CHAPTER XXIII

MORTE D'ARTHUR

Sir Modred was left ruler of all England, and he caused letters to

be written, as if from beyond sea, that King Arthur was slain in

battle. So he called a Parliament, and made himself be crowned

king; and he took the queen Guenever, and said plainly that he

would wed her, but she escaped from him and took refuge in the

Tower of London. And Sir Modred went and laid siege about the

Tower of London, and made great assaults thereat, but all might

not avail him. Then came word to Sir Modred that King Arthur had

raised the siege of Sir Launcelot, and was coming home. Then Sir

Modred summoned all the barony of the land; and much people drew

unto Sir Modred, and said they would abide with him for better and

for worse; and he drew a great host to Dover, for there he heard

say that King Arthur would arrive.

"I hear the steps of Modred in the west,

And with him many of thy people, and knights

Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser grown

Than heathen, spitting at their vows and thee"

--The Passing of Arthur.

And as Sir Modred was at Dover with his host, came King Arthur,

with a great number of ships and galleys, and there was Sir Modred

awaiting upon the landing. Then was there launching of great boats

and small, full of noble men of arms, and there was much slaughter

of gentle knights on both parts. But King Arthur was so

courageous, there might no manner of knights prevent him to land,

and his knights fiercely followed him; and so they landed, and put

Sir Modred aback so that he fled, and all his people. And when the

battle was done, King Arthur commanded to bury his people that

were dead. And then was noble Sir Gawain found, in a great boat,

lying more than half dead. And King Arthur went to him, and made

sorrow out of measure. "Mine uncle," said Sir Gawain, "know thou

well my death-day is come, and all is through mine own hastiness

and wilfulness, for I am smitten upon the old wound which Sir

Launcelot gave me, of which I feel I must die. And had Sir

Launcelot been with you as of old, this war had never begun, and

of all this I am the cause." Then Sir Gawain prayed the king to

send for Sir Launcelot, and to cherish him above all other

knights. And so at the hour of noon Sir Gawain yielded up his

spirit, and then the king bade inter him in a chapel within Dover

Castle; and there all men may see the skull of him, and the same

wound is seen that Sir Launcelot gave him in battle.

Then was it told the king that Sir Modred had pitched his camp

upon Barrendown; and the king rode thither, and there was a great

battle betwixt them, and King Arthur's party stood best, and Sir

Modred and his party fled unto Canterbury.

And there was a day assigned betwixt King Arthur and Sir Modred

that they should meet upon a down beside Salisbury, and not far

from the sea-side, to do battle yet again. And at night, as the

king slept, he dreamed a wonderful dream. It seemed him verily

that there came Sir Gawain unto him, with a number of fair ladies

with him. And when King Arthur saw him, he said, "Welcome, my

sister's son; I weened thou hadst been dead; and now I see thee

alive great is my joy. But, O fair nephew, what be these ladies

that hither be come with you?" "Sir," said Sir Gawain, "all these

be ladies for whom I have fought when I was a living man; and

because I did battle for them in righteous quarrel they have given

me grace to bring me hither unto you to warn you of your death, if

ye fight to-morrow with Sir Modred. Therefore take ye treaty, and

proffer you largely for a month's delay; for within a month shall

come Sir Launcelot and all his noble knights, and rescue you

worshipfully, and slay Sir Modred and all that hold with him." And

then Sir Gawain and all the ladies vanished. And anon the king

called to fetch his noble lords and wise bishops unto him. And

when they were come, the king told them his vision, and what Sir

Gawain had told him. Then the king sent Sir Lucan, the butler, and

Sir Bedivere, with two bishops, and charged them in any wise to

take a treaty for a month and a day with Sir Modred. So they

departed, and came to Sir Modred; and so, at the last, Sir Modred

was agreed to have Cornwall and Kent during Arthur's life, and all

England after his death.

"Sir Modred; he the nearest to the king,

His nephew, ever like a subtle beast

Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne,

Ready to spring, waiting a chance."

--Guinevere

Then was it agreed that King Arthur and Sir Modred should meet

betwixt both their hosts, and each of them should bring fourteen

persons, and then and there they should sign the treaty. And when

King Arthur and his knights were prepared to go forth, he warned

all his host, "If so be ye see any sword drawn, look ye come on

fiercely, and slay whomsoever withstandeth, for I in no wise trust

that traitor, Sir Modred." In like wise Sir Modred warned his

host. So they met, and were agreed and accorded thoroughly. And

wine was brought, and they drank. Right then came an adder out of

a little heath-bush, and stung a knight on the foot. And when the

knight felt him sting, he looked down and saw the adder, and then

he drew his sword to slay the adder, and thought of no other harm.

And when the host on both sides saw that sword drawn, they blew

trumpets and horns, and shouted greatly. And King Arthur took his

horse, and rode to his party, saying, "Alas, this unhappy day!"

And Sir Modred did in like wise. And never was there a more

doleful battle in Christian land. And ever King Arthur rode

throughout the battle, and did full nobly, as a worthy king

should, and Sir Modred that day did his devoir, and put himself in

great peril. And thus they fought all the long day, till the most

of all the noble knights lay dead upon the ground. Then the king

looked about him, and saw of all his host were left alive but two

knights, Sir Lucan, the butler, and Sir Bedivere, his brother, and

they were full sore wounded. Then King Arthur saw where Sir Modred

leaned upon his sword among a great heap of dead men. "Now give me

my spear," said Arthur unto Sir Lucan; "for yonder I espy the

traitor that hast wrought all this woe." "Sir, let him be," said

Sir Lucan; "for if ye pass this unhappy day, ye shall be right

well revenged upon him. Remember what the sprite of Sir Gawain

told you, and leave off now, for ye have won the field; and if ye

leave off now this evil day of destiny is past." "Betide me life,

betide me death," said King Arthur, "he shall not now escape my

hands." Then the king took his spear in both hands, and ran toward

Sir Modred, crying, "Traitor, now is thy death-day come." And

there King Arthur smote Sir Modred under the shield, with a thrust

of his spear through the body. And when Sir Modred felt that he

had his death-wound, with the might that he had he smote King

Arthur, with his sword holden in both his hands, on the side of

the head, that the sword pierced the helmet and the brain-pan; and

then Sir Modred fell stark dead upon the earth. And the noble

Arthur fell in a swoon to the earth. And Sir Lucan, the butler,

and Sir Bedivere raised him up, and gently led him betwixt them

both to a little chapel not far from the sea-side. And when the

king was there he thought him well eased. Then heard they people

cry in the field. And Sir Lucan went to see what that cry

betokened; and he saw by the moonlight that pillers and robbers

were come to rob the dead. And he returned, and said to the king,

"By my rede, it is best that we bring you to some town." "I would

it were so," said the king. And when the king tried to go he

fainted. Then Sir Lucan took up the king on the one part, and Sir

Bedivere on the other part; and in the lifting, Sir Lucan fell in

a swoon to the earth, for he was grievously wounded. And then the

noble knight's heart burst. And when the king awoke he beheld Sir

Lucan how he lay foaming at the mouth, and speechless. "Alas!"

said the king, "this is to me a full heavy sight, to see this

noble duke so die for my sake; for he would have holpen me that

had more need of help than I, and he would not complain, his heart

was so set to help me." Then Sir Bedivere wept for his brother.

"Leave this mourning and weeping," said the king, "for wilt thou

well, if I might live myself, the death of Sir Lucan would grieve

me evermore; but my time hieth fast. Therefore," said Arthur unto

Sir Bedivere, "take thou Excalibar, my good sword, and go with it

to yonder water-side; and when thou comest there I charge thee

throw my sword in that water, and come again and tell me what thou

there seest." "My lord," said Sir Bedivere, "your commandment

shall be done." So Sir Bedivere departed, and by the way he beheld

that noble sword, that the pommel and the haft were all of

precious stones; and then he said to himself, "If I throw this

rich sword into the water no good shall come thereof, but only

harm and loss." And then Sir Bedivere hid Excalibar under a tree.

And so, as soon as he might, he came again to the king. "What

sawest thou there?" said the king. "Sir," he said, "I saw

nothing." "Alas! thou hast deceived me," said the king. "Go thou

lightly again, and as thou love me, spare not to throw it in."

Then Sir Bedivere went again, and took the sword in his hand to

throw it; but again it beseemed him but sin and shame to throw

away that noble sword, and he hid it away again, and returned, and

told the king he had done his commandment. "What sawest thou

there?" said the king. "Sir," he said, "I saw nothing but waters

deep and waves wan." "Ah, traitor untrue!" said King Arthur, "now

hast thou betrayed me twice. And yet thou art named a noble

knight, and hast been lief and dear to me. But now go again, and

do as I bid thee, for thy long tarrying putteth me in jeopardy of

my life." Then Sir Bedivere went to the sword, and lightly took it

up, and went to the water-side, and he bound the girdle about the

hilt, and then he threw the sword as far into the water as he

might. And there came an arm and a hand out of the water, and met

it, and caught it, and shook it thrice and brandished it, and then

vanished away the hand with the sword in the water.

Then Sir Bedivere came again to the king, and told him what he

saw. "Help me hence," said the king, "for I fear I have tarried

too long." Then Sir Bedivere took the king on his back, and so

went with him to that water-side; and when they came there, even

fast by the bank there rode a little barge with many fair ladies

in it, and among them was a queen; and all had black hoods, and

they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur.

"Now put me in the barge," said the king. And there received him

three queens with great mourning, and in one of their laps King

Arthur laid his head. And the queen said, "Ah, dear brother, why

have ye tarried so long? Alas! this wound on your head hath caught

over-much cold." And then they rowed from the land, and Sir

Bedivere beheld them go from him. Then he cried: "Ah, my lord

Arthur, will ye leave me here alone among mine enemies?" "Comfort

thyself," said the king, "for in me is no further help; for I will

to the Isle of Avalon, to heal me of my grievous wound." And as

soon as Sir Bedivere had lost sight of the barge, he wept and

wailed; then he took the forest, and went all that night, and in

the morning he was ware of a chapel and a hermitage.

Then went Sir Bedivere thither; and when he came into the chapel,

he saw where lay an hermit on the ground, near a tomb that was

newly graven. "Sir," said Sir Bedivere, "what man is there buried

that ye pray so near unto?" "Fair son," said the hermit, "I know

not verily. But this night there came a number of ladies, and

brought hither one dead, and prayed me to bury him." "Alas!" said

Sir Bedivere, "that was my lord, King Arthur." Then Sir Bedivere

swooned; and when he awoke he prayed the hermit he might abide

with him, to live with fasting and prayers. "Ye are welcome," said

the hermit. So there bode Sir Bedivere with the hermit; and he put

on poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and

in prayers.

Thus of Arthur I find never more written in books that be

authorized, nor more of the very certainty of his death; but thus

was he led away in a ship, wherein were three queens; the one was

King Arthur's sister, Queen Morgane le Fay; the other was Viviane,

the Lady of the Lake; and the third was the queen of North Galis.

And this tale Sir Bedivere, knight of the Table Round, made to be

written.

Yet some men say that King Arthur is not dead, but hid away into

another place, and men say that he shall come again and reign over

England. But many say that there is written on his tomb this

verse:

"Hie facet Arthurus, Rex quondam, Rexque futurus."

Here Arthur lies, King once and King to be.

And when Queen Guenever understood that King Arthur was slain, and

all the noble knights with him, she stole away, and five ladies

with her; and so she went to Almesbury, and made herself a nun,

and ware white clothes and black, and took great penance as ever

did sinful lady, and lived in fasting, prayers, and alms-deeds.

And there she was abbess and ruler of the nuns.

"And when she came to Almesbury she spake

There to the nuns, and said, 'Mine enemies

Pursue me, but, O peaceful Sisterhood,

Receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask

Her name to whom ye yield it, till her time

To tell you;' and her beauty, grace and power

Wrought as a charm upon them, and they spared

To ask it."

--Guinevere.

Now turn we from her, and speak of Sir Launcelot of the Lake.

When Sir Launcelot heard in his country that Sir Modred was

crowned king of England, and made war against his own uncle, King

Arthur, then was Sir Launcelot wroth out of measure, and said to

his kinsmen: "Alas, that double traitor, Sir Modred! now it

repenteth me that ever he escaped out of my hands." Then Sir

Launcelot and his fellows made ready in all haste, with ships and

galleys, to pass into England; and so he passed over till he came

to Dover, and there he landed with a great army. Then Sir

Launcelot was told that King Arthur was slain. "Alas!" said Sir

Launcelot, "this is the heaviest tidings that ever came to me."

Then he called the kings, dukes, barons, and knights, and said

thus: "My fair lords, I thank you all for coming into this country

with me, but we came too late, and that shall repent me while I

live. But since it is so," said Sir Launcelot, "I will myself ride

and seek my lady, Queen Guenever, for I have heard say she hath

fled into the west; therefore ye shall abide me here fifteen days,

and if I come not within that time, then take your ships and your

host, and depart into your country."

So Sir Launcelot departed and rode westerly, and there he sought

many days; and at last he came to a nunnery, and was seen of Queen

Guenever as he walked in the cloister; and when she saw him she

swooned away. And when she might speak she bade him to be called

to her. And when Sir Launcelot was brought to her she said: "Sir

Launcelot, I require thee and beseech thee, for all the love that

ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me more, but return to

thy kingdom and take thee a wife, and live with her with joy and

bliss; and pray for me to my Lord, that I may get my soul's

health." "Nay, madam," said Sir Launcelot, "wit you well that I

shall never do; but the same destiny that ye have taken you to

will I take me unto, for to please and serve God." And so they

parted, with tears and much lamentation; and the ladies bare the

queen to her chamber, and Sir Launcelot took his horse and rode

away, weeping.

