wrong. He looked before and behind and saw no bridge, great or small, by
which he might cross over, nor saw he living soul of whom he might ask,
then did he delay no longer, but turned his bridle, and set his horse
toward the river bank; he struck his spurs sharply and sprang into the
midst of the stream. The good steed breasted the current, swimming as
best it might and brought its master to the further side. 'Twas great
marvel that they were not drowned, horse and man, for the river was
deep, and the stream ran swiftly.
When Sir Gawain came to the other side of the river, which was both wide
and deep, then saw he a great company of folk riding after the knight
who bare away the maiden by force, and thus misused her, but he wist not
if it was to aid the knight that they thus followed him, or to wreak
vengeance on him. He saw many men clad in hauberks, but they were as yet
a good mile distant. Sir Gawain rode swiftly after the maiden who went
afore, whom the knight thus mishandled, to avenge her wrong; and as he
drew near so that she might see him, she smote her hands together more
than before, and cried to Gawain, "Noble knight, for the honour of
womanhood, save me! This knight doeth me undeserved shame. Did there
come hither any friend of God who would help me in this my need, an he
had slain his own father it should be forgiven him!"
Her prayers and entreaties, her tears and lamentations, would have
stirred any man to pity; she cried upon Sir Gawain as he came riding
into the plain, to come to her aid and fell the knight's pride. As Sir
Gawain heard her his heart was rent with sorrow and compassion and he
spake to that evil knight: "Sir Knight, 'tis folly and discourtesy that
which ye do to this maiden; were ye wise ye would forbear; even had the
maiden wronged ye, ye should deal courteously; he hath small honour who
thus smiteth a maiden."
Then said the cruel knight: "For ye, fool and meddler, whether ye be
knight or no, will I not stay my hand, nay, rather for your shame, will
I chastise her the more; and should ye but speak another word to her I
shall thrust ye straightway from your steed with my spear!"
Quoth Sir Gawain: "Then were I but afoot Sir Knight! Natheless I
counsel ye, an ye be wise, that ye spare the maiden. Ye will find me not
so craven this day as to let ye harm her; I shall defend her and avenge
her wrong if my life be risked upon it. But, Sir Knight, hearken to my
prayer, for God and for your honour, and the sake of knighthood!"
But that evil knight answered and said he would in no wise do this: "An
ye get not hence, and fly, by heaven it shall be your doomsday! I have
no need of your sermons."
Quoth Sir Gawain: "An ye be so bold, lay but your hand again upon her,
and I shall take so stern a pledge as, wist ye, shall dismay your heart,
an it cost me my life. Let the maiden go in peace, or be on your guard
against my spear, for I defy ye!"
The other was high and scornful that Sir Gawain so threatened him. He
thought to quell his pride, and rode against him straightway, and Sir
Gawain, on his side, did even the same. They came together so keenly
that both spears brake, and the crash might be heard afar; they came
together so swiftly that the knight was thrust from his saddle, and fell
to the ground, and he fell so heavily that he felt the smart in every
limb, and lay in anguish from the fall--so stayed he prone upon the
ground.
Sir Gawain took the horse whereon the knight had ridden. He forgat not
his courtesy, but gave it into the hand of the maiden, and drew forth
his good sword. Therewith was the knight come to himself, and had taken
his sword, and stood up as best he might. Evil was his thought, and
he cried: "Vassal, how were ye so bold as to do me this hurt and this
shame? My father is lord of this land, and after him shall it be mine.
Think not to escape, 'tis folly that which ye do. Even to day shall ye
be repaid by those who follow me, and chastised in such wise as ye would
not have for all the riches King Arthur holds or ne'er may hold! My men
will be here anon and ye shall not escape, for in this land hath no man
power or might to withstand me."
