GERAINT THE SON OF ERBIN

Arthur was accustomed to hold his Court at Caerlleon upon Usk. And there

he held it seven Easters and five Christmases. And once upon a time he

held his Court there at Whitsuntide. For Caerlleon was the place most

easy of access in his dominions, both by sea and by land. And there were

assembled nine crowned kings, who were his tributaries, and likewise

earls and barons. For they were his invited guests at all the high

festivals, unless they were prevented by any great hindrance. And when

he was at Caerlleon, holding his Court, thirteen churches were set apart

for mass. And thus were they appointed: one church for Arthur, and his

kings, and his guests; and the second for Gwenhwyvar and her ladies; and

the third for the Steward of the Household and the suitors; and the

fourth for the Franks and the other officers; and the other nine churches

were for the nine Masters of the Household and chiefly for Gwalchmai; for

he, from the eminence of his warlike fame, and from the nobleness of his

birth, was the most exalted of the nine. And there was no other

arrangement respecting the churches than that which we have mentioned

above.

Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr was the chief porter; but he did not himself perform

the office, except at one of the three high festivals, for he had seven

men to serve him, and they divided the year amongst them. They were

Grynn, and Pen Pighon, and Llaes Cymyn, and Gogyfwlch, and Gwrdnei with

cat’s eyes, who could see as well by night as by day, and Drem the son of

Dremhitid, and Clust the son of Clustveinyd; and these were Arthur’s

guards. And on Whit-Tuesday, as the King sat at the banquet, lo! there

entered a tall, fair-headed youth, clad in a coat and a surcoat of

diapered satin, and a golden-hilted sword about his neck, and low shoes

of leather upon his feet. And he came, and stood before Arthur. “Hail

to thee, Lord!” said he. “Heaven prosper thee,” he answered, “and be

thou welcome. Dost thou bring any new tidings?” “I do, Lord,” he said.

“I know thee not,” said Arthur. “It is a marvel to me that thou dost not

know me. I am one of thy foresters, Lord, in the Forest of Dean, and my

name is Madawc, the son of Twrgadarn.” “Tell me thine errand,” said

Arthur. “I will do so, Lord,” said he. “In the Forest I saw a stag, the

like of which beheld I never yet.” “What is there about him,” asked

Arthur, “that thou never yet didst see his like?” “He is of pure white,

Lord, and he does not herd with any other animal through stateliness and

pride, so royal is his bearing. And I come to seek thy counsel, Lord,

and to know thy will concerning him.” “It seems best to me,” said

Arthur, “to go and hunt him to-morrow at break of day; and to cause

general notice thereof to be given to-night in all quarters of the

Court.” And Arryfuerys was Arthur’s chief huntsman, and Arelivri was his

chief page. And all received notice; and thus it was arranged. And they

sent the youth before them. Then Gwenhwyvar said to Arthur, “Wilt thou

permit me, Lord,” said she, “to go to-morrow to see and hear the hunt of

the stag of which the young man spoke?” “I will gladly,” said Arthur.

“Then will I go,” said she. And Gwalchmai said to Arthur, “Lord, if it

seem well to thee, permit that into whose hunt soever the stag shall

come, that one, be he a knight, or one on foot, may cut off his head, and

give it to whom he pleases, whether to his own lady-love, or to the lady

of his friend.” “I grant it gladly,” said Arthur, “and let the Steward

of the Household be chastised, if all are not ready to-morrow for the

chase.”

And they passed the night with songs, and diversions, and discourse, and

ample entertainment. And when it was time for them all to go to sleep,

they went. And when the next day came, they arose; and Arthur called the

attendants, who guarded his couch. And these were four pages, whose

names were Cadyrnerth the son of Porthawr Gandwy, and Ambreu the son of

Bedwor, and Amhar the son of Arthur, and Goreu the son of Custennin. And

these men came to Arthur and saluted him, and arrayed him in his

garments. And Arthur wondered that Gwenhwyvar did not awake, and did not

move in her bed; and the attendants wished to awaken her. “Disturb her

not,” said Arthur, “for she had rather sleep than go to see the hunting.”

Then Arthur went forth, and he heard two horns sounding, one from near

the lodging of the chief huntsman, and the other from near that of the

chief page. And the whole assembly of the multitudes came to Arthur, and

they took the road to the Forest.