And at last Sir Launcelot was ware of a hermitage and a chapel,

and then he heard a little bell ring to mass; and thither he rode

and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate, and heard mass. And

he that sang the mass was the hermit with whom Sir Bedivere had

taken up his abode; and Sir Bedivere knew Sir Launcelot, and they

spake together after mass. But when Sir Bedivere had told his

tale, Sir Launcelot's heart almost burst for sorrow. Then he

kneeled down, and prayed the hermit to shrive him, and besought

that he might be his brother. Then the hermit said, "I will

gladly;" and then he put a habit upon Sir Launcelot, and there he

served God day and night, with prayers and fastings.

And the great host abode at Dover till the end of the fifteen days

set by Sir Launcelot, and then Sir Bohort made them to go home

again to their own country; and Sir Bohort, Sir Hector de Marys,

Sir Blamor, and many others, took on them to ride through all

England to seek Sir Launcelot. So Sir Bohort by fortune rode until

he came to the same chapel where Sir Launcelot was; and when he

saw Sir Launcelot in that manner of clothing he, prayed the hermit

that he might be in that same. And so there was an habit put upon

him, and there he lived in prayers and fasting. And within half a

year came others of the knights, their fellows, and took such a

habit as Sir Launcelot and Sir Bohort had. Thus they endured in

great penance six years.

And upon a night there came a vision to Sir Launcelot, and charged

him to haste toward Almesbury, and "by the time thou come there,

thou shalt find Queen Guenever dead." Then Sir Launcelot rose up

early and told the hermit thereof. Then said the hermit, "It were

well that ye disobey not this vision." And Sir Launcelot took his

seven companions with him, and on foot they went from Glastonbury

to Almesbury, which is more than thirty miles. And when they were

come to Almesbury, they found that Queen Guenever died but half an

hour before. Then Sir Launcelot saw her visage, but he wept not

greatly, but sighed. And so he did all the observance of the

service himself, both the "dirige" at night, and at morn he sang

mass. And there was prepared an horse-bier, and Sir Launcelot and

his fellows followed the bier on foot from Almesbury until they

came to Glastonbury; and she was wrapped in cered clothes, and

laid in a coffin of marble. And when she was put in the earth Sir

Launcelot swooned, and lay long as one dead.

And Sir Launcelot never after ate but little meat, nor drank; but

continually mourned. And within six weeks Sir Launcelot fell sick;

and he sent for the hermit and all his true fellows, and said,

"Sir hermit, I pray you give me all my rights that a Christian man

ought to have." "It shall not need," said the hermit and all his

fellows; "it is but heaviness of your blood, and to-morrow morn

you shall be well" "My fair lords," said Sir Launcelot, "my

careful body will into the earth; I have warning more than now I

will say; therefore give me my rights." So when he was houseled

and aneled, and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he

prayed the hermit that his fellows might bear his body to Joyous

Garde. (Some men say it was Alnwick, and some say it was

Bamborough.) "It repenteth me sore," said Sir Launcelot, "but I

made a vow aforetime that in Joyous Garde I would be buried." Then

there was weeping and wringing of hands among his fellows. And

that night Sir Launcelot died; and when Sir Bohort and his fellows

came to his bedside the next morning they found him stark dead;

and he lay as if he had smiled, and the sweetest savor all about

him that ever they knew.

And they put Sir Launcelot into the same horse-bier that Queen

Guenever was laid in, and the hermit and they altogether went with

the body till they came to Joyous Garde. And there they laid his

corpse in the body of the quire, and sang and read many psalms and

prayers over him. And ever his visage was laid open and naked,

that all folks might behold him. And right thus, as they were at

their service, there came Sir Hector de Maris, that had seven

years sought Sir Launcelot, his brother, through all England,

Scotland and Wales. And when Sir Hector heard such sounds in the

chapel of Joyous Garde he alighted and came into the quire. And

all they knew Sir Hector. Then went Sir Bohort, and told him how

there lay Sir Launcelot, his brother, dead. Then Sir Hector threw

his shield, his sword, and helm from him. And when he beheld Sir

Launcelot's visage it were hard for any tongue to tell the doleful

complaints he made for his brother. "Ah, Sir Launcelot!" he said,

"there thou liest. And now I dare to say thou wert never matched

of none earthly knight's hand. And thou wert the courteousest

knight that ever bare shield; and thou wert the truest friend to

thy lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou wert the truest

lover, of a sinful man, that ever loved woman; and thou wert the

kindest man that ever struck with sword. And thou wert the

goodliest person that ever came among press of knights. And thou

wert the meekest man, and the gentlest, that ever ate in hall

among ladies. And thou wert the sternest knight to thy mortal foe

that ever put spear in the rest." Then there was weeping and dolor

out of measure. Thus they kept Sir Launcelot's corpse fifteen

days, and then they buried it with great devotion.

Then they went back with the hermit to his hermitage. And Sir

Bedivere was there ever still hermit to his life's end. And Sir

Bohort, Sir Hector, Sir Blamor, and Sir Bleoberis went into the

Holy Land. And these four knights did many battles upon the

miscreants, the Turks; and there they died upon a Good Friday, as

it pleased God.

Thus endeth this noble and joyous book, entitled "La Morte

d'Arthur;" notwithstanding it treateth of the birth, life, and

acts of the said King Arthur, and of his noble Knights of the

Round Table, their marvellous enquests and adventures, the

achieving of the Sangreal, and, in the end, le Morte d'Arthur,

with the dolorous death and departing out of this world of them

all. Which book was reduced into English by Sir Thomas Mallory,

Knight, and divided into twenty-one books, chaptered and imprinted

and finished in the Abbey Westmestre, the last day of July, the

year of our Lord MCCCCLXXXV.

Caxton me fieri fecit.

THE MABINOGEON

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

It has been well known to the literati and antiquarians of Europe

that there exist in the great public libraries voluminous

manuscripts of romances and tales once popular, but which on the

invention of printing had already become antiquated, and fallen

into neglect. They were therefore never printed, and seldom

perused even by the learned, until about half a century ago, when

attention was again directed to them, and they were found very

curious monuments of ancient manners, habits, and modes of

thinking. Several have since been edited, some by individuals, as

Sir Walter Scott and the poet Southey, others by antiquarian

societies. The class of readers which could be counted on for such

publications was so small that no inducement of profit could be

found to tempt editors and publishers to give them to the world.

It was therefore only a few, and those the most accessible, which

were put in print. There was a class of manuscripts of this kind

which were known, or rather suspected, to be both curious and

valuable, but which it seemed almost hopeless to expect ever to

see in fair printed English. These were the Welsh popular tales

called Mabinogeon, a plural word, the singular being Mabinogi, a

tale. Manuscripts of these were contained in the Bodleian Library

at Oxford and elsewhere, but the difficulty was to find

translators and editors. The Welsh is a spoken language among the

peasantry of Wales, but is entirely neglected by the learned,

unless they are natives of the principality. Of the few Welsh

scholars none were found who took sufficient interest in this

branch of learning to give these productions to the English

public. Southey and Scott, and others, who like them, loved the

old romantic legends of their country, often urged upon the Welsh

literati the duty of reproducing the Mabinogeon. Southey, in the

preface of his edition of "Moted'Arthur," says: "The specimens

which I have seen are exceedingly curious; nor is there a greater

desideratum in British literature than an edition of these tales,

with a literal version, and such comments as Mr. Davies of all men

is best qualified to give. Certain it is that many of the round

table fictions originated in Wales, or in Bretagne, and probably

might still be traced there."

Again, in a letter to Sir Charles W. W. Wynn, dated 1819, he says:

"I begin almost to despair of ever seeing more of the Mabinogeon;

and yet if some competent Welshman could be found to edit it

carefully, with as literal a version as possible, I am sure it

might be made worth his while by a subscription, printing a small

edition at a high price, perhaps two hundred at five guineas. I

myself would gladly subscribe at that price per volume for such an

edition of the whole of your genuine remains in prose and verse.

Till some such collection is made, the 'gentlemen of Wales' ought

to be prohibited from wearing a leek; ay, and interdicted from

toasted cheese also. Your bards would have met with better usage

if they had been Scotchmen."

Sharon Turner and Sir Walter Scott also expressed a similar wish

for the publication of the Welsh manuscripts. The former took part

in an attempt to effect it, through the instrumentality of a Mr.

Owen, a Welshman, but, we judge, by what Southey says of him,

imperfectly acquainted with English. Southey's language is

"William Owen lent me three parts of the Mabinogeon, delightfully

translated into so Welsh an idiom and syntax that such a

translation is as instructive as an original." In another letter

he adds, "Let Sharon make his language grammatical, but not alter

their idiom in the slightest point."

It is probable Mr. Owen did not proceed far in an undertaking

which, so executed, could expect but little popular patronage. It

was not till an individual should appear possessed of the

requisite knowledge of the two languages, of enthusiasm sufficient

for the task, and of pecuniary resources sufficient to be

independent of the booksellers and of the reading public, that

such a work could be confidently expected. Such an individual has,

since Southey's day and Scott's, appeared in the person of Lady

Charlotte Guest, an English lady united to a gentleman of property

in Wales, who, having acquired the language of the principality,

and become enthusiastically fond of its literary treasures, has

given them to the English reader, in a dress which the printer's

and the engraver's arts have done their best to adorn. In four

royal octavo volumes containing the Welsh originals, the

translation, and ample illustrations from French, German, and

other contemporary and affiliated literature, the Mabinogeon is

spread before us. To the antiquarian and the student of language

and ethnology an invaluable treasure, it yet can hardly in such a

form win its way to popular acquaintance. We claim no other merit

than that of bringing it to the knowledge of our readers, of

abridging its details, of selecting its most attractive portions,

and of faithfully preserving throughout the style in which Lady

Guest has clothed her legends. For this service we hope that our

readers will confess we have laid them under no light obligation.

CHAPTER I

THE BRITONS

The earliest inhabitants of Britain are supposed to have been a

branch of that great family known in history by the designation of

Celts. Cambria, which is a frequent name for Wales, is thought to

be derived from Cymri, the name which the Welsh traditions apply

to an immigrant people who entered the island from the adjacent

continent. This name is thought to be identical with those of

Cimmerians and Cimbri, under which the Greek and Roman historians

describe a barbarous people, who spread themselves from the north

of the Euxine over the whole of Northwestern Europe.

The origin of the names Wales and Welsh has been much canvassed.

Some writers make them a derivation from Gael or Gaul, which names

are said to signify "woodlanders;" others observe that Walsh, in

the northern languages, signifies a stranger, and that the

aboriginal Britons were so called by those who at a later era

invaded the island and possessed the greater part of it, the

Saxons and Angles.

The Romans held Britain from the invasion of Julius Caesar till

their voluntary withdrawal from the island, A.D. 420,--that is,

about five hundred years. In that time there must have been a wide

diffusion of their arts and institutions among the natives. The

remains of roads, cities, and fortifications show that they did

much to develop and improve the country, while those of their

villas and castles prove that many of the settlers possessed

wealth and taste for the ornamental arts. Yet the Roman sway was

sustained chiefly by force, and never extended over the entire

island. The northern portion, now Scotland, remained independent,

and the western portion, constituting Wales and Cornwall, was only

nominally subjected.

Neither did the later invading hordes succeed in subduing the

remoter sections of the island. For ages after the arrival of the

Saxons under Hengist and Horsa, A.D. 449, the whole western coast

of Britain was possessed by the aboriginal inhabitants, engaged in

constant warfare with the invaders.

It has, therefore, been a favorite boast of the people of Wales

and Cornwall that the original British stock flourishes in its

unmixed purity only among them. We see this notion flashing out in

poetry occasionally, as when Gray, in "The Bard," prophetically

describing Queen Elizabeth, who was of the Tudor, a Welsh race,

says:

"Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line;"

and, contrasting the princes of the Tudor with those of the Norman

race, he exclaims:

"All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, hail!"

THE WELSH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE

The Welsh language is one of the oldest in Europe. It possesses

poems the origin of which is referred with probability to the

sixth century. The language of some of these is so antiquated that

the best scholars differ about the interpretation of many

passages; but, generally speaking, the body of poetry which the

Welsh possess, from the year 1000 downwards, is intelligible to

those who are acquainted with the modern language.

Till within the last half-century these compositions remained

buried in the libraries of colleges or of individuals, and so

difficult of access that no successful attempt was made to give

them to the world. This reproach was removed after ineffectual

appeals to the patriotism of the gentry of Wales, by Owen Jones, a

furrier of London, who at his own expense collected and published

the chief productions of Welsh literature, under the title of the

Myvyrian Archaeology of Wales. In this task he was assisted by Dr.

Owen and other Welsh scholars.

After the cessation of Jones' exertions the old apathy returned,

and continued till within a few years. Dr. Owen exerted himself to

obtain support for the publication of the Mabinogeon or Prose

Tales of the Welsh, but died without accomplishing his purpose,

which has since been carried into execution by Lady Charlotte

Guest. The legends which fill the remainder of this volume are

taken from this work, of which we have already spoken more fully

in the introductory chapter to the First Part.

THE WELSH BARDS

The authors to whom the oldest Welsh poems are attributed are

Aneurin, who is supposed to have lived A.D. 500 to 550, and

Taliesin, Llywarch Hen (Llywarch the Aged), and Myrddin or Merlin,

who were a few years later. The authenticity of the poems which

bear their names has been assailed, and it is still an open

question how many and which of them are authentic, though it is

hardly to be doubted that some are so. The poem of Aneurin

entitled the "Gododin" bears very strong marks of authenticity.

