Drawing out his sword he split apart the vast skull; one half of it fell
to the right and one half to the left. Then he was about to strike at
the helmet when out of it peeped the face of a blooming young boy, as
fresh as a flower.
"O Knight!" cried the laddie. "Do not kill me. My three brothers made me
do it to make a horror all about the castle. They never dreamed that
anyone could pass the bridges."
Then Lady Lyonors with all her house had a great party of dancing and
revelry and song and making merry because the hideous Knight of Death
that had terrified them so was only a pretty little boy. And there was
mirth over Gareth's victorious quest.
And some people say that Gareth married Lynette, but others who tell the
story later say he wedded with Lyonors.
THE MARRIAGE OF GERAINT.
King Arthur had come to the old city of Caerleon on the River Usk to
hold his court, and was sitting high in his royal hall when a woodman,
all bedraggled with the mists of the forests came tripping up in haste
before his throne.
"O noble King," he cried, "today I saw a wonderful deer, a hart all
milky white running through among the trees, and, nothing like it has
ever been seen here before."
The king, who loved the chase, was very pleased and immediately gave
orders that the royal horns should be blown for all the court to go a
hunting after the beautiful white deer the following morning. Queen
Guinevere wished to go with them to watch the hounds and huntsmen and
dancing horses in the chase. She slept late, however, the next day with
her pleasant dreams, and Arthur with his Knights of the Round Table had
sped gloriously away on their snorting chargers when she arose, called
one of her maids to come with her, mounted her palfrey and forded the
River Usk to pass over by the forest.
[Illustration: A WOODMAN ALL BEDRAGGLED CAME IN HASTE BEFORE HIS
THRONE.]
There they climbed up on a little knoll and stood listening for the
hounds, but instead of the barking of the king's dogs they heard the
sound of a horse's hoofs trampling behind them. It was Prince Geraint's
charger as he flashed over the shallow ford of the river, then galloped
up the banks of the knoll to her side. He carried not a single weapon
except his golden-hilted sword and wore, not his hunting-dress, but gay
holiday silks with a purple scarf about him swinging an apple of gold at
either end and glancing like a dragon-fly. He bowed low to the sweet,
stately queen.
"You're late, very late, Sir Prince," said she, "later even than we."
"Yes, noble queen," replied Geraint, "I'm so late that I'm not going to
the hunt; I've come like you just to watch it."
"Then stay with me," the queen said, "for here on this little knoll, if
anywhere, you will have a good chance to see the hounds, often they dash
by at its very feet."
So Geraint stood by the queen, thinking he would catch particularly the
baying of Cavall, Arthur's loudest dog, which would tell him that the
hunters were coming. As they waited however, along the base of the
knoll, came a knight, a lady and a dwarf riding slowly by on their
horses. The knight wore his visor up showing his imperious and very
haughty young face. The dwarf lagged behind.
"That knight doesn't belong to the Round Table, does he?" asked the
queen. "I don't know him."
"No, nor I," replied Geraint.
So the queen sent her maid over to the dwarf to find out the name of his
master. But the dwarf was old and crotchety and would not tell her.
"Then I'll ask your master himself," cried the maid.
"No, indeed, you shall not!" cried the dwarf, "you are not fit even to
speak of him," and as the girl turned her horse to approach the proud
young knight, the misshapen little dwarf of a servant struck at her with
his whip, and she came scampering back indignantly to the queen.
[Illustration: HE STRUCK OUT HIS WHIP AND CUT THE PRINCE'S CHEEK.]
"I'll learn his name for you," Geraint exclaimed, and he rode off
sharply.
But the impudent dwarf answered just as before and when Prince Geraint
moved on toward his master he struck out his whip and cut the prince's
cheek so that the blood streamed upon the purple scarf dyeing it red.
Instantly Geraint reached for the hilt of his sword to strike down the
vicious little midget but then remembering that he was a prince and
disdaining to fight with a dwarf, he did not even say a word, but
cantered back to Queen Guinevere's side.
"Noble Queen," he cried fiercely. "I am going to avenge this insult that
has been done you. I'll track these vermin to the earth. For even
although I am riding unarmed just now, as we go along I will come to
some place where I can borrow weapons or hire them. And then when I have
my man I'll fight him, and on the third day from today I'll be back
again unless I die in the fight. So good-bye, farewell."
