Here ends the first part of my story. [119]

(Vv. 1845-1914.) When the kiss of the Stag was taken according to the

custom of the country, Erec, like a polite and kind man, was solicitous

for his poor host. It was not his intention to fail to execute what he

had promised. Hear how he kept his covenant: for he sent him now five

sumpter mules, strong and sleek, loaded with dresses and clothes,

buckrams and scarlets, marks of gold and silver plate, furs both vair

and grey, skins of sable, purple stuffs, and silks. When the mules were

loaded with all that a gentleman can need, he sent with them an escort

of ten knights and sergeants chosen from his own men, and straightly

charged them to salute his host and show great honour both to him and to

his lady, as if it were to himself in person; and when they should have

presented to them the sumpters which they brought them, the gold, the

silver, and money, and all the other furnishings which were in the

boxes, they should escort the lady and the vavasor with great honour

into his kingdom of Farther Wales. [120] Two towns there he had promised

them, the most choice and the best situated that there were in all his

land, with nothing to fear from attack. Montrevel was the name of one,

and the other's name was Roadan. When they should arrive in his kingdom,

they should make over to them these two towns, together with their rents

and their jurisdiction, in accordance with what he had promised them.

All was carried out as Erec had ordered. The messengers made no delay,

and in good time they presented to his host the gold and the silver

and the sumpters and the robes and the money, of which there was great

plenty. They escorted them into Erec's kingdom, and strove to serve them

well. They came into the country on the third day, and transferred to

them the towers of the towns; for King Lac made no objection. He gave

them a warm welcome and showed them honour, loving them for the sake

of his son Erec. He made over to them the title to the towns, and

established their suzerainty by making knights and bourgeois swear that

they would reverence them as their true liege lords. When this was

done and accomplished, the messengers returned to their lord Erec, who

received them gladly. When he asked for news of the vavasor and his

lady, of his own father and of his kingdom, the report they gave him was

good and fair.

(Vv. 1915-2024.) Not long after this, the time drew near when Erec was

to celebrate his marriage. The delay was irksome to him, and he resolved

no longer to suffer and wait. So he went and asked of the King that

it might please him to allow him to be married at the court. The King

vouchsafed him the boon, and sent through all his kingdom to search for

the kings and counts who were his liege-men, bidding them that none be

so bold as not to be present at Pentecost. None dares to hold back and

not go to court at the King's summons. Now I will tell you, and listen

well, who were these counts and kings. With a rich escort and one

hundred extra mounts Count Brandes of Gloucester came. After him came

Menagormon, who was Count of Clivelon. And he of the Haute Montagne came

with a very rich following. The Count of Treverain came, too, with a

hundred of his knights, and Count Godegrain with as many more. Along

with those whom I have just mentioned came Maheloas, a great baron, lord

of the Isle of Voirre. In this island no thunder is heard, no lightning

strikes, nor tempests rage, nor do toads or serpents exist there, nor is

it ever too hot or too cold. [121] Graislemier of Fine Posterne brought

twenty companions, and had with him his brother Guigomar, lord of the

Isle of Avalon. Of the latter we have heard it said that he was a friend

of Morgan the Fay, and such he was in very truth. Davit of Tintagel

came, who never suffered woe or grief. Guergesin, the Duke of Haut Bois,

came with a very rich equipment. There was no lack of counts and dukes,

but of kings there were still more. Garras of Cork, a doughty king, was

there with five hundred knights clad in mantles, hose, and tunics of

brocade and silk. Upon a Cappadocian steed came Aguisel, the Scottish

king, and brought with him his two sons, Cadret and Coi--two much

respected knights. Along with those whom I have named came King Ban of

Gomeret, and he had in his company only young men, beardless as yet on

chin and lip. A numerous and gay band he brought two hundred of them

in his suite; and there was none, whoever he be, but had a falcon or

tercel, a merlin or a sparrow-hawk, or some precious pigeon-hawk, golden

or mewed. Kerrin, the old King of Riel, brought no youth, but rather

three hundred companions of whom the youngest was seven score years old.

Because of their great age, their heads were all as white as snow, and

their beards reached down to their girdles. Arthur held them in great

respect. The lord of the dwarfs came next, Bilis, the king of Antipodes.

This king of whom I speak was a dwarf himself and own brother of Brien.

Bilis, on the one hand, was the smallest of all the dwarfs, while his

brother Brien was a half-foot or full palm taller than any other knight

in the kingdom. To display his wealth and power, Bilis brought with him

two kings who were also dwarfs and who were vassals of his, Grigoras and

Glecidalan. Every one looked at them as marvels. When they had arrived

at court, they were treated with great esteem. All three were honoured

and served at the court like kings, for they were very perfect

gentlemen. In brief, when King Arthur saw all his lords assembled, his

heart was glad. Then, to heighten the joy, he ordered a hundred squires

to be bathed whom he wished to dub knights. There was none of them

but had a parti-coloured robe of rich brocade of Alexandria, each one

choosing such as pleased his fancy. All had arms of a uniform pattern,

and horses swift and full of mettle, of which the worst was worth a

hundred livres.

(Vv. 2025-2068.) When Erec received his wife, he must needs call her by

her right name. For a wife is not espoused unless she is called by her

proper name. As yet no one knew her name, but now for the first time it

was made known: Enide was her baptismal name. [122] The Archbishop of

Canterbury, who had come to the court, blessed them, as is his right.

When the court was all assembled, there was not a minstrel in the

countryside who possessed any pleasing accomplishment that did not come

to the court. In the great hall there was much merry-making, each one

contributing what he could to the entertainment: one jumps, another

tumbles, another does magic; there is story-telling, singing, whistling,

playing from notes; they play on the harp, the rote, the fiddle, the

violin, the flute, and pipe. The maidens sing and dance, and outdo each

other in the merry-making. At the wedding that day everything was

done which can give joy and incline man's heart to gladness. Drums are

beaten, large and small, and there is playing of pipes, fifes, horns,

trumpets, and bagpipes. What more shall I say? There was not a wicket or

a gate kept closed; but the exits and entrances all stood ajar, so that

no one, poor or rich, was turned away. King Arthur was not miserly, but

gave orders to the bakers, the cooks, and the butlers that they should

serve every one generously with bread, wine, and venison. No one asked

anything whatever to be passed to him without getting all he desired.

(Vv. 2069-2134.) There was great merriment in the palace. But I will

pass over the rest, and you shall hear of the joy and pleasure in the

bridal chamber. Bishops and archbishops were there on the night when

the bride and groom retired. At this their first meeting, Iseut was not

filched away, nor was Brangien put in her place. [123] The Queen herself

took charge of their preparations for the night; for both of them were

dear to her. The hunted stag which pants for thirst does not so long for

the spring, nor does the hungry sparrow-hawk return so quickly when he

is called, as did these two come to hold each other in close embrace.

That night they had full compensation for their long delay. After the

chamber had been cleared, they allow each sense to be gratified: the

eyes, which are the entrance-way of love, and which carry messages to

the heart, take satisfaction in the glance, for they rejoice in all they

see; after the message of the eyes comes the far surpassing sweetness of

the kisses inviting love; both of them make trial of this sweetness, and

let their hearts quaff so freely that hardly can they leave off. Thus,

kissing was their first sport. And the love which is between them

emboldened the maid and left her quite without her fears; regardless of

pain, she suffered all. Before she rose, she no longer bore the name

of maid; in the morning she was a new-made dame. That day the minstrels

were in happy mood, for they were all well paid. They were fully

compensated for the entertainment they had given, and many a handsome

gift was bestowed upon them: robes of grey squirrel skin and ermine, of

rabbit skins and violet stuffs, scarlets and silken stuffs. Whether

it be a horse or money, each one got what he deserved according to his

skill. And thus the wedding festivities and the court lasted almost

a fortnight with great joy and magnificence. For his own glory and

satisfaction, as well as to honour Erec the more, King Arthur made all

the knights remain a full fortnight. When the third week began, all

together by common consent agreed to hold a tournament. On the one

side, my lord Gawain offered himself as surety that it would take place

between Evroic and Tenebroc: and Meliz and Meliadoc were guarantors on

the other side. Then the court separated.

(Vv. 2135-2292.) A month after Pentecost the tournament assembled, and

the jousting began in the plain below Tenebroc. Many an ensign of red,

blue, and white, many a veil and many a sleeve were bestowed as tokens

of love. Many a lance was carried there, flying the colours argent and

green, or gold and azure blue. There were many, too, with different

devices, some with stripes and some with dots. That day one saw laced on

many a helmet of gold or steel, some green, some yellow, and others red,

all aglowing in the sun; so many scutcheons and white hauberks; so many

swords girt on the left side; so many good shields, fresh and new, some

resplendent in silver and green, others of azure with buckles of gold;

so many good steeds marked with white, or sorrel, tawny, white, black,

and bay: all gather hastily. And now the field is quite covered with

arms. On either side the ranks tremble, and a roar rises from the fight.