Aneurin was one of the Northern Britons of Strath-Clyde, who have

left to that part of the district they inhabited the name of

Cumberland, or Land of the Cymri. In this poem he laments the

defeat of his countrymen by the Saxons at the battle of Cattraeth,

in consequence of having partaken too freely of the mead before

joining in combat. The bard himself and two of his fellow-warriors

were all who escaped from the field. A portion of this poem has

been translated by Gray, of which the following is an extract:

"To Cattraeth's vale, in glittering row,

Twice two hundred warriors go;

Every warrior's manly neck

Chains of regal honor deck,

Wreathed in many a golden link;

From the golden cup they drink

Nectar that the bees produce,

Or the grape's exalted juice.

Flushed with mirth and hope they burn,

But none to Cattraeth's vale return,

Save Aeron brave, and Conan strong,

Bursting through the bloody throng,

And I, the meanest of them all,

That live to weep, and sing their fall."

The works of Taliesin are of much more questionable authenticity.

There is a story of the adventures of Taliesin so strongly marked

with mythical traits as to cast suspicion on the writings

attributed to him. This story will be found in the subsequent

pages.

THE TRIADS

The Triads are a peculiar species of poetical composition, of

which the Welsh bards have left numerous examples. They are

enumerations of a triad of persons, or events, or observations,

strung together in one short sentence. This form of composition,

originally invented, in all likelihood, to assist the memory, has

been raised by the Welsh to a degree of elegance of which it

hardly at first sight appears susceptible. The Triads are of all

ages, some of them probably as old as anything in the language.

Short as they are individually, the collection in the Myvyrian

Archaeology occupies more than one hundred and seventy pages of

double columns. We will give some specimens, beginning with

personal triads, and giving the first place to one of King

Arthur's own composition:

"I have three heroes in battle:

Mael the tall, and Llyr, with his army,

And Caradoc, the pillar of Wales."

"The three principal bards of the island of Britain:--

Merlin Ambrose

Merlin the son of Mprfyn, called also Merlin the Wild,

And Taliesin, the chief of the bards."

"The three golden-tongued knights of the court of Arthur:--

Gawain, son of Gwyar,

Drydvas, son of Tryphin,

And Ehwlod, son of Madag, ap Uther."

"The three honorable feasts of the island of Britain:--

The feast of Caswallaun, after repelling Julius Caesar from this

isle;

The feast of Aurelius Ambrosius, after he had conquered the

Saxons;

And the feast of King Arthur, at Carleon upon Usk."

"Guenever, the daughter of Laodegan the giant,

Bad when little, worse when great."

Next follow some moral triads:

"Hast thou heard what Dremhidydd sung,

An ancient watchman on the castle walls?

A refusal is better than a promise unperformed."

"Hast thou heard what Llenleawg sung,

The noble chief wearing the golden torques?

The grave is better than a life of want."

"Hast thou heard what Garselit sung,

The Irishman whom it is safe to follow?

Sin is bad, if long pursued."

"Hast thou heard what Avaon sung,

The son of Taliesin, of the recording verse?

The cheek will not conceal the anguish of the heart."

"Didst thou hear what Llywarch sung,

The intrepid and brave old man?

Greet kindly, though there be no acquaintance."

CHAPTER II

THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN

KYNON'S ADVENTURE

King Arthur was at Caerleon upon Usk; and one day he sat in his

chamber, and with him were Owain, the son of Urien, and Kynon, the

son of Clydno, and Kay, the son of Kyner, and Guenever and her

handmaidens at needlework by the window. In the centre of the

chamher King Arthur sat, upon a seat of green rushes, [Footnote:

The use of green rushes in apartments was by no means peculiar to

the court of Carleon upon Usk. Our ancestors had a great

predilection for them, and they seem to have constituted an

essential article, not only of comfort, but of luxury. The custom

of strewing the floor with rushes is well known to have existed in

England during the Middle Ages, and also in France.] over which

was spread a covering of flame-covered satin, and a cushion of red

satin was under his elbow.

Then Arthur spoke. "If I thought you would not disparage me," said

he, "I would sleep while I wait for my repast; and you can

entertain one another with relating tales, and can obtain a flagon

of mead and some meat from Kay." And the king went to sleep. And

Kynon the son of Clydno asked Kay for that which Arthur had

promised them. "I too will have the good tale which he promised

me," said Kay. "Nay," answered Kynon; "fairer will it be for thee

to fulfil Arthur's behest in the first place, and then we will

tell thee the best tale that we know." So Kay went to the kitchen

and to the mead-cellar, and returned, bearing a flagon of mead,

and a golden goblet, and a handful of skewers, upon which were

broiled collops of meat. Then they ate the collops, and began to

drink the mead. "Now," said Kay, "it is time for you to give me my

story." "Kynon," said Owain, "do thou pay to Kay the tale that is

his due." "I will do so," answered Kynon.

"I was the only son of my mother and father, and I was exceedingly

aspiring, and my daring was very great. I thought there was no

enterprise in the world too mighty for me: and after I had

achieved all the adventures that were in my own country, I

equipped myself, and set forth to journey through deserts and

distant regions. And at length it chanced that I came to the

fairest valley in the world, wherein were trees all of equal

growth; and a river ran through the valley, and a path was by the

side of the river. And I followed the path until midday, and

continued my journey along the remainder of the valley until the

evening; and at the extremity of the plain I came to a large and

lustrous castle, at the foot of which was a torrent. And I

approached the castle, and there I beheld two youths with yellow

curling hair, each with a frontlet of gold upon his head, and clad

in a garment of yellow satin; and they had gold clasps upon their

insteps. In the hand of each of them was an ivory bow, strung with

the sinews of the stag, and their arrows and their shafts were of

the bone of the whale, and were winged with peacock's feathers.

The shafts also had golden heads. And they had daggers with blades

of gold, and with hilts of the bone of the whale. And they were

shooting at a mark.

"And a little away from them I saw a man in the prime of life,

with his beard newly shorn, clad in a robe and mantle of yellow

satin, and round the top of his mantle was a band of gold lace. On

his feet were shoes of variegated leather, [Footnote: Cordwal is

the word in the original, and from the manner in which it is used

it is evidently intended for the French Cordouan or Cordovan

leather, which derived its name from Cordova, where it was

manufactured. From this comes also our English word cordwainer.]

fastened by two bosses of gold. When I saw him I went towards him

and saluted him; and such was his courtesy, that he no sooner

received my greeting than he returned it. And he went with me

towards the castle. Now there were no dwellers in the castle,

except those who were in one hall. And there I saw four and twenty

damsels, embroidering satin at a window. And this I tell thee,

Kay, that the least fair of them was fairer than the fairest maid

thou didst ever behold in the island of Britain; and the least

lovely of them was more lovely than Guenever, the wife of Arthur,

when she appeared loveliest, at the feast of Easter. They rose up

at my coming, and six of them took my horse, and divested me of my

armor, and six others took my arms and washed them in a vessel

till they were perfectly bright. And the third six spread cloths

upon the tables and prepared meat. And the fourth six took off my

soiled garments and placed others upon me, namely, an under vest

and a doublet of fine linen, and a robe and a surcoat, and a

mantle of yellow satin, with a broad gold band upon the mantle.

And they placed cushions both beneath and around me, with

coverings of red linen, and I sat down. Now the six maidens who

had taken my horse unharnessed him as well as if they had been the

best squires in the island of Britain.

"Then behold they brought bowls of silver, wherein was water to

wash and towels of linen, some green and some white; and I washed.

And in a little while the man sat down at the table. And I sat

next to him, and below me sat all the maidens, except those who

waited on us. And the table was of silver, and the cloths upon the

table were of linen. And no vessel was served upon the table that

was not either of gold or of silver or of buffalo horn. And our

meat was brought to us. And verily, Kay, I saw there every sort of

meat, and every sort of liquor that I ever saw elsewhere; but the

meat and the liquor were better served there than I ever saw them

in any other place.

"Until the repast was half over, neither the man nor any one of

the damsels spoke a single word to me; but when the man perceived

that it would be more agreeable for me to converse than to eat any

more, he began to inquire of me who I was. Then I told the man who

I was and what was the cause of my journey, and said that I was

seeking whether any one was superior to me, or whether I could

gain mastery over all. The man looked upon me, and he smiled and

said, 'If I did not fear to do thee a mischief, I would show thee

that which thou seekest.' Then I desired him to speak freely. And

he said: 'Sleep here to-night, and in the morning arise early, and

take the road upwards through the valley, until thou readiest the

wood. A little way within the wood thou wilt come to a large

sheltered glade, with a mound in the centre. And thou wilt see a

black man of great stature on the top of the mound. He has but one

foot, and one eye in the middle of his forehead. He is the wood-

ward of that wood. And thou wilt see a thousand wild animals

grazing around him. Inquire of him the way out of the glade, and

he will reply to thee briefly, and will point out the road by

which thou shalt find that which thou art in quest of.'

"And long seemed that night to me. And the next morning I arose

and equipped myself, and mounted my horse, and proceeded straight

through the valley to the wood, and at length I arrived at the

glade. And the black man was there, sitting upon the top of the

mound; and I was three times more astonished at the number of wild

animals that I beheld than the man had said I should be. Then I

inquired of him the way and he asked me roughly whither I would

go. And when I had told him who I was and what I sought, 'Take,'

said he, 'that path that leads toward the head of the glade, and

there thou wilt find an open space like to a large valley, and in

the midst of it a tall tree. Under this tree is a fountain, and by

the side of the fountain a marble slab, and on the marble slab a

silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, that it may not be

carried away. Take, the bowl and throw a bowlful of water on the

slab. And if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou

needest not seek it during the rest of thy life.'

"So I journeyed on until I reached the summit of the steep. And

there I found everything as the black man had described it to me.

And I went up to the tree, and beneath it I saw the fountain, and

by its side the marble slab, and the silver bowl fastened by the

chain. Then I took the bowl, and cast a bowlful of water upon the

slab, and immediately I heard a mighty peal of thunder, so that

heaven and earth seemed to tremble with its fury. And after the

thunder came a, shower; and of a truth I tell thee, Kay, that it

was such a shower as neither man nor beast could endure and live.

I turned my horse's flank toward the shower, and placed the beak

of my shield over his head and neck, while I held the upper part

of it over my own neck. And thus I withstood the shower. And

presently the sky became clear, and with that, behold, the birds

lighted upon the tree, and sang. And truly, Kay, I never heard any

melody equal to that, either before or since. And when I was most

charmed with listening to the birds, lo! a chiding voice was heard

of one approaching me and saying: 'O knight, what has brought thee

hither? What evil have I done to thee that thou shouldst act

towards me and my possessions as thou hast this day? Dost thou not

know that the shower to-day has left in my dominions neither man

nor beast alive that was exposed to it?' And thereupon, behold, a

knight on a black horse appeared, clothed in jet-black velvet, and

with a tabard of black linen about him. And we charged each other,

and, as the onset was furious, it was not long before I was

overthrown. Then the knight passed the shaft of his lance through

the bridle-rein of my horse, and rode off with the two horses,

leaving me where I was. And he did not even bestow so much notice

upon me as to imprison me, nor did he despoil me of my arms. So I

returned along the road by which I had come. And when I reached

the glade where the black man was, I confess to thee, Kay, it is a

marvel that I did not melt down into a liquid pool, through the

shame that I felt at the black man's derision. And that night I

came to the same castle where I had spent the night preceding. And

I was more agreeably entertained that night than I had been the

night before. And I conversed freely with the inmates of the

castle; and none of them alluded to my expedition to the fountain,

neither did I mention it to any. And I remained there that night.

When I arose on the morrow I found ready saddled a dark bay

palfrey, with nostrils as red as scarlet. And after putting on my

armor, and leaving there my blessing, I returned to my own court.

And that horse I still possess, and he is in the stable yonder.

And I declare that I would not part with him for the best palfrey

in the island of Britain.

"Now, of a truth, Kay, no man ever before confessed to an

adventure so much to his own discredit; and verily it seems

strange to me that neither before nor since have I heard of any

person who knew of this adventure, and that the subject of it

should exist within King Arthur's dominions without any other

person lighting upon it."

CHAPTER III

THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN (Continued)

OWAIN'S ADVENTURE

[Footnote: Amongst all the characters of early British history

none is the more interesting, or occupies more conspicuous place,

than the hero of this tale. Urien, his father, was prince of

Rheged, a district comprising the present Cumberland and part of

the adjacent country. His valor, and the consideration in which he

was held, are a frequent theme of Bardic song, and form the

subject of several very spirited odes by Taliesin. Among the

Triads there is one relating to him; it is thus translated:

"Three Knights of Battle were in court of Arthur Cadwr, the Earl

of Cornwall, Launcelot du Lac, and Owain, the son of Urien. And

this was their characteristic--that they would not retreat from

battle, neither for spear, nor for arrow, nor for sword. And

Arthur never had shame in battle the day he saw their faces there.

And they were called the Knights of Battle."]

"Now," quoth Owain, "would it not be well to go and endeavor to

discover that place?"

"By the hand of my friend," said Kay, "often dost thou utter that

with thy tongue which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds."

"In very truth," said Guenever, "it were better thou wert hanged,

Kay, than to use such uncourteous speech towards a man like

Owain."

"By the hand of my friend, good lady," said Kay, "thy praise of

Owain is not greater than mine."

With that Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not been sleeping a

little.

"Yes, lord," answered Owain, "thou hast slept awhile."

"Is it time for us to go to meat?"

"It is, lord," said Owain.