And after Arthur had gone forth from the palace, Gwenhwyvar awoke, and

called to her maidens, and apparelled herself. “Maidens,” said she, “I

had leave last night to go and see the hunt. Go one of you to the

stable, and order hither a horse such as a woman may ride.” And one of

them went, and she found but two horses in the stable, and Gwenhwyvar and

one of her maidens mounted them, and went through the Usk, and followed

the track of the men and the horses. And as they rode thus, they heard a

loud and rushing sound; and they looked behind them, and beheld a knight

upon a hunter foal of mighty size; and the rider was a fair-haired youth,

bare-legged, and of princely mien, and a golden-hilted sword was at his

side, and a robe and a surcoat of satin were upon him, and two low shoes

of leather upon his feet; and around him was a scarf of blue purple, at

each corner of which was a golden apple. And his horse stepped stately,

and swift, and proud; and he overtook Gwenhwyvar, and saluted her.

“Heaven prosper thee, Geraint,” said she, “I knew thee when first I saw

thee just now. And the welcome of Heaven be unto thee. And why didst

thou not go with thy lord to hunt?” “Because I knew not when he went,”

said he. “I marvel, too,” said she, “how he could go unknown to me.”

“Indeed, lady,” said he. “I was asleep, and knew not when he went; but

thou, O young man, art the most agreeable companion I could have in the

whole kingdom; and it may be, that I shall be more amused with the

hunting than they; for we shall hear the horns when they sound, and we

shall hear the dogs when they are let loose, and begin to cry.” So they

went to the edge of the Forest, and there they stood. “From this place,”

said she, “we shall hear when the dogs are let loose.” And thereupon,

they heard a loud noise, and they looked towards the spot whence it came,

and they beheld a dwarf riding upon a horse, stately, and foaming, and

prancing, and strong, and spirited. And in the hand of the dwarf was a

whip. And near the dwarf they saw a lady upon a beautiful white horse,

of steady and stately pace; and she was clothed in a garment of gold

brocade. And near her was a knight upon a warhorse of large size, with

heavy and bright armour both upon himself and upon his horse. And truly

they never before saw a knight, or a horse, or armour, of such remarkable

size. And they were all near to each other.

“Geraint,” said Gwenhwyvar, “knowest thou the name of that tall knight

yonder?” “I know him not,” said he, “and the strange armour that he

wears prevents my either seeing his face or his features.” “Go, maiden,”

said Gwenhwyvar, “and ask the dwarf who that knight is.” Then the maiden

went up to the dwarf; and the dwarf waited for the maiden, when he saw

her coming towards him. And the maiden inquired of the dwarf who the

knight was. “I will not tell thee,” he answered. “Since thou art so

churlish as not to tell me,” said she, “I will ask him himself.” “Thou

shalt not ask him, by my faith,” said he. “Wherefore?” said she.

“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 with the whip that was in his hand across the

face and the eyes, until the blood flowed forth. And the maiden, through

the hurt she received from the blow, returned to Gwenhwyvar, complaining

of the pain. “Very rudely has the dwarf treated thee,” said Geraint. “I

will go myself to know who the knight is.” “Go,” said Gwenhwyvar. And

Geraint went up to the dwarf. “Who is yonder knight?” said Geraint. “I

will not tell thee,” said the dwarf. “Then will I ask him himself,” said

he. “That wilt thou not, by my faith,” said the dwarf, “thou art not

honourable enough to speak with my Lord.” Said Geraint, “I have spoken

with men of equal rank with him.” And he turned his horse’s head towards

the knight; but the dwarf overtook him, and struck him as he had done the

maiden, so that the blood coloured the scarf that Geraint wore. Then

Geraint put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, but he took counsel with

himself, and considered that it would be no vengeance for him to slay the

dwarf, and to be attacked unarmed by the armed knight, so he returned to

where Gwenhwyvar was.

“Thou hast acted wisely and discreetly,” said she. “Lady,” said he, “I

will follow him yet, with thy permission; and at last he will come to

some inhabited place, where I may have arms either as a loan or for a

pledge, so that I may encounter the knight.” “Go,” said she, “and do not

attack him until thou hast good arms, and I shall be very anxious

concerning thee, until I hear tidings of thee.” “If I am alive,” said

he, “thou shalt hear tidings of me by to-morrow afternoon;” and with that

he departed.

And the road they took was below the palace of Caerlleon, and across the

ford of the Usk; and they went along a fair, and even, and lofty ridge of

ground, until they came to a town, and at the extremity of the town they

saw a Fortress and a Castle. And they came to the extremity of the town.