The shock of the lances is very great. Lances break and shields are

riddled, the hauberks receive bumps and are torn asunder, saddles go

empty and horsemen ramble, while the horses sweat and foam. Swords are

quickly drawn on those who tumble noisily, and some run to receive the

promise of a ransom, others to stave off this disgrace. Erec rode a

white horse, and came forth alone at the head of the line to joust, if

he may find an opponent. From the opposite side there rides out to meet

him Orguelleus de la Lande, mounted on an Irish steed which bears

him along with marvellous speed. On the shield before his breast Erec

strikes him with such force that he knocks him from his horse: he leaves

him prone and passes on. Then Raindurant opposed him, son of the old

dame of Tergalo, covered with blue cloth of silk; he was a knight of

great prowess. Against one another now they charge and deal fierce blows

on the shields about their neck. Erec from lance's length lays him over

on the hard ground. While riding back he met the King of the Red City,

who was very valiant and bold. They grasp their reins by the knots and

their shields by the inner straps. They both had fine arms, and strong

swift horses, and good shields, fresh and new. With such fury they

strike each other that both their lances fly in splinters. Never was

there seen such a blow. They rush together with shields, arms, and

horses. But neither girth nor rein nor breast-strap could prevent the

king from coming to earth. So he flew from his steed, carrying with him

saddle and stirrup, and even the reins of his bridle in his hand. All

those who witnessed the jousting were filled with amazement, and said it

cost him dear to joust with such a goodly knight. Erec did not wish

to stop to capture either horse or rider, but rather to joust and

distinguish himself in order that his prowess might appear. He thrills

the ranks in front of him. Gawain animates those who were on his side

by his prowess, and by winning horses and knights to the discomfiture

of his opponents. I speak of my lord Gawain, who did right well and

valiantly. In the fight he unhorsed Guincel, and took Gaudin of the

Mountain; he captured knights and horses alike: my lord Gawain did well.

Girtlet the son of Do, and Yvain, and Sagremor the Impetuous, so evilly

entreated their adversaries that they drove them back to the gates,

capturing and unhorsing many of them. In front of the gate of the town

the strife began again between those within and those without. There

Sagremor was thrown down, who was a very gallant knight. He was on the

point of being detained and captured, when Erec spurs to rescue him,

breaking his lance into splinters upon one of the opponents. So hard he

strikes him on the breast that he made him quit the saddle. Then he

made of his sword and advances upon them, crushing and splitting their

helmets. Some flee, and others make way before him, for even the boldest

fears him. Finally, he distributed so many blows and thrusts that he

rescued Sagremor from them, and drove them all in confusion into the

town. Meanwhile, the vesper hour drew to a close. Erec bore himself so

well that day that he was the best of the combatants. But on the morrow

he did much better yet: for he took so many knights and left so many

saddles empty that none could believe it except those who had seen it.

Every one on both sides said that with his lance and shield he had won

the honours of the tournament. Now was Erec's renown so high that no one

spoke save of him, nor was any one of such goodly favour. In countenance

he resembled Absalom, in language he seemed a Solomon, in boldness he

equalled Samson, [124] and in generous giving and spending he was the

equal of Alexander. On his return from the tourney Erec went to speak

with the King. He went to ask him for leave to go and visit his own

land; but first he thanked him like a frank, wise, and courteous man for

the honour which he had done him; for very deep was his gratitude.

Then he asked his permission to leave, for he wished to visit his own

country, and he wished to take his wife with him. This request the King

could not deny, and yet he would have had him stay. He gives him leave

and begs him to return as soon as possible: for in the whole court there

was no better or more gallant knight, save only his dear nephew Gawain;

[125] with him no one could be compared. But next after him, he prized

Erec most, and held him more dear than any other knight.

(Vv. 2293-2764.) Erec wished to delay no longer. As soon as he had the

King's leave, he bid his wife make her preparations, and he retained as

his escort sixty knights of merit with horses and with dappled and grey

furs. As soon as he was ready for his journey, he tarried little further

at court, but took leave of the Queen and commended the knights to God.

The Queen grants him leave to depart. At the hour of prime he set out

from the royal palace. In the presence of them all he mounted his steed,

and his wife mounted the dappled horse which she had brought from her

own country; then all his escort mounted. Counting knights and squires,

there were full seven score in the train. After four long days' journey

over hills and slopes, through forests, plains, and streams, they

came on the fifth day to Camant, where King Lac was residing in a very

charming town. No one ever saw one better situated; for the town was

provided with forests and meadow-land, with vineyards and farms, with

streams and orchards, with ladies and knights, and fine, lively youths,

and polite, well-mannered clerks who spent their incomes freely, with

fair and charming maidens, and with prosperous burghers. Before Erec

reached the town, he sent two knights ahead to announce his arrival

to the King. When he heard the news, the King had clerks, knights, and

damsels quickly mount, and ordered the bells to be rung, and the streets

to be hung with tapestries and silken stuffs, that his son might be

received with joy; then he himself got on his horse. Of clerks there

were present fourscore, gentle and honourable men, clad in grey cloaks

bordered with sable. Of knights there were full five hundred, mounted

on bay, sorrel, or white-spotted steeds. There were so many burghers and

dames that no one could tell the number of them. The King and his son

galloped and rode on till they saw and recognised each other. They both

jump down from their horses and embrace and greet each other for a long

time, without stirring from the place where they first met. Each party

wished the other joy: the King makes much of Erec, but all at once

breaks off to turn to Enide. On all sides he is in clover: he embraces

and kisses them both, and knows not which of the two pleases him the

more. As they gaily enter the castle, the bells all ring their peals to

honour Erec's arrival. The streets are all strewn with reeds, mint, and

iris, and are hung overhead with curtains and tapestries of fancy silk

and satin stuffs. There was great rejoicing; for all the people came

together to see their new lord, and no one ever saw greater happiness

than was shown alike by young and old. First they came to the church,

where very devoutly they were received in a procession. Erec kneeled

before the altar of the Crucifix, and two knights led his wife to the

image of Our Lady. When she had finished her prayer, she stepped back

a little and crossed herself with her right hand, as a well-bred dame

should do. Then they came out from the church and entered the royal

palace, when the festivity began. That day Erec received many presents

from the knights and burghers: from one a palfrey of northern stock, and

from another a golden cup. One presents him with a golden pigeon-hawk,

another with a setter-dog, this one a greyhound, this other a

sparrowhawk, and another a swift Arab steed, this one a shield, this one

an ensign, this one a sword, and this a helmet. Never was a king more

gladly seen in his kingdom, nor received with greater joy, as all strove

to serve him well. Yet greater joy they made of Enide than of him, for

the great beauty which they saw in her, and still more for her open

charm. She was seated in a chamber upon a cushion of brocade which had

been brought from Thessaly. Round about her was many a fair lady; yet as

the lustrous gem outshines the brown flint, and as the rose excels the

poppy, so was Enide fairer than any other lady or damsel to be found in

the world, wherever one might search. She was so gentle and honourable,

of wise speech and affable, of pleasing character and kindly mien. No

one could ever be so watchful as to detect in her any folly, or sign of

evil or villainy. She had been so schooled in good manners that she had

learned all virtues which any lady can possess, as well as generosity

and knowledge. All loved her for her open heart, and whoever could do

her any service was glad and esteemed himself the more. No one spoke any

ill of her, for no one could do so. In the realm or empire there was no

lady of such good manners. But Erec loved her with such a tender love

that he cared no more for arms, nor did he go to tournaments, nor have

any desire to joust; but he spent his time in cherishing his wife. He

made of her his mistress and his sweetheart. He devoted all his heart

and mind to fondling and kissing her, and sought no delight in other

pastime. His friends grieved over this, and often regretted among

themselves that he was so deep in love. Often it was past noon before

he left her side; for there he was happy, say what they might. He rarely

left her society, and yet he was as open-handed as ever to his knights

with arms, dress, and money. There was not a tournament anywhere to

which he did not send them well apparelled and equipped. Whatever the

cost might be, he gave them fresh steeds for the tourney and joust. All

the knights said it was a great pity and misfortune that such a valiant

man as he was wont to be should no longer wish to bear arms. He was

blamed so much on all sides by the knights and squires that murmurs

reached Enide's ears how that her lord had turned craven about arms

and deeds of chivalry, and that his manner of life was greatly changed.

[126] She grieved sorely over this, but she did not dare to show her

grief; for her lord at once would take affront, if she should speak to

him. So the matter remained a secret, until one morning they lay in bed

where they had had sport together. There they lay in close embrace, like

the true lovers they were. He was asleep, but she was awake, thinking

of what many a man in the country was saying of her lord. And when she

began to think it all over, she could not keep back the tears. Such

was her grief and her chagrin that by mischance she let fall a word for

which she later felt remorse, though in her heart there was no guile.

She began to survey her lord from head to foot, his well-shaped body and

his clear countenance, until her tears fell fast upon the bosom of her

lord, and she said: "Alas, woe is me that I ever left my country! What

did I come here to seek? The earth ought by right to swallow me up when

the best knight, the most hardy, brave, fair, and courteous that ever

was a count or king, has completely abjured all his deeds of chivalry

because of me. And thus, in truth, it is I who have brought shame upon

his head, though I would fain not have done so at any price." Then she

said to him: "Unhappy thou!" And then kept silence and spoke no more.

Erec was not sound asleep and, though dozing, heard plainly what she

said. He aroused at her words, and much surprised to see her weeping, he

asked her: "Tell me, my precious beauty, why do you weep thus? What has

caused you woe or sorrow? Surely it is my wish to know. Tell me now,

my gentle sweetheart; and raise care to keep nothing back, why you said

that woe was me? For you said it of me and of no one else. I heard your

words plainly enough." Then was Enide in a great plight, afraid and

dismayed. "Sire," says she, "I know nothing of what you say." "Lady, why

do you conceal it? Concealment is of no avail. You hare been crying; I

can see that, and you do not cry for nothing. And in my sleep I heard

what you said." "Ah! fair sire, you never heard it, and I dare say it

was a dream." "Now you are coming to me with lies. I hear you calmly

lying to me. But if you do not tell me the truth now, you will come to

repent of it later." "Sire, since you torment me thus, I will tell you

the whole truth, and keep nothing back. But I am afraid that you will

not like it. In this land they all say--the dark, the fair, and the

ruddy--that it is a great pity that you should renounce your arms; your

reputation has suffered from it. Every one used to say not long ago that

in all the world there was known no better or more gallant knight.