Sir Gawain spake: "That may I well believe, and therefore are ye so
cruel and so outrageous. That one who is noble of birth, and rich
withal, should be false of heart, by my troth, 'tis great pity and
bringeth many to shame. Now ye are not yet at such a pass but that I may
teach ye moderation ere ye part from me. Methinks that to-day ye shall
rue the evil ye have done. I counsel ye, an ye be wise, that ye make
known to me wherein this lady hath wronged ye. Hath she indeed deserved
that ye be thus cruel, then 'tis a matter 'twixt ye twain, I meddle no
further. But hath the maiden not deserved this, then hold your hand,
and make peace with me, otherwise is your life forfeit were ye never so
highly born. I take the maiden with me when I ride hence." The knight
would not hearken, and the maiden spake: "Noble knight I will tell ye
wherefore he doeth me this wrong. He would have me for his love, why
should I deny the truth? 'Tis many a day since he first spake to me, but
I would not hearken to him, other sorrows vexed me; poverty grieveth me
sore; thereto have I griefs that I may not lightly tell. My father was a
knight, and a good man, and of high birth in this land. Dear Sir Knight,
I will tell thee openly, though it be shame. My father hath lain sick,
seven year long, and hath lost his goods, and now lieth in sore straits;
he may neither ride nor walk nor stand upon his feet, he suffereth much.
Now have I nursed and tended and otherwise served my father--friends
hath he few save myself, and I had fain stayed by him and kept him all
my life, doing for him all that within me lay. To-day came this knight
within our hold, which is sore broken down and ruined, and hath done me
sore wrong. He took me thence by force, ere I was well aware, nor stayed
his hand for God or man. Thus did he carry me away, and now he doeth
me this shame. He hath left his folk behind that they may hinder my
friends, lest they follow him to his hurt. I fear lest they be here
anon. And should they find ye here ye may scarce escape. Would ye save
your life, then, Sir Knight, make a swift end of this combat. I fear it
dureth over long an ye will aid me, by our Lord's grace. So bethink ye,
Sir Knight, what ye may do."
Quoth Sir Gawain: "An ye be wise, Sir Knight, ye will now speak; here
will I tarry no longer. Will ye right this maiden of the wrong ye have
done her, or fight with me? The one or the other must ye do. An ye will,
I will alight and meet ye afoot, or ye may mount your steed again, by
covenant that ye flee not, nor escape, but abide your fortune."
The knight made answer: "Now do ye hold me over feeble, an ye think I
shall thus yield. Ye will do well to dismount straightway, an ye have
lust to fight." He covered himself with his shield, and drew forth his
sword from the scabbard. Sir Gawain dismounted, whether he liked it well
or ill, and let his horse that men call the Gringalet, stand beside him;
never a foot would that steed stir till its lord came, and once more
laid hand on it. Forthwith they betook them to fight, and dealt each
other fierce thrusts, with mighty and strong strokes, so that one saw
their blood stream out through the mails of their hauberk, and the
sparks sprang out when the helmets were smitten till they seemed to glow
even as doth hot iron when it be thrust into the furnace, and waxeth red
from the fire; so fierce were the blows which each dealt to the other.
That which most sorely vexed Sir Gawain was that his sword scarce seemed
worth a groat, the knight's armour was so good that Sir Gawain's weapon
was stayed upon it. Though one saw the blood well through, yet had the
hauberk never a score. This Sir Gawain deemed a great marvel. He fetched
a mighty blow upward and smote the knight above the hauberk, in the
neck, to the very middle of the throat. Therewith was the matter ended
for him; his head fell forward upon his breast, and he fell dead beneath
the blow.
His friends and kinsmen had beheld from afar and came therewith, sore
distressed and very wrath when they saw their lord thus lying dead upon
the field. Sir Gawain, the good and the valiant, was once more mounted
upon Gringalet. There might he fear no foe; the steed was so strong and
so great, and even as his lord had need would the horse watch and follow
every sign that he might give.
Those who had come thither, and had, as it were, found Sir Gawain in the
very act of slaying, were of one mind that they should beset him, behind
and afore, on horse and afoot, and if it might be take his life. And Sir
Gawain who saw that he was sore bestead, commended himself to the grace
of God with a good heart and received his foes with drawn sword. With
each blow that he smote he wounded one, or two, and wrought them much
harm. None might withstand him, and he that wrought the most valiantly
he abode there dead, or went hence so sorely wounded that he might never
more find healing. Thus Gawain, the Father of Adventure, so daunted them
with the blows that he smote that many drew aside and turned from the
strife with deep wounds and wide. 'Twas a good cause for which Sir
Gawain fought, and for which he desired vengeance, and for that did it
fall to his profit. He brought many of them in sore stress, some of
life, some of limb. With that there came riding a company of the
maiden's folk, who were fain to avenge her shame. So soon as she beheld
them, and they drew nigh, was she glad and blithe and drew aside from
the strife where Sir Gawain did right manfully. The maiden turned to her
own folk, and betook her with that company again to her father. They
were right joyful that she was once more in their power, and they left
Sir Gawain on the field where he was sore bestead--they durst not take
part with him against their overlord, so greatly did they fear his kin.
