ONE Whitsuntide King Arthur held his court at Caerleon upon Usk, and
he had with him Queen Guenever and most of his knights. While he was
holding high feast in his hall, there came to him one of his foresters
from the Forest of Dean, and reported to him that he had seen there a
white stag of wondrous size and beauty. King Arthur resolved to hunt
that stag on the following day; and Queen Guenever craved leave to ride
with him and see the chase, which Arthur granted her with a good will.
But on the morrow the king and his huntsmen rose full early, and the
queen overslept herself, so when she awoke they were all gone. She
took her horse as soon as she might, and rode forth with her maidens to
follow the hunt. Presently there met her a good knight of the court, Sir
Geraint, the son of Erbin, who was lord of the country of Devon. While
they held converse together, they saw a dwarf riding along on a great
horse, and behind him a knight and a lady riding together. The knight
was fully armed, and seemed to be a man of much prowess.
“Sir Geraint,” said the queen, “knowest thou the name of that knight?”
“I know him not,” answered Geraint; “and because of his helm I cannot
see his face.”
Then the queen bade one of her maidens go and ask the dwarf who the
knight was. She obeyed; but when she asked the dwarf he would not tell
her. “Since,” she said, “thou art so churlish, I will go and ask him
myself.”
“Thou shalt not ask him, by my faith,” said he.
“Wherefore?” asked the maiden.
“Because thou art not of honour sufficient to befit thee to speak to my
lord.”
Then the maiden turned her horse’s head towards the knight, upon which
the dwarf struck her across the face with a whip that he carried in
his hand, so that the blood flowed forth, and the maiden returned to
Guenever complaining of the hurt she had received.
“Very rudely has the dwarf treated thee,” said Geraint. “I will myself
go to ask who the knight is.” So he went to the dwarf, who, however,
said and did to him as he had done to the damsel Very wroth was Geraint,
and he put his hand to his sword; but he considered that it would be no
vengeance to him to slay the dwarf and be attacked unarmed by the armed
knight, so he returned to the queen, who said he had acted wisely and
discreetly.
“Madam,” said Geraint, “I will follow them yet; and in time they
will come to some inhabited place where I may get arms, so that I can
encounter the knight.”
To this the queen assented, but cautioned him not to attack the knight
until he got arms; and she said she should be anxious concerning him
till she got good news of him.
“If I am alive,” quoth Geraint, “by to-morrow afternoon, madam, you
shall hear tidings of me;” and so he departed, and followed the knight,
the lady, and the dwarf. They rode past Caerleon, and over the ford of
the Usk, and then went up a lofty ridge of ground till they came to the
top of it. There stood a fair town, and on the other side of it a great
castle. As the knight passed through the town all the people in it
saluted him and the lady. The three rode on and went into the castle,
where Geraint saw many people welcome them. He himself looked into every
house in the town, to see if there were any that he knew, from whom he
might borrow a suit of armour; but he had never seen any of the people
before. Every house he saw was full of men and arms and horses; and
the people were polishing shields, and burnishing swords, and washing
armour, and shoeing horses.
Geraint looked about him, to see where he should lodge, and he perceived
at a little distance from the town an old palace that once had been full
nobble, but now was falling into decay. He went toward it, and found
that it was approached by a bridge of marble. On the bridge he saw
sitting an old man, clad in poor and tattered garments. Upon him Geraint
gazed steadfastly for a long time.
“Young man,” said he, “wherefore art thou thoughtful?”
“I am thoughtful,” answered Geraint, “because I know not where to go
to-night.”
“Wilt thou abide with me?” said the old man, “and thou shalt have of the
best that I can give thee.”