Then the horn for washing was sounded, and the king and all his

household sat down to eat. And when the meal was ended Owain

withdrew to his lodging, and made ready his horse and his arms.

On the morrow with the dawn of day he put on his armor, and

mounted his charger, and travelled through distant lands, and over

desert mountains. And at length he arrived at the valley which

Kynon had described to him, and he was certain that it was the

same that he sought. And journeying along the valley, by the side

of the river, he followed its course till he came to the plain,

and within sight of the castle. When he approached the castle he

saw the youths shooting with their bows, in the place where Kynon

had seen them, and the yellow man, to whom the castle belonged,

standing hard by. And no sooner had Owain saluted the yellow man,

than he was saluted by him in return.

And he went forward towards the castle, and there he saw the

chamber; and when he had entered the chamber, he beheld the

maidens working at satin embroidery, in chains of gold. And their

beauty and their comeliness seemed to Owain far greater than Kynon

had represented to him. And they arose to wait upon Owain, as they

had done to Kynon. And the meal which they set before him gave

even more satisfaction to Owain than it had done to Kynon.

About the middle of the repast the yellow man asked Owain the

object of his journey. And Owain made it known to him, and said,

"I am in quest of the knight who guards the fountain." Upon this

the yellow man smiled, and said that he was as loth to point out

that adventure to him as he had been to Kynon. However, he

described the whole to Owain, and they retired to rest.

The next morning Owain found his horse made ready for him by the

damsels, and he set forward and came to the glade where the black

man was. And the stature of the black man seemed more wonderful to

Owain than it had done to Kynon; and Owain asked of him his road,

and he showed it to him. And Owain followed the road till he came

to the green tree; and he beheld the fountain, and the slab beside

the fountain, with the bowl upon it. And Owain took the bowl and

threw a bowlful of water upon the slab. And, lo! the thunder was

heard, and after the thunder came the shower, more violent than

Kynon had described, and after the shower the sky became bright.

And immediately the birds came and settled upon the tree and sang.

And when their song was most pleasing to Owain he beheld a knight

coming towards him through the valley; and he prepared to receive

him, and encountered him violently. Having broken both their

lances, they drew their swords and fought blade to blade. Then

Owain struck the knight a blow through his helmet, head-piece, and

visor, and through the skin, and the flesh, and the bone, until it

wounded the very brain. Then the black knight felt that he had

received a mortal wound, upon which he turned his horse's head and

fled. And Owain pursued him and followed close upon him, although

he was not near enough to strike him with his sword. Then Owain

descried a vast and resplendent castle; and they came to the

castle gate. And the black knight was allowed to enter, and the

portcullis was let fall upon Owain; and it struck his horse behind

the saddle, and cut him in two, and carried away the rowels of the

spurs that were upon Owains' heels. And the portcullis descended

to the floor. And the rowels of the spurs and part of the horse

were without, and Owain with the other part of the horse remained

between the two gates, and the inner gate was closed, so that

Owain could not go thence; and Owain was in a perplexing

situation. And while he was in this state, he could see through an

aperture in the gate a street facing him, with a row of houses on

each side. And he beheld a maiden, with yellow, curling hair, and

a frontlet of gold upon her head; and she was clad in a dress of

yellow satin, and on her feet were shoes of variegated leather.

And she approached the gate, and desired that it should be opened.

"Heaven knows, lady," said Owain, "it is no more possible for me

to open to thee from hence, than it is for thee to set me free."

And he told her his name, and who he was. "Truly," said the

damsel, "it is very sad that thou canst not be released; and every

woman ought to succor thee, for I know there is no one more

faithful in the service of ladies than thou. Therefore," quoth

she, "whatever is in my power to do for thy release, I will do it.

Take this ring and put it on thy finger, with the stone inside thy

hand, and close thy hand upon the stone. And as long as thou

concealest it, it will conceal thee. When they come forth to fetch

thee, they will be much grieved that they cannot find thee. And I

will await thee on the horseblock yonder, and thou wilt be able to

see me, though I cannot see thee. Therefore come and place thy

hand upon my shoulder, that I may know that thou art near me. And

by the way that I go hence do thou accompany me."

Then the maiden went away from Owain, and he did all that she had

told him. And the people of the castle came to seek Owain to put

him to death; and when they found nothing but the half of his

horse, they were sorely grieved.

And Owain vanished from among them, and went to the maiden, and

placed his hand upon her shoulder; whereupon she set off, and

Owain followed her, until they came to the door of a large and

beautiful chamber, and the maiden opened it, and they went in. And

Owain looked around the chamber, and behold there was not a single

nail in it that was not painted with gorgeous colors, and there

was not a single panel that had not sundry images in gold

portrayed upon it.

The maiden kindled a fire, and took water in a silver bowl, and

gave Owain water to wash. Then she placed before him a silver

table, inlaid with gold; upon which was a cloth of yellow linen,

and she brought him food. And, of a truth, Owain never saw any

kind of meat that was not there in abundance, but it was better

cooked there than he had ever found it in any other place. And

there was not one vessel from which he was served that was not of

gold or of silver. And Owain eat and drank until late in the

afternoon, when lo! they heard a mighty clamor in the castle, and

Owain asked the maiden what it was. "They are administering

extreme unction," said she, "to the nobleman who owns the castle."

And she prepared a couch for Owain which was meet for Arthur

himself, and Owain went to sleep.

And a little after daybreak he heard an exceeding loud clamor and

wailing, and he asked the maiden what was the cause of it. "They

are bearing to the church the body of the nobleman who owned the

castle."

And Owain rose up, and clothed himself, and opened a window of the

chamber, and looked towards the castle; and he could see neither

the bounds nor the extent of the hosts that filled the streets.

And they were fully armed; and a vast number of women were with

them, both on horseback and on foot, and all the ecclesiastics in

the city singing. In the midst of the throng he beheld the bier,

over which was a veil of white linen; and wax tapers were burning

beside and around it; and none that supported the bier was lower

in rank than a powerful baron.

Never did Owain see an assemblage so gorgeous with silk [Footnote:

Before the sixth century all the silk used by Europeans had been

brought to them by the Seres, the ancestors of the present

Boukharians, whence it derived its Latin name of Serica. In 551

the silkworm was brought by two monks to Constantinople, but the

manufacture of silk was confined to the Greek empire till the year

1130, when Roger, king of Sicily, returning from a crusade,

collected some manufacturers from Athens and Corinth, and

established them at Palermo, whence the trade was gradually

disseminated over Italy. The varieties of silk stuffs known at

this time were velvet, satin (which was called samite), and

taffety (called cendal or sendall), all of which were occasionally

stitched with gold and silver.] and satin. And, following the

train, he beheld a lady with yellow hair falling over her

shoulders, and stained with blood; and about her a dress of yellow

satin, which was torn. Upon her feet were shoes of variegated

leather. And it was a marvel that the ends of her fingers were not

bruised from the violence with which she smote her hands together.

Truly she would have been the fairest lady Owain ever saw, had she

been in her usual guise. And her cry was louder than the shout of

the men or the clamor of the trumpets. No sooner had he beheld the

lady than he became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire

possession of him.

Then he inquired of the maiden who the lady was. "Heaven knows,"

replied the maiden, "she is the fairest and the most chaste, and

the most liberal, and the most noble of women. She is my mistress,

and she is called the Countess of the Fountain, the wife of him

whom thou didst slay yesterday." "Verily," said Owain, "she is the

woman that I love best." "Verily," said the maiden, "she shall

also love thee, not a little."

Then the maiden prepared a repast for Owain, and truly he thought

he had never before so good a meal, nor was he ever so well

served. Then she left him, and went towards the castle. When she

came there, she found nothing but mourning and sorrow; and the

Countess in her chamber could not bear the sight of any one

through grief. Luned, for that was the name of the maiden, saluted

her, but the Countess answered her not. And the maiden bent down

towards her, and said, "What aileth thee, that thou answereth no

one to-day?" "Luned," said the Countess, "what change hath

befallen thee, that thou hast not come to visit me in my grief. It

was wrong in thee, and I so sorely afflicted." "Truly," said

Luned, "I thought thy good sense was greater than I find it to be.

Is it well for thee to mourn after that good man, or for anything

else that thou canst not have?" "I declare to Heaven," said the

Countess, "that in the whole world there is not a man equal to

him." "Not so," said Luned, "for an ugly man would be as good as

or better than he." "I declare to Heaven," said the Countess,

"that were it not repugnant to me to put to death one whom I have

brought up, I would have thee executed for making such a

comparison to me. As it is, I will banish thee." "I am glad," said

Luned, "that thou hast no other cause to do so than that I would

have been of service to thee, where thou didst not know what was

to thine advantage. Henceforth, evil betide whichever of us shall

make the first advance towards reconciliation to the other,

whether I should seek an invitation from thee, or thou of thine

own accord should send to invite."

With that Luned went forth; and the Countess arose and followed

her to the door of the chamber, and began coughing loudly. And

when Luned looked back, the Countess beckoned to her, and she

returned to the Countess. "In truth," said the Countess, "evil is

thy disposition; but if thou knowest what is to my advantage,

declare it to me." "I will do so," said she.

"Thou knowest that, except by warfare and arms, it is impossible

for thee to preserve thy possessions; delay not, therefore, to

seek some one who can defend them." "And how can I do that?" said

the Countess. "I will tell thee," said Luned; "unless thou canst

defend the fountain, thou canst not maintain thy dominions; and no

one can defend the fountain except it be a knight of Arthur's

household. I will go to Arthur's court, and ill betide me if I

return not thence with a warrior who can guard the fountain as

well as, or even better than, he who defended it formerly." "That

will be hard to perform," said the Countess. "Go, however, and

make proof of that which thou hast promised,"

Luned set out under the pretence of going to Arthur's court; but

she went back to the mansion where she had left Owain, and she

tarried there as long as it might have taken her to travel to the

court of King Arthur and back. And at the end of that time she

apparelled herself, and went to visit the Countess. And the

Countess was much rejoiced when she saw her, and inquired what

news she brought from the court. "I bring thee the best of news,"

said Luned, "for I have compassed the object of my mission. When

wilt thou that I should present to thee the chieftain who has come

with me hither?" "Bring him here to visit me to-morrow," said the

Countess, "and I will cause the town to be assembled by that

time."

And Luned returned home. And the next day at noon, Owain arrayed

himself in a coat and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin,

upon which was a broad band of gold lace; and on his feet were

high shoes of variegated leather, which were fastened by golden

clasps, in the form of lions. And they proceeded to the chamber of

the Countess.

Right glad was the Countess of their coming. And she gazed

steadfastly upon Owain, and said, "Luned, this knight has not the

look of a traveller." "What harm is there in that, lady?" said

Luned. "I am certain," said the Countess, "that no other man than

this chased the soul from the body of my lord." "So much the

better for thee, lady," said Luned, "for had he not been stronger

than thy lord, he could not have deprived him of life. There is no

remedy for that which is past, be it as it may." "Go back to thine

abode," said the Countess, "and I will take counsel."

The next day the Countess caused all her subjects to assemble, and

showed them that her earldom was left defenceless, and that it

could not be protected but with horse and arms, and military

skill. "Therefore," said she, "this is what I offer for your

choice: either let one of you take me, or give your consent for me

to take a husband from elsewhere, to defend my dominions."

So they came to the determination that it was better that she

should have permission to marry some one from elsewhere; and

thereupon she sent for the bishops and archbishops, to celebrate

her nuptials with Owain. And the men of the earldom did Owain

homage.

And Owain defended the fountain with lance and sword. And this is

the manner in which he defended it. Whensoever a knight came

there, he overthrew him, and sold him for his full worth. And what

he thus gained he divided among his barons and his knights, and no

man in the whole world could be more beloved than he was by his

subjects. And it was thus for the space of three years.

[Footnote: There exists an ancient poem, printed among those of

Taliesin, called the "Elegy of Owain ap Urien," and containing

several very beautiful and spirited passages It commences

"The soul of Owain ap Urien,

May its Lord consider its exigencies'

Reged's chief the green turf covers."

In the course of this Elegy the bard, alluding to the incessant

warfare with which this chieftain harassed his Saxon foes,

exclaims,

"Could England sleep with the light upon her eyes'"]

CHAPTER IV

THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN (Continued)

GAWAIN'S ADVENTURE

It befell that, as Gawain went forth one day with King Arthur, he

perceived him to be very sad and sorrowful. And Gawain was much

grieved to see Arthur in his state, and he questioned him, saying,

"O my lord, what has befallen thee?" "In sooth, Gawain," said

Arthur, "I am grieved concerning Owain, whom I have lost these

three years; and I shall certainly die if the fourth year pass

without my seeing him. Now I am sure that it is through the tale

which Kynon, the son of Clydno, related, that I have lost Owain."

"There is no need for thee," said Gawain, "to summon to arms thy

whole dominions on this account, for thou thyself, and the men of

thy household, will be able to avenge Owain if he be slain or to

set him free if he be in prison; and, if alive, to bring him back

with thee." And it was settled according to what Gawain had said.

Then Arthur and the men of his household prepared to go and seek

Owain. And Kynon, the son of Clydno, acted as their guide. And

Arthur came to the castle where Kynon had been before. And when he

came there, the youths were shooting in the same place, and the

yellow man was standing hard by. When the yellow man saw Arthur,

he greeted him, and invited him to the castle. And Arthur accepted

his invitation, and they entered the castle together. And great as

was the number of his retinue, their presence was scarcely

observed in the castle, so vast was its extent. And the maidens

rose up to wait on them. And the service of the maidens appeared

to them all to excel any attendance they had ever met with; and

even the pages, who had charge of the horses, were no worse served

that night than Arthur himself would have been in his own palace.