"Farewell, handsome prince," the queen answered. "Good fortune in your
quest and may you live to marry your first love whoever that may be. But
whether she will be a princess or a beggar from the hedgerows, before
you wed with her bring her back to me and I will robe her for her
wedding day."
Prince Geraint bowed and with that he was off. One minute he thought he
heard the noble milk-white deer brought to bay by the dogs, the next he
thought he heard the hunter's horn far away and felt a little vexed to
think he must be following this stupid dwarf while all the others were
at the chase. But he had determined to avenge the queen and up and down
the grassy glades and valleys pursued the three enemies until at last at
sundown they emerged from the forest, climbed up on the ridge of a hill
where they looked like shadows against the dark sky, then sank again on
the other side.
Below on the other side of the ridge ran the long street of a clamoring
little town in a long valley, on one side a new white fortress and on
the other, across a ravine and a bridge, a fallen old castle in decay.
The knight, the lady and the dwarf rode on to the white fortress, then
vanished within its walls.
"There!" cried Geraint, "now I have him! I have tracked him to his hole,
and tomorrow when I'm rested I'll fight him."
Then he turned wearily down the long street of the noisy village to look
for his night's lodging, but he found every inn and tavern crowded, and
everywhere horses in the stables were being shod and young fellows were
busy burnishing their master's armor.
"What does all this hubbub mean?" asked Geraint of one of these youths.
The lad did not stop his work one instant, but went on scouring and
replied, "It's the sparrow-hawk."
As Prince Geraint did not know what was meant by the sparrow-hawk he
trotted a little farther along the street until he came to a quiet old
man trudging by with a sack of corn on his back.
"Why is your town so noisy and busy to-night, good old fellow?" he
cried.
"Ugh! the sparrow-hawk!" the old fellow said gruffly.
So the prince rode his horse yet a little farther until he saw an
armor-maker's shop. The armor-maker sat inside with his back turned, all
doubled over a helmet which he was riveting together upon his knee.
"Armorer," cried Geraint, "what is going on? Why is there such a din?"
The man did not pause in his riveting even to turn about and face the
stranger, but said quickly as if to finish speaking as rapidly as he
could, "Friend, the people who are working for the sparrow-hawk have no
time for idle questions."
At this Geraint flashed up angrily.
"A fig for your sparrow-hawk! I wish all the bits of birds of the air
would peck him dead. You imagine that this little cackle in your baby
town is all the noise and murmur of the great world. What do I care
about it? It is nothing to me. Listen to me, now, if you are not gone
hawk-mad like the rest, where can I get a lodging for the night, and
more than that, where can I get some arms, arms, arms, to fight my
enemy? Tell me."
The hurrying armor-maker looked about in amazement to see this gorgeous
cavalier in purple silks standing before his bit of a shop.
"O pardon me, stranger knight," said he very politely. "We are holding a
great tournament here tomorrow morning and there is hardly any time to
do one-half the work that has to be finished before then. Arms, did you
say? Indeed I cannot tell you where to get any; all that there are in
this town are needed for to-morrow in the lists. And as for lodging, I
don't know unless perhaps at Earl Yniol's in the old castle across the
bridge." Then he again picked up his helmet and turned his back to the
prince.
So Geraint, still a wee mite vexed, rode over the bridge that spanned
the ravine, to go to the ruined castle. There upon the farther side sat
the hoary-headed Earl Yniol, dressed in some magnificent shabby old
clothes which had been fit for a king's parties when they were new.
"Where are you going, son?" he queried of Geraint, waking from his
reveries and dreaminess.
"O friend, I'm looking for some shelter for the night," Geraint replied.
"Come in then," Yniol said, "and accept of my hospitality. Our house was
rich once and now it is poor, but it always keeps its door open to the
stranger."
"Oh, anything will do for me," cried Geraint. "If only you won't serve
me sparrow-hawks for my supper I'll eat with all the passion of a whole
day's fast."
The old earl smiled and sighed as he rejoined, "I have more serious
reason than you to curse this sparrow-hawk. But go in and we will not
have a word about him even jokingly unless you wish it."
