countess had ever
despised, Sir Dewin of Castle Cower.
Sir Dewin disguised himself so that the countess did not know him. She
received him in audience, and though she was startled by the
magnificence of his dress, and a little moved by the gentleness of his
manner, she felt that she feared and distrusted him.
The next day he craved to see her again, and then said:
'Fair and noble lady, so deeply doth thy beauty move me, that I am
eager to put to the test swiftly the question whether I or some other
happier knight among these noble gentlemen shall obtain thy hand.
Therefore I crave permission of thee to proclaim a joust between all
these knights that sue for thee, and the winner among them all shall be
he that thou shalt wed.'
'Sir,' said the countess with great dignity, 'it is not for thee to
order here, but for me. I wish nothing to be done for the space of nine
days, and then will I make my choice.'
At which Sir Dewin, though full of rage, must needs seem content. And
the countess hoped that, in the space she had named, Elined would have
returned with the knight of her choice, and she herself could choose
him for her lord, if she thought he was the man whom she could most
trust and love.
But Sir Dewin wrought upon many of the suitors who were of his mind,
and they resolved that, will she, nill she, the countess must needs
abide by a contest between all her wooers to be holden on the tenth
day.
And on the tenth day all the knights, barons, and earls met together in
full armour in a broad green jousting-place beneath the windows of the
countess, and having made the rules of contest, and committed them to
the seneschal of the countess, they prepared to prove which among them
all was the knight of most prowess.
Then there was fierce hurtling to and fro of knight against knight, and
lances splintered, horses reared, knights fell wounded or dead, and
were dragged away. And for long, among the ninety-nine knights that
there jousted, none of the crowds who looked on could see which were
they who were gaining the day.
From her window the countess watched with a sorrowing and dreading
heart; for Elined had not yet returned, and therefore the countess must
be the prize of one of these suitors who had pestered her, and none of
whom she cared for.
Then, when the dust of the jousting had a little cleared, and the
knights had withdrawn to the sides of the lists, to breathe and rest
awhile, it was seen that twelve remained of the ninety-nine.
The countess, looking from her window, knew them all from the devices
on their shields, and none of them were men she favoured. Some she knew
were evil men, yet, as knights, were powerful in jousting. And she
dreaded which of them should be the victor, to be her lord and master.
Then the knights hurtled together again, and as one after the other was
unhorsed by stronger opponents and went from the field, she went pale
with fear and anxiety.
At last there were but two, and these were Sir Dewin, whom she knew as
the Earl of Drood, and the other was a knight in blue armour, with a
shield on which was painted a hillock or mound. And she knew him to be
a man named Sir Daunt, or the Knight of the Mount, a man of fierce
temper, quarrelsome and cruel.
The countess could have swooned with terror, for she knew that now she
was doomed to an unhappy life, whichever of these knights prevailed.
For though the Earl of Drood was soft and gentle in speech and manner,
she feared that this but covered a wicked heart.
She could hardly bear to look as she heard these two, the last of all
the ninety-nine, crash together in the midst of the jousting-ground.
And she heard the cries of the onlookers.
'The blue knight's the better man! How he heaves with his sword! Ah,
the golden knight is down!'
And looking from her window the countess saw the earl was lying
wounded, and the Knight of the Mount stood over him. Then the earl
surrendered and was carried off the field.
The great shouts that saluted the victor made the countess turn faint
and sick with dread, so that she fell back among her handmaidens in a
swoon. But, quickly recovering, she stood up, resolved to meet her fate
with proud dignity.
In a few moments the door opened and the arras was pushed aside, and
the groom of the chambers announced with a shout:
'The Knight of the Mound, victorious in the joust, craves leave to
greet our lady the countess.'
The lady bowed assent, trembling in every limb. Then the groom stepped
aside, and into the chamber came a comely gentleman, clad in purple
tunic, rich with chains and jewelled belt.
But it was not the knight whom the countess had expected, but a
stranger, with a courtly and gentle manner and a winning smile.
Then from behind him came Elined, full of smiles, with a look of
triumph in her eyes.
'My lady,' she said, bowing low, 'this is the knight, Sir Owen of
Wales, from the court of King Arthur, whom I have brought to protect
you and wed you. He hath just proved himself the doughtiest among a
hundred.'
The terror of the countess was changed instantly into joy, and she put
forth her hand, and Sir Owen bent and kissed it, and she led him to the
window seat, and commanded Elined to sit with them. And they spoke full
joyously together, for the countess was much taken with the noble and
gentle bearing of Sir Owen, and admired him because he had proved
himself the best man of all her wooers.