“Thou art not Gawain,” he said, “who is held so valiant, that never
feared he man by hill or vale, but _thou_ shrinkest for fear ere thou
feelest hurt. Such cowardice did I never hear of Gawain! Neither did _I_
flinch from thy blow, or make strife in King Arthur’s hall. My head fell
to my feet, and yet I fled not, but thou didst wax faint of heart ere
any harm befell. Wherefore must I be deemed the braver knight.”
Quoth Gawain, “I shrank once, but so will I no more, though an _my_ head
fall on the stones I cannot replace it. But haste, Sir Knight, by thy
faith, and bring me to the point, deal me my destiny, and do it out of
hand, for I will stand thee a stroke and move no more till thine axe
have hit me—my troth on it.”
“Have at thee, then,” quoth the other, and heaved aloft the axe with
fierce mien, as if he were mad. He struck at him fiercely but wounded
him not, withholding his hand ere it might strike him.
Gawain abode the stroke, and flinched in no limb, but stood still as a
stone or the stump of a tree that is fast rooted in the rocky ground
with a hundred roots.
Then spake gaily the man in green, “So now thou hast thine heart whole
it behoves me to smite. Hold aside thy hood that Arthur gave thee, and
keep thy neck thus bent lest it cover it again.”
Then Gawain said angrily, “Why talk on thus? Thou dost threaten too
long. I hope thy heart misgives thee.”