So he led the way into the hall, and Geraint followed him. In the hall
Geraint dismounted and left his horse, and his host took him into an
upper chamber where were two women. One was old and decrepit, but it
seemed to Geraint that when she was young she must have been exceedingly
fair. The other was a young damsel, and he thought he had never seen a
maiden more full of comeliness, grace, and beauty than she. But both of
the women were attired in old and worn-out garments. The old man
bade the girl attend to their guest; and she disarrayed him, and then
unsaddled his horse and gave it straw and com. After that the old man
bade her go to the town and bring the best she could find, both of food
and liquor. While she was away, the old people conversed pleasantly with
Geraint. In a while she returned, bringing with her a youth who bore a
flagon of mead and the quarter of a young bullock. In her hands and in
her veil she carried a quantity of bread “I could not obtain better than
this,” she said, “nor with better would I have been trusted.”
“Surely it is good enough,” said Geraint. So the food was made ready,
and Geraint and the old people sat down to the table, while the maiden
waited upon them.
When they had finished eating, Geraint talked with the old man, and
asked him to whom the palace belonged “Truly,” answered the other, “it
was I that built it, and to me also belonged the town and the castle you
have seen.”
“Alas!” said Geraint, “how comes it that you have lost them?”
“I lost a great earldom as well as these,” answered the other, “and it
was in this wise. I had a nephew, the son of my brother, and I took his
possessions to myself; and when he came to his strength he demanded
his property of me, but I withheld it from him. Thereupon he waged war
against me, and took from me all that I possessed.”
“Good sir,” said Geraint, “will you tell me wherefore came the knight,
lady, and dwarf that I just now saw go into the castle; and also why
there is such preparation and furbishing of arms going forward in the
town?”
“The preparations,” answered the old earl, whose name was Uniel, “are
for a tournament that is to be held to-morrow by the young earl, my
nephew. In a meadow hard by will be hung a silver sparrow-hawk on a
silver rod, and that is the prize. Any man may joust for it if he have
with him the lady that he loves the best. The knight you saw has won the
sparrow-hawk these two years, and if he win it to-morrow it will then be
sent to him every year, and he will no more come-for it himself; but he
will thenceforth be called the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk.”
Then Geraint told Earl Uniel of the quest he was on, and of the insult
which the knight’s dwarf had given to him and to Queen Guenever; and he
asked what it were best for him to do.
“It is not easy to counsel thee,” said the earl, “because thou hast
neither dame nor maiden with thee for whom thou couldst joust. Yet have
I arms here which thou mightst have.”
“Ah, sir.” said Geraint, “may Heaven reward you! And if you will permit
me to-morrow to challenge for this fair maiden your daughter, I will
engage, if I come alive from the tournament, to love her ever after; and
if I do not escape she will be nothing the worse.”
To this the old earl gladly assented; nor was the maiden sorry, for
Geraint was a right comely and noble man, and was ever courteous to
ladies. So the next morning they all went forth to the meadow. And the
knight that had previously won the sparrow-hawk came forth with great
pride, because he deemed that none would, dare to encounter him. He bade
his lady to take the sparrow-hawk, because she was the fairest, and if
any denied her, by force would he defend it for her.
“Touch it not,” said Geraint; “for there is here a maiden who is fairer,
and more noble, and more comely, and has a better claim to it than thou
hast.”
Then said the knight scornfully, “If thou maintainest the sparrow-hawk
to be due to thy lady, come forward and do battle for it with me.”
Geraint came forward accordingly. He and his horse were arrayed in the
Earl Uniers old armour, which was heavy and rusty, and of uncouth shape;
so that few thought he would be likely to keep his ground against that
strong knight. Then three or four times the two ran together and broke
their spears on each other without doing any hurt. Then said the old
earl to Geraint, “O knight, since no other lance will hold, here is the
good spear which I took in my hand on the day when first I was knighted,
and a better never held I in my hand.”
Geraint thanked him and took the spear. Then the dwarf also brought
a lance to his lord, and said, “Bethink thee that no knight has ever
withstood thee so long as this one.”
