A puff of north-east wind shot over the hill, detached a late
December leaf from the sycamore on its summit, and swooped like a
wave upon the roofs and chimney-stacks below. It caught the smoke
midway in the chimneys, drove it back with showers of soot and
wood-ash, and set the townsmen sneezing who lingered by their hearths
to read the morning newspaper. Its strength broken, it fell prone
upon the main street, scattering its fine dust into fan-shaped
figures, then died away in eddies towards the south. Among these
eddies the sycamore leaf danced and twirled, now running along the
ground upon its edge, now whisked up to the level of the first-storey
windows. A nurse, holding up a three-year-old child behind the pane,
pointed after the leaf--
"Look--there goes Sir Dinar!"
Sir Dinar was the youngest son and the comeliest of King Geraint, who
had left Arthur's Court for his own western castle of Dingerein in
Roseland, where Portscatho now stands, and was buried, when his time
came, over the Nare, in his golden boat with his silver oars beside
him. To fill his siege at the Round Table he sent, in the lad's
sixteenth year, this Dinar, who in two years was made knight by King
Arthur, and in the third was turned into an old man before he had
achieved a single deed of note.
For on the fifth day after he was made knight, and upon the Feast of
Pentecost, there began the great quest of the Sancgrael, which took
Sir Lancelot from the Court, Sir Perceval, Sir Bors, Sir Gawaine, Sir
Galahad, and all the flower of the famous brotherhood. And because,
after their going, it was all sad cheer at Camelot, and heavy, empty
days, Sir Dinar took two of his best friends aside, both young
knights, Sir Galhaltin and Sir Ozanna le Coeur Hardi, and spoke to
them of riding from the Court by stealth. "For," he said, "we have
many days before us, and no villainy upon our consciences, and
besides are eager. Who knows, then, but we may achieve this
adventure of the Sancgrael?" These listened and imparted it to
another, Sir Sentrail: and the four rode forth secretly one morning
before the dawn, and set their faces towards the north-east wind.
The day of their departure was that next after Christmas, the same
being the Feast of Saint Stephen the Martyr. And as they rode
through a thick wood, it came into Sir Dinar's mind that upon this
day it was right to kill any bird that flew, in remembrance that when
Saint Stephen had all but escaped from the soldiers who guarded him,
a small bird had sung in their ears and awakened them. By this, the
sky was growing white with the morning, but nothing yet clear to the
sight: and while they pressed forward under the naked boughs, their
horses' hoofs crackling the frosted undergrowth, Sir Dinar was aware
of a bird's wing ruffling ahead, and let fly a bolt without warning
his companions; who had forgotten what morning it was, and drew rein
for a moment. But pressing forward again, they came upon a gerfalcon
lying, with long lunes tangled about his feet and through his breast
the hole that Sir Dinar's bolt had made. While they stooped over
this bird the sun rose and shone between the tree-trunks, and lifting
their heads they saw a green glade before them, and in the midst of
the glade three pavilions set, each of red sendal, that shone in the
morning. In the first pavilion slept seven knights, and in the
second a score of damsels, but by the door of the third stood a lady,
fair and tall, in a robe of samite, who, as they drew near to accost
her, inquired of them--
"Which of you has slain my gerfalcon?"
And when Sir Dinar confessed and began to make his excuse, "Silly
knight!" said she, "who couldst not guess that my falcon, too, was
abroad to avenge the blessed Stephen. Or dost think that it was a
hawk, of all birds, that sang a melody in the ears of his guards?"
With that she laughed, as if pacified, and asked of their affairs;
and being told that they rode in search of the Sancgrael, she laughed
again, saying--
"Silly knights all, that seek it before you be bearded! For three of
you must faint and die on the quest, and you, sir," turning to Sir
Dinar, "must many times long to die, yet never reach nearer by a
foot."
"Let it be as God will," answered Sir Dinar. "But hast thou any
tidings, to guide us?"
"I have heard," said she, "that it was seen latest in the land of
Gore, beyond Trent Water." And with her white finger she pointed
down a narrow glade that led to the north-west. So they thanked her
and pricked on, none guessing that she herself was King Urience'
wife, of Gore, and none other than Queen Morgan le Fay, the famous
enchantress, who for loss of her gerfalcon was lightly sending Sir
Dinar to his ruin.
So all that day they rode, two and two, in the strait alley that she
had pointed out; and by her enchantments she made the winter trees to
move with them, serried close on either hand, so that, though the
four knights wist nothing of it, they advanced not a furlong for all
their haste. But towards nightfall there appeared close ahead a
blaze of windows lit and then a tall castle with dim towers soaring
up and shaking to the din of minstrelsy. And finding a great company
about the doors, they lit down from their horses and stepped into the
great hall, Sir Dinar leading them. For a while their eyes were
dazed, seeing that sconces flared along the walls and the place was
full of knights and damsels brightly clad, and the floor shone.