Now they all go about making game of you--old and young, little and

great--calling you a recreant. Do you suppose it does not give me pain

to hear you thus spoken of with scorn? It grieves me when I hear it

said, and yet it grieves me more that they put the blame for it on me.

Yes, I am blamed for it, I regret to say, and they all assert it is

because I have so ensnared and caught you that you are losing all your

merit, and do not care for aught but me. You must choose another course,

so that you may silence this reproach and regain your former fame; for I

have heard too much of this reproach, and yet I did not dare to disclose

it to you. Many a time, when I think of it, I have to weep for very

grief. Such chagrin I felt just now that I could not keep myself from

saying that you were ill-starred." "Lady," said he, "you were in the

right, and those who blame me do so with reason. And now at once prepare

yourself to take the road. Rise up from here, and dress yourself in your

richest robe, and order your saddle to be put on your best palfrey." Now

Enide is in great distress: very sad and pensive, she gets up, blaming

and upbraiding herself for the foolish words she spoke: she had now

made her bed, and must lie in it. "Ah!" said she, "poor fool! I was too

happy, for there lacked me nothing. God! why was I so forward as to dare

to utter such folly? God! did not my lord love me to excess? In faith,

alas, he was too fond of me. And now I must go away into exile. But I

have yet a greater grief, that I shall no longer see my lord, who loved

me with such tenderness that there was nothing he held so dear. The best

man that was ever born had become so wrapped up in me that he cared for

nothing else. I lacked for nothing then. I was very happy. But pride

it is that stirred me up: because of my pride, I must suffer woe for

telling him such insulting words, and it is right that I should suffer

woe. One does not know what good fortune is until he has made trial of

evil." Thus the lady bemoaned her fate, while she dressed herself fitly

in her richest robe. Yet nothing gave her any pleasure, but rather cause

for deep chagrin. Then she had a maid call one of her squires, and bids

him saddle her precious palfrey of northern stock, than which no count

or king ever had a better. As soon as she had given him the command, the

fellow asked for no delay, but straightway went and saddled the dappled

palfrey. And Erec summoned another squire and bade him bring his arms to

arm his body withal. Then he went up into a bower, and had a Limoges rug

laid out before him on the floor. Meanwhile, the squire ran to fetch the

arms and came back and laid them on the rug. Erec took a seat opposite,

on the figure of a leopard which was portrayed on the rug. He prepares

and gets ready to put on his arms: first, he had laced on a pair of

greaves of polished steel; next, he dons a hauberk, which was so fine

that not a mesh could be cut away from it. This hauberk of his was rich,

indeed, for neither inside nor outside of it was there enough iron to

make a needle, nor could it gather any rust; for it was all made of

worked silver in tiny meshes triple-wove; and it was made with such

skill that I can assure you that no one who had put it on would have

been more uncomfortable or sore because of it, than if he had put on a

silk jacket over his undershirt. The knights and squires all began to

wonder why he was being armed; but no one dared to ask him why. When

they had put on his hauberk, a valet laces about his head a helmet

fluted with a band of gold, shining brighter than a mirror. Then he

takes the sword and girds it on, and orders them to bring him saddled

his bay steed of Gascony. Then he calls a valet to him, and says:

"Valet, go quickly, run to the chamber beside the tower where my wife

is, and tell her that she is keeping me waiting here too long. She has

spent too much time on her attire. Tell her to come and mount at once,

for I am awaiting her." And the fellow goes and finds her all ready,

weeping and making moan: and he straightway addressed her thus: "Lady,

why do you so delay? My lord is awaiting you outside yonder, already

fully armed. He would have mounted some time ago, had you been ready."

Enide wondered greatly what her lord's intention was; but she very

wisely showed herself with as cheerful a countenance as possible, when

she appeared before him. In the middle of the courtyard she found him,

and King Lac comes running out. Knights come running, too, striving with

each other to reach there first. There is neither young nor old but goes

to learn and ask if he will take any of them with him. So each offers

and presents himself. But he states definitely and affirms that he will

take no companion except his wife, asserting that he will go alone.

Then the King is in great distress. "Fair son," says he, "what dost thou

intend to do? Thou shouldst tell me thy business and keep nothing back.

Tell me whither thou will go; for thou art unwilling on any account

to be accompanied by an escort of squires or knights. If thou hast

undertaken to fight some knight in single combat, yet shouldst thou not

for that reason fail to take a part of thy knights with thee to betoken

thy wealth and lordship. A king's son ought not to fare alone. Fair son,

have thy sumpters loaded now, and take thirty or forty or more of thy

knights, and see that silver and gold is taken, and whatever a gentleman

needs." Finally Erec makes reply and tells him all in detail how he has

planned his journey. "Sire," says he, "it must be so. I shall take no

extra horse, nor have I any use for gold or silver, squire or sergeant;

nor do I ask for any company save that of my wife alone. But I pray you,

whatever may happen, should I die and she come back, to love her and

hold her dear for love of me and for my prayer, and give her so long as

she live, without contention or any strife, the half of your land to be

her own." Upon hearing his son's request, the King said: "Fair son, I

promise it. But I grieve much to see thee thus go off without escort,

and if I had my way, thou shouldst not thus depart." "Sire, it cannot

be otherwise. I go now, and to God commend you. But keep in mind my

companions, and give them horses and arms and all that knight may need."

The King cannot keep back the tears when he is parted from his son. The

people round about weep too; the ladies and knights shed tears and make

great moan for him. There is not one who does not mourn, and many a one

in the courtyard swoons. Weeping, they kiss and embrace him, and are

almost beside themselves with grief. I think they would not have been

more sad if they had seen him dead or wounded. Then Erec said to comfort

them: "My lords, why do you weep so sore? I am neither in prison nor

wounded. You gain nothing by this display of grief. If I go away, I

shall come again when it please God and when I can. To God I commend you

one and all; so now let me go; too long you keep me here. I am sorry and

grieved to see you weep." To God he commends them and they him.

(Vv. 2765-2924.) So they departed, leaving sorrow behind them. Erec

starts, and leads his wife he knows not whither, as chance dictates.

"Ride fast," he says, "and take good care not to be so rash as to speak

to me of anything you may see. Take care never to speak to me, unless I

address you first. Ride on now fast and with confidence." "Sire," says

she, "it shall be done." She rode ahead and held her peace. Neither one

nor the other spoke a word. But Enide's heart is very sad, and within

herself she thus laments, soft and low that he may not hear: "Alas," she

says, "God had raised and exalted me to such great joy; but now He

has suddenly cast me down. Fortune who had beckoned me has quickly now

withdrawn her hand. I should not mind that so much, alas, if only I

dared to address my lord. But I am mortified and distressed because my

lord has turned against me, I see it clearly, since he will not speak

to me. And I am not so bold as to dare to look at him." While she thus

laments, a knight who lived by robbery issued forth from the woods. He

had two companions with him, and all three were armed. They covet the

palfrey which Enide rides. "My lords, do you know the news I bring?"

says he to his two companions. "If we do not now make a haul, we are

good-for-nothing cowards and are playing in bad luck. Here comes a lady

wondrous fair, whether married or not I do not know, but she is very

richly dressed. The palfrey and saddle, with the breast-strap and reins,

are worth a thousand livres of Chartres. I will take the palfrey for

mine, and the rest of the booty you may have. I don't want any more for

my share. The knight shall not lead away the lady, so help me God. For I

intend to give him such a thrust as he will dearly pay. I it was who saw

him first, and so it is my right to go the first and offer battle."

They give him leave and he rides off, crouching well beneath his shield,

while the other two remain aloof. In those days it was the custom and

practice that in an attack two knights should not join against one;

thus if they too had assailed him, it would seem that they had acted

treacherously. Enide saw the robbers, and was seized with great fear.

"God," says she, "what can I say? Now my lord will be either killed

or made a prisoner; for there are three of them and he is alone. The

contest is not fair between one knight and three. That fellow will

strike him now at a disadvantage; for my lord is off his guard. God,

shall I be then such a craven as not to dare to raise my voice? Such a

coward I will not be: I will not fail to speak to him." On the spot

she turns about and calls to him: "Fair sire, of what are you thinking?

There come riding after you three knights who press you hard. I greatly

fear they will do you harm." "What?" says Erec, "what's that you say?

You have surely been very bold to disdain my command and prohibition.