“I vow by Our Lady,” quoth Geraint, “that if I be not slain and this
spear hold, he shall fare none the better for thy service.” So again
they rushed together, and this time Geraint by pure might broke the
other knight’s shield in twain and burst his saddle-girths, so that he
fell back to the ground. Then quickly Geraint dismounted and drew his
sword, and the other knight also rose and pulled out his sword; and they
fought fiercely on foot, striking each other such heavy blows that the
fire flashed like stars from their armour, and their vision was obscured
with blood and sweat. After a while the stranger knight seemed as though
he would prevail, at which the young earl and all his party rejoiced;
but Earl Uniel and his wife and the maiden were heavy of heart. So Earl
Uniel went near to Geraint and cried, “O knight, bethink thee of the
insult that thou and Queen Guenever had from the dwarf.” At that Geraint
put forth all his might, and struck his enemy so mightily on the helm
that it broke, and the sword cut through to the skull.
Then the knight fell on his knees, yielded, and craved mercy of Geraint.
“I will grant thee grace,” answered Geraint, “on one condition--that
thou go to King Arthur’s court and make amends to Queen Guenever for the
insult that was offered her by thy dwarf. As for the insult he gave to
me, for that I have myself taken amends.” The knight promised to obey;
and in reply to Geraint he said his name was Edeym, the son of Nudd.
So he got on his horse and rode sadly toward Caerleon, and his lady and
dwarf went with him.
In the meantime the young earl came and greeted Geraint, and asked him
to come to his castle; but Geraint said he would lodge that night where
he had lodged before, and so returned with Earl Uniel and his wife and
daughter to the old palace. But the young earl sent thither a great
many servants, who put the house in order, and brought large store of
provision, and set out the feast in the great hall. Also they brought
fine garments for Uniel and the two women; but Geraint entreated that
the maiden should wear no other array than the old worn vest and veil in
which he had seen her first. Then a great company sat down to the feast,
and in the highest places were Geraint, the young earl, the old earl,
his wife, and the maiden, who was called Enid. So they feasted, and
afterwards they talked together. Geraint said plainly that if he lived
Earl Uniel should not be long without his possessions.
“As to that,” answered the young earl, “it is not my fault that he lost
them; and with regard to the disagreement between us, I will gladly
abide by thy decision, and agree to what thou judgest right.”
“I but ask thee,” said Geraint, “to restore to him what was his.”
This the young earl did, and Uniel received back his town and castle and
all that he had lost. Then said he to Geraint, “O knight, here is the
maiden for whom thou didst challenge at the tournament. Well hast thou
won her, and I gladly give her to thee.”
“She shall go with me,” said Geraint, “to the court of King Arthur; and
she shall wear still the raiment in which I first saw her, till for my
sake Queen Guenever arrays her in richer garments.” And he looked on
Enid with joy, for his heart was full of love toward her. The next day,
accordingly, Geraint and Enid rode forth toward Caerleon.
In the meantime King Arthur had killed the white stag he hunted; and
at the queen’s wish he agreed not to decide to whom its head should be
given till Geraint returned from the quest he was on, because if he were
successful the queen wished that some mark of honour should be bestowed
upon him. So the next day Guenever caused a watch to be set on the
battlements of the palace to tell when Geraint might appear. A little
after mid-day, the porter who was without came and informed the queen
that at the gate was a knight who said his errand was to her; that his
armour was all broken and blood-stained, and his whole aspect pitiful.
“Knowest thou his name?” asked the queen.
“He says,” answered the porter, “that his name is Edeym, the son of
Nudd.” So the knight was brought in, and Guenever saw that it was the
knight whom Geraint had followed; and she could not but pity him, even
although the churlish dwarf was with him. So he told Guenever all that
had befallen him, and what Geraint had done; and it was settled that
he should be put in charge of the leeches, and, when he was recovered,
should give such satisfaction to the queen as the Knights of the Round
Table might judge fitting. The next day Geraint came to Caerleon with
Enid, and both of them were nobly received. Queen Guenever attired the
maiden in some of her own rich raiment, and then all said that they had
never seen any one who was more beautiful. Before long she and Geraint
were wedded, and Geraint abode with her at the court, and won great
honour in joustings and in the hunt.