Whereupon Geraint passed into the desolate castle court, where the
stones of the pavement were all broken and overgrown with wild plants,
and the turrets and walls were shattered. As he stood awaiting the Earl
Yniol, the voice of a young girl singing like a nightingale rang out
from one of the open castle windows.
It was the voice of Enid, Earl Yniol's daughter as she sang the song of
Fortune and her Wheel:
"Turn, Fortune, thy wheel with smile or frown,
With that wild wheel we go not up or down;
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great."
"The song of that little bird describes the nest she lives in," cried
Earl Yniol approaching. "Enter."
Geraint alighted from his charger and stepped within the large dusky
cobwebbed hall, where an aged lady sat, with Enid moving about her, like
a little flower in a wilted sheath of a faded silk gown.
"Enid, the good knight's horse is standing in the court," cried the
earl. "Take him to the stall and give him some corn, then go to town and
buy us some meat and wine."
[Illustration: GERAINT STEPPED WITHIN THE DUSKY COBWEBBED HALL.]
Geraint wished that he might do this servant's work instead of this
pretty young lady, but as he started to follow her the old gray earl
stopped him.
"We're old and poor," he said, "but not so poor and old as to let our
guests wait upon themselves."
So Enid fetched the wine and the meat and the cakes and the bread; and
she served at the table while her mother, father and Geraint sat around.
Geraint wished that he might stoop to kiss her tender little thumb as it
held the platter when she laid it down.
[Illustration: ENID FETCHED THE WINE AND THE MEAT AND THE CAKES.]
"Fair host and Earl," he said after his refreshing supper, "who is this
sparrow-hawk that everybody in the town is talking about? And yet I do
not wish you to give me his name, for perhaps he is the knight I saw
riding into the new fortress the other side of the bridge at the other
end of the town. His name I am going to have from his own lips, for I
am Geraint of Devon. This morning when the queen sent her maid to find
out his name he struck at the girl with his whip, and I've sworn
vengeance for such a great insult done our queen, and have followed him
to his hold, and as soon as I can get arms I will fight him."
"And are you the renowned Geraint?" cried Earl Yniol beaming. "Well, as
soon as I saw you coming toward me on the bridge I knew that you were no
ordinary man. By the state and presence of your bearing I might have
guessed you to be one of Arthur's Knights of the Round Table at Camelot.
Pray do not suppose that I am flattering you foolishly. This dear child
of mine has often heard me telling glorious stories of all the famous
things you have done for the king and the people. And she has asked me
to repeat them again and again.
"Poor thing, there never has lived a woman with such miserable lovers as
she has had. The first was Limours, who did nothing but drink and brawl,
even when he was making love to her. And the second was the
'sparrow-hawk,' my nephew, my curse. I will not let his name slip from
me if I can help it. When I told him that he could not marry my daughter
he spread a false rumour all round here among the people that his father
had left him a great sum of money in my keeping and that I had never
passed it over to him but had retained it for myself. He bribed all my
servants with large promises and stirred up this whole little old town
of mine against me, my own town. That was the night of Enid's birthday
nearly three years ago. They sacked my house, ousted me from my earldom,
threw us into this dilapidated, dingy old place and built up that grand
new white fort. He would kill me if he did not despise me too much to
do so; and sometimes I believe I despise myself for letting him have his
way. I scarcely know whether I am very wise or very silly, very manly or
very base to suffer it all so patiently."
"Well said," cried Geraint eagerly. "But the arms, the arms, where can I
get arms for myself? Then if the sparrow-hawk will fight tomorrow in the
tourney I may be able to bring down his terrible pride a little."
"I have arms," said Yniol, "although they are old and rusty, Prince
Geraint, and you would be welcome to have them for the asking. But in
this tournament of tomorrow no knight is allowed to tilt unless the lady
he loves best come there too. The forks are fastened into the meadow
ground and over them is placed a silver wand, above that a golden
sparrow-hawk, the prize of beauty for the fairest woman there. And
whoever wins in the tourney presents this to the lady-love whom he has
brought with him. Since my nephew is a man of very large bone and is
clever with his lance he has always won it for his lady. That is how he
has earned his title of sparrow-hawk. But you have no lady so you will
not be able to fight."