And as the knight passed through it, all the people arose, and saluted

him, and bade him welcome. And when Geraint came into the town, he

looked at every house, to see if he knew any of those whom he saw. But

he knew none, and none knew him to do him the kindness to let him have

arms either as a loan or for a pledge. And every house he saw was full

of men, and arms, and horses. And they were polishing shields, and

burnishing swords, and washing armour, and shoeing horses. And the

knight, and the lady, and the dwarf rode up to the Castle that was in the

town, and every one was glad in the Castle. And from the battlements and

the gates they risked their necks, through their eagerness to greet them,

and to show their joy.

Geraint stood there to see whether the knight would remain in the Castle;

and when he was certain that he would do so, he looked around him; and at

a little distance from the town he saw an old palace in ruins, wherein

was a hall that was falling to decay. And as he knew not any one in the

town, he went towards the old palace; and when he came near to the

palace, he saw but one chamber, and a bridge of marble-stone leading to

it. And upon the bridge he saw sitting a hoary-headed man, upon whom

were tattered garments. And Geraint gazed steadfastly upon him for a

long time. Then the hoary-headed man spoke to him. “Young man,” he

said, “wherefore art thou thoughtful?” “I am thoughtful,” said he,

“because I know not where to go to-night.” “Wilt thou come forward this

way, chieftain?” said he, “and thou shalt have of the best that can be

procured for thee.” So Geraint went forward. And the hoary-headed man

preceded him into the hall. And in the hall he dismounted, and he left

there his horse. Then he went on to the upper chamber with the

hoary-headed man. And in the chamber he beheld an old decrepit woman,

sitting on a cushion, with old, tattered garments of satin upon her; and

it seemed to him that he had never seen a woman fairer than she must have

been, when in the fulness of youth. And beside her was a maiden, upon

whom were a vest and a veil, that were old, and beginning to be worn out.

And truly, he never saw a maiden more full of comeliness, and grace, and

beauty than she. And the hoary-headed man said to the maiden, “There is

no attendant for the horse of this youth but thyself.” “I will render

the best service I am able,” said she, “both to him and to his horse.”

And the maiden disarrayed the youth, and then she furnished his horse

with straw and with corn. And she went to the hall as before, and then

she returned to the chamber. And the hoary-headed man said to the

maiden, “Go to the town,” said he, “and bring hither the best that thou

canst find both of food and of liquor.” “I will, gladly, Lord,” said

she. And to the town went the maiden. And they conversed together while

the maiden was at the town. And, behold! the maiden came back, and a

youth with her, bearing on his back a costrel full of good purchased

mead, and a quarter of a young bullock. And in the hands of the maiden

was a quantity of white bread, and she had some manchet bread in her

veil, and she came into the chamber. “I could not obtain better than

this,” said she, “nor with better should I have been trusted.” “It is

good enough,” said Geraint. And they caused the meat to be boiled; and

when their food was ready, they sat down. And it was on this wise;

Geraint sat between the hoary-headed man and his wife, and the maiden

served them. And they ate and drank.

And when they had finished eating, Geraint talked with the hoary-headed

man, and he asked him in the first place, to whom belonged the palace

that he was in. “Truly,” said he, “it was I that built it, and to me

also belonged the city and the castle which thou sawest.” “Alas!” said

Geraint, “how is it that thou hast lost them now?” “I lost a great

Earldom as well as these,” said he; “and this is how I lost them. 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 of me his property, but I

withheld it from him. So he made war upon me, and wrested from me all

that I possessed.” “Good Sir,” said Geraint, “wilt thou tell me

wherefore came the knight, and the lady, and the dwarf, just now into the

town, and what is the preparation which I saw, and the putting of arms in

order?” “I will do so,” said he. “The preparations are for the game

that is to be held to-morrow by the young Earl, which will be on this

wise. In the midst of a meadow which is here, two forks will be set up,

and upon the two forks a silver rod, and upon the silver rod a

Sparrow-Hawk, and for the Sparrow-Hawk there will be a tournament. And

to the tournament will go all the array thou didst see in the city, of

men, and of horses, and of arms. And with each man will go the lady he

loves best; and no man can joust for the Sparrow-Hawk, except the lady he

loves best be with him. And the knight that thou sawest has gained the

Sparrow-Hawk these two years; and if he gains it the third year, they

will, from that time, send it every year to him, and he himself will come

here no more. And he will be called the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk from