But after three years Erbin, because he was grown old and feeble, sent
for his son to take charge of his territories. King Arthur was loath to
let him go, and Guenever was sorry to part with Enid; but inasmuch as
the parting was unavoidable, they sent them away with a noble following
of knights and ladies. So Geraint went into Devon, and ruled in
his father’s place. He governed the country well and wisely, and
at tournaments there was no knight of that country strong enough to
withstand him. But after a while he grew to love Enid so much that
he neglected knightly sports, and spent all his time with her in the
palace; and in this way he began to lose the love of his people, and his
fame was no longer great in the land. This became known to Enid, and she
sorrowed much on account of it. One morning in summer they were lying on
the couch in their chamber, and Enid was awake, but Geraint slept. The
clothing had fallen off his arms and breast, and as she gazed on him
she exclaimed, “Alas! and am I the cause that these arms and this breast
have lost their glory and the warlike fame which once they so richly
enjoyed.”
As she spoke thus, the tears dropped from her eyes and fell on her
husband’s breast, so that he awoke; and hearing her words imperfectly,
the thought entered his mind that she loved some other man more than
him, and wished for other society. So Geraint was sore troubled, and
he sprang quickly from his couch, and calling his squire, bade him get
ready his horse and arms. “And do thou arise,” he said sternly to
Enid, “and apparel thyself in the worst riding-dress thou hast in thy
possession, and cause thy horse to be got ready. Evil betide me if
we return here till thou knowest whether I have lost my strength so
completely as thou didst say. If that be so, then will it be easy for
thee to seek the society of him whom thou desirest.”
Enid arose, and clothed herself in her meanest garments; but she said,
“My lord, I know nothing of your meaning.”
“Neither will you know at this time,” he answered roughly. Then
Geraint went to Erbin, and told him he was going on a quest, and it was
uncertain when he would return. After that he rode forth with Enid, and
charged her to ride before him, and, whatever she might hear or see, not
to turn back, or to speak to him unless he spoke first to her. And he
chose a road that was wild and beset by thieves and robbers. In a while
they came to a great forest; and Enid saw four armed horsemen lying in
wait, of whom one said to the others, “Here is a good opportunity for us
to capture this lady and the horses and armour; for we can easily master
yonder knight, who hangs his head so heavily.” When Enid heard this, she
knew not what to do, for Geraint had charged her not to speak to him.
“Yet,” she said to herself, “I would rather have my death from his hand
than from that of any other; and though he slay me, yet will I speak to
him, lest I endure the misery of seeing him slain.” So she waited for
Geraint till he came near.
“My lord,” she said kindly, “did you hear the words of those men
concerning you?”
Then he raised his eyes, and looked at her angrily.
“Did I not bid thee hold thy peace?” he said. “I only wished for
silence, not for warning. And thou--thou shouldst desire to see me slain
by these men; yet do I feel no dread.”
Then the foremost of the robbers couched his spear, and rushed at
Geraint, who received the stroke on his shield, and thrust his own lance
through the other’s body. And so he served the other three. After that
he dismounted, took the arms of the dead men, fastened them on their
saddles, and tied all the bridles of the horses together. Then he bade
Enid ride before, and drive the horses; and again he forbade her to
speak to him unless he first spoke to her. In that manner they went
through the forest, and then came out on a vast plain, across which Enid
saw three armed knights coming toward them; and she heard them say that
it would be easy to take all that spoil from one dolorous knight. Again
was she terrified for Geraint, because she thought he was wearied
with his former combat; so she warned him of the purpose of the three
knights.
“I declare to Heaven,” he said, “that all they can do is less grievous
to me than that thou wilt not be silent as I bid thee.”
“My lord,” she answered meekly, “I feared lest they should surprise thee
unawares.”
