with Sir Owen were celebrated with such feasting that all the country
was full of merriment and joy. And the men of the earldom came and did
homage to Owen, and he became the Earl of the Fountain.
In a little while thereafter Sir Owen told his lady that it was he who
had chased the soul from the body of her former lord. But the countess
was not vexed by the knowledge, for Sir Owen loved her greatly, and
with all tenderness and honour, and never had the countess been so
happy with Earl Cadoc as she was with Owen.
Thereafter Earl Owen defended the fountain with lance and sword against
all who ventured to challenge him in his earldom. And the knights who
were thus conquered he held to ransom, and the money he thus obtained
he divided equally among his barons and knights. Never had they had so
generous a lord, nor one of such prowess and knightly worth. And all
his subjects loved Earl Owen passing well.
Thus for three years in all happiness and quiet did Owen and the
countess dwell. Sir Dewin of Castle Cower had not power to hurt them,
nor did any other evil light upon them.
But at the end of this space, towards the close of a summer's day, Sir
Owen, by the magic whereby it was made known to him, knew that there
was a knight who challenged him at the fountain. So, putting on his
sky-blue armour, he went forth and found the knight.
They rushed together, and the strange knight was overthrown. But others
who were with him took him away, and Sir Owen waited. But none other
challenge was made, and in the twilight he retired, resolved to attend
next day in case any others desired to challenge him.
In the morning the same knight came forth from the company of knights
which was among the trees about the fountain. And so fiercely did Sir
Owen assail him that the head of his lance broke the helmet of the
stranger and pierced the flesh to the bone. Again his companions
carried him off.
Then other knights came forth and had to do with Sir Owen, but all were
overthrown. At length came one having over himself and his horse a rich
satin robe of honour, and Sir Owen knew that he must be a man of great
dignity, big of body and of knightly prowess.
They fought together that evening and half through the next day, but
neither could obtain the mastery. And about noon they took still
stronger lances and fought most stubbornly. At length they came so
furiously together that the girths of their horses were broken and both
were borne to the ground.
They rose up speedily and drew their swords and resumed the combat; and
all those that witnessed it felt that they had never seen such a battle
of heroes before. And suddenly with a blow fiercely strong and swiftly
keen, Sir Owen cut the fastenings of the strange knight's helm, so that
the headpiece came off.
With a cry Sir Owen dropped his weapon, for he knew that this was Sir
Gawaine, his cousin.
'My Lord Gawaine,' he said, 'the robe of honour that covered thee
prevented my knowing it was thee with whom I fought. Take my sword and
my arms, for I yield me to thee.'
'Nay, Sir Owen,' said Gawaine, 'take thou mine, for I am at thy mercy.'
Then came forward King Arthur, and Sir Owen knew him and kneeled before
him and kissed his hand, and then embraced him. And there was much joy
between all the knights and Owen, for all had feared that he had been
slain, and the king in despair had come upon this adventure to learn
tidings of him.
Then they all proceeded to the castle of the countess, and a great
banquet was prepared, with joustings and hawking parties and games.
They stayed three months in great happiness and diversion.
At last, when King Arthur prepared to depart, he went to the countess
and besought her to permit Owen to go with him for the space of three
months, that he might renew his friendships at the court at Caerleon.
And though it made the countess sorrowful to lose the man she loved
best in all the world, she consented, and Owen promised to return even
before the time appointed.
So King Arthur returned to Caerleon with Sir Owen, and there was much
feasting and diversion to welcome him. And his kindred and friends
tried to make Owen forget the countess and his earldom, but they could
not. For she was the lady he loved best in the world, and he would
liefer be with her, to guard and cherish her, than in any other place
on the surface of the earth.
One night, as the court sat after dinner over the mead cups, a juggler
came into the hall and performed many tricks, and there was much
laughter and gaiety at his merry quips and jests. And he craved that he
might search the hands of each lord and lady present, so that he could
tell them if they would be happy in love.
He began with Sir Kay, and so along the board, uttering merry thoughts
on all, but speaking with serious and solemn looks, until he came to
Sir Owen. And he looked long and earnestly at the marks in that
knight's palm, and then said, in a croaking voice:
'A night and a day, a night and a day!
Thou'lt grieve for thy love for ever and aye.'