The next morning Arthur set out thence, with Kynon for his guide,

and came to the place where the black man was. And the stature of

the black man was more surprising to Arthur than it had been

represented to him. And they came to the top of the wooded steep,

and traversed the valley, till they reached the green tree, where

they saw the fountain and the bowl and the slab. And upon that Kay

came to Arthur, and spoke to him. "My lord," said he, "I know the

meaning of all this, and my request is that thou wilt permit me to

throw the water on the slab, and to receive the first adventure

that may befall." And Arthur gave him leave.

Then Kay threw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and immediately

there came the thunder, and after the thunder the shower. And such

a thunder-storm they had never known before. After the shower had

ceased, the sky became clear, and on looking at the tree, they

beheld it completely leafless. Then the birds descended upon the

tree. And the song of the birds was far sweeter than any strain

they had ever heard before. Then they beheld a knight, on a coal-

black horse, clothed in black satin, coming rapidly towards them.

And Kay met him and encountered him, and it was not long before

Kay was overthrown. And the knight withdrew. And Arthur and his

host encamped for the night.

And when they arose in the morning, they perceived the signal of

combat upon the lance of the knight. Then, one by one, all the

household of Arthur went forth to combat the knight, until there

was not one that was not overthrown by him, except Arthur and

Gawain. And Arthur armed himself to encounter the knight. "O my

lord," said Gawain, "permit me to fight with him first." And

Arthur permitted him. And he went forth to meet the knight, having

over himself and his horse a satin robe of honor, which had been

sent him by the daughter of the Earl of Rhangyr, and in this dress

he was not known by any of the host. And they charged each other,

and fought all that day until the evening. And neither of them was

able to unhorse the other. And so it was the next day; they broke

their lances in the shock, but neither of them could obtain the

mastery.

And the third day they fought with exceeding strong lances. And

they were incensed with rage, and fought furiously, even until

noon. And they gave each other such a shock that the girths of

their horses were broken, so that they fell over their horses'

cruppers to the ground. And they rose up speedily and drew their

swords, and resumed the combat. And all they that witnessed their

encounter felt assured that they had never before seen two men so

valiant or so powerful. And had it been midnight, it would have

been light, from the fire that flashed from their weapons. And the

knight gave Gawain a blow that turned his helmet from off his

face, so that the knight saw that it was Gawain. Then Owain said,

"My lord Gawain, I did not know thee for my cousin, owing to the

robe of honor that enveloped thee; take my sword and my arms."

Said Gawain, "Thou, Owain, art the victor; take thou my sword."

And with that Arthur saw that they were conversing, and advanced

toward them. "My lord Arthur," said Gawam, "here is Owain who has

vanquished me, and will not take my arms." "My lord," said Owain,

"it is he that has vanquished me, and he will not take my sword."

"Give me your swords," said Arthur, "and then neither of you has

vanquished the other." Then Owain put his arms around Arthur's

neck, and they embraced. And all the host hurried forward to see

Owain, and to embrace him. And there was nigh being a loss of

life, so great was the press.

And they retired that night, and the next day Arthur prepared to

depart. "My lord," said Owain, "this is not well of thee. For I

have been absent from thee these three years, and during all that

time, up to this very day, I have been preparing a banquet for

thee, knowing that thou wouldst come to seek me. Tarry with me,

therefore, until thou and thy attendants have recovered the

fatigues of the journey, and have been anointed."

And they all proceeded to the castle of the Countess of the

Fountain, and the banquet which had been three years preparing was

consumed in three months. Never had they a more delicious or

agreeable banquet. And Arthur prepared to depart. Then he sent an

embassy to the Countess to beseech her to permit Owain to go with

him, for the space of three months, that he might show him to the

nobles and the fair dames of the island of Britain. And the

Countess gave her consent, although it was very painful to her. So

Owain came with Arthur to the island of Britain. And when he was

once more amongst his kindred and friends, he remained three

years, instead of three months, with them.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE LION

And as Owain one day sat at meat, in the city of Caerleon upon

Usk, behold a damsel entered the hall, upon a bay horse, with a

curling mane, and covered with foam; and the bridle, and as much

as was seen of the saddle, were of gold. And the damsel was

arrayed in a dress of yellow satin. And she came up to Owain, and

took the ring from off his hand. "Thus," said she, "shall be

treated the deceiver, the traitor, the faithless, the disgraced,

and the beardless." And she turned her horse's head and departed.

[Footnote: The custom of riding into a hall while the lord and his

guests sat at meat might be illustrated by numerous passages of

ancient romance and history. But a quotation from Chaucer's

beautiful and half-told tale of "Cambuscan" is sufficient:

"And so befell that after the thridde cours,

While that this king sat thus in his nobley,

Herking his minstralles thir thinges play,

Beforne him at his bord deliciously,

In at the halle door all sodenly

Ther came a knight upon a stede of bras,

And in his hond a brod mirrour of glas;

Upon his thombe he had of gold a ring,

And by his side a naked sword hanging;

And up he rideth to the highe bord.

In all the halle ne was ther spoke a word,

For meryaille of this knight; him to behold

Full besily they waiten, young and old."]

Then his adventure came to Owain's remembrance, and he was

sorrowful. And having finished eating, he went to his own abode,

and made preparations that night. And the next day he arose, but

did not go to the court, nor did he return to the Countess of the

Fountain, but wandered to the distant parts of the earth and to

uncultivated mountains. And he remained there until all his

apparel was worn out, and his body was wasted away, and his hair

was grown long. And he went about with the wild beasts, and fed

with them, until they became familiar with him. But at length he

became so weak that he could no longer bear them company. Then he

descended from the mountains to the valley, and came to a park,

that was the fairest in the world, and belonged to a charitable

lady.

One day the lady and her attendants went forth to walk by a lake

that was in the middle of the park. And they saw the form of a

man, lying as if dead. And they were terrified. Nevertheless they

went near him, and touched him, and they saw that there was life

in him. And the lady returned to the castle, and took a flask full

of precious ointment and gave it to one of her maidens. "Go with

this," said she, "and take with thee yonder horse, and clothing,

and place them near the man we saw just now; and anoint him with

this balsam near his heart; and if there is life in him, he will

revive, through the efficiency of this balsam. Then watch what he

will do."

And the maiden departed from her, and went and poured of the

balsam upon Owain, and left the horse and the garments hard by,

and went a little way off and hid herself to watch him. In a short

time, she saw him begin to move; and he rose up, and looked at his

person, and became ashamed of the unseemliness of his appearance.

Then he perceived the horse and the garments that were near him.

And he clothed himself, and with difficulty mounted the horse.

Then the damsel discovered herself to him, and saluted him. And he

and the maiden proceeded to the castle, and the maiden conducted

him to a pleasant chamber, and kindled a fire, and left him.

And he stayed at the castle three months, till he was restored to

his former guise, and became even more comely than he had ever

been before. And Owain rendered signal service to the lady, in a

controversy with a powerful neighbor, so that he made ample

requital to her for her hospitality; and he took his departure.

And as he journeyed he heard a loud yelling in a wood. And it was

repeated a second and a third time. And Owain went towards the

spot, and beheld a huge craggy mound, in the middle of the wood,

on the side of which was a gray rock. And there was a cleft in the

rock, and a serpent was within the cleft. And near the rock stood

a black lion, and every time the lion sought to go thence the

serpent darted towards him to attack him. And Owain unsheathed his

sword, and drew near to the rock; and as the serpent sprung out he

struck him with his sword and cut him in two. And he dried his

sword, and went on his way as before. But behold the lion followed

him, and played about him, as though it had been a greyhound that

he had reared.

They proceeded thus throughout the day, until the evening. And

when it was time for Owain to take his rest he dismounted, and

turned his horse loose in a flat and wooded meadow. And he struck

fire, and when the fire was kindled, the lion brought him fuel

enough to last for three nights. And the lion disappeared. And

presently the lion returned, bearing a fine large roebuck. And he

threw it down before Owain, who went towards the fire with it.

And Owain took the roebuck, and skinned it, and placed collops of

its flesh upon skewers round the fire. The rest of the buck he

gave to the lion to devour. While he was so employed, he heard a

deep groan near him, and a second, and a third. And the place

whence the groans proceeded was a cave in the rock; and Owain went

near, and called out to know who it was that groaned so piteously.

And a voice answered, "I am Luned, the hand-maiden of the Countess

of the Fountain." "And what dost thou here?" said he. "I am

imprisoned," said she, "on account of the knight who came from

Arthur's court, and married the Countess. And he staid a short

time with her, but he afterwards departed for the court of Arthur,

and has not returned since. And two of the Countess's pages

traduced him, and called him a deceiver. And because I said I

would vouch for it he would come before long and maintain his

cause against both of them, they imprisoned me in this cave, and

said that I should be put to death, unless he came to deliver me,

by a certain day; and that is no further off than to-morrow, and I

have no one to send to seek him for me. His name is Owain, the son

of Urien." "And art thou certain that if that knight knew all

this, he would come to thy rescue?" "I am most certain of it,"

said she.

When the collops were cooked, Owain divided them into two parts,

between himself and the maiden, and then Owain laid himself down

to sleep; and never did sentinel keep stricter watch over his lord

than the lion that night over Owain.

And the next day there came the two pages with a great troop of

attendants to take Luned from her cell, and put her to death. And

Owain asked them what charge they had against her. And they told

him of the compact that was between them; as the maiden had done

the night before. "And," said they, "Owain has failed her,

therefore we are taking her to be burnt." "Truly," said Owain, "he

is a good knight; and if he knew that the maiden was in such

peril, I marvel that he came not to her rescue. But if you will

accept me in his stead, I will do battle with you." "We will,"

said the youth.

And they attacked Owain, and he was hard beset by them. And with

that, the lion came to Owain's assistance, and they two got the

better of the young men And they said to him, "Chieftain, it was

not agreed that we should fight save with thyself alone, and it is

harder for us to contend with yonder animal than with thee." And

Owain put the lion in the place where Luned had been imprisoned,

and blocked up the door with stones. And he went to fight with the

young men as before. But Owain had not his usual strength, and the

two youths pressed hard upon him. And the lion roared incessantly

at seeing Owain in trouble. And he brust through the wall, until

he found a way out, and rushed upon the young men and instantly

slew them. So Luned was saved from being burned.

Then Owain returned with Luned to the castle of the Lady of the

Fountain. And when he went thence, he took the Countess with him

to Arthur's court, and she was his wife as long as she lived.

CHAPTER V

GERAINT, THE SON OF ERBIN

Arthur was accustomed to hold his court at Caerleon upon Usk. And

there he held it seven Easters and five Christmases. And once upon

a time he held his court there at Whitsuntide. For Caerleon was

the place most easy of access in his dominions, both by sea and by

land. And there were assembled nine crowned kings, who were his

tributaries, and likewise earls and barons. For they were his

invited guests at all the high festivals, unless they were

prevented by any great hinderatice. And when he was at Caerleon

holding his court, thirteen churches were set apart for mass. And

thus they were appointed: one church for Arthur and his kings, and

his guests; and the second for Guenever and her ladies; and the

third for the steward of the household and the suitors; and the

fourth for the Franks and the other officers; and the other nine

churches were for the nine masters of the household, and chiefly

for Gawain, for he, from the eminence of his warlike fame, and

from the nobleness of his birth, was the most exalted of the nine.

And there was no other arrangement respecting the churches than

that which we have here mentioned.

And on Whit-Tuesday, as the king sat at the banquet, lo, there

entered a tall, fair-headed youth, clad in a coat and surcoat of

satin, and a golden-hilted sword about his neck, and low shoes of

leather upon his feet. And he came and stood before Arthur. "Hail

to thee, lord," said he. "Heaven prosper thee," he answered, "and

be thou welcome. Dost thou bring any new tidings?" "I do, lord,"

he said. "I am one of thy foresters, lord, in the forest of Dean,

and my name is Madoc, son of Turgadarn. In the forest I saw a

stag, the like of which beheld I never yet." "What is there about

him," asked Arthur, "that thou never yet didst see his like?" "He

is of pure white, lord, and he does not herd with any other

animal, through stateliness and pride, so royal is his bearing.

And I come to seek thy counsel, lord, and to know thy will

concerning him." "It seems best to me," said Arthur, "to go and

hunt him to-morrow at break of day, and to cause general notice

thereof to be given to-night, in all quarters of the court."

"For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before

Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk.

There on a day, he sitting high in hall,

Before him came a forester of Dean,

Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart

Taller than all his fellows, milky-white,

First seen that day: these things he told the king.

Then the good king gave order to let blow

His horns for hunting on the morrow morn."

--Enid.

And Arryfuerys was Arthur's chief huntsman, and Arelivri his chief

page. And all received notice; and thus it was arranged.

Then Guenever said to Arthur, "Wilt thou permit me, lord, to go

to-morrow to see and hear the hunt of the stag of which the young

man spoke?" "I will gladly," said Arthur. And Gawain said to

Arthur, "Lord, if it seem well to thee, permit that into whose

hunt soever the stag shall come, that one, be he a knight or one

on foot, may cut off his head, and give it to whom he pleases,

whether to his own lady-love, or to the lady of his friend." "I

grant it gladly," said Arthur, "and let the steward of the

household be chastised, if all things are not ready to-morrow for

the chase."