that time forth.” “Sir,” said Geraint, “what is thy counsel to me

concerning this knight, on account of the insult which I received from

the dwarf, and that which was received by the maiden of Gwenhwyvar, the

wife of Arthur?” And Geraint told the hoary-headed man what the insult

was that he had received. “It is not easy to counsel thee, inasmuch as

thou hast neither dame nor maiden belonging to thee, for whom thou canst

joust. Yet, I have arms here, which thou couldest have; and there is my

horse also, if he seem to thee better than thine own.” “Ah! Sir,” said

he, “Heaven reward thee. But my own horse, to which I am accustomed,

together with thy arms, will suffice me. And if, when the appointed time

shall come to-morrow, thou wilt permit me, Sir, to challenge for yonder

maiden that is thy daughter, I will engage, if I escape from the

tournament, to love the maiden as long as I live; and if I do not escape,

she will remain unsullied as before.” “Gladly will I permit thee,” said

the hoary-headed man, “and since thou dost thus resolve, it is necessary

that thy horse and arms should be ready to-morrow at break of day. For

then the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk will make proclamation, and ask the

lady he loves best to take the Sparrow-Hawk. ‘For,’ will he say to her,

‘thou art the fairest of women, and thou didst possess it last year, and

the year previous; and if any deny it thee to-day, by force will I defend

it for thee.’ And therefore,” said the hoary-headed man, “it is needful

for thee to be there at daybreak; and we three will be with thee.” And

thus was it settled.

And at night, lo! they went to sleep; and before the dawn they arose, and

arrayed themselves; and by the time that it was day, they were all four

in the meadow. And there was the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk making the

proclamation, and asking his lady-love to fetch the Sparrow-Hawk. “Fetch

it not,” said Geraint, “for there is here a maiden, who is fairer, and

more noble, and more comely, and who has a better claim to it than thou.”

“If thou maintainest the Sparrow-Hawk to be due to her, come forward, and

do battle with me.” And Geraint went forward to the top of the meadow,

having upon himself and upon his horse armour which was heavy, and rusty,

and worthless, and of uncouth shape. Then they encountered each other,

and they broke a set of lances, and they broke a second set, and a third.

And thus they did at every onset, and they broke as many lances as were

brought to them. And when the Earl and his company saw the Knight of the

Sparrow-Hawk gaining the mastery, there was shouting, and joy, and mirth

amongst them. And the hoary-headed man, and his wife, and his daughter

were sorrowful. And the hoary-headed man served Geraint lances as often

as he broke them, and the dwarf served the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk.

Then the hoary-headed man came to Geraint. “Oh! chieftain,” said he,

“since no other will hold with thee, behold, here is the lance which was

in my hand on the day when I received the honour of knighthood; and from

that time to this I never broke it. And it has an excellent point.”

Then Geraint took the lance, thanking the hoary-headed man. And

thereupon the dwarf also brought a lance to his lord. “Behold, here is a

lance for thee, not less good than his,” said the dwarf. “And bethink

thee, that no knight ever withstood thee before so long as this one has

done.” “I declare to Heaven,” said Geraint, “that unless death takes me

quickly hence, he shall fare never the better for thy service.” And

Geraint pricked his horse towards him from afar, and warning him, he

rushed upon him, and gave him a blow so severe, and furious, and fierce,

upon the face of his shield, that he cleft it in two, and broke his

armour, and burst his girths, so that both he and his saddle were borne

to the ground over the horse’s crupper. And Geraint dismounted quickly.

And he was wroth, and he drew his sword, and rushed fiercely upon him.

Then the knight also arose, and drew his sword against Geraint. And they

fought on foot with their swords until their arms struck sparks of fire

like stars from one another; and thus they continued fighting until the

blood and sweat obscured the light from their eyes. And when Geraint

prevailed, the hoary-headed man, and his wife, and his daughter were

glad; and when the knight prevailed, it rejoiced the Earl and his party.

Then the hoary-headed man saw Geraint receive a severe stroke, and he

went up to him quickly, and said to him, “Oh, chieftain, remember the

treatment which thou hadst from the dwarf; and wilt thou not seek

vengeance for the insult to thyself, and for the insult to Gwenhwyvar the

wife of Arthur!” And Geraint was roused by what he said to him, and he

called to him all his strength, and lifted up his sword, and struck the

knight upon the crown of his head, so that he broke all his head-armour,

and cut through all the flesh and the skin, even to the skull, until he

wounded the bone.