“Hold thy peace, then,” replied Geraint. “Do not I desire silence?”
Straightway the three knights attacked Geraint, but they fared no better
than the others had done before; for he slew them all, and added their
arms and horses to the other spoil which was in Enid’s charge. Yet
again, when they were nearly across the plain, did Enid break silence to
warn her lord of five horsemen who were preparing to attack him; and he
was exceedingly wrathful, and rebuked her sorely. But he slew all the
five robbers, and added their arms and horsey to the others. Then they
rode toward a wood, there to pass the night, and even in his anger
Geraint was troubled at heart to see so fair and tender a woman as Enid
toiling to guide so many horses. In the wood Geraint slept all night;
but he bade Enid watch, and she obeyed him.
In the morning they came to a fair city, and there Geraint hired a
lodging, and had all his horses stabled. He commanded Enid to sit on the
side of the chamber opposite to where he sat. Then both of them slept;
and when they awoke, the earl to whom the city belonged, and who had
been told of the arrival of this stranger knight with a passing fair
lady and many horses and much spoil, came to visit Geraint, bringing
with him twelve knights; and his name was the Earl Doorm. He asked
Geraint the object of his journey. “I have none,” said he, “but to seek
adventures and follow my own inclination.” Then the earl saw Enid where
she sat apart, and he thought he had never seen so comely a maiden as
she. So he said to Geraint, “Have I thy permission to go and converse
with yonder maiden?”
“Thou hast it gladly,” he answered.
Then the earl went to her, and said, “Fair maiden, it cannot be pleasant
to thee to travel thus with yonder knight.”
“It is not unpleasant to me to journey with him,” she answered.
“I will give thee good counsel,” he said; for her beauty inflamed him
exceedingly. “All my earldom shall be at thy disposal if thou wilt dwell
with me.”
“That will I not,” she replied. “Am I to be faithless to my lord?”
“Thou art foolish,” quoth he. “If I slay thy lord, I can take thee with
me in thine own despite, and turn thee away when I please. But if thou
wilt go with me of thine own goodwill, I swear that I will remain true
to thee as long as I may live.”
Then Enid took counsel with herself how she might save her lord. So she
said to the earl, “Then must you, to save me from any needless shame,
come, here to-morrow, and take me away as though I knew nothing of the
matter.”
To that he assented gladly, and went away. She and Geraint retired
early, but about midnight she woke him and told him all that had passed
between herself and Earl Doorm, and said it would be well that they
should flee. He was wroth with her for speaking, but did as she advised;
and in payment to his host gave him all the horses and armour he had
taken from the robbers, asking only of the man that he should guide them
out of the town by a different way from that by which they had entered.
To this the man agreed readily; but when he returned, he found Earl
Doorm at his house with many knights. The earl was wrathful to find that
Geraint and Enid were gone, and rode hard after them with his knights.
Enid was uneasy as she rode along, and ever she looked behind her. Some
time after dawn she saw a great cloud of dust behind them, that came
nearer, and in a while she perceived a knight coming through the mist.
So she could not refrain from warning Geraint, who was wrathful, and
reproached her because she would not keep silence in obedience to his
orders. However, he turned his horse, and every knight that came up
he overthrew. The earl assailed him the last, and they fought long
together; but Geraint compelled him to sue for mercy, the which he
granted him.
So Geraint and Enid pursued their journey till they came to a passing
fair valley, with a river running through it. Over the river was a
bridge, and on the other side a walled town. As they rode, they met a
knight, and Geraint asked him to whom the valley and town belonged.
He answered that they were in the hands of a perilous knight that was
called the Little King.
“Can I go by yonder bridge and the highway that runs past the town?”
asked Geraint.
“You cannot go that way,” answered the knight, “unless you intend to
combat with the Little King; for it is his custom to combat with every
knight that comes upon his lands.”
“Nevertheless,” said Geraint, “I shall pursue my journey that way.”