And they passed the night with songs, and diversions, and

discourse, and ample entertainment. And when it was time for them

all to go to sleep, they went. And when the next day came, they

arose. And Arthur called the attendants who guarded his couch. And

there were four pages whose names were Cadyrnerth, the son of

Gandwy, and Ambreu, the son of Bedwor and Amhar, the son of Arthur

and Goreu, the son of Custennin. And these men came to Arthur and

saluted him, and arrayed him in his garments. And Arthur wondered

that Guenever did not awake, and the attendants wished to awaken

her. "Disturb her not," said Arthur, "for she had rather sleep

than go to see the hunting."

Then Arthur went forth, and he heard two horns sounding, one from

near the lodging of the chief huntsman, and the other from near

that of the chief page. And the whole assembly of the multitudes

came to Arthur, and they took the road to the forest.

And after Arthur had gone forth from the palace, Guenever awoke,

and called to her maidens, and apparalled herself. "Maidens," said

she, "I had leave last night to go and see the hunt. Go one of you

to the stable, and order hither a horse such as a woman may ride."

And one of them went, and she found but two horses in the stable;

and Guenever and one of her maidens mounted them, and went through

the Usk, and followed the track of the men and the horses. And as

they rode thus, they heard a loud and rushing sound; and they

looked behind them, and beheld a knight upon a hunter foal of

mighty size. And the rider was a fairhaired youth, bare-legged,

and of princely mien; and a golden-hilted sword was at his side,

and a robe and a surcoat of satin were upon him, and two low shoes

of leather upon his feet; and around him was a scarf of blue

purple, at each corner of which was a golden apple.

"For Prince Geraint,

Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress

Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand,

Came quickly flashing through the shallow ford."

--Enid.

And his horse stepped stately, and swift, and proud; and he

overtook Guenever, and saluted her. "Heaven prosper thee,

Geraint," said she; "and why didst thou not go with thy lord to

hunt?" "Because I knew not when he went," said he. "I marvel too,"

said she, "how he could go, unknown to me. But thou, O young man,

art the most agreeable companion I could have in the whole

kingdom; and it may be I shall be more amused with the hunting

than they; for we shall hear the horns when they sound and we

shall hear the dogs when they are let loose and begin to cry."

So they went to the edge of the forest, and there they stood.

"From this place," said she, "we shall hear when the dogs are let

loose." And thereupon they heard a loud noise; and they looked

towards the spot whence it came, and they beheld a dwarf riding

upon a horse, stately and foaming and prancing and strong and

spirited. And in the hand of the dwarf was a whip. And near the

dwarf they saw a lady upon a beautiful white horse, of steady and

stately pace; and she was clothed in a garment of gold brocade.

And near her was a knight upon a war-horse of large size, with

heavy and bright armor both upon himself and upon his horse. And

truly they never before saw a knight, or a horse, or armor, of

such remarkable size.

"Geraint," said Guenever, "knowest thou the name of that tall

knight yonder?" "I know him not," said he, "and the strange armor

that he wears prevents my either seeing his face or his features."

"Go, maiden," said Guenever, "and ask the dwarf who that knight

is." Then the maiden went up to the dwarf; and she inquired of the

dwarf who the knight was. "I will not tell thee," he answered.

"Since thou art so churlish," said she, "I will ask him, himself."

"Thou shalt not ask him, by my faith," said he. "Wherefore not?"

said she. "Because thou art not of honor sufficient to befit thee

to speak to my lord." Then the maiden turned her horse's head

towards the knight, upon which the dwarf struck her with the whip

that was in his hand across the face and the eyes, so that the

blood flowed forth. And the maiden returned to Guenever,

complaining of the hurt she had received. "Very rudely has the

dwarf treated thee," said Geraint, and he put his hand upon the

hilt of his sword. But he took counsel with himself, and

considered that it would be no vengeance for him to slay the

dwarf, and to be attacked unarmed by the armed knight; so he

refrained.

"Lady," said he, "I will follow him, with thy permission, and at

last he will come to some inhabited place, where I may have arms,

either as a loan or for a pledge, so that I may encounter the

knight." "Go," said she, "and do not attack him until thou hast

good arms; and I shall be very anxious concerning thee, until I

hear tidings of thee." "If I am alive," said he, "thou shalt hear

tidings of me by to-morrow afternoon;" and with that he departed.

And the road they took was below the palace of Caerleon, and

across the ford of the Usk; and they went along a fair and even

and lofty ridge of ground, until they came to a town, and at the

extremity of the town they saw a fortress and a castle. And as the

knight passed through the town all the people arose and saluted

him, and bade him welcome. And when Geraint came into the town, he

looked at every house to see if he knew any of those whom he saw.

But he knew none, and none knew him, to do him the kindness to let

him have arms, either as a loan or for a pledge. And every house

he saw was full of men, and arms, and horses. And they were

polishing shields, and burnishing swords, and washing armor, and

shoeing horses. And the knight and the lady and the dwarf rode up

to the castle, that was in the town, and every one was glad in the

castle. And from the battlements and the gates they risked their

necks, through their eagerness to greet them, and to show their

joy.

Geraint stood there to see whether the knight would remain in the

castle; and when he was certain that he would do so, he looked

around him. And at a little distance from the town he saw an old

palace in ruins, wherein was a hall that was falling to decay.

"And high above a piece of turret-stair,

Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound

Bare to the sun"

--Enid.

And as he knew not any one in the town, he went towards the old

palace. And when he came near to the palace, he saw a hoary-headed

man, standing by it, in tattered garments. And Geraint gazed

steadfastly upon him. Then the hoary-headed man said to him,

"Young man, wherefore art thou thoughtful?" "I am thoughtful,"

said he, "because I know not where to pass the night." "Wilt thou

come forward this way, chieftain," said he, "and thou shalt have

of the best that can be procured for thee." So Geraint went

forward. And the hoary-headed man led the way into the hall. And

in the hall he dismounted, and he left there his horse. Then he

went on to the upper chamber with the hoary-headed man. And in the

chamber he beheld an old woman, sitting on a cushion, with old,

worn-out garments upon her; yet it seemed to him that she must

have been comely when in the bloom of youth. And beside her was a

maiden, upon whom were a vest and a veil that were old and

beginning to be worn out. And truly he never saw a maiden more

full of comeliness and grace and beauty than she. And the hoary-

headed man said to the maiden, "There is no attendant for the

horse of this youth but thyself." "I will render the best service

I am able," said she, "both to him and to his horse." And the

maiden disarrayed the youth, and then she furnished his horse with

straw and corn; and then she returned to the chamber. And the

hoary-headed man said to the maiden, "Go to the town and bring

hither the best that thou canst find, both of food and of liquor."

"I will gladly, lord," said she. And to the town went the maiden.

And they conversed together while the maiden was at the town. And,

behold, the maiden came back, and a youth with her, bearing on his

back a costrel full of good purchased mead, and a quarter of a

young bullock. And in the hands of the maiden was a quantity of

white bread, and she had some manchet bread in her veil, and she

came into the chamber. "I would not obtain better than this," said

she, "nor with better should I have been trusted." "It is good

enough," said Geraint. And they caused the meat to be boiled; and

when their food was ready, they sat down. And it was in this wise.

Geraint sat between the hoary-headed man and his wife, and the

maiden served them. And they ate and drank.

And when they had finished eating, Geraint talked with the hoary-

headed man, and he asked him in the first place to whom belonged

the palace that he was in. "Truly," said he, "it was I that built

it, and to me also belonged the city and the castle which thou

sawest." "Alas!" said Geraint, "how is it that thou hast lost them

now?" "I lost a great earldom as well as these," said he, "and

this is how I lost them. I had a nephew, the son of my brother,

and I took care of his possessions; but he was impatient to enter

upon them, so he made war upon me, and wrested from me not only

his own, but also my estates, except this castle." "Good sir,"

said Geraint, "wilt thou tell me wherefore came the knight and the

lady and the dwarf just now into the town, and what is the

preparation which I saw, and the putting of arms in order?" "I

will do so," said he. "The preparations are for the game that is

to be held to-morrow by the young earl, which will be on this

wise. In the midst of a meadow which is here, two forks will be

set up, and upon the two forks a silver rod, and upon the silver

rod a sparrow-hawk, and for the sparrow-hawk there will be a

tournament. And to the tournament will go all the array thou didst

see in the city, of men and of horses and of arms. And with each

man will go the lady he loves best; and no man can joust for the

sparrow-hawk, except the lady he loves best be with him. And the

knight that thou sawest has gained the sparrow-hawk these two

years; and if he gains it the third year, he will be called the

Knight of the Sparrow-hawk from that time forth." "Sir," said

Geraint, "what is thy counsel to me concerning this knight, on

account of the insult which the maiden of Guenever received from

the dwarf?" And Geraint told the hoary-headed man what the insult

was that the maiden had received. "It is not easy to counsel thee,

inasmuch as thou hast neither dame nor maiden belonging to thee,

for whom thou canst joust. Yet I have arms here, which thou

couldst have, and there is my horse also, if he seem to thee

better than thine own." "Ah, sir," said he, "Heaven reward thee!

But my own horse to which I am accustomed, together with thine

arms, will suffice me. And if, when the appointed time shall come

to-morrow thou wilt permit me, sir, to challenge for yonder maiden

that is thy daughter, I will engage, if I escape from the

tournament, to love the maiden as long as I live." "Gladly will I

permit thee," said the hoary-headed man; "and since thou dost thus

resolve, it is necessary that thy horse and arms should be ready

to-morrow at break of day. For then the Knight of the Sparrow-hawk

will make proclamation, and ask the lady he loves best to take the

sparrow-hawk; and if any deny it to her, by force will he defend

her claim. And therefore," said the hoary-headed man, "it is

needful for thee to be there at daybreak, and we three will be

with thee." And thus was it settled.

And at night they went to sleep. And before the dawn they arose

and arrayed themselves; and by the time that it was day, they were

all four in the meadow. And there was the Knight of the Sparrow-

hawk making the proclamation, and asking his lady-love to take the

sparrow-hawk. "Take it not," said Geraint, "for here is a maiden

who is fairer, and more noble, and more comely, and who has a

better claim to it than thou." Then said the knight, "If thou

maintainest the sparrow-hawk to be due to her, come forward and do

battle with me." And Geraint went forward to the top of the

meadow, having upon himself and upon his horse armor which was

heavy and rusty, and of uncouth shape. Then they encountered each

other, and they broke a set of lances; and they broke a second

set, and a third. And when the earl and his company saw the Knight

of the Sparrow-hawk gaining the mastery, there was shouting and

joy and mirth amongst them; and the hoary-headed man and his wife

and his daughter were sorrowful. And the hoary-headed man served

Geraint with lances as often as he broke them, and the dwarf

served the Knight of the Sparrow-hawk. Then the hoary-headed man

said to Geraint, "O chieftain, since no other will hold with thee,

behold, here is the lance which was in my hand on the day when I

received the honor of knighthood, and from that time to this I

never broke it, and it has an excellent point." Then Geraint took

the lance, thanking the hoary-headed man. And thereupon the dwarf

also brought a lance to his lord. "Behold, here is a lance for

thee, not less good than his," said the dwarf. "And bethink thee

that no knight ever withstood thee so long as this one has done."

"I declare to Heaven," said Geraint, "that unless death takes me

quickly hence, he shall fare never the better for thy service."

And Geraint pricked his horse towards him from afar, and, warning

him, he rushed upon him, and gave him a blow so severe, and

furious, and fierce, upon the face of his shield, that he cleft it

in two, and broke his armor, and burst his girths, so that both he

and his saddle were borne to the ground over the horse's crupper.

And Geraint dismounted quickly. And he was wroth, and he drew his

sword, and rushed fiercely upon him. Then the knight also arose,

and drew his sword against Geraint. And they fought on foot with

their swords until their arms struck sparks of fire like stars

from one another; and thus they continued fighting until the blood

and sweat obscured the light from their eyes. At length Geraint

called to him all his strength, and struck the knight upon the

crown of his head, so that he broke all his head-armor, and cut

through all the flesh and the skin, even to the skull, until he

wounded the bone.

Then the knight fell upon his knees, and cast his sword from his

hand, and besought mercy from Geraint. "Of a truth," said he, "I

relinquish my overdaring and my pride, and crave thy mercy; and

unless I have time to commit myself to Heaven for my sins, and to

talk with a priest, thy mercy will avail me little." "I will grant

thee grace upon this condition," said Geraint, "that thou go to

Guenever, the wife of Arthur, to do her satisfaction for the

insult which her maiden received from thy dwarf. Dismount not from

the time thou goest hence until thou comest into the presence of

Guenever, to make her what atonement shall be adjudged at the

court of Arthur." "This will I do gladly; and who art thou?" "I am

Geraint, the son of Erbin; and declare thou also who thou art." "I

am Edeym, the son of Nudd." Then he threw himself upon his horse,

and went forward to Arthur's court; and the lady he loved best

went before him, and the dwarf, with much lamentation.

Then came the young earl and his hosts to Geraint, and saluted

him, and bade him to his castle. "I may not go," said Geraint;

"but where I was last night, there will I be to-night also."

"Since thou wilt none of my inviting, thou shalt have abundance of

all that I can command for thee; and I will order ointment for

thee, to recover thee from thy fatigues, and from the weariness

that is upon thee." "Heaven reward thee," said Geraint, "and I

will go to my lodging." And thus went Geraint and Earl Ynywl, and

his wife and his daughter. And when they reached the old mansion,

the household servants and attendants of the young earl had

arrived, and had arranged all the apartments, dressing them with

straw and with fire; and in a short time the ointment was ready,

and Geraint came there, and they washed his head. Then came the

young earl, with forty honorable knights from among his

attendants, and those who were bidden to the tournament. And

Geraint came from the anointing. And the earl asked him to go to

the hall to eat. "Where is the Earl Ynywl," said Geraint, "and his

wife and his daughter?" "They are in the chamber yonder," said the

earl's chamberlain, "arraying themselves in garments which the

earl has caused to be brought for them." "Let not the damsel array

herself," said he, "except in her vest and her veil, until she

come to the court of Arthur, to be clad by Guenever in such

garments as she may choose." So the maiden did not array herself.