None knew what this might mean, and they marvelled to see how pale went
the face of Sir Owen.
For he had suddenly remembered the words of Decet the troll-man, who
had said, '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.'
Instantly Sir Owen rose from the board and went out. Going to his own
abode he made preparations, and at dawn he arose and mounted his horse,
and set forth swiftly to go to the dominions of the countess. Great was
his fear that some evil had befallen her in consequence of his leaving
her unprotected from the evil powers of Sir Dewin.
He rode hard and fast northwards through the wild and desolate
mountains, until he saw the sea like burnished lead lying on his left
hand.
Then he turned his horse's head away and rode far into the deep heart
of the land. But though he knew the way passing well, he could not find
the road now, and wandered up and down the lonely moorlands and the
dark forest rides, baffled and wearied, heartsick and full of dread.
Thus he wandered, for ever seeking the way, and trying this one and
that, until all his apparel was worn out, and his body was wasted away
and his hair was grown long. And at length, from misery and
hopelessness, he grew so weak that he thought that he must die.
Then he descended slowly from the mountains, and thought to find a
hermit, to whom he might tell all his misery before he died. But he
could not find any harbourage, and so he crawled to a brook in a park,
and sat there wondering why this evil fate had been visited upon him,
and grieving that now his beloved countess must be in wretchedness and
sorrow by reason of his forgetting, and that never more could he hope
to see her and tell her how grieved he had been to cause her such pain.
Then in a little while he swooned under the heat of the sun, from
hunger and weakness, and lay half in and half out of the brook.
It befell that a widowed lady, to whom the brook and the land belonged,
came walking in the fields with her maids. And one of them saw the
figure of Sir Owen and, half fearful, she went up to him and found him
faintly breathing.
The widow lady had him taken into the farmstead of one of her tenants,
and there he was tended carefully until he came again to his senses.
And with the good care, meat, drink, and medicaments, he soon began to
thrive again.
He asked the man of the house who it was that had brought him there.
'It was our Lady of the Moors,' said the man sadly. 'And though she is
herself in sore straits and narrowly bestead by a cruel and oppressive
earl, who would rob her of these last few acres, yet she hath ever a
tender heart for those in greater distress than herself.'
'It grieves me,' said Sir Owen, 'that the lady is oppressed by that
felon earl. He should be hindered, and that sternly.'
'Ay,' said the man, 'he would cease his wrongful dealing if she would
wed him, but she cannot abide the evil face of him.'
Ever and anon the Lady of the Moors sent one of her maidens to learn
how the stranger was progressing, and the maiden came one day when Sir
Owen was quite recovered, and she was greatly astounded to see how
comely a man he was, and how straight and tall and knightly was his
mien.
As they sat talking, there came the jingle and clatter of arms, and,
looking forth, Sir Owen saw a large company of knights and men-at-arms
pass down the road. And he inquired of the maiden who these were.
'That is the Earl Arfog and his company,' she said sadly. 'And he
goeth, as is his wont, to visit my mistress, and to insult her, and to
treat her unmannerly, and to threaten that he will drive her from the
one remaining roof-tree she possesses. And so will he and his knights
sit eating and drinking till night, and great will be my lady's sorrow
that she hath no one to protect her.'
They talked of other things for a while, and then said Sir Owen:
'Hath thy mistress a suit of armour, and a destrier in her possession?'
'She hath indeed, the best in the world,' said the maiden, 'for they
belonged to her late husband, the Lord of the Moors.'
'Wilt thou go and get them for me for a loan?' he asked.
'I will,' said the maiden, and wondered what he would do with them.
Before the day was passed there came a beautiful black steed, upon
which was a beechen saddle, and a suit of armour, both for man and
horse. And Owen armed himself, and when it was dark he went forth and
stationed himself under a great oak, where none could see him.
When the earl, elated with insolence and wine, came back that way,
shouting and rolling in his saddle, Owen marked him as he rode. He
dashed out at him, and so fiercely swift was he, and so heavy were his
blows, that he had beaten to the earth those who were beside the earl,
and the earl he had dragged from the saddle and laid him across his
crupper, before the earl's companions were aware of what was done.
As the countess sat in hall, sadly thinking how soon the craven earl
would thrust her out of her home, there came the beat of hoofs, the
great door of the manor swung open, and a tall knight in black armour
strode in, thrusting another knight before him.
