It was one Ascension Day that the King was at Cardoil. He was risen
from meat and went through the hall from one end to the other, and
looked and saw the Queen that was seated at a window. The King went to
sit beside her, and looked at her in the face and saw that the tears
were falling from her eyes.
"Lady," saith the King, "What aileth you, and wherefore do you weep?"
"Sir," saith she, "And I weep, good right have I; and you yourself have
little right to make joy."
"Certes, Lady, I do not."
"Sir," saith she, "You are right. I have seen on this high day, or on
other days that were not less high than this, when you have had such
throng of knights at your court that right uneath might any number
them. Now every day are so few therein that much shame have I thereof,
nor no more do no adventures befal therein. Wherefore great fear have I
lest God hath put you into forgetfulness."
"Certes, Lady," saith the King, "No will have I to do largesse nor
aught that turneth to honour. Rather is my desire changed into
feebleness of heart. And by this know I well that I lose my knights
and the love of my friends."
"Sir," saith the Queen, "And were you to go to the chapel of S.
Augustine, that is in the White Forest, that may not be found save by
adventure only, methinketh that on your back-repair you would again
have your desire of well-doing, for never yet did none discounselled
ask counsel of God but he would give it for love of him so he asked it
of a good heart."
"Lady," saith the King, "And willingly will I go, forasmuch as that you
say have I heard well witnessed in many places where I have been."
"Sir," saith she, "The place is right perilous and the chapel right
adventurous. But the most worshipful hermit that is in the Kingdom of
Wales hath his dwelling beside the chapel, nor liveth he now any longer
for nought save only the glory of God."
"Lady," saith the King, "It will behove me go thither all armed and
without knights."
"Sir," saith she, "You may well take with you one knight and a squire."
"Lady," saith the King, "That durst not I, for the place is perilous,
and the more folk one should take thither, the fewer adventures there
should he find."
"Sir," saith she, "One squire shall you take by my good will nor shall
nought betide you thereof save good only, please God!"
"Lady," saith the King, "At your pleasure be it, but much dread I that
nought shall come of it save evil only."
Thereupon the King riseth up from beside the Queen, and looketh before
him and seeth a youth tall and strong and comely and young, that was
hight Chaus, and he was the son of Ywain li Aoutres.
"Lady," saith he to the Queen, "This one will I take with me and you
think well."
"Sir," saith she, "It pleaseth me well, for I have heard much witness
to his valour."
The King calleth the squire, and he cometh and kneeleth down before
him. The King maketh him rise and saith unto him, "Chaus," saith he,
"You shall lie within to-night, in this hall, and take heed that my
horse be saddled at break of day and mine arms ready. For I would be
moving at the time I tell you, and yourself with me without more
company."
"Sir," saith the squire, "At your pleasure."
And the evening drew on, and the King and Queen go to bed. When they
had eaten in hall, the knights went to their hostels. The squire
remained in the hall, but he would not do off his clothes nor his
shoon, for the night seemed him to be too short, and for that he would
fain be ready in the morning at the King's commandment. The squire was
lying down in such sort as I have told you, and in the first sleep that
he slept, seemed him the King had gone without him. The squire was
sore scared thereat, and came to his hackney and set the saddle and
bridle upon him, and did on his spurs and girt on his sword, as it
seemed him in his sleep, and issued forth of the castle a great pace
after the King. And when he had ridden a long space he entered into a
great forest and looked in the way before him and saw the slot of the
King's horse and followed the track a long space, until that he came to
a launde of the forest whereat he thought that the King had alighted.
The squire thought that the hoof-marks on the way had come to an end
and so thought that the King had alighted there or hard by there. He
looketh to the right hand and seeth a chapel in the midst of the
launde, and he seeth about it a great graveyard wherein were many
coffins, as it seemed him. He thought in his heart that he would go
towards the chapel, for he supposed that the King would have entered to
pray there. He went thitherward and alighted. When the squire was
alighted, he tied up his hackney and entered into the chapel. None did
he see there in one part nor another, save a knight that lay dead in
the midst of the chapel upon a bier, and he was covered of a rich cloth
of silk, and had around him waxen tapers burning that were fixed in
four candlesticks of gold. This squire marvelled much how this body
was left there so lonely, insomuch that none were about him save only
the images, and yet more marvelled he of the King that he found him
not, for he knew not in what part to seek him. He taketh out one of
the tall tapers, and layeth hand on the golden candlestick, and setteth
it betwixt his hose and his thigh and issueth forth of the chapel, and
remounteth on his hackney and goeth his way back and passeth beyond the
grave-yard and issueth forth of the launde and entereth into the forest
and thinketh that he will not cease until he hath found the King.