Then they all entered the hall, and they washed, and sat down to

meat. And thus were they seated. On one side of Geraint sat the

young earl, and Earl Ynywl beyond him, and on the other side of

Geraint was the maiden and her mother. And after these all sat

according to their precedence in honor. And they ate. And they

were served abundantly, and they received a profusion of divers

kinds of gifts. Then they conversed together. And the young earl

invited Geraint to visit him next day. "I will not, by Heaven,"

said Geraint. "To the court of Arthur will I go with this maiden

to-morrow. And it is enough for me, as long as Earl Ynywl is in

poverty and trouble; and I go chiefly to seek to add to his

maintenance." "Ah, chieftain," said the young earl, "it is not by

my fault that Earl Ynywl is without his possessions." "By my

faith," said Geraint, "he shall not remain without them, unless

death quickly takes me hence." "O chieftain," said he, "with

regard to the disagreement between me and Ynywl, I will gladly

abide by thy counsel, and agree to what thou mayest judge right

between us." "I but ask thee," said Geraint, "to restore to him

what is his, and what he should have received from the time he

lost his possessions even until this day." "That will I do,

gladly, for thee," answered he. "Then," said Geraint, "whosoever

is here who owes homage to Ynywl, let him come forward, and

perform it on the spot." And all the men did so; and by that

treaty they abided. And his castle and his town, and all his

possessions, were restored to Ynywl. And he received back all that

he had lost, even to the smallest jewel.

Then spoke Earl Ynywl to Geraint. "Chieftain," said he, "behold

the maiden for whom thou didst challenge at the tournament; I

bestow her upon thee." "She shall go with me," said Geraint, "to

the court of Arthur, and Arthur and Guenever, they shall dispose

of her as they will." And the next day they proceeded to Arthur's

court. So far concerning Geraint.

CHAPTER VI

GERAINT, THE SON OF ERBIN (Continued)

Now this is how Arthur hunted the stag. The men and the dogs were

divided into hunting-parties, and the dogs were let loose upon the

stag. And the last dog that was let loose was the favorite dog of

Arthur; Cavall was his name. And he left all the other dogs behind

him and turned the stag. And at the second turn the stag came

toward the hunting-party of Arthur. And Arthur set upon him; and

before he could be slain by any other, Arthur cut off his head.

Then they sounded the death-horn for slaying and they all gathered

round.

They came Kadyriath to Arthur and spoke to him. "Lord," said he,

"behold, yonder is Guenever, and none with her save only one

maiden." "Command Gildas, the son of Caw, and all the scholars of

the court," said Arthur, "to attend Guenever to the palace." And

they did so.

Then they all set forth, holding converse together concerning the

head of the stag, to whom it should be given. One wished that it

should be given to the lady best beloved by him, and another to

the lady whom he loved best. And so they came to the palace. And

when Arthur and Guenever heard them disputing about the head of

the stag, Guenever said to Arthur: "My lord, this is my counsel

concerning the stag's head; let it not be given away until

Geraint, the son of Erbin, shall return from the errand he is

upon." And Guenever told Arthur what that errand was. "Right

gladly shall it be so," said Arthur. And Guenever caused a watch

to be set upon the ramparts for Geraint's coming. And after midday

they beheld an unshapely little man upon a horse, and after him a

dame or a damsel, also on horseback, and after her a knight of

large stature, bowed down, and hanging his head low and

sorrowfully, and clad in broken and worthless armor.

And before they came near to the gate one of the watch went to

Guenever, and told her what kind of people they saw, and what

aspect they bore. "I know not who they are," said he, "But I

know," said Guenever; "this is the knight whom Geraint pursued,

and methinks that he comes not here by his own free will. But

Geraint has overtaken him, and avenged the insult to the maiden to

the uttermost." And thereupon, behold, a porter came to the spot

where Guenever was. "Lady," said he, "at the gate there is a

knight, and I saw never a man of so pitiful an aspect to look upon

as he. Miserable and broken is the armor that he wears, and the

hue of blood is more conspicuous upon it than its own color."

"Knowest thou his name?" said she. "I do," said he; "he tells me

that he is Edeyrn, the son of Nudd." Then she replied, "I know him

not."

So Guenever went to the gate to meet him and he entered. And

Guenever was sorry when she saw the condition he was in, even

though he was accompanied by the churlish dwarf. Then Edeyrn

saluted Guenever. "Heaven protect thee," said she. "Lady," said

he, "Geraint, the son of Erbin, thy best and most valiant servant,

greets thee." "Did he meet with thee?" she asked. "Yes," said he,

"and it was not to my advantage; and that was not his fault, but

mine, lady. And Geraint greets thee well; and in greeting thee he

compelled me to come hither to do thy pleasure for the insult

which thy maiden received from the dwarf." "Now where did he

overtake thee?" "At the place where we were jousting and

contending for the sparrow-hawk, in the town which is now called

Cardiff. And it was for the avouchment of the love of the maiden,

the daughter of Earl Ynywl, that Geraint jousted at the

tournament. And thereupon we encountered each other, and he left

me, lady, as thou seest." "Sir," said she, "when thinkest thou

that Geraint will be here?" "To-morrow, lady, I think he will be

here with the maiden."

Then Arthur came to them. And he saluted Arthur, and Arthur gazed

a long time upon him and was amazed to see him thus. And thinking

that he knew him, he inquired of him, "Art thou Edeyrn, the son of

Nudd?" "I am, lord," said he, "and I have met with much trouble

and received wounds unsupportable." Then he told Arthur all his

adventure. "Well," said Arthur, "from what I hear it behooves

Guenever to be merciful towards thee." "The mercy which thou

desirest, lord," said she. "will I grant to him, since it is as

insulting to thee that an insult should be offered to me as to

thyself." "Thus will it be best to do," said Arthur; "let this man

have medical care until it be known whether he may live. And if he

live, he shall do such satisfaction as shall be judged best by the

men of the court. And if he die, too much will be the death of

such a youth as Edeyrn for an insult to a maiden." "This pleases

me," said Guenever. And Arthur caused Morgan Tud to be called to

him. He was the chief physician. "Take with thee Edeyrn, the son

of Nudd, and cause a chamber to be prepared for him, and let him

have the aid of medicine as thou wouldst do unto myself, if I were

wounded, and let none into his chamber to molest him, but thyself

and thy disciples, to administer to him remedies." "I will do so,

gladly, lord," said Morgan Tud. Then said the steward of the

household, "Whither is it right, lord, to order the maiden?" "To

Guenever and her handmaidens," said he. And the steward of the

household so ordered her.

"And rising up, he rode to Arthur's court,

And there the queen forgave him easily.

And being young, he changed himself, and grew

To hate the sin that seem'd so like his own

Of Modred, Arthur's nephew, and fell at last

In the great battle fighting for the king."

--Enid.

The next day came Geraint towards the court; and there was a watch

set on the ramparts by Guenever, lest he should arrive unawares.

And one of the watch came to Guenever. "Lady," said he, "methinks

that I see Geraint, and a maiden with him. He is on horseback, but

he has his walking gear upon him, and the maiden appears to be in

white, seeming to be clad in a garment of linen." "Assemble all

the women," said Guenever, "and come to meet Geraint, to welcome

him, and wish him joy." And Guenever went to meet Geraint and the

maiden. And when Geraint came to the place where Guenever was, he

saluted her. "Heaven prosper thee," said she, "and welcome to

thee." "Lady," said he, "I earnestly desired to obtain thee

satisfaction, according to thy will; and, behold, here is the

maiden through whom thou hadst thy revenge." "Verily," said

Guenever, "the welcome of Heaven be unto her; and it is fitting

that we should receive her joyfully." Then they went in and

dismounted. And Geraint came to where Arthur was, and saluted him.

"Heaven protect thee," said Arthur, "and the welcome of Heaven be

unto thee. And inasmuch as thou hast vanquished Edeyrn, the son of

Nudd, thou hast had a prosperous career." "Not upon me be the

blame," said Geraint; "it was through the arrogance of Edeyrn, the

son of Nudd, himself, that we were not friends." "Now," said

Arthur, "where is the maiden for whom I heard thou didst give

challenge?" "She is gone with Guenever to her chamber." Then went

Arthur to see the maiden. And Arthur, and all his companions, and

his whole court, were glad concerning the maiden. And certain were

they all, that, had her array been suitable to her beauty, they

had never seen a maid fairer than she. And Arthur gave away the

maiden to Geraint. And the usual bond made between two persons was

made between Geraint and the maiden, and the choicest of all

Guenever's apparel was given to the maiden; and thus arrayed, she

appeared comely and graceful to all who beheld her. And that day

and the night were spent in abundance of minstrelsy, and ample

gifts of liquor, and a multiude of games. And when it was time for

them to go to sleep they went. And in the chamber where the couch

of Arthur and Guenever was, the couch of Geraint and Enid was

prepared. And from that time she became his wife. And the next day

Arthur satisfied all the claimants upon Geraint with bountiful

gifts. And the maiden took up her abode in the palace, and she had

many companions, both men and women, and there was no maiden more

esteemed than she in the island of Britain.

Then spake Guenever. "Rightly did I judge," said she, "concerning

the head of the stag, that it should not be given to any until

Geraint's return; and behold, here is a fit occasion for bestowing

it. Let it be given to Enid, the daughter of Ynywl, the most

illustrious maiden. And I do not believe that any will begrudge it

her, for between her and every one here there exists nothing but

love and friendship." Much applauded was this by them all, and by

Arthur also. And the head of the stag was given to Enid. And

thereupon her fame increased, and her friends became more in

number than before. And Geraint from that time forth loved the

hunt, and the tournament, and hard encounters; and he came

victorious from them all. And a year, and a second, and a third,

he proceeded thus, until his fame had flown over the face of the

kingdom.

And, once upon a time, Arthur was holding his court at Caerleon

upon Usk; and behold, there came to him ambassadors, wise and

prudent, full of knowledge and eloquent of speech, and they

saluted Arthur. "Heaven prosper you!" said Arthur; "and whence do

you come?" "We come, lord," said they, "from Cornwall; and we are

ambassadors from Erbin, the son of Custennin, thy uncle, and our

mission is unto thee. And he greets thee well, as an uncle should

greet his nephew, and as a vassal should greet his lord. And he

represents unto thee that he waxes heavy and feeble, and is

advancing in years. And the neighboring chiefs, knowing this, grow

insolent towards him, and covet his land and possessions. And he

earnestly beseeches thee, lord, to permit Geraint, his son, to

return to him, to protect his possessions, and to become

acquainted with his boundaries. And unto him he represents that it

were better for him to spend the flower of his youth and the prime

of his age in preserving his own boundaries, than in tournaments

which are productive of no profit, although he obtains glory in

them."

"Well," said Arthur, "go and divest yourselves of your

accoutrements, and take food, and refresh yourselves after your

fatigues; and before you go from hence you shall have an answer."

And they went to eat. And Arthur considered that it would go hard

with him to let Geraint depart from him, and from his court;

neither did he think it fair that his cousin should be restrained

from going to protect his dominions and his boundaries, seeing

that his father was unable to do so. No less was the grief and

regret of Guenever, and all her women, and all her damsels,

through fear that the maiden would leave them. And that day and

that night were spent in abundance of feasting. And Arthur told

Geraint the cause of the mission, and of the coming of the

ambassadors to him out of Cornwall. "Truly," said Geraint, "be it

to my advantage or disadvantage, lord, I will do according to thy

will concerning this embassy." "Behold," said Arthur, "though it

grieves me to part with thee, it is my counsel that thou go to

dwell in thine own dominions, and to defend thy boundaries, and

take with thee to accompany thee as many as thou wilt of those

thou lovest best among my faithful ones, and among thy friends,

and among thy companions in arms." "Heaven reward thee! and this

will I do," said Geraint. "What discourse," said Guenever, "do I

hear between you? Is it of those who are to conduct Geraint to his

country?" "It is," said Arthur. "Then is it needful for me to

consider," said she, "concerning companions and a provision for

the lady that is with me." "Thou wilt do well," said Arthur.

And that night they went to sleep. And the next day the

ambassadors were permitted to depart, and they were told that

Geraint should follow them. And on the third day Geraint set

forth, and many went with him--Gawain, the son of Gwyar, and

Riogoned, the son of the king of Ireland, and Ondyaw, the son of

the Duke of Burgundy, Gwilim, the son of the ruler of the Franks,

Howel, the son of the Earl of Brittany, Perceval, the son of

Evrawk, Gwyr, a judge in the court of Arthur, Bedwyr, the son of

Bedrawd, Kai, the son of Kyner, Odyar, the Frank, and Ederyn, the

son of Nudd. Said Geraint, "I think I shall have enough of

knighthood with me." And they set forth. And never was there seen

a fairer host journeying towards the Severn. And on the other side

of the Severn were the nobles of Erbin, the son of Custennin, and

his foster-father at their head, to welcome Geraint with gladness;

and many of the women of the court, with his mother, came to

receive Enid, the daughter of Ynywl, his wife. And there was great

rejoicing and gladness throughout the whole court, and through all

the country, concerning Geraint, because of the greatness of their

love to him, and of the greatness of the fame which he had gained

since he went from amongst them, and because he was come to take

possession of his dominions, and to preserve his boundaries. And

they came to the court. And in the court they had ample

entertainment, and a multitude of gifts, and abundance of liquor,

and a sufficiency of service, and a variety of games. And to do

honor to Geraint, all the chief men of the country were invited

that night to visit him. And they passed that day and that night

in the utmost enjoyment. And at dawn next day Erbin arose and

summoned to him Geraint, and the noble persons who had borne him

company. And he said to Geraint: "I am a feeble and an aged man,

and whilst I was able to maintain the dominion for thee and for

myself, I did so. But thou art young, and in the flower of thy

vigor and of thy youth. Henceforth do thou preserve thy

possessions." "Truly," said Geraint, "with my consent thou shalt

not give the power over thy dominions at this time into my hands,

and thou shalt not take me from Arthur's court." "Into thy hands

will I give them," said Erbin, "and this day also shalt thou

receive the homage of thy subjects."