But while they were yet blinking, a band of maidens came and
unbuckled their arms and cast a shining cloak upon each; which was
hardly done when a lady came towards them out of the throng, and
though she was truly the Queen Morgan le Fay, they knew her not at
all, for by her necromancy she had altered her countenance.
"Come, dance," said she, "for in an instant the musicians will
begin."
The other three knights tarried awhile, being weary with riding; but
Sir Dinar stepped forward and caught the hand of a damsel, and she,
as she gave it, looked in his eyes and laughed. She was dressed all
in scarlet, with scarlet shoes, and her hair lay on her shoulders
like waves of burnished gold. As Sir Dinar set his arm about her,
with a crash the merry music began; and floating out with him into
the dance, her scarlet shoes twinkling and her tossed hair shaking
spices under his nostrils, she leaned back a little on his arm and
laughed again.
Sir Galhaltin was leaning by the doorway, and he heard her laugh and
saw her feet twinkle like blood-red moths, and he called to Sir
Dinar. But Sir Dinar heard only the brassy music, nor did any of the
dancers turn their heads, though Sir Galhaltin called a second time
and more loudly. Then Sir Sentrail and Sir Ozanna also began to
call, fearing they knew not what for their comrade. But the guests
still drifted by as they were clouds, and Sir Dinar, with the red
blood showing beneath the down on his cheeks, smiled always and
whirled with the woman upon his arm.
By and by he began to pant, and would have rested: but she denied
him.
"For a moment only," he said, "because I have ridden far to-day."
But "No" she said, and hung a little more heavily upon his arm, and
still the music went on. And now, gating upon her, he was
frightened; for it seemed she was growing older under his eyes, with
deep lines sinking into her face, and the flesh of her neck and bosom
shrivelling up, so that the skin hung loose and gathered in wrinkles.
And now he heard the voices of his companions calling about the door,
and would have cast off the sorceress and run to them. But when he
tried, his arm was welded around her waist, nor could he stay his
feet.
The three knights now, seeing the sweat upon his white face and the
looks he cast towards them, would have broken in and freed him: but
they, too, were by enchantment held there in the doorway. So, with
their eyes starting, they must needs stay there and watch; and while
they stood the boards became as molten brass under Sir Dinar's feet,
and the hag slowly withered in his embrace; and still the music
played, and the other dancers cast him never a look as he whirled
round and round again. But at length, with never a stay in the
music, his partner's feet trailed heavily, and, bending forward, she
shook her white locks clear of her gaunt eyes, and laughed a third
time, bringing her lips close to his. And the poison of death was in
her lips as she set them upon his mouth. With that kiss there was a
crash. The lights went out, and the music died away in a wail: and
the three knights by the door were caught away suddenly and stunned
by a great wind.
Awaking, they found themselves lying in the glade where they had come
upon the three red pavilions. Their horses were cropping at the
turf, beside them, and Sir Dinar's horse stood in sight, a little way
off. But Sir Dinar was already deep in the forest, twirling and
spinning among the rotten leaves, and on his arm hung a corrupting
corpse. For a whole day they sought him and found him not (for he
heard nothing of their shouts), and towards evening mounted and rode
forward after the Sancgrael; on which quest they died, all three,
each in his turn.
But Sir Dinar remained, and twirled and skipped till the body he held
was a skeleton; and still he twirled, till it dropped away piecemeal;
and yet again, till it was but a stain of dust on his ragged sleeve.
Before this his hair was white and his face wizened with age.
But on a day a knight in white armour came riding through the forest,
leaning somewhat heavily on his saddle-bow: and was aware of an old
decrepit man that ran towards him, jigging and capering as if for
gladness, yet caught him by the stirrup and looked up with rheumy
tears in his eyes.
"In God's name, who art thou?" asked the knight. He, too, was past
his youth; but his face shone with a marvellous glory.
"I am young Sir Dinar, that was made a knight of the Round Table but
five days before Pentecost. And I know thee. Thou art Sir Galahad,
who shouldst win the Sancgrael: therefore by Christ's power rid me of
this enchantment."
"I have not won it yet," Sir Galahad answered, sighing. "Yet, poor
comrade, I may do something for thee, though I cannot stay thy
dancing."
So he stretched out his hand and touched Sir Dinar: and by his touch
Sir Dinar became a withered leaf of the wood. And when mothers and
nurses see him dancing before the wind, they tell this story of him
to their children.