'I am the stranger whom ye rescued from death, my lady,' said Sir Owen,
bowing, 'and this is thy rascally enemy, the Earl Arfog. Look you,
churl in armour,' said Owen, shaking the other till every piece of
steel upon him rattled, 'if you do not instantly crave pardon humbly of
this lady, and restore unto her everything you have robbed of her, I
swear to you, by the name of the great Arthur, I will shear your head
from your shoulders.'
In great terror the earl, who, since he oppressed women, was an abject
coward, sank upon his knees and promised to restore all he had ever
taken from the lady, as a ransom for his life; and for his freedom he
would give her many rich farms and manors, and hostages as surety.
Two more days Sir Owen stayed at the manor to see that these things
were duly performed, and then he took his departure.
'I would that you could stay with us,' said the lady, who was sweet and
gentle, with kindly eyes and a soft voice.
'Lady, I may not,' said Sir Owen. 'I seek my dear wife and her
dominions, and have been seeking them these many months. But I fear me
some evil necromancy hath been reared against me, so that I may not
find her again, and she must be in much sorrow and misery in my
absence. And if I never see my lady in life again, yet must I seek for
her until I die.'
'What is the name of your lady and of her dominions?' asked the lady.
'She is the Lady Carol, Countess of the Fountain,' answered Owen. 'Do
you know aught of her, and in which direction her lands lie?'
The lady caused inquiries to be made, and her foresters said that the
lady's lands of the fountain lay fifteen leagues beyond the mountains,
and that his way lay through the Wisht Wood, the Dead Valley, and the
Hill of the Tower of Stone, and only a knight of great valour could
hope to win through these places, which were the haunt of warlocks,
wizards, and trolls, and full of magic, both black and white.
Joyously Sir Owen mounted his horse, glad to learn that now he might
hope to find his countess again, and the Lady of the Moors wished him
Godspeed, and looked after him long and earnestly till he disappeared
into a forest.
He journeyed three days through the Wisht Wood, and many were the
dreadful things he saw and heard there, and great eyes, green and black
and yellow, peered at him from the bushes as he sat over his fire at
night. But he clasped the blue stone which the troll Decet had given
him, and naught could hurt him.
On the fourth day he descended into the Dead Valley. And here he was
like to die, for the air was so thick, and filled with the poison of
witches who haunted there at night, that if he had not ridden fiercely
and fast through its deathly vapours, he could not have reached the
slopes of the Hill of the Tower of Stone, where the air was pure and
blew out of the clean sky.
Long and toilsome and exceedingly steep was the way up the side of the
mountain, and many times Sir Owen thought he would have to sink down
for sheer weariness. And it was dark night before he reached level
ground, and he could not see where he was or what place he was in.
But having said his prayers, fed his horse, and eaten from the scrip
which the Lady of the Moors had made up for him, he lay down beside a
thick bush and slept soundly.
Many were the terrible sounds that came from far below, where fierce
witches and warlocks battled and tore each other in the Dead Valley;
but Sir Owen was so overcome that he awoke not. And just as the morning
broke, a great serpent issued from a rock near where he lay and crept
towards him to slay him.
Sir Owen still lay asleep, and the huge creature reared his head to
strike. But at that moment a great brown bear, that had sat near Sir
Owen through the night, leaped forward with a fierce growl, and gripped
the serpent by the head. And the serpent hissed and writhed.
With the noise of the struggle Sir Owen awoke, and marvelled to see the
two animals closed in deadly combat. He drew his sword and slew the
serpent, and having wiped his weapon, he went to his horse and led it
forward.
But the bear followed him and played about him, as if it was a
greyhound that he had reared. And Sir Owen stopped and said:
'This is a marvel, sir bear, that you would follow me gambolling,
because I slew the serpent. Are ye so grateful, then, or is it that ye
have been captive unto men, and are fain to see one in this desolate
waste?'
The bear gambolled as if pleased to hear him speak, and went on a
little way and looked back as if to see that the knight was following.
And when Sir Owen would go another way, the bear stamped his foot, so
that at length, with a laugh, Sir Owen said he would follow the way he
wished.
Wild was that place and rocky, full of great boulders and with deep
pits obscured by bushes. Full irksome was it to pass through, for
besides the slipperiness of the way, the sun shone pitilessly down, and
its heat was returned by the hard rocks. And there was no water.