Then Geraint leaned forward toward the earl.
"With your leave, noble Earl Yniol," he replied, "I will do battle for
your daughter. For although I have seen all the beauties of the day
never have I come upon anything so wonderfully lovely as she. If it
should happen that I prove victor, as true as heaven, I will make her my
wife!"
Yniol's heart danced in his bosom for joy, and he turned about for Enid,
but she had fluttered away as soon as her name had been mentioned, so
he tenderly grasped the hands of her mother in his own and said:
"Mother, young girls are shy little things and best understood by their
own mothers. Before you go to rest to night, find out what Enid will
think about this."
So the earl's wife passed out to speak with Enid, and Enid became so
glad and excited that she could not sleep the entire happy night long.
But very early the next morning, as soon as the pale sky began to redden
with the sun she arose, then called her mother, and hand in hand,
tripped over with her to the place of the tournament. There they awaited
for Yniol and Geraint. Geraint came wearing the Earl's rusty, worn old
arms, yet in spite of them looked stately and princely.
Many other knights in blazing armor gathered there for the jousts, with
many fine ladies, and by and by the whole town full of people flooded
in, settling in a circle around the lists. Then the two forks were fixed
into the earth, above them a wand of silver was laid, and over it the
golden sparrow-hawk. The trumpet was blown and Yniol's nephew rose and
spoke:
"Come forward, my lady," he cried to the maiden who had come with him.
"Fairest of the fair, take the prize of beauty which I have won for you
during the past two years."
"Stay!" Prince Geraint cried loudly. "There is a worthier beauty here."
The earl's nephew looked round with surprise and disdain to see his
uncle's family and the prince.
"Do battle for it then," he shouted angrily.
Geraint sprang forward and the tourney was begun. Three times the two
warriors clashed together. _Three times they broke their spears._ Then
both were thrown from their horses. They now drew their swords; and
with them lashed at one another so frequently and with such dreadfully
hard strokes that all the crowd wondered. Now and again from the distant
walls came the sounds of applause, like the clapping of phantom hands.
The perspiration and the blood flowed together down the strong bodies of
the combatants. Each was as sturdy as the other.
[Illustration]
"Remember the great insult done our queen!" Earl Yniol cried at last.
This so inflamed Geraint that he heaved his vast sword-blade aloft,
cracked through his enemy's helmet, bit into the bone of his head,
felled the haughty knight, and set his feet upon his breast.
"Your name!" demanded Geraint.
"Edryn, the son of Nudd," groaned the fallen warrior.
"Very well, then Edryn, the son of Nudd," returned Geraint, "you must do
these two things or else you will have to die. First, you with your lady
and your dwarf must ride to Arthur's court at Caerleon and crave their
pardon for the insult you did the queen yesterday morning, and you must
bide her decree in the punishment she awards you. Secondly, you must
give back the earldom to your uncle the Earl of Yniol. You will do these
two things or you die."
"I will do them," cried Edryn. "For never before was I ever overcome.
But now all of my pride is broken down, for Enid has seen me fall."
With that Edryn rose from the ground like a man, took his lady and the
dwarf on their horses to Arthur's court. There receiving the sweet
forgiveness of the queen, he became a true knight of the Round Table,
and at the last died in battle while he fought for his king.
But Geraint when the tourney was over and he had come back to the
castle, drew Enid aside to tell her that early the next morning he would
have to start for Caerleon and that she should be ready to ride away
with him to be married at the court with tremendous pomp. For that would
be three days after the King's chase, when the prince had promised Queen
Guinevere he would be back. But of that he did not speak to Enid, who
wondered why he was so bent on returning immediately, and why she could
not have time at home to prepare herself some pretty robes to wear.
Imagine, she thought, such a grand and frightful thing as a court, the
queen's court, with all the graceful ladies staring at her in that faded
old silk dress! And although she promised Geraint that she would go as
he wished, when she woke to the dread day for making her appearance at
court, she still yearned that he would only stay yet a little while so
that she could sew herself some clothes, that she had the flowered silk
which her mother had given her three years ago for her birthday and
which Edryn's men had robbed from her when they sacked the house and
scattered everything she ever owned to all the winds. How she wished
that handsome Geraint had known her then, those three years ago when she
wore so many pretty dresses and jewels!