This time you shall be pardoned; but if it should happen another time,

you would not be forgiven." Then turning his shield and lance, he rushes

at the knight. The latter sees him coming and challenges him. When Erec

hears him, he defies him. Both give spur and clash together, holding

their lances at full extent. But he missed Erec, while Erec used him

hard; for he knew well the right attack. He strikes him on the shield

so fiercely that he cracks it from top to bottom. Nor is his hauberk any

protection: Erec pierces and crushes it in the middle of his breast, and

thrusts a foot and a half of his lance into his body. When he drew back,

he pulled out the shaft. And the other fell to earth. He must needs die,

for the blade had drunk of his life's blood. Then one of the other two

rushes forward, leaving his companion behind, and spurs toward Erec,

threatening him. Erec firmly grasps his shield, and attacks him with

a stout heart. The other holds his shield before his breast. Then they

strike upon the emblazoned shields. The knight's lance flies into two

bits, while Erec drives a quarter of lance's length through the other's

breast. He will give him no more trouble. Erec unhorses him and leaves

him in a faint, while he spurs at an angle toward the third robber. When

the latter saw him coming on he began to make his escape. He was afraid,

and did not dare to face him; so he hastened to take refuge in the

woods. But his flight is of small avail, for Erec follows him close

and cries aloud: "Vassal, vassal, turn about now, and prepare to defend

yourself, so that I may not slay you in act of flight. It is useless

to try to escape." But the fellow has no desire to turn about, and

continues to flee with might and main. Following and overtaking him,

Erec hits him squarely on his painted shield, and throws him over on the

other side. To these three robbers he gives no further heed: one he has

killed, another wounded, and of the third he got rid by throwing him

to earth from his steed. He took the horses of all three and tied them

together by the bridles. In colour they were not alike: the first was

white as milk, the second black and not at all bad looking, while the

third was dappled all over. He came back to the road where Enide was

awaiting him. He bade her lead and drive the three horses in front of

her, warning her harshly never again to be so bold as to speak a single

word unless he give her leave. She makes answer: "I will never do so,

fair sire, if it be your will." Then they ride on, and she holds her

peace.

(Vv. 2925-3085.) They had not yet gone a league when before them in a

valley there came five other knights, with lances in rest, shields held

close in to the neck, and their shining helmets laced up tight; they,

too, were on plunder bent. All at once they saw the lady approach in

charge of the three horses, and Erec who followed after. As soon as they

saw them, they divided their equipment among themselves, just as if they

had already taken possession of it. Covetousness is a bad thing. But it

did not turn out as they expected; for vigorous defence was made. Much

that a fool plans is not executed, and many a man misses what he thinks

to obtain. So it befell them in this attack. One said that he would

take the maid or lose his life in the attempt; and another said that the

dappled steed shall be his, and that he will be satisfied with that. The

third said that he would take the black horse. "And the white one for

me," said the fourth. The fifth was not at all backward, and vowed that

he would have the horse and arms of the knight himself. He wished to win

them by himself, and would fain attack him first, if they would give him

leave: and they willingly gave consent. Then he leaves them and rides

ahead on a good and nimble steed. Erec saw him, but made pretence that

he did not yet notice him. When Enide saw them, her heart jumped with

fear and great dismay. "Alas!" said she, "I know not what to say or do;

for my lord severely threatens me, and says that he will punish me, if

I speak a word to him. But if my lord were dead now, there would be no

comfort for me. I should be killed and roughly treated. God! my lord

does not see them! Why, then, do I hesitate, crazed as I am? I am indeed

too chary of my words, when I have not already spoken to him. I know

well enough that those who are coming yonder are intent upon some wicked

deed. And God! how shall I speak to him? He will kill me. Well, let him

kill me! Yet I will not fail to speak to him." Then she softly calls

him: "Sire!" "What?" says he, "what do you want?" "Your pardon, sire. I

want to tell you that five knights have emerged from yonder thicket, of

whom I am in mortal fear. Having noticed them, I am of the opinion that

they intend to fight with you. Four of them have stayed behind, and the

other comes toward you as fast as his steed can carry him. I am afraid

every moment lest he will strike you. 'Tis true, the four have stayed

behind; but still they are not far away, and will quickly aid him,

if need arise." Erec replies: "You had an evil thought, when you

transgressed my command--a thing which I had forbidden you. And yet I

knew all the time that you did not hold me in esteem. Your service has

been ill employed; for it has not awakened my gratitude, but rather

kindled the more my ire. I have told you that once, and I say it again.

This once again I will pardon you; but another time restrain yourself,

and do not again turn around to watch me: for in doing so you would

be very foolish. I do not relish your words." Then he spurs across the

field toward his adversary, and they come together. Each seeks out and

assails the other. Erec strikes him with such force that his shield

flies from his neck, and thus he breaks his collar-bone. His stirrups

break, and he falls without the strength to rise again, for he was badly

bruised and wounded. One of the others then appeared, and they attack

each other fiercely. Without difficulty Erec thrusts the sharp and well

forged steel into his neck beneath the chin, severing thus the bones

and nerves. At the back of his neck the blade protrudes, and the hot red

blood flows down on both sides from the wound. He yields his spirit, and

his heart is still. The third sallies forth from his hiding-place on

the other side of a ford. Straight through the water, on he comes. Erec

spurs forward and meets him before he came out of the water, striking

him so hard that he beats down flat both rider and horse. The steed lay

upon the body long enough to drown him in the stream, and then struggled

until with difficulty he got upon his feet. Thus he conquered three of

them, when the other two thought it wise to quit the conflict and not to

strive with him. In flight they follow the stream, and Erec after them

in hot pursuit, until he strikes one upon the spine so hard that he

throws him forward upon the saddle-bow. He put all his strength into the

blow, and breaks his lance upon his body, so that the fellow fell head

foremost. Erec makes him pay dearly for the lance which he has broken

on him, and drew his sword from the scabbard. The fellow unwisely

straightened up; for Erec gave him three such strokes that he slaked his

sword's thirst in his blood. He severs the shoulder from his body, so

that it fell down on the ground. Then, with sword drawn, he attacked the

other, as he sought to escape without company or escort. When he sees

Erec pursuing him, he is so afraid that he knows not what to do: he does

not dare to face him, and cannot turn aside; he has to leave his horse,

for he has no more trust in him. He throws away his shield and lance,

and slips from his horse to earth. When he saw him on his feet, Erec

no longer cared to pursue him, but he stooped over for the lance, not

wishing to leave that, because of his own which had been broken. He

carries off his lance and goes away, not leaving the horses behind: he

catches all five of them and leads them off. Enide had hard work to

lead them all; for he hands over all five of them to her with the other

three, and commands her to go along smartly, and to keep from addressing

him in order that no evil or harm may come to her. So not a word does

she reply, but rather keeps silence; and thus they go, leading with them

all the eight horses.

(Vv. 3086-3208.) They rode till nightfall without coming to any town or

shelter. When night came on, they took refuge beneath a tree in an open

field. Erec bids his lady sleep, and he will watch. She replies that she

will not, for it is not right, and she does not wish to do so. It is

for him to sleep who is more weary. Well pleased at this, Erec accedes.

Beneath his head he placed his shield, and the lady took her cloak, and

stretched it over him from head to foot. Thus, he slept and she kept

watch, never dozing the whole night, but holding tight in her hand by

the bridle the horses until the morning broke; and much she blamed and

reproached herself for the words which she had uttered, and said that

she acted badly, and was not half so ill-treated as she deserved to be.

"Alas," said she, "in what an evil hour have I witnessed my pride and

presumption! I might have known without doubt that there was no knight

better than, or so good as, my lord. I knew it well enough before, but

now I know it better. For I have seen with my own eyes how he has not

quailed before three or even five armed men. A plague for ever upon

my tongue for having uttered such pride and insult as now compel me

to suffer shame!" All night long she thus lamented until the morning

dawned. Erec rises early, and again they take the road, she in front and

he behind. At noon a squire met them in a little valley, accompanied

by two fellows who were carrying cakes and wine and some rich autumn

cheeses to those who were mowing the hay in the meadows belonging to

Count Galoain. The squire was a clever fellow, and when he saw Erec and

Enide, who were coming from the direction of the woods, he perceived

that they must have spent the night in the forest and had had nothing to

eat or drink; for within a radius of a day's journey there was no town,

city or tower, no strong place or abbey, hospice or place of refuge. So

he formed an honest purpose and turned his steps toward them, saluting

them politely and saving: "Sire, I presume that you have had a hard

experience last night. I am sure you have had no sleep and have spent

the night in these woods. I offer you some of this white cake, if it

please you to partake of it. I say it not in hope of reward: for I ask

and demand nothing of you. The cakes are made of good wheat; I have good

wine and rich cheeses, too, a white cloth and fine jugs. If you feel

like taking lunch, you need not seek any farther. Beneath these white

beeches, here on the greensward, you might lay off your arms and rest

yourself a while. My advice is that you dismount." Erec got down from

his horse and said: "Fair gentle friend, I thank you kindly: I will eat

something, without going farther." The young man knew well what to do:

he helped the lady from her horse, and the boys who had come with the

squire held the steeds. Then they go and sit down in the shade. The

squire relieves Erec of his helmet, unlaces the mouth-piece from before

his face; then he spreads out the cloth before them on the thick tuff.

He passes them the cake and wine, and prepares and cuts a cheese. Hungry

as they were, they helped themselves, and gladly drank of the wine. The

squire serves them and omits no attention. When they had eaten and drunk

their fill, Erec was courteous and generous. "Friend," says he, "as a

reward, I wish to present you with one of my horses. Take the one you

like the best. And I pray it may be no hardship for you to return to the

town and make ready there a goodly lodging." And he replies that he

will gladly do whatever is his will. Then he goes up to the horses and,

untying them, chooses the dapple, and speaks his thanks; for this one

seems to be the best. Up he springs by the left stirrup, and leaving

them both there, he rode off to the town at top speed, where he engaged

suitable quarters. Now behold! he is back again: "Now mount, sire,

quickly," says he, "for you have a good fine lodging ready." Erec

mounted, and then his lady, and, as the town was hard by, they soon had

reached their lodging-place. There they were received with joy. The host

with kindness welcomed them, and with joy and gladness made generous

provision for their needs.