If the bear had not led him, Sir Owen would have missed his footing
many times, and been hurled down one of the many chasms that yawned
everywhere.
At length Sir Owen became faint with hunger, and he dismounted and
tethered his horse to a leafless thorn. Then he went and lay in the
shadow of an enormous rock that reared up like a huge tower. And the
bear looked at him for a little while and then disappeared.
Sir Owen wondered sadly whether he should ever win through the perils
that encompassed him, and see again the lady whom he loved best in all
the world. And weak with famine, he doubted whether he should not leave
his bones to bleach beside the great rock.
Then he looked, and saw the bear coming towards him, and it carried a
roebuck, freshly slain, which it brought and laid at Sir Owen's feet.
The knight sprang up with a glad cry, and struck fire with his flint,
and the bear brought dried sticks, and soon a fire was blazing, and
juicy collops were spluttering on skewers before the fire.
When Sir Owen had finished eating, the bear seemed to wish him to
follow him, and the bear led him to a brook in a little green patch,
and there the knight quenched his thirst.
By now it was twilight again, and Sir Owen made up the fire and
prepared himself to slumber; and the bear lay down beside him and
blinked at the fire like a great dog.
The knight saw the sun far in the west dip beneath a cloud, and a cold
wind blew across the waste. And then he heard a sigh from somewhere
behind him, and then another and again a third. And the sound seemed to
come from within the towering stone.
He cried out, 'If thou art a mortal, speak to me! But if thou art some
evil thing of this waste, avaunt thee!'
A voice, soft and sad, replied, 'A mortal I am indeed, but soon shall I
be dead, and as cold as the stone in which I am imprisoned, unless one
man help me.'
The stone was so thick that the voices of both were muffled, so that
neither recognised the other.
Sir Owen asked who it was who spoke to him.
'I am Elined, handmaiden to the Lady of the Fountain,' was the reply.
'Alas! alas!' cried Sir Owen. 'Then if thou art in so sore a pass, thou
who wouldst guard my lady till thy death, surely my dear lady is in a
worse pass? I am Owen, who won her in the jousts, and by evil fortune
left her for more than a night and a day, and never have I been able to
find my way back to my beloved lady. Tell me, damsel, what evil hath
befallen her, and how I may avenge it instantly?'
'Glad I am, Sir Owen,' cried the maiden joyfully, 'to hear thou art
still in life, and that thou wert not faithless, as the evil Sir Dewin
said thou wert. 'Twas his evil magic that changed the landscape as thou
didst ride, and so hid the way from thee. Naught evil hath my lady
suffered yet, nor never will now if thou canst save me this night. But
he hath changed my brother, Decet of the Mound, into some monstrous
shape, and me he hath chained within this stone. Yet for seventy-seven
days my magic kept him from doing further ill to my lady and me; and
that space ends this midnight. Therefore am I glad that the good fate
hath led thee here. Now go thee and hide, until Sir Dewin and his two
evil sons come. And when they would make a fire whereon to burn me, do
thou cut them down and burn them, for so shall all their evil power be
stayed.'
Much as Sir Owen wished to ask how his countess had fared through the
time of his absence, he stole away, after he had stamped out his fire.
Towards midnight there came a great roaring wind, and a shower of
hailstones, and thunder and lightning, and he saw three great black
shapes descend from the sky. And he knew that these were the evil
wizard knights, Sir Dewin and his two sons. They alighted upon the hill
near the Tower of Stone, and took the shapes of men.
Instantly they began to gather wood and to make a huge heap. And Sir
Dewin made witchfire, and began to light the pile.
Then Sir Owen crept up in the dark, and the bear went with him. And as
the wizard bent to light the fire, Sir Owen raised his sword and
chopped off the wizard's head, so that it hopped into the fire.
The bear had gone behind the two sons and now clawed them together, and
though they struggled fiercely to get loose, the bear hugged them so
tightly that they could not move. And Sir Owen slew them both with his
sword.
Then together they heaped the three evil warlocks on the fire and saw
them burn. And when the last of them was consumed in the fierce heat of
the fire, Sir Owen felt a hand seize his, and, turning, he marvelled to
see Decet the Moundman smiling into his face.