But while she lay dreamily thinking, softly in trod her mother bearing
on her arm a gorgeous, delicate robe.
"Do you recognize it, child?" she cried.
It was that self-same birthday dress, three years old, but as beautiful
as new and never worn.
"Yesterday after the jousts your father went through all the town from
house to house and ordered that all sack and plunder which the men had
taken from us should be brought back, for he was again to be in his
earldom. So last evening while you were talking with the prince some one
came up from the town and placed this in my hands. I did not tell you
about it then for I wished to keep it as a sweet surprise for you this
morning. And it is a sweet surprise, isn't it? For although the prince
yesterday did say that you were the fairest of the fair there is no
handsome girl in the world but looks handsomer in new clothes than in
old. And it would have been a shame for you to go to the court in your
poor old faded silk which you have worn so long and so patiently. The
great ladies there might say that Prince Geraint had plucked up some
ragged robin from the hedges."
[Illustration: BEARING A GORGEOUS ROBE.]
So Enid was put into the fine flowered robe.
Her mother said that after she had gone to the queen's court, she, the
poor old mother at home, who was too feeble to journey so far with her
daughter, would think over and over again of her pretty princess at
Camelot. And the old gray Earl Yniol went in to tell Geraint of Enid's
fanciful apparel.
But Geraint was not delighted with the magnificence.
"Say to her," he answered the earl, "that by all my love for her,
although I give her no other reason, I entreat Enid to wear that faded
old silk dress of hers and no other."
This amazing and hard message from Geraint made poor little Enid's face
fall like a meadowful of corn blasted by a rainstorm. Still she
willingly laid aside her gold finery for his sake, slipped into the
faded silk, and pattered down the steps to meet Geraint. He scanned her
so eagerly from her tip to her toe that both her rosy cheeks burned like
flames. Then as he noted her mother's clouded face he said very kindly:
"My new mother don't be very angry, or grieved with your new son because
of what I have just asked Enid to do. I had a very good reason for it
and I will explain it all to you. The other day when I left the queen at
Caerleon to avenge the insult done her by Edryn, the son of Nudd, she
made me two wishes. The one was that I should be successful with my
quest and the other was that I should wed with my first love. Then she
promised that whoever my bride should be she herself with her own royal
hands would dress her for her wedding day, splendidly, like the very sun
in the skies. So when I found this lovely Enid of yours in her shabby
clothes I vowed that the queen's hands only should array her in handsome
new robes that befitted her grace and beauty. But never mind, dear
mother, some day you will come to see Enid and then she will wear the
golden, flowered birthday dress which you gave her three years ago."
Then the earl's wife smiled through her tears, wrapped Enid in a mantle,
kissed her gentle farewells, and in a moment saw her riding far, far
away beside Geraint.
The queen Guinevere that day had three times climbed the royal tower at
Caerleon to look far into the valley for some sign of Geraint, who had
promised to be back that day, if he did not fall in battle, and who
would certainly come now, since Edryn had been vanquished and had come
to the court. At last when evening had fallen she spied the prince's
charger pacing nobly along the road, and Enid's palfrey at his side.
Instantly Queen Guinevere sped down from the small window in the high
turret, tripped out to the gate to greet him and embrace the lovely Enid
as a long-loved friend.
The old City of Caerleon was gay for one whole week, over the wedding
week of Geraint and Enid. The queen herself dressed Enid for her
marriage like the very sunlight, Dubric, the highest saint of the
church, married them, and they lived for nearly a year at the court with
Arthur and sweet Guinevere.
And so the insult done the queen was avenged, and her two wishes were
fulfilled. For Geraint overcame his enemy and wedded with his
first-love, dressed for her marriage by the queen.
GERAINT'S QUEST OF HONOR.
One morning Prince Geraint went into Arthur's hall and said:
"O King, my princedom is in danger. It lies close to the territory which
is infested with bandits, earls and caitiff knights, assassins and all
sorts of outlaws. Give me your kind good leave and I will go there to
defend my lands."
The king said the prince might go, and sent fifty armed knights to
protect him and pretty Enid as they traveled away on their horses across
the Severn River into their own country, the Land of Devon.