(Vv. 3209-3458.) When the squire had done for them all the honour that

he could do, he came and mounted his horse again, leading it off in

front of the Count's bower to the stable. The Count and three of his

vassals were leaning out of the bower, when the Count, seeing his squire

mounted on the dappled steed, asked him whose it was. And he replied

that it was his. The Count, greatly astonished, says: "How is that?

Where didst thou get him?" "A knight whom I esteem highly gave him to

me, sire," says he. "I have conducted him within this town, and he

is lodged at a burgher's house. He is a very courteous knight and the

handsomest man I ever saw. Even if I had given you my word and oath,

I could not half tell you how handsome he is." The Count replies: "I

suppose and presume that he is not more handsome than I am." "Upon my

word, sire," the sergeant says, "you are very handsome and a gentleman.

There is not a knight in this country, a native of this land, whom you

do not excel in favour. But I dare maintain concerning this one that

he is fairer than you, if he were not beaten black and blue beneath his

hauberk, and bruised. In the forest he has been fighting single-handed

with eight knights, and leads away their eight horses. And there comes

with him a lady so fair that never lady was half so fair as she." [128]

When the Count hears this news, the desire takes him to go and see if

this is true or false. "I never heard such a thing," says he; "take me

now to his lodging-place, for certainly I wish to know if thou dost lie

or speak the truth." He replies: "Right gladly, sire. This is the way

and the path to follow, for it is not far from here." "I am anxious to

see them," says the Count. Then he comes down, and the squire gets off

his horse, and makes the Count mount in his place. Then he ran ahead

to tell Erec that the Count was coming to visit him. Erec's lodging was

rich indeed--the kind to which he was accustomed. There were many tapers

and candles lighted all about. The Count came attended by only three

companions. Erec, who was of gracious manners, rose to meet him, and

exclaimed: "Welcome, sire!" And the Count returned his salutation. They

both sat down side by side upon a soft white couch, where they chat with

each other. The Count makes him an offer and urges him to consent to

accept from him a guarantee for the payment of his expenses in the

town. But Erec does not deign to accept, saying he is well supplied with

money, and has no need to accept aught from him. They speak long of many

things, but the Count constantly glances about in the other direction,

where he caught sight of the lady. Because of her manifest beauty, he

fixed all his thought on her. He looked at her as much as he could;

he coveted her, and she pleased him so that her beauty filled him with

love. Very craftily he asked Erec for permission to speak with her.

"Sire," he says "I ask a favour of you, and may it not displease you. As

an act of courtesy and as a pleasure, I would fain sit by yonder lady's

side. With good intent I came to see you both, and you should see no

harm in that. I wish to present to the lady my service in all respects.

Know well that for love of you I would do whatever may please her." Erec

was not in the least jealous and suspected no evil or treachery. "Sire,"

says he, "I have no objection. You may sit down and talk with her. Don't

think that I have any objection. I give you permission willingly." The

lady was seated about two spear-lengths away from him. And the Count

took his seat close beside her on a low stool. Prudent and courteous,

the lady turned toward him. "Alas," quoth he, "how grieved I am to see

you in such humble state! I am sorry and feel great distress. But if you

would believe my word, you could have honour and great advantage, and

much wealth would accrue to you. Such beauty as yours is entitled to

great honour and distinction. I would make you my mistress, if it should

please you and be your will; you would be my mistress dear and lady over

all my land. When I deign to woo you thus, you ought not to disdain my

suit. I know and perceive that your lord does not love and esteem you.

If you will remain with me, you would be mated with a worthy lord."

"Sire," says Enide, "your proposal is vain. It cannot be. Ah! better

that I were yet unborn, or burnt upon a fire of thorns and my ashes

scattered abroad than that I should ever in any wise be false to my

lord, or conceive any felony or treachery toward him. You have made a

great mistake in making such a proposal to me. I shall not agree to it

in any wise." The Count's ire began to rise. "You disdain to love me,

lady?" says he; "upon my word, you are too proud. Neither for flattery

nor for prayer you will do my will? It is surely true that a woman's

pride mounts the more one prays and flatters her; but whoever insults

and dishonours her will often find her more tractable. I give you my

word that if you do not do my will there soon will be some sword-play

here. Rightly or wrongly, I will have your lord slain right here before

your eyes." "Ah, sire," says Enide, "there is a better way than that you

say. You would commit a wicked and treacherous deed if you killed him

thus. Calm yourself again, I pray; for I will do your pleasure. You

may regard me as all your own, for I am yours and wish to be. I did not

speak as I did from pride, but to learn and prove if I could find in you

the true love of a sincere heart. But I would not at any price have you

commit an act of treason. My lord is not on his guard; and if you should

kill him thus, you would do a very ugly deed, and I should have the

blame for it. Every one in the land would say that it had been done with

my consent. Go and rest until the morrow, when my lord shall be about

to rise. Then you can better do him harm without blame and without

reproach." With her heart's thoughts her words do not agree. "Sire,"

says she, "believe me now! Have no anxiety; but send here to-morrow your

knights and squires and have me carried away by force. My lord will rush

to my defence, for he is proud and bold enough. Either in earnest or in

jest, have him seized and treated ill, or strike his head off, if you

will. I have led this life now long enough; to tell the truth. I like

not the company of this my lord. Rather would I feel your body lying

beside me in a bed. And since we have reached this point, of my love you

may rest assured." The Count replies: "It is well, my lady! God bless

the hour that you were born; in great estate you shall be held." "Sire,"

says she, "indeed, I believe it. And yet I would fain have your word

that you will always hold me dear; I could not believe you otherwise."

Glad and merry, the Count replies: "See here, my faith I will pledge to

you loyally as a Count, Madame, that I shall do all your behests. Have

no further fear of that. All you want you shall always have." Then she

took his plighted word; but little she valued or cared for it, except

therewith to save her lord. Well she knows how to deceive a fool, when

she puts her mind upon it. Better it were to lie to him than that her

lord should be cut off. The Count now rose from her side, and commends

her to God a hundred times. But of little use to him will be the faith

which she has pledged to him. Erec knew nothing at all of this that they

were plotting to work his death; but God will be able to lend him aid,

and I think He will do so. Now Erec is in great peril, and does not know

that he must be on his guard. The Count's intentions are very base in

planning to steal away his wife and kill him when he is without defence.

In treacherous guise he takes his leave: "To God I commend you," says

he, and Erec replies: "And so do I you, sire." Thus they separated.

Already a good part of the night was passed. Out of the way, in one of

the rooms, two beds were made upon the floor. In one of them Erec lays

him down, in the other Enide went to rest. Full of grief and anxiety,

she never closed her eyes that night, but remained on watch for her

lord's sake; for from what she had seen of the Count, she knew him to be

full of wickedness. She knows full well that if he once gets possession

of her lord, he will not fail to do him harm. He may be sure of being

killed: so for his sake she is in distress. All night she must needs

keep her vigil; but before the dawn, if she can bring it about, and if

her lord will take her word, they will be ready to depart.

(Vv. 3459-3662.) Erec slept all night long securely until daylight. Then

Enide realised and suspected that she might hesitate too long. Her heart

was tender toward her lord, like a good and loyal lady. Her heart was

neither deceitful nor false. So she rises and makes ready, and drew near

to her lord to wake him up. "Ah, sire," says she, "I crave your

pardon. Rise quickly now, for you are betrayed beyond all doubt, though

guiltless and free from any crime. The Count is a proven traitor, and

if he can but catch you here, you will never get away without his having

cut you in pieces. He hates you because he desires me. But if it please

God, who knows all things, you shall be neither slain nor caught. Last

evening he would have killed you had I not assured him that I would be

his mistress and his wife. You will see him return here soon: he wants

to seize me and keep me here and kill you if he can find you." Now Erec

learns how loyal his wife is to him. "Lady," says he, "have our horses

quickly saddled; then run and call our host, and tell him quickly to

come here. Treason has been long abroad." Now the horses are saddled,

and the lady summoned the host. Erec has armed and dressed himself, and

into his presence came the host. "Sire," said he, "what haste is this,

that you are risen at such an hour, before the day and the sun appear?"

Erec replies that he has a long road and a full day before him, and

therefore he has made ready to set out, having it much upon his mind;

and he added: "Sire, you have nor yet handed me any statement of my

expenses. You have received me with honour and kindness, and therein

great merit redounds to you. Cancel my indebtedness with these seven

horses that I brought here with me. Do not disdain them, but keep them

for your own. I cannot increase my gift to you by so much as the value

of a halter." The burgher was delighted with this gift and bowed low,

expressing his thanks and gratitude. Then Erec mounts and takes his

leave, and they set out upon their way. As they ride, he frequently

warns Enide that if she sees anything she should not be so bold as to

speak to him about it. Meanwhile, there entered the house a hundred

knights well armed, and very much dismayed they were to find Erec no

longer there. Then the Count learned that the lady had deceived him. He

discovered the footsteps of the horses, and they all followed the trail,

the Count threatening Erec and vowing that, if he can come up with him,

nothing can keep him from having his head on the spot. "A curse on

him who now hangs back, and does not spur on fast!" quoth he; "he who

presents me with the head of the knight whom I hate so bitterly, will

have served me to my taste." Then they plunge on at topmost speed,

filled with hostility toward him who had never laid eyes on them and had

never harmed them by deed or word. They ride ahead until they made him

out; at the edge of a forest they catch sight of him before he was hid

by the forest trees. Not one of them halted then, but all rushed on in

rivalry. Enide hears the clang and noise of their arms and horses, and

sees that the valley is full of them. As soon as she saw them, she could

not restrain her tongue. "Ah, sire," she cries, "alas, how this Count

has attacked you, when he leads against you such a host! Sire, ride

faster now, until we be within this wood. I think we can easily distance

them, for they are still a long way behind. If you go on at this pace,

you can never escape from death, for you are no match for them." Erec

replies: "Little esteem you have for me, and lightly you hold my words.