But Sir Gawain, who marked this not, went smiting blow after blow on
all that came nigh him, and so blinded and drave them backward with his
strokes that he was left alone on the field. So weary and so weak were
they that they lay all along the road, discomfited, prone on the earth,
as those who have sore need of rest. But few of them were whole, for Sir
Gawain had so wounded them that men may well tell the tale from now even
unto Doomsday!
Then thought Sir Gawain within himself, since he had so long wielded his
weapons and no man durst withstand him further he might find no better
counsel than to fare on his way. He thanked God of true heart that he
had thus won honour on this evil folk, and that he had escaped with his
life, and free from mortal wound, he and his steed, and that God had
thus protected them. Men say oft, and 'tis true, as was here well
proven, that he who recks not of his ways, but doeth that which is
displeasing alike to God and to the world, he was born in an evil hour.
Now when Sir Gawain had won the fight, and God had shown him favour by
granting him good knighthood and the discomfiting of his foes, the day
was well past nones, and Sir Gawain, the bold, had neither eaten nor
drunk, nor done aught save fight that day and receive great blows. He
rode on his way sore perplexed and unknowing where he might seek for
lodging. So long did he ride that he was ware how it drew towards
evening, and therewith did he behold a castle. Never was a man more
oppressed with hunger and thirst and weariness; and he thought in his
heart that he could do naught better than ride thither, and see if by
hap he might find lodging for the night.
He found by the castle moat the lord of that burg and many of his
folk with him; when he had dismounted on the turf he greeted them
courteously, and the lord answered "God reward ye."
Quoth Sir Gawain, "Were it your command, and your will and pleasure,
right gladly would I abide here within this night! I know not otherwise
how I may win shelter. I have ridden all this day, and have seen naught
save wilderness and waste land, and there found I no man with whom I
might abide the night."
And the host spake, "So may good befall me in soul and body as I shall
give to you in friendship, even to the uttermost, all that belongeth
unto this even; lodging will I give ye, and food, ham and venison. My
lodging is ever free, and ne'er refused to any knight who would fain be
my guest. He hath safe conduct, good and sure, against all whom he may
meet in this land, were it against mine own son, whom I love above all
who own the laws of knighthood. My safe conduct is so well assured that
whosoe'er should wrong my guest it should cost him his life and all that
he had, had he not more than good fortune! This on my knighthood and by
the Blessed Maid, Our Lady!"
But Sir Gawain, the Father of Adventure, who was wont to be received
with honour, wist not that the knight whom he had slain was son to the
lord of the castle. Now first shall ye hear of marvellous adventures
whereof some be good and some evil.
Sir Gawain had come to that point that he deemed he was well assured of
shelter for the night, nor was he on guard against his heavy mischance.
The host, who would do his guest all honour, took the knight by the
hand, and led him through three portals into a fair hall where he was
received with courteous words. They disarmed him straightway, and
stabled his steed right well. The host bade them take in ward Sir
Gawain's armour and his sword; too far did they carry them! For that was
he vexed and wrathful, and he would not it had so chanced for all his
host's halls, were they of wroughten gold! For as they sat at table
and ate and drank and had enow of all the earth might bear for the
sustenance of man, and forgat thereby all sorrow, they heard sore
wailing and lamentation, and the smiting together of hands, and knew not
what it might mean. They heard folk who stood without the walls, at the
master gate, who cried with loud voice, "Alas, alas! Undo and let us in!"
Then Sir Gawain's mood was changed, and his heart forbade him that
sorrow and mischief drew near. He changed colour and grew red. The
lord gave command from within that they should ask what company stood
without, and what tidings they bare. Then they sprang to the gate, and
opened it, even as their lord bade.