Then the knight fell upon his knees, and cast his sword from his hand,

and besought mercy of Geraint. “Of a truth,” said he, “I relinquish my

overdaring and my pride in craving thy mercy; and unless I have time to

commit myself to Heaven for my sins, and to talk with a priest, thy mercy

will avail me little.” “I will grant thee grace upon this condition,”

said Geraint, “that thou wilt go to Gwenhwyvar the wife of Arthur, to do

her satisfaction for the insult which her maiden received from thy dwarf.

As to myself, for the insult which I received from thee and thy dwarf, I

am content with that which I have done unto thee. Dismount not from the

time thou goest hence until thou comest into the presence of Gwenhwyvar,

to make her what atonement shall be adjudged at the Court of Arthur.”

“This will I do gladly. And who art thou?” said he. “I am Geraint the

son of Erbin. And declare thou also who thou art.” “I am Edeyrn the son

of Nudd.” Then he threw himself upon his horse, and went forward to

Arthur’s Court, and the lady he loved best went before him and the dwarf,

with much lamentation. And thus far this story up to that time.

* * * * *

Then came the little Earl and his hosts to Geraint, and saluted him, and

bade him to his castle. “I may not go,” said Geraint, “but where I was

last night, there will I be to-night also.” “Since thou wilt none of my

inviting, thou shalt have abundance of all that I can command for thee,

in the place thou wast last night. And I will order ointment for thee,

to recover thee from thy fatigues, and from the weariness that is upon

thee.” “Heaven reward thee,” said Geraint, “and I will go to my

lodging.” And thus went Geraint, and Earl Ynywl, and his wife, and his

daughter. And when they reached the chamber, the household servants and

attendants of the young Earl had arrived at the Court, and they arranged

all the houses, dressing them with straw and with fire; and in a short

time the ointment was ready, and Geraint came there, and they washed his

head. Then came the young Earl, with forty honourable knights from among

his attendants, and those who were bidden to the tournament. And Geraint

came from the anointing. And the Earl asked him to go to the hall to

eat. “Where is the Earl Ynywl,” said Geraint, “and his wife, and his

daughter?” “They are in the chamber yonder,” said the Earl’s

chamberlain, “arraying themselves in garments which the Earl has caused

to be brought for them.” “Let not the damsel array herself,” said he,

“except in her vest and her veil, until she come to the Court of Arthur,

to be clad by Gwenhwyvar in such garments as she may choose.” So the

maiden did not array herself.

Then they all entered the hall, and they washed, and went, and sat down

to meat. And thus were they seated. On one side of Geraint sat the

young Earl, and Earl Ynywl beyond him; and on the other side of Geraint

were the maiden and her mother. And after these all sat according to

their precedence in honour. And they ate. And they were served

abundantly, and they received a profusion of divers kind of gifts. Then

they conversed together. And the young Earl invited Geraint to visit him

next day. “I will not, by Heaven,” said Geraint. “To the Court of

Arthur will I go with this maiden to-morrow. And it is enough for me, as

long as Earl Ynywl is in poverty and trouble; and I go chiefly to seek to

add to his maintenance.” “Ah, chieftain,” said the young Earl, “it is

not by my fault that Earl Ynywl is without his possessions.” “By my

faith,” said Geraint, “he shall not remain without them, unless death

quickly takes me hence.” “Oh, chieftain,” said he, “with regard to the

disagreement between me and Ynywl, I will gladly abide by thy counsel,

and agree to what thou mayest judge right between us.” “I but ask thee,”

said Geraint, “to restore to him what is his, and what he should have

received from the time he lost his possessions, even until this day.”

“That I will do gladly, for thee,” answered he. “Then,” said Geraint,

“whosoever is here who owes homage to Ynywl, let him come forward, and

perform it on the spot.” And all the men did so. And by that treaty

they abided. And his castle, and his town, and all his possessions were

restored to Ynywl. And he received back all that he had lost, even to

the smallest jewel.

Then spoke Earl Ynywl to Geraint. “Chieftain,” said he, “behold the

maiden for whom thou didst challenge at the tournament, I bestow her upon

thee.” “She shall go with me,” said Geraint, “to the Court of Arthur;

and Arthur and Gwenhwyvar they shall dispose of her as they will.” And

the next day they proceeded to Arthur’s Court. So far concerning

Geraint.