It seems I cannot correct you by fair request. But as the Lord have

mercy upon me until I escape from here, I swear that you shall pay

dearly for this speech of yours; that is, unless my mind should change."

Then he straightway turns about, and sees the seneschal drawing near

upon a horse both strong and fleet. Before them all he takes his stand

at the distance of four cross-bow shots. He had not disposed of his

arms, but was thoroughly well equipped. Erec reckons up his opponents'

strength, and sees there are fully a hundred of them. Then he who thus

is pressing him thinks he had better call a hair. Then they ride to meet

each other, and strike upon each other's shield great blows with their

sharp and trenchant swords. Erec caused his stout steel sword to pierce

his body through and through, so that his shield and hauberk protected

him no more than a shred of dark-blue silk. And next the Count comes

spurring on, who, as the story tells, was a strong and doughty knight.

But the Count in this was ill advised when he came with only shield and

lance. He placed such trust in his own prowess that he thought that he

needed no other arms. He showed his exceeding boldness by rushing on

ahead of all his men more than the space of nine acres. When Erec saw

him stand alone, he turned toward him; the Count is not afraid of him,

and they come together with clash of arms. First the Count strikes him

with such violence upon the breast that he would have lost his stirrups

if he had not been well set. He makes the wood of his shield to split

so that the iron of his lance protrudes on the other side. But Erec's

hauberk was very solid and protected him from death without the tear

of a single mesh. The Count was strong and breaks his lance; then Erec

strikes him with such force on his yellow painted shield that he

ran more than a yard of his lance through his abdomen, knocking him

senseless from his steed. Then he turned and rode away without further

tarrying on the spot. Straight into the forest he spurs at full speed.

Now Erec is in the woods, and the others paused a while over those who

lay in the middle of the field. Loudly they swear and vow that they will

rather follow after him for two or three days than fail to capture and

slaughter him. The Count, though grievously wounded in the abdomen,

hears what they say. He draws himself up a little and opens his eyes a

tiny bit. Now he realises what an evil deed he had begun to execute. He

makes the knights step back, and says: "My lords, I bid you all, both

strong and weak, high and low, that none of you be so bold as to dare

to advance a single step. All of you return now quickly! I have done

a villainous deed, and I repent me of my foul design. The lady who

outwitted me is very honourable, prudent, and courteous. Her beauty

fired me with love for her; because I desired her, I wished to kill her

lord and keep her back with me by force. I well deserved this woe, and

now it has come upon me. How abominably disloyal and treacherous I was

in my madness! Never was there a better knight born of mother than he.

Never shall he receive harm through me if I can in any way prevent it.

I command you all to retrace your steps." Back they go disconsolate,

carrying the lifeless seneschal on the shield reversed. The Count,

whose wound was not mortal, lived on for some time after. Thus was Erec

delivered.

(Vv. 3663-3930.) Erec goes off at full speed down a road between two

hedgerows--he and his wife with him. Both putting spurs to their

horses, they rode until they came to a meadow which had been mown. After

emerging from the hedged enclosure they came upon a drawbridge before a

high tower, which was all closed about with a wall and a broad and deep

moat. They quickly pass over the bridge, but had not gone far before the

lord of the place espied them from up in his tower. About this man I

can tell you the truth: that he was very small of stature, but very

courageous of heart. When he sees Erec cross the bridge, he comes down

quickly from his tower, and on a great sorrel steed of his he causes

a saddle to be placed, which showed portrayed a golden lion. Then he

orders to be brought his shield, his stiff, straight lance, a sharp

polished sword, his bright shining helmet, his gleaming hauberk, and

triple-woven greaves; for he has seen an armed knight pass before his

list against whom he wishes to strive in arms, or else this stranger

will strive against him until he shall confess defeat. His command

was quickly done: behold the horse now led forth; a squire brought him

around already bridled and with saddle on. Another fellow brings the

arms. The knight passed out through the gate, as quickly as possible,

all alone, without companion. Erec is riding along a hill-side, when

behold the knight comes tearing down over the top of the hill, mounted

upon a powerful steed which tore along at such a pace that he crushed

the stones beneath his hoofs finer than a millstone grinds the corn; and

bright gleaming sparks flew off in all directions, so that it seemed as

if his four feet were all ablaze with fire. Enide heard the noise and

commotion, and almost fell from her palfrey, helpless and in a faint.

There was no vein in her body in which the blood did not turn, and her

face became all pale and white as if she were a corpse. Great is her

despair and dismay, for she does not dare to address her lord, who often

threatens and chides at her and charges her to hold her peace. She is

distracted between two courses to pursue, whether to speak or to hold

her peace. She takes counsel with herself, and often she prepares to

speak, so that her tongue already moves, but the voice cannot issue

forth; for her teeth are clenched with fear, and thus shut up her speech

within. Thus she admonishes and reproaches herself, but she closes her

mouth and grits her teeth so that her speech cannot issue forth. At

strife with herself, she said: "I am sure and certain that I shall incur

a grievous loss, if here I lose my lord. Shall I tell him all, then,

openly? Not I. Why not? I would not dare, for thus I should enrage my

lord. And if my lord's ire is once aroused, he will leave me in this

wild place alone, wretched and forlorn. Then I shall be worse off than

now. Worse off? What care I? May grief and sorrow always be mine as long

as I live, if my lord does not promptly escape from here without being

delivered to a violent death. But if I do not quickly inform him, this

knight who is spurring hither will have killed him before he is aware;

for he seems of very evil intent. I think I have waited too long from

fear of his vigorous prohibition. But I will no longer hesitate because

of his restraint. I see plainly that my lord is so deep in thought that

he forgets himself; so it is fight that I should address him." She

spoke to him. He threatens her, but has no desire to do her harm, for he

realises and knows full well that she loves him above all else, and

he loves her, too, to the utmost. He rides toward the knight, who

challenges him to battle, and they meet at the foot of the hill, where

they attack and defy each other. Both smite each other with their

iron-tipped lances with all their strength. The shields that hang about

their necks are not worth two coats of bark: the leather tears, and they

split the wood, and they shatter the meshes of the hauberks. Both are

pierced to the vitals by the lances, and the horses fall to earth. Now,

both the warriors were doughty. Grievously, but not mortally, wounded,

they quickly got upon their feet and grasped afresh their lances, which

were not broken nor the worse for wear. But they cast them away on the

ground, and drawing their swords from the scabbard, they attack each

other with great fury. Each wounds and injures the other, for there

is no mercy on either side. They deal such blows upon the helmets

that gleaming sparks fly out when their swords recoil. They split and

splinter the shields; they batter and crush the hauberks. In four places

the swords are brought down to the bare flesh, so that they are greatly

weakened and exhausted. And if both their swords had lasted long without

breaking, they would never have retreated, nor would the battle have

come to an end before one of them perforce had died. Enide, who was

watching them, was almost beside herself with grief. Whoever could

have seen her then, as she showed her great woe by wringing her hands,

tearing her hair and shedding tears, could have seen a loyal lady. And

any man would have been a vulgar wretch who saw and did not pity her.

And the knights still fight, knocking the jewels from the helmets and

dealing at each other fearful blows. From the third to the ninth hour

the battle continued so fierce that no one could in any wise make out

which was to have the better of it. Erec exerts himself and strives; he

brought his sword down upon his enemy's helmet, cleaving it to the inner

lining of mail and making him stagger; but he stood firmly and did not

fall. Then he attacked Erec in turn, and dealt him such a blow upon the

covering of his shield that his strong and precious sword broke when he

tried to pull it out. When he saw that his sword was broken, in a spite

he threw as far away as he could the part that remained in his hand. Now

he was afraid and must needs draw back; for any knight that lacks his

sword cannot do much execution in battle or assault. Erec pursues

him until he begs him, for God's sake, not to kill him. "Mercy, noble

knight," he cries, "be not so cruel and harsh toward me. Now that I am

left without my sword, you have the strength and the power to take my

life or make me your prisoner, for I have no means of defence." Erec

replies: "When thou thus dost petition me I fain would hear thee admit

outright whether thou art defeated and overcome. Thou shalt not again be

touched by me if thou dost surrender at my discretion." The knight was

slow to make reply. So, when Erec saw him hesitate, in order to further

dismay him, he again attacked him, rushing at him with drawn sword;

whereupon, thoroughly terrified, he cried: "Mercy, sire! Regard me as

your captive, since it cannot be otherwise." Erec answers: "More than

that is necessary. You shall not get off so easily as that. Tell me your

station and your name, and I in turn will tell you mine." "Sire," says

he, "you are right. I am king of this country. My liegemen are Irishmen,

and there is none who does not have to pay me rent. [129] My name

is Guivret the Little. I am very rich and powerful; for there is no

landholder whose lands touch mine in any direction who ever transgresses

my command and who does not do my pleasure. I have no neighbour who does

not fear me, however proud and bold he may be. But I greatly desire to

be your confidant and friend from this time on." Erec replies: "I, too,

can boast that I am a noble man. My name is Erec, son of King Lac. My

father is king of Farther Wales, and has many a rich city, fine hall,

and strong town; no king or emperor has more than he, save only King

Arthur. Him, of course, I except; for with him none can compare."