“If you do,” said the knight, “you will probably meet with shame and
disgrace in reward for your daring.”
Then Geraint rode on over the bridge, and Enid with him. And on the
other side he saw a knight, that was very small of stature, mounted on a
great war-horse.
“Tell me, knight,” said he, “whether it is through ignorance or
presumption that you seek to insult my dignity and infringe my rules?
Come with me now to my court, and give me satisfaction.”
“That will I not,” answered Geraint.
“Then will I have satisfaction, or receive my overthrow at thy hands,”
returned the Little King. So they fought together a long time on their
horses, and it was exceedingly difficult for Geraint to strike the
Little King, because he was so small of stature; but at the last he
threw him headlong on the ground. Then they encountered on foot, and
each gave the other painful wounds. At length Geraint grew enraged,
and struck the other so fierce a blow that it shattered his helmet and
wounded him on the head, even to the bone. Then the Little King dropped
his sword, and entreated for mercy; which Geraint granted on condition
that the Little King should always be his ally, and engage to come to
his assistance if ever it were needed. To this the Little King pledged
himself: and then he begged Geraint to come with him to his court, so
that he might recover from his fatigue; but to this Geraint would not
assent for all his entreaty, and insisted on continuing his journey,
wounded as he was.
The heat of the sun was very great, and so when Geraint and Enid had
ridden a little further, his wounds began to pain him more than they
had done at first, and to escape the sun’s rays he went into a wood and
stood under a tree. Enid followed after, and stood under another tree.
Suddenly they heard a great noise, the reason of which was that King
Arthur and many knights and ladies of his court were come into the wood.
A foot-page of Sir Kay the seneschal saw the knight and lady standing
silent under the trees, and he hastened to tell his master, who took his
spear and shield, and rode to where Geraint was.
“Ah, knight,” said Sir Kay, “what dost thou here?”
“I am standing under a tree to avoid the rays of the sun.”
“Wherefore is thy journey, and who art thou?”
“I seek adventures, and go where I list.”
“Indeed,” quoth Kay. “Then come with me to King Arthur, who is near at
hand.”
“That will I not,” answered Geraint curtly. He knew Sir Kay well, but
Sir Kay knew him not.
“Thou must needs come,” said Kay; and therewith he couched his spear and
attacked Geraint, who, becoming angry, smote him with the shaft of his
lance, and rolled him headlong on the ground. Sir Kay got on his feet
again as well as he could, and rode back to the tents, where he met Sir
Gawaine.
“There is yonder in the wood,” said he, “a wounded knight, with battered
armour. Will you go and ascertain who he is?”
Gawaine assented, but Kay warned him to take his spear and armour,
because the knight was not over courteous. This Gawaine did, and then he
went to Geraint, and asked him who he was, and whether he would go with
him to King Arthur; but Geraint would not tell his name, and refused to
go to the king. “I will not leave thee,” said Gawaine, “till I know who
thou art.” Then he charged Geraint with his spear, and it splintered on
his shield, and their horses stood front to front. Gawaine gazed fixedly
at the other, and saw who he was.
“Ah, Geraint,” he cried, “art thou here?”
“I am not Geraint,” said the knight, who, what with the pain of his
wounds and the agony of his mind, divided between jealousy of Enid and
sorrow and love, was well-nigh out of his wits.
“Geraint thou art, I know well,” answered Gawaine, “and a wretched and
insane expedition is this.” Then he looked round, and saw Enid, and
welcomed her gladly. Again he entreated Geraint to come to the king.
“I will not,” he answered; “for I am not in a fit state to see any one.”
So Gawaine contrived that King Arthur should be brought to the place;
and when he came, he commanded that Geraint should not be allowed to
go forth till he was healed, and committed him to the charge of his
physicians. A whole month they abode in that place; and Queen Guenever
took charge of Enid, and tended her lovingly. But ever Enid was
sorrowful, for still she knew not why her lord had so utterly changed
to her; and as for him, though his body was healed, he remained sad and
silent.