Then said Gawain, "It were better for thee to satisfy those who

have boons to ask, to-day, and to-morrow thou canst receive the

homage of thy dominions." So all that had boons to ask were

summoned into one place. And Kadyriath came to them to know what

were their requests. And every one asked that which he desired.

And the followers of Arthur began to make gifts, and immediately

the men of Cornwall came, and gave also. And they were not long in

giving, so eager was every one to bestow gifts, and of those who

came to ask gifts, none departed unsatisfied. And that day and

that night were spent in the utmost enjoyment.

And the next day at dawn, Erbin desired Geraint to send messengers

to the men to ask them whether it was displeasing to them that he

should come to receive their homage, and whether they had anything

to object to him. Then Geraint sent ambassadors to the men of

Cornwall to ask them this. And they all said that it would be the

fulness of joy and honor to them for Geraint to come and receive

their homage. So he received the homage of such as were there. And

the day after the followers of Arthur intended to go away. "It is

too soon for you to go away yet," said he; "stay with me until I

have finished receiving the homage of my chief men, who have

agreed to come to me." And they remained with him until he had

done so. Then they set forth towards the court of Arthur. And

Geraint went to bear them company, and Enid also, as far as

Diganwy; there they parted. And Ondyaw, the son of the Duke of

Burgundy, said to Geraint, "Go, now, and visit the uttermost parts

of thy dominions, and see well to the boundaries of thy

territories; and if thou hast any trouble respecting them, send

unto thy companions." "Heaven reward thee!" said Geraint; "and

this will I do." And Geraint journeyed to the uttermost parts of

his dominions. And experienced guides, and the chief men of his

country, went with him. And the furthermost point that they showed

him he kept possession of.

CHAPTER VII

GERAINT, THE SON OF ERBIN (Continued)

Geraint, as he had been used to do when he was at Arthur's court,

frequented tournaments. And he became acquainted with valiant and

mighty men, until he had gained as much fame there as he had

formerly done elsewhere. And he enriched his court, and his

companions, and his nobles, with the best horses and the best

arms, and with the best and most valuable jewels, and he ceased

not until his fame had flown over the face of the whole kingdom.

"Before Geraint, the scourge of the enemy,

I saw steeds white with foam,

And after the shout of battle a fearful torrent."

--Hen.

When he knew that it was thus, he began to love ease and pleasure,

for there was no one who was worth his opposing. And he loved his

wife, and liked to continue in the palace with minstrelsy and

diversions. So he began to shut himself up in the chamber of his

wife, and he took no delight in anything besides, insomuch that he

gave up the friendship of his nobles, together with his hunting

and his amusements, and lost the hearts of all the host in his

court. And there was murmuring and scoffing concerning him among

the inhabitants of the palace, on account of his relinquishing so

completely their companionship for the love of his wife.

"They

Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him

As of a prince whose manhood was all gone,

And molten down in mere uxoriousness."

These tidings came to Erbin. And when Erbin had heard these

things, he spoke unto Enid, and inquired of her whether it was she

that had caused Geraint to act thus, and to forsake his people and

his hosts. "Not I, by my confession unto Heaven," said she; "there

is nothing more hateful unto me than this." And she knew not what

she should do, for, although it was hard for her to own this to

Geraint, yet was it not more easy for her to listen to what she

heard, without warning Geraint concerning it. And she was very

sorrowful.

One morning in the summer-time they were upon their couch, and

Geraint lay upon the edge of it. And Enid was without sleep in the

apartment, which had windows of glass; [Footnote: The terms of

admiration in which the older writers invariably speak of GLASS

WINDOWS would be sufficient proof, if other evidence were wanting,

how rare an article of luxury they were in the houses of our

ancestors. They were first introduced in ecclesiastical

architecture, to which they were for a long time confined. Glass

is said not to have been employed in domestic architecture before

the fourteenth century.] and the sun shone upon the couch. And the

clothes had slipped from off his arms and his breast, and he was

asleep. Then she gazed upon the marvellous beauty of his

appearance, and she said, "Alas! and am I the cause that these

arms and this breast have lost their glory, and the warlike fame

which they once so richly enjoyed!" As she said this the tears

dropped from her eyes, and they fell upon his breast. And the

tears she shed and the words she had spoken, awoke him. And

another thing contributed to awaken him, and that was the idea

that it was not in thinking of him that she spoke thus, but that

it was because she loved some other man more than him, and that

she wished for other society. Thereupon Geraint was troubled in

his mind, and he called his squire; and when he came to him, "Go

quickly," said he, "and prepare my horse and my arms, and make

them ready. And do thou rise," said he to Enid, "and apparel

thyself; and cause thy horse to be accoutred, and clothe thee in

the worst riding-dress that thou hast in thy possession. And evil

betide me," said he, "if thou returnest here until thou knowest

whether I have lost my strength so completely as thou didst say.

And if it be so, it will then be easy for thee to seek the society

thou didst wish for of him of whom thou wast thinking." So she

arose, and clothed herself in her meanest garments. "I know

nothing, lord," said she, "of thy meaning." "Neither wilt thou

know at this time," said he.

Then Geraint went to see Erbin. "Sir," said he, "I am going upon a

quest, and I am not certain when I may come back. Take heed,

therefore, unto thy possessions until my return." "I will do so,"

said he; "but it is strange to me that thou shouldst go so

suddenly. And who will proceed with thee, since thou art not

strong enough to traverse the land of Loegyr alone?" "But one

person only will go with me." "Heaven counsel thee, my son," said

Erbin, "and may many attach themselves to thee in Loegyr." Then

went Geraint to the place where his horse was, and it was equipped

with foreign armor, heavy and shining. And he desired Enid to

mount her horse, and to ride forward, and to keep a long way

before him. "And whatever thou mayst see, and whatever thou mayst

hear concerning me," said he, "do thou not turn back. And unless I

speak unto thee, say not thou one word, either." So they set

forward. And he did not choose the pleasantest and most frequented

road, but that which was the wildest and most beset by thieves and

robbers and venomous animals.

And they came to a high road, which they followed till they saw a

vast forest; and they saw four armed horsemen come forth from the

forest. When the armed men saw them, they said one to another.

"Here is a good occasion for us to capture two horses and armor,

and a lady likewise; for this we shall have no difficulty in doing

against yonder single knight who hangs his head so pensively and

heavily." Enid heard this discourse, and she knew not what she

should do through fear of Geraint, who had told her to be silent.

"The vengeance of Heaven be upon me," said she, "if I would not

rather receive my death from his hand than from the hand of any

other; and though he should slay me, yet will I speak to him, lest

I should have the misery to witness his death." So she waited for

Geraint until he came near to her. "Lord," said she, "didst thou

hear the words of those men concerning thee?" Then he lifted up

his eyes, and looked at her angrily. "Thou hadst only," said he,

"to hold thy peace as I bade thee. I wish but for silence, and not

for warning. And though thou shouldst desire to see my defeat and

my death by the hands of those men, yet do I feel no dread." Then

the foremost of them couched his lance, and rushed upon Geraint.

And he received him, and that not feebly. But he let the thrust go

by him, while he struck the horseman upon the centre of his

shield, in such a manner that his shield was split, and his armor

broken, so that a cubit's length of the shaft of Geraint's lance

passed through his body, and sent him to the earth, the length of

the lance over his horse's crupper. Then the second horseman

attacked him furiously, being wroth at the death of his companion.

But with one thrust Geraint overthrew him also, and killed him as

he had done the other. Then the third set upon him, and he killed

him in like manner. And thus also he slew the fourth. Sad and

sorrowful was the maiden as she saw all this. Geraint dismounted

his horse, and took the arms of the men he had slain, and placed

them upon their saddles, and tied together the reins of their

horses; and he mounted his horse again. "Behold what thou must

do," said he; "take the four horses and drive them before thee,

and proceed forward as I bade thee just now. And say not one word

unto me, unless I speak first unto thee. And I declare unto

Heaven," said he, "if thou doest not thus, it will be to thy

cost." "I will do as far as I can, lord," said she, "according to

thy desire."

So the maiden went forward, keeping in advance of Geraint, as he

had desired her; and it grieved him as much as his wrath would

permit, to see a maiden so illustrious as she having so much

trouble with the care of the horses. Then they reached a wood, and

it was both deep and vast, and in the wood night overtook them.

"Ah, maiden," said he, "it is vain to attempt proceeding forward."

"Well, lord," said she, "whatever thou wishest, we will do." "It

will be best for us," he answered, "to rest and wait for the day,

in order to pursue our journey." "That we will, gladly," said she.

And they did so. Having dismounted himself, he took her down from

her horse. "I cannot by any means refrain from sleep, through

weariness," said he; "do thou therefore watch the horses, and

sleep not." "I will, lord," said she. Then he went to sleep in his

armor, and thus passed the night, which was not long at that

season. And when she saw the dawn of day appear, she looked around

her to see if he were waking, and thereupon he woke. Then he

arose, and said unto her, "Take the horses and ride on, and keep

straight on as thou didst yesterday." And they left the wood, and

they came to an open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers

mowing the meadows. And there was a river before them, and the

horses bent down and drank of the water. And they went up out of

the river by a lofty steep; and there they met a slender stripling

with a satchel about his neck, and they saw that there was

something in the satchel, but they knew not what it was. And he

had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of

the pitcher. And the youth saluted Geraint. "Heaven prosper thee!"

said Geraint; "and whence dost thou come?" "I come," said he,

"from the city that lies before thee. My lord," he added, "will it

be displeasing to thee if I ask whence thou comest also?" "By no

means; through yonder wood did I come." "Thou camest not through

the wood to-day." "No," he replied, "we were in the wood last

night." "I warrant," said the youth, "that thy condition there

last night was not the most pleasant, and that thou hadst neither

meat nor drink." "No, by my faith," said he. "Wilt thou follow my

counsel," said the youth, "and take thy meal from me?" "What sort

of meal?" he inquired. "The breakfast which is sent for yonder

mowers, nothing less than bread and meat and wine, and if thou

wilt, sir, they shall have none of it." "I will," said he, "and

Heaven reward thee for it."

So Geraint alighted, and the youth took the maiden from off her

horse. Then they washed, and took their repast. And the youth cut

the bread in slices, and gave them drink, and served them withal.

And when they had finished, the youth arose and said to Geraint,

"My lord, with thy permission, I will now go and fetch some food

for the mowers." "Go first to the town," said Geraint, "and take a

lodging for me in the best place that thou knowest, and the most

commodious one for the horses; and take thou whichever horse and

arms thou choosest, in payment for thy service and thy gift."

"Heaven reward thee, lord!" said the youth; "and this would be

ample to repay services much greater than those I have rendered

unto thee." And to the town went the youth, and he took the best

and the most pleasant lodgings that he knew; and after that he

went to the palace, having the horse and armor with him, and

proceeded to the place where the earl was, and told him all his

adventure. "I go now, lord," said he, "to meet the knight, and to

conduct him to his lodging." "Go, gladly," said the earl; "and

right joyfully shall he be received here, if he so come." And the

youth went to meet Geraint, and told him that he would be received

gladly by the earl in his own palace; but he would go only to his

lodgings. And he had a goodly chamber, in which was plenty of

straw and drapery, and a spacious and commodious place he had for

the horses; and the youth prepared for them plenty of provender.

After they had disarrayed themselves, Geraint spoke thus to Enid:

"Go," said he, "to the other side of the chamber, and come not to

this side of the house; and thou mayst call to thee the woman of

the house, if thou wilt." "I will do, lord," said she, "as thou

sayest." Thereupon the man of the house came to Geraint and

welcomed him. And after they had eaten and drank, Geraint went to

sleep, and so did Enid also.

In the evening, behold, the earl came to visit Geraint, and his

twelve honorable knights with him. And Geraint rose up and

welcomed him. Then they all sat down according to their precedence

in honor. And the earl conversed with Geraint, and inquired of him

the object of his journey. "I have none," he replied, "but to seek

adventures and to follow mine own inclination." Then the earl cast

his eye upon Enid, and he looked at her steadfastly. And he

thought he had never seen a maiden fairer or more comely than she.

And he set all his thoughts and his affections upon her. Then he

asked of Geraint, "Have I thy permission to go and converse with

yonder maiden, for I see that she is apart from thee?" "Thou hast

it gladly," said he. So the earl went to the place where the

maiden was, and spake with her. "Ah! maiden," said he, "it cannot

be pleasant to thee to journey with yonder man." "It is not

unpleasant to me," said she. "Thou hast neither youths nor maidens

to serve thee," said he. "Truly," she replied, "it is more

pleasant for me to follow yonder man, than to be served by youths

and maidens." "I will give thee good counsel," said he: "all my

earldom will I place in thy possession, if thou wilt dwell with

me."

"Enid, the pilot star of my lone life,

Enid, my early and my only love."

--Enid.