Guivret is greatly astonished at this, and says: "Sire, a great marvel

is this I hear. I was never so glad of anything as of your acquaintance.

You may put full trust in me! And should it please you to abide in my

country within my estates, I shall have you treated with great honour.

So long as you care to remain here, you shall be recognised as my lord.

We both have need of a physician, and I have a castle of mine near here,

not eight leagues away, nor even seven. I wish to take you thither with

me, and there we shall have our wounds tended." Erec replies: "I thank

you for what I have heard you say. However, I will not go, thank you.

But only so much I request of you, that if I should be in need, and

you should hear that I had need of aid, you would not then forget me."

"Sire" says he, "I promise you that never, so long as I am alive, shall

you have need of my help but that I shall go at once to aid you with all

the assistance I can command." "I have nothing more to ask of you," says

Erec; "you have promised me much. You are now my lord and friend, if

your deed is as good as your word." Then each kisses and embraces the

other. Never was there such an affectionate parting after such a fierce

battle; for from very affection and generosity each one cut off long,

wide strips from the bottom of his shirt and bound up the other's

wounds. When they had thus bandaged each other, they commended each

other to God.

(Vv. 3931-4280.) So thus they parted. Guivret takes his way back alone,

while Erec resumed his road, in dire need of plaster wherewith to heal

his wounds. He did not cease to travel until he came to a plain beside a

lofty forest all full of stags, hinds, deer, does, and other beasts,

and all sorts of game. Now King Arthur and the Queen and the best of his

barons had come there that very day. The King wished to spend three or

four days in the forest for pleasure and sport, and had commanded tents,

pavilions, and canopies to be brought. My lord Gawain had stepped into

the King's tent, all tired out by a long ride. In front of the tent a

white beech stood, and there he had left a shield of his, together with

his ashen lance. He left his steed, all saddled and bridled, fastened to

a branch by the rein. There the horse stood until Kay the seneschal came

by. [130] He came up quickly and, as if to beguile the time, took the

steed and mounted, without the interference of any one. He took the

lance and the shield, too, which were close by under the tree. Galloping

along on the steed, Kay rode along a valley until it came about by

chance that Erec met him. Now Erec recognised the seneschal, and he knew

the arms and the horse, but Kay did not recognise him, for he could not

be distinguished by his arms. So many blows of sword and lance had he

received upon his shield that all the painted design had disappeared

from it. And the lady, who did not wish to be seen or recognised by him,

shrewdly held her veil before her face, as if she were doing it because

of the sun's glare and the dust. Kay approached rapidly and straightway

seized Erec's rein, without so much as saluting him. Before he let him

move, he presumptuously asked him: "Knight," says he, "I wish to know

who you are and whence you come." "You must be mad to stop me thus,"

says Erec; "you shall not know that just now." And the other replies:

"Be not angry; I only ask it for your good. I can see and make out

clearly that you are wounded and hurt. If you will come along with me

you shall have a good lodging this night; I shall see that you are well

cared for, honoured and made comfortable: for you are in need of

rest. King Arthur and the Queen are close by here in a wood, lodged in

pavilions and tents. In all good faith, I advise you to come with me to

see the Queen and King, who will take much pleasure in you and will

show you great honour." Erec replies: "You say well; yet will I not

go thither for anything. You know not what my business is: I must yet

farther pursue my way. Now let me go; too long I stay. There is still

some daylight left." Kay makes answer: "You speak madness when you

decline to come. I trow you will repent of it. And however much it

may be against your will, you shall both go, as the priest goes to the

council, willy-nilly. To-night you will be badly served, if, unmindful

of my advice, you go there as strangers. Come now quickly, for I will

take you." At this word Erec's ire was roused. "Vassal," says he, "you

are mad to drag me thus after you by force. You have taken me quite off

my guard. I tell you you have committed an offence. For I thought to be

quite safe, and was not on my guard against you." Then he lays his hand

upon his sword and cries: "Hands off my bridle, vassal! Step aside. I

consider you proud and impudent. I shall strike you, be sure of that, if

you drag me longer after you. Leave me alone now." Then he lets him go,

and draws off across the field more than an acre's width; then turns

about and, as a man with evil intent, issues his challenge. Each

rushed at the other. But, because Kay was without armour, Erec acted

courteously and turned the point of his lance about and presented the

butt-end instead. Even so, he gave him such a blow high up on the broad

expanse of his shield that he caused it to wound him on the temple,

pinning his arm to his breast: all prone he throws him to the earth.

Then he went to catch the horse and hands him over by the bridle to

Enide. He was about to lead it away, when the wounded man with his

wonted flattery begs him to restore it courteously to him. With fair

words he flatters and wheedles him. "Vassal," says he, "so help me God,

that horse is not mine. Rather does it belong to that knight in whom

dwells the greatest prowess in the world, my lord Gawain the Bold. I

tell you so much on his behalf, in order that you may send it back to

him and thus win honour. So shall you be courteous and wise, and I shall

be your messenger." Erec makes answer: "Take the horse, vassal, and lead

it away. Since it belongs to my lord Gawain it is not meet that I should

appropriate it." Kay takes the horse, remounts, and coming to the royal

tent, tells the King the whole truth, keeping nothing back. And the King

summoned Gawain, saying: "Fair nephew Gawain, if ever you were true and

courteous, go quickly after him and ask him in winsome wise who he is

and what his business. And if you can influence him and bring him along

with you to us, take care not to fail to do so." Then Gawain mounts his

steed, two squires following after him. They soon made Erec out, but did

not recognise him. Gawain salutes him, and he Gawain: their greetings

were mutual. Then said my lord Gawain with his wonted openness: "Sire,"

says he, "King Arthur sends me along this way to encounter you. The

Queen and King send you their greeting, and beg you urgently to come and

spend some time with them (it may benefit you and cannot harm), as they

are close by." Erec replies: "I am greatly obliged to the King and Queen

and to you who are, it seems, both kind of heart and of gentle mien. I

am not in a vigorous state; rather do I bear wounds within my body: yet

will I not turn aside from my way to seek a lodging-place. So you need

not longer wait: I thank you, but you may be gone." Now Gawain was a man

of sense. He draws back and whispers in the ear of one of the squires,

bidding him go quickly and tell the King to take measures at once to

take down and lower his tents and come and set them up in the middle of

the road three or four leagues in advance of where they now are.

There the King must lodge to-night, if he wishes to meet and extend

hospitality to the best knight in truth whom he can ever hope to see;

but who will not go out of his way for a lodging at the bidding of any

one. The fellow went and gave his message. The King without delay causes

his tents to be taken down. Now they are lowered, the sumpters loaded,

and off they set. The King mounted Aubagu, and the Queen afterwards

mounted a white Norse palfrey. All this while, my lord Gawain did not

cease to detain Erec, until the latter said to him: "Yesterday I covered

more ground than I shall do to-day. Sire, you annoy me; let me go.

You have already disturbed a good part of my day." And my lord Gawain

answers him: "I should like to accompany you a little way, if you do not

object; for it is yet a long while until night. They spent so much time

in talking that all the tents were set up before them, and Erec sees

them, and perceives that his lodging is arranged for him. "Ah! Gawain,"

he says, "your shrewdness has outwitted me. By your great cunning you

have kept me here. Since it has turned out thus, I shall tell you my

name at once. Further concealment would be useless. I am Erec, who was

formerly your companion and friend." Gawain hears him and straightway

embraces him. He raised up his helmet and unlaced his mouthpiece.

Joyfully he clasps him in his embrace, while Erec embraces him in

turn. Then Gawain leaves him, saying, "Sire, this news will give great

pleasure to my lord; he and my lady will both be glad, and I must go

before to tell them of it. But first I must embrace and welcome and

speak comfortably to my lady Enide, your wife. My lady the Queen has a

great desire to see her. I heard her speak of her only yesterday." Then

he steps up to Enide and asks her how she is, if she is well and in good

case. She makes answer courteously: "Sire, I should have no cause for

grief, were I not in great distress for my lord; but as it is, I am in

dismay, for he has hardly a limb without a wound." Gawain replies: "This

grieves me much. It is perfectly evident from his face, which is all

pale and colourless. I could have wept myself when I saw him so pale

and wan, but my joy effaced my grief, for at sight of him I felt so glad

that I forgot all other pain. Now start and ride along slowly. I shall

ride ahead at top-speed to tell the Queen and the King that you are

following after me. I am sure that they will both be delighted when they

hear it." Then he goes, and comes to the King's tent. "Sire," he cries,

"now you and my lady must be glad, for here come Erec and his wife." The

King leaps to his feet with joy. "Upon my word!" he says, "right glad

I am. I could hear no news which could give me so much happiness." The

Queen and all the rest rejoice, and come out from the tents as fast as

they may. Even the King comes forth from his pavilion, and they met Erec

near at band. When Erec sees the King coming, he quickly dismounts,

and Enide too. The King embraces and meets them, and the Queen likewise

tenderly kisses and embraces them: there is no one that does not show

his joy. Right there, upon the spot, they took off Erec's armour; and

when they saw his wounds, their joy turned to sadness. The King draws a

deep sigh at the sight of them, and has a plaster brought which Morgan,

his sister, had made. This piaster, which Morgan had given to Arthur,

was of such sovereign virtue that no wound, whether on nerve or joint,

provided it were treated with the piaster once a day, could fail to be

completely cured and healed within a week. They brought to the King the

piaster which gave Erec great relief. When they had bathed, dried, and

bound up his wounds, the King leads him and Enide into his own royal

tent, saying that he intends, out of love for Erec, to tarry in the

forest a full fortnight, until he be completely restored to health.