At last Geraint went to the king, saying that he was whole, and asked
leave again to go forth, which Arthur unwillingly granted. So he and
Enid once more set out, and Geraint desired her to ride before him, as
she had formerly done. As they journeyed along the road, they heard loud
wailing; and there, in an open glade of the wood, they saw a lady, young
and fair, standing by a dead knight.
“What hath befallen thee, lady?” asked Geraint.
“Sir,” she answered weeping, “I was journeying here with my beloved
husband, when there came upon us three giants, and without any
provocation they slew him.”
“Which way went they hence?” said Geraint. She pointed out the way, and
he bade Enid stay with the lady, and rode after the giants. Presently he
overtook them. Each was as great in stature as three men, and carried
in his hand a huge club. Geraint rushed upon them, and thrust his lance
through the body of one, then drew it forth and slew another in the same
way. But the third turned upon him, and struck him with his dub, so
that the blow crushed his shoulder, and opened all his wounds anew. Then
Geraint drew his sword, and smote the giant so fiercely on the crown of
the head that it was split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead in
that place. So Geraint left him thus, and returned to Enid; and as soon
as he came to her he sank down at her feet as though he were dead. Then
Enid uttered a cry, piercing and loud and thrilling; and it chanced that
a wild earl called Limours, with a great company, was travelling on the
highroad, and he heard the cry, and turned aside to see what was the
cause of it. The earl said to Enid, “Fair lady, what hath befallen
thee?”
“Alas!” she answered, “the only man I ever loved, or shall love, is
slain.”
Then he asked the other the cause of her grief.
“They have slain my dear husband also.”
“Who was it that slew them?” asked the earl.
“Some giants,” she answered, “slew my best beloved; and the other knight
went in pursuit of them, and came back as thou seest.”
The earl caused the dead knight to be buried; but it seemed to him that
there was still some life left in Geraint, so he had him carried along
on a shield. And the two women followed. When they came to the earl’s
mansion, Geraint was placed on a couch in the hall, and Enid sat by his
side. The earl and his companions changed their travelling dress; and he
came and asked Enid to do likewise, but she refused.
“Do not be sorrowful for this matter,” said he, “and take no heed
whether yonder knight live or die. Behold, a good earldom, together with
myself, will I bestow upon thee. Be therefore happy and joyful.”
“I shall never henceforth be happy while I live,” said Enid.
“Come, then, and eat,” quoth the earl.
“No, I will not,” she answered.
“By our Lady thou shalt,” he cried, and forced her to come to the table,
where he many times bade her eat. Then said Enid, “I call all here
to witness that I will not eat till he that is on yonder couch eateth
likewise.”
“Thou canst not fulfil that pledge,” said the earl, “for the man is
already dead.”
“Still will I abide by what I have said.”
Then he offered her a goblet of wine, and bade her drink, and then she
would change her mind.
“Evil betide me,” she replied, “if I drink aught till he drink also.”
Then the earl grew angry. “Truly,” said he, “it is of no more avail for
me to be gentle with thee than ungentle;” and, un-knightly, he struck
her with his hand on the face. And Enid raised an exceedingly loud and
bitter cry;--not so much, indeed, because of the pain of the blow, as
because it reminded her more strongly of the calamity that had befallen
her, since she felt that if Geraint had been alive no man dared have
smitten her. But all at once, at the sound of her cry, Geraint rose up
from the couch. His sword was still in his hand as it had been when he
swooned, and with it he rushed to the earl, and gave him so stern a blow
that it clove him in twain till the sword was stayed by the table.
Then, at the sight of that terrible stroke, all who were there fled away
with loud outcries. Geraint was sore grieved when he looked upon Enid,
for her face was pale, and she wept bitterly.
“Lady,” said he, “knowest thou where our horses are?”