Then came they in, who stood without, bearing a bier, and making so
great cry and lamentation that men heard it far and near through the
open doorways. So came they into the hall, a great company of folk, and
cried with a loud voice to the lord of the castle, "Alas, master, here
lieth dead the best knight that one might find in the wide world, even
your dear son. There liveth not his like on earth, so strong, so bold,
so skilled in valiant deeds!"
Then was all the burg aghast; and the host, the father of the knight who
lay dead upon the bier, felt his heart die within him. Scarce might he
find words; and he cried, "Who hath robbed him of life, mine own dear
son, whom I loved above all the world? How came he by his death? I fear
me 'twas by his own deed, for well I know that he was fierce of heart,
and spared neither foe nor friend. I fear lest he have merited his
death. Now do I conjure ye all here present, by God, our Righteous
Father (so spake the lord of the castle) that ye speak, and make known
to me the whole truth; fain would I hear how he came by his death, my
dear son, who lieth here, and for whom my heart doth sorely grieve."
Then said they all who brought the dead man thither, that forsooth 'twas
a stranger knight who did this by his great valour; "Though we saw it
not with our eyes, yet may we well bear witness to the death of many of
our folk; and others are so sorely wounded that they may never more be
healed. Man may scarce tell all the mischief wrought by that stranger
knight who slew your son, the best knight on earth; nor may we tell who
he might be." But Sir Gawain, who was there within, and knew well that
he was guilty, saw that he might scarce escape either by will or by
valour, since he had laid aside his weapons and stood all unarmed in his
robes; thereof was he grieved at heart.
As they stood and spake thus, sudden they saw the blood of the knight
who lay there dead, and which afore was stanched, leap forth afresh, and
run crimson down the hall. With this were they ware of Sir Gawain, their
lord's guest, and all they who were there present said, the one taking
up the tale of the other, that forsooth he who had slain the knight was
within that hall, as might be seen of men, for the blood had ceased to
flow a little after midday, nor had any man seen the wounds bleed since.
Now was it open and manifest to all that he was there who had done the
deed. Herein were they all of one mind who were there present, and they
drew together and looked upon Sir Gawain the Father of Adventure, with
fierce and cruel eyes.
Sir Gawain saw many an unfriendly countenance turned towards him. They
straitly prayed their lord that he would make the knight known to them;
how he came thither; who he was, whence he came, and whither he went,
and what might be his name?
Then spake the host: "He is my guest, and he hath my safe conduct, good
and fast, the while he is within; and be ye sure of this, that if any
wrong him by word or deed, he shall rue it in such wise that it shall
cost him goods and life. Nor will I change for prayer of man or woman.
My surety that I will hold to every guest standeth so fast that no
word I have spoken shall be broken with my knowledge or my will. Have
patience and hold ye still, on peril of your lives and goods. I know so
good counsel withal that I may speedily be ware of him who hath wrought
this deed."
Then he called together his folk to one side of the hall, and said that
his oath and his safe conduct might in no wise be broken, for his son
were thereby but ill-avenged, valiant knight though he was. He might
well rue it if he slew his guest, for thereof should he have great shame
wherever men told the tale. "I shall avenge him more discreetly, if I be
well-assured of the truth that my guest hath indeed wrought this murder
and this great outrage."
He spake further to his folk: "Now do ye all my bidding. Ye shall abide
here within this hall; no man shall follow me a foot, but do ye even as
I command. I will lead my guest without, and ye shall close the door
behind us. Doth the dead man cease to bleed, then shall we all be
well-assured that he hath done the deed; and thereafter shall I take
counsel how I may avenge my son, fittingly, and without shame." Then all
agreed to his counsel, and held their peace.
Thus came the host to where Sir Gawain stood, and spake: "Sir Knight,
be not wroth that my folk entreat ye not better. We are in grief, as ye
see, and therefore are ye the worse served. Now shall ye come with me,
and I shall amend what hath here been lacking. My folk and my household
make great lamentation, as ye see, and I with them. Now come with me,
and tarry not; I will lead ye hence where ye may be at ease, and sleep
softly till the daylight. Here would we make our moan."