For this Erec thanks the King, saying: "Fair sire, my wounds are not so

painful that I should desire to abandon my journey. No one could detain

me; to-morrow, without delay, I shall wish to get off in the morning, as

soon as I see the dawn." At this the King shook his head and said: "This

is a great mistake for you not to remain with us. I know that you are

far from well. Stay here, and you will do the right thing. It will be

a great pity and cause for grief if you die in this forest. Fair gentle

friend, stay here now until you are quite yourself again." Erec replies:

"Enough of this. I have undertaken this journey, and shall not tarry in

any wise." The King hears that he would by no means stay for prayer of

his; so he says no more about it, and commands the supper to be prepared

at once and the tables to be spread. The servants go to make their

preparations. It was a Saturday night; so they ate fish and fruit, pike

and perch, salmon and trout, and then pears both raw and cooked. [131]

Soon after supper they ordered the beds to be made ready. The King, who

held Erec dear, had him laid in a bed alone; for he did not wish that

any one should lie with him who might touch his wounds. That night he

was well lodged. In another bed close by lay Enide with the Queen under

a cover of ermine, and they all slept in great repose until the day

broke next morning.

(Vv. 4281-4307.) Next day, as soon as it is dawn. Erec arises, dresses,

commands his horses to be saddled, and orders his arms to be brought to

him. The valets run and bring them to him. Again the King and all the

knights urge him to remain; but entreaty is of no avail, for he will not

stay for anything. Then you might have seen them all weep and show such

grief as if they already saw him dead. He puts on his arms, and Enide

arises. All the knights are sore distressed, for they think they will

never see them more. They follow them out from the tents, and send for

their own horses, that they may escort and accompany them. Erec said to

them: "Be not angry! but you shall not accompany me a single step. I'll

thank you if you'll stay behind!" His horse was brought to him, and he

mounts without delay. Taking his shield and lance, he commends them all

to God, and they in turn wish Erec well. Then Enide mounts, and they

ride away.

(Vv. 4308-4380.) Entering a forest, they rode on without halting till

hour of prime. While they thus traversed the wood, they heard in the

distance the cry of a damsel in great distress. When Erec heard the cry,

he felt sure from the sound that it was the voice of one in trouble and

in need of help. Straightway calling Enide, he says: "Lady, there is

some maiden who goes through the wood calling aloud. I take it that she

is in need of aid and succour. I am going to hasten in that direction

and see what her trouble is. Do you dismount and await me here, while

I go yonder." "Gladly, sire," she says. Leaving her alone, he makes his

way until he found the damsel, who was going through the wood, lamenting

her lover whom two giants had taken and were leading away with very

cruel treatment. The maiden was rending her garments, and tearing her

hair and her tender crimson face. Erec sees her and, wondering greatly,

begs her to tell him why she cries and weeps so sore. The maiden cries

and sighs again, then sobbing, says: "Fair sire, it is no wonder if I

grieve, for I wish I were dead. I neither love nor prize my life, for my

lover has been led away prisoner by two wicked and cruel giants who are

his mortal enemies. God! what shall I do? Woe is me! deprived of the

best knight alive, the most noble and the most courteous. And now he

is in great peril of death. This very day, and without cause, they will

bring him to some vile death. Noble knight, for God's sake, I beg you to

succour my lover, if now you can lend him any aid. You will not have to

run far, for they must still be close by." "Damsel," says Erec, "I will

follow them, since you request it, and rest assured that I shall do all

within my power: either I shall be taken prisoner along with him, or

I shall restore him to you safe and sound. If the giants let him live

until I can find him, I intend to measure my strength with theirs."

"Noble knight," the maiden said, "I shall always be your servant if you

restore to me my lover. Now go in God's name, and make haste, I beseech

you." "Which way lies their path?" "This way, my lord. Here is the path

with the footprints." Then Erec started at a gallop, and told her to

await him there. The maid commends him to the Lord, and prays God very

fervently that He should give him force by His command to discomfit

those who intend evil toward her lover.

(Vv. 4381-4579.) Erec went off along the trail, spurring his horse in

pursuit of the giants. He followed in pursuit of them until he caught

sight of them before they emerged from the wood; he saw the knight with

bare limbs mounted naked on a nag, his hands and feet bound as if he

were arrested for highway robbery. The giants had no lances, shields or

whetted swords; but they both had clubs and scourges, with which they

were beating him so cruelly that already they had cut the skin on his

back to the bone. Down his sides and flanks the blood ran, so that the

nag was all covered with blood down to the belly. [132] Erec came along

alone after them. He was very sad and distressed about the knight whom

he saw them treat so spitefully. Between two woods in an open field he

came up with them, and asks: "My lords," says he, "for what crime do you

treat this man so ill and lead him along like a common thief? You are

treating him too cruelly. You are driving him just as if he had been

caught stealing. It is a monstrous insult to strip a knight naked, and

then bind him and beat him so shamefully. Hand him over to me, I beg of

you with all good-will and courtesy. I have no wish to demand him of you

forcibly." "Vassal," they say, "what business is this of yours? You must

be mad to make any demand of us. If you do not like it, try and improve

matters." Erec replies: "Indeed, I like it not, and you shall not lead

him away so easily. Since you have left the matter in my hands, I say

whoever can get possession of him let him keep him. Take your positions.

I challenge you. You shall not take him any farther before some blows

have been dealt." "Vassal," they reply, "you are mad, indeed, to wish

to measure your strength with us. If you were four instead of one,

you would have no more strength against us than one lamb against two

wolves." "I do not know how it will turn out," Erec replies; "if the sky

fails and the earth melts, then many a lark will be caught. Many a man

boasts loudly who is of little worth. On guard now, for I am going

to attack you." The giants were strong and fierce, and held in their

clenched hands their big clubs tipped with iron. Erec went at them lance

in rest. He fears neither of them, in spite of their menace and their

pride, and strikes the foremost of them through the eye so deep into the

brain that the blood and brains spurt out at the back of his neck; that

one lies dead and his heart stops beating. When the other saw him dead,

he had reason to be sorely grieved. Furious, he went to avenge him: with

both hands he raised his club on high and thought to strike him squarely

upon his unprotected head: but Erec watched the blow, and received it on

his shield. Even so, the giant landed such a blow that it quite stunned

him, and almost made him fall to earth from his steed. Erec covers

himself with his shield and the giant, recovering himself, thinks to

strike again quickly upon his head. But Erec had drawn his sword, and

attacked him with such fierceness that the giant was severely handled:

he strikes him so hard upon the neck that he splits him down to the

saddle-bow. He scatters his bowels upon the earth, and the body falls

full length, split in two halves. The knight weeps with joy and,

worshipping, praises God who has sent him this aid. Then Erec unbound

him, made him dress and arm himself, and mount one of the horses; the

other he made him lead with his right hand, and asks him who he is. And

he replied: "Noble knight, thou art my liege lord. I wish to regard

thee as my lord, as by right I ought to do, for thou hast saved my life,

which but now would have been cut off from my body with great torment

and cruelty. What chance, fair gentle sire, in God's name, guided thee

hither to me, to free me by thy courage from the hands of my enemies?

Sire, I wish to do thee homage. Henceforth, I shall always accompany

thee and serve thee as my lord." Erec sees that he is disposed to serve

him gladly, if he may, and says: "Friend, for your service I have no

desire; but you must know that I came hither to succour you at the

instance of your lady, whom I found sorrowing in this wood. Because of

you, she grieves and moans; for full of sorrow is her heart. I wish to

present you to her now. As soon as I have reunited you with her, I shall

continue my way alone; for you have no call to go with me. I have no

need cf your company; but I fain would know your name." "Sire," says he,

"as you wish. Since you desire to know my name, it must not be kept from

you. My name is Cadoc of Tabriol: know that thus I am called. But since

I must part from you. I should like to know, if it may be, who you are

and of what land, where I may sometime find and search for you, when

I shall go a way from here." Erec replies: "Friend, that I will never

confide to you. Never speak of it again; but if you wish to find it out

and do me honour in any wise go quickly now without delay to my lord,

King Arthur, who with might and main is hunting the stag in yonder wood,

as I take it, not five short leagues from here. Go thither quickly and

take him word that you are sent to him as a gift by him whom yesterday

within his tent he joyfully received and lodged. And be careful not to

conceal from him from what peril I set free both your life and body. I

am dearly cherished at the court, and if you present yourself in my name

you will do me a service and honour. There you shall ask who I am; but

you cannot know it otherwise." "Sire," says Cadoc, "I will follow your

bidding in all respects. You need never have any fear that I do not go

with a glad heart. I shall tell the King the full truth regarding

the battle which you have fought on my behalf." Thus speaking, they

continued their way until they came to the maiden where Erec had left

her. The damsel's joy knew no bounds when she saw coming her lover whom

she never thought to see again. Taking him by the hand, Erec presents

him to her with the words: "Grieve no longer, demoiselle! Behold your

lover glad and joyous." And she with prudence makes reply: "Sire, by

right you have won us both. Yours we should be, to serve and honour. But

who could ever repay half the debt we owe you?" Erec makes answer: "My

gentle lady, no recompense do I ask of you. To God I now commend you

both, for too long, methinks, I have tarried here." Then he turns his

horse about, and rides away as fast as he can. Cadoc of Tabriol with his

damsel rides off in another direction; and soon he told the news to King

Arthur and the Queen.