“I know where thy horse is, my lord,” she answered, “but I know not
where the other may be.” She showed him where his horse was, and he
mounted, and took up Enid and placed her before him, and so they rode
forth. Presently something was heard like the sound of a host
approaching, and Geraint put Enid on the other side of a hedge by the
wayside, and made him ready. Immediately a knight rode forward and
couched his lance. Then Enid could not restrain herself, but sprang to
her feet, and cried. “O knight! whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou
gain by slaying one that is already well-nigh dead?”
“O Heaven!” cried he, “is it Geraint?”
“Yes, in truth,” she answered; “and who art thou?”
“I am the Little King. I heard you were in trouble, and was coming to
your assistance.--And if thou, Geraint, had followed my advice, none of
these hardships would have befallen thee.”
“Nothing can happen,” said Geraint, “without the will of Heaven, though
much good results from counsel.”
So he and Enid went with the Little King to the house of a baron that
was the son of his sister, and there Geraint abode till he was perfectly
well. After that, the Little King said to Geraint, “Now will we go to my
court, to rest and amuse ourselves.”
“No,” said Geraint; “I will journey first for one day more and return
again.”
So they set forth together, and presently came to a place where the road
divided into two. There they met a man walking on foot, and the Little
King asked him which was the best road to follow. “This,” said he,
pointing to the one by which he had come, “is the best to follow; for if
you go by the other you will never return. It leads to a hedge of mist,
within which are enchanted games, and no one who has gone thither has
ever come back. The court of the Earl Owain is there, and he permits no
one to lodge in the town except he will go to his court.”
But Geraint said they would go by that road; and they travelled till
they came to the town, whence the Earl Owain sent for them to his court,
whither they went willingly; and when Geraint said he wished to go to
the games, the earl assented. After they had eaten, Geraint took his
arms and his horse and rode forth, the earl and all the company going
with him. When they came to the hedge of mist, it was so high that no
one could see the top. “Which way may I enter?” asked Geraint.
“I know not,” answered Owain, “but enter by the way that seems easiest.”
Then fearlessly Geraint dashed through the mist; and beyond it he found
a fair orchard, within which was a pavilion of red satin. In front of
it was a great apple tree, to one branch of which hung a hunting-horn.
Geraint dismounted, and entered the tent. Within there was only a
maiden, sitting in a golden chair; and opposite to her was another like
chair that was empty. Geraint went and sat down in it.
“Ah, knight,” said the maiden, “I would not counsel thee to sit in that
chair.”
“Wherefore?” said Geraint.
“Because he to whom it belongs has never suffered another to sit in it.”
“I care not,” answered Geraint, “though it displease him that I sit in
the chair.”
Thereupon there arose a mighty tumult about the pavilion; and Geraint
looked to see what was the cause of it, and he saw a great knight, fully
armed, mounted on a mettlesome war-horse.
“Tell me, knight,” said he, “who was it bade thee sit on that chair?”
“Myself,” quoth Geraint.
“It was wrong of thee,” said the other, “to do me this shame and
insolence. Arise now, and give me satisfaction.”
Then Geraint went forth, mounted his horse, and encountered him. Again
and again they rushed at each other and broke spears; but at last
Geraint cast him on the ground, a whole spear’s length beyond his
horse’s crupper. Thereupon he sued for mercy, and promised to grant all
that Geraint asked.
“I only desire,” he answered, “that this enchantment shall cease.”
“Sound yonder horn,” said the knight, “and the hedge of mist will
immediately disappear; but it will not go hence unless the horn be
sounded by the knight by whom I have been vanquished.”
Then Geraint went and sounded the horn, and at the first blast the hedge
of mist vanished; and there Geraint was visible to Enid, who had been
sorrowful with anxiety concerning him, and to all the others. So on
the morrow Geraint returned with his wife to his own dominions. All the
distrust and grief between them had gone like the hedge of mist, because
he had proved her to be faithful and loving to him beyond all women.
Thenceforth he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendour
lasted thereafter as long as he lived.