'Good luck hath been thy guide, sir knight,' said the troll, 'and thou
hath released me from the evil dumb shape into which this wizard did
change me. But all the happiness that hath been thine and shall be
thine again, thou owest to thy constancy and thy devotion to the lady
thou lovest best.'
'Glad am I, good troll, to see thee again,' said Sir Owen, 'and glad
shall I be to see my dear lady again. Now let us release her faithful
handmaiden, thy sister.'
With the master words which move the living rock, the troll caused the
stone to open, and Elined stepped forth, exceeding glad to see Sir Owen
and her brother again, and to feel the free air upon her cheeks.
When it was morning they went on their way with great gladness. And
when they reached the City of the Fountain, the countess could not
speak for joy, and all her sadness fled, and in an hour her happiness
was greater than her misery had been for all the months of her sorrow.
The bells throughout the city were set ringing, and there was public
rejoicing through the length and breadth of the land, for all were glad
exceedingly that their dear lady was happy, and that their lord was
come to his own again.
Never again did Sir Owen leave his lady while she lived. Elined was
advanced to the place of Chief Lady of the Household, while Decet was
made Head Huntsman, because he loved the forest, and knew the ways of
every bird and beast that lived therein.
IX
OF SIR LANCELOT AND THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT
It befell on a time that King Arthur made proclamation of a great joust
and tournament which should be holden at Camelot fifteen days after the
Feast of the Assumption. The noise of it went forth throughout all the
king's dominions, and knights and barons, and earls and kings, made
haste to get them ready to go thither.
Sir Lancelot had but lately been sore wounded, and told the king that
he could not hope to be at the joust, for fear that his wound might
break forth afresh. The king was much aggrieved thereat, and would fain
have made proclamation to put off the joust, but that many knights were
already set forth from distant places, and great would be the
disappointment.
Therefore, on the day that the king was to journey from London to
Camelot, he set forth with a heavy heart. For though he knew there
would be many a brave onfall and stout bickering, yet, as Sir Lancelot
had become the most valiant knight in all the island of Britain, the
king had greatly desired that the knight should show how he excelled
all the doughty warriors that would come from all parts.
When all the knights had gone from the king's palace in London, Sir
Lancelot pined in the great hall. The chatter of the ladies and the
tricks of the pages became irksome to him, and he began to think how
gay must be the company of the knights of the Round Table, as they rode
through the leafy country ways towards Camelot, with the great Arthur
at their head.
'I will see the king's leech,' he said to himself, 'and bid him give me
some medicament that shall strengthen my wound. For I cannot abide that
I stay here like some toothless old hound, while his fellows are gone
to the hunting.'
So Sir Lancelot betook him to the lodging of Morgan Todd, the king's
physician, but found that he too had gone with the king.
When Sir Lancelot was turning away, sore aggrieved and angry, the man
that had opened the door to him cried:
'Be not vexed, Sir Lancelot, for I wot well you would rather go with
the king than nurse that wound of thine. Come down, then, and let me
advise thee.'
Sir Lancelot, thinking this would be the chief disciple or pupil of
Morgan Todd, dismounted, and followed the man that had spoken, who was
old and thin and gnarled, with beady black eyes. When he had examined
Sir Lancelot's wound, the old man smiled strangely, and said:
'If ye take but common care of thy wound, 'twill not break out again,
but your heart was ever bigger than thy wit, sir knight. Thou wilt do
more than any other knight, and in thy strength ye may well maim
yourself.'
'Then I may go to Camelot, to the jousting?' asked Sir Lancelot.
'Ay, ye may go,' said the leech. 'But hearken. Stay not on thy way at
Astolat. If ye do so, ye shall leave so great a wound there on one that
will not harm thee, that the ill shall cause thee woe out of all
measure.'
'Keep thy counsel, good leech,' said Sir Lancelot with a laugh. 'I hurt
none that desire not my hurt. And, for the rest, I will take the
adventure that God will send me.'
Sir Lancelot set out forthwith, thinking naught of what the leech had
said. By eventide he came to Astolat, and, looking about for a lodging,
he suddenly remembered the words of the leech.
'I will beg a lodging outside the town,' he said, gravely smiling. 'So
I do not stay in the town, I may escape the ill which the old croaker
spoke of.'