Sir Gawain thought within himself he was sorely over-matched within
those (to be bare of weapons 'tis a heavy blow at need), and he knew
well that the folk looked on him with unfriendly eyes, and that none
were on his side, that might be seen from their mien; and therefore he
thought within himself that there was no better counsel save to put
himself in his host's grace, and do that which he bade him. He had no
weapon upon him, and there were within of his host's folk full five
hundred men whom he saw to be armed. Thus he went his way with his host,
whether the adventure should turn to his harm or to his helping. The
lord of the castle led him through the doorway, and his men locked it as
they went forth.
Then quoth the lord of those within: "Sir Knight and dear guest, I will
that ye be right well entreated here within this night." He led him to
a strong tower, wherein were fair beds. He bade them bear tapers before
them, and all that he knew or could in any wise deem needful for Sir
Gawain, his guest. The host, sorely mourning, bade them pour out clear
wine, and make ready a fair couch whereon he might sleep even as he had
the will thereto. He left with him squires enow, and turned him again to
the castle.
Then did they bear the dead man from where he lay, his wounds were
stanched, and bled no whit. Then said all who saw it it booted not to
seek another man, they were well assured 'twas their guest had slain
him. The word ran through the hall; and the host turned him again to
where he had left his guest, as if he marked naught. He made no sign to
his folk, but locked the door of the tower so fast that none might come
therein to Sir Gawain to do him harm, nor overpower him, so safely was
he in his keeping. Also, I tell ye, he himself kept the keys of the
strong tower wherein he had locked his guest. He would bethink him what
'twere best to do ere he let him be slain or maimed; thus did he hold
him within his fortress.
What might Sir Gawain do? He must even abide his fate; he had come
thither as guest, and now was he locked in a strong tower, within many
doors, and in a strange place withal. He was bare of arms, and had he
revealed himself and demanded his weapons they had scarce given them
to him; rather had they slain him, and drawn blood-guiltiness upon
themselves had not God protected him.
Thus was Sir Gawain a captive, and knew not what he might do. 'Twixt
constraint and ill-fortune the night seemed to him over long; though he
feared him no whit yet he deemed his end was come. He knew well that the
folk were evil-disposed and bare malice and rancour towards him for the
sake of the dead man who lay there, in that they had seen his wounds
bleed afresh, and had thereby known his slayer. Thus was his heart
sorely troubled.
Now leave we speaking of Sir Gawain. The host was within the hall, with
his folk until daylight; with sorrow and lamentation did they pass the
night, bemoaning their bitter loss. For though the knight had well
deserved his death yet had he there many friends who lamented the loss
that they had thereby suffered. They were loth to own that he was evil
and cruel of heart.
So soon as they saw the fair day light the host took counsel with his
folk that they might advise him well by what means, and in what way,
they might avenge themselves for their heavy loss. Said the host, their
lord, did he let the guest, whom he held there captive, and who had
smitten his son to death, depart in safety, "Men would say I were but
a coward, and durst not avenge myself, and would speak scorn of me;
so many have seen how the matter fell out that it may not well remain
hidden. Yet should I slay my guest then from henceforward would they cry
shame upon me in every land where the tale be told."
Thus was he of two minds, and thought in his heart that to save himself
from shame 'twere best to let his guest depart so soon as he arose,
armed in all points as he came thither, and harm him in no wise, but
bring him, unhurt by any man, without the borders of his land and his
safe conduct, and there bid him farewell and return hither; while that
his friends, who would fain see him avenged, waylaid Sir Gawain, and
wrought their will upon him, and, if they would, slew him. Or if they
took him captive they might deal with him as they thought best, either
by burning him in the fire, to cool their rage, or by breaking him upon
the wheel--as might seem best to them at the time. "Thus shall I put the
shame from me, that neither near nor afar, now or henceforward, men
make scorn of me. This seemeth to me the wisest rede in this matter,
howsoe'er it stand!"
This did he tell to his folk, and it pleased them well, and they spake
with one mouth that he had found the best counsel. They made no further
questioning, but armed themselves, and rode forth, as they who would
waylay Sir Gawain, when his host had sent him on his way. Thus they went
forth from thence a great company, and well armed. Very wrathful were
they, and they went right willingly. The host who would follow them
called to him his seneschal, who was cruel and cunning, and bade him
carry his armour to their guest straightway, and deliver it to him as if
he should ride thence as soon as he had arisen, and delay no whit.