* * * * *

Now, this is how Arthur hunted the stag. The men and the dogs were

divided into hunting parties, and the dogs were let loose upon the stag.

And the last dog that was let loose was the favourite dog of Arthur.

Cavall was his name. And he left all the other dogs behind him, and

turned the stag. And at the second turn, the stag came towards the

hunting party of Arthur. And Arthur set upon him. And before he could

be slain by any other, Arthur cut off his head. Then they sounded the

death horn for slaying, and they all gathered round.

Then came Kadyrieith to Arthur, and spoke to him. “Lord,” said he,

“behold, yonder is Gwenhwyvar, and none with her save only one maiden.”

“Command Gildas the son of Caw, and all the scholars of the Court,” said

Arthur, “to attend Gwenhwyvar to the palace.” And they did so.

Then they all set forth, holding converse together concerning the head of

the stag, to whom it should be given. One wished that it should be given

to the lady best beloved by him, and another to the lady whom he loved

best. And all they of the household, and the knights, disputed sharply

concerning the head. And with that they came to the palace. And when

Arthur and Gwenhwyvar heard them disputing about the head of the stag,

Gwenhwyvar said to Arthur, “My lord, this is my counsel concerning the

stag’s head; let it not be given away until Geraint the son of Erbin

shall return from the errand he is upon.” And Gwenhwyvar told Arthur

what that errand was. “Right gladly shall it be so,” said Arthur. And

thus it was settled. And the next day Gwenhwyvar caused a watch to be

set upon the ramparts for Geraint’s coming. And after mid-day they

beheld an unshapely little man upon a horse, and after him, as they

supposed, a dame or a damsel, also on horseback, and after her a knight

of large stature, bowed down, and hanging his head low and sorrowfully,

and clad in broken and worthless armour.

And before they came near to the gate, one of the watch went to

Gwenhwyvar, and told her what kind of people they saw, and what aspect

they bore. “I know not who they are,” said he. “But I know,” said

Gwenhwyvar; “this is the knight whom Geraint pursued, and methinks that

he comes not here by his own free will. But Geraint has overtaken him,

and avenged the insult to the maiden to the uttermost.” And thereupon,

behold a porter came to the spot where Gwenhwyvar was. “Lady,” said he,

“at the gate there is a knight, and I saw never a man of so pitiful an

aspect to look upon as he. Miserable and broken is the armour that he

wears, and the hue of blood is more conspicuous upon it than its own

colour.” “Knowest thou his name?” said she. “I do,” said he; “he tells

me that he is Edeyrn the son of Nudd.” Then she replied, “I know him

not.”

So Gwenhwyvar went to the gate to meet him, and he entered. And

Gwenhwyvar was sorry when she saw the condition he was in, even though he

was accompanied by the churlish dwarf. Then Edeyrn saluted Gwenhwyvar.

“Heaven protect thee,” said she. “Lady,” said he, “Geraint the son of

Erbin, thy best and most valiant servant, greets thee.” “Did he meet

thee?” she asked. “Yes,” said he, “and it was not to my advantage; and

that was not his fault, but mine, Lady. And Geraint greets thee well;

and in greeting thee he compelled me to come hither to do thy pleasure

for the insult which thy maiden received from the dwarf. He forgives the

insult to himself, in consideration of his having put me in peril of my

life. And he imposed on me a condition, manly, and honourable, and

warrior-like, which was to do thee justice, Lady.” “Now, where did he

overtake thee?” “At the place where we were jousting, and contending for

the Sparrow-Hawk, in the town which is now called Cardiff. And there

were none with him save three persons, of a mean and tattered condition.

And these were an aged, hoary-headed man, and a woman advanced in years,

and a fair young maiden, clad in worn-out garments. And it was for the

avouchment of the love of that maiden that Geraint jousted for the

Sparrow-Hawk at the tournament, for he said that that maiden was better

entitled to the Sparrow-Hawk than this maiden who was with me. And

thereupon we encountered each other, and he left me, Lady, as thou

seest.” “Sir,” said she, “when thinkest thou that Geraint will be here?”

“To-morrow, Lady, I think he will be here with the maiden.”

Then Arthur came to him, and he saluted Arthur; and Arthur gazed a long

time upon him, and was amazed to see him thus. And thinking that he knew

him, he inquired of him, “Art thou Edeyrn the son of Nudd?” “I am,

Lord,” said he, “and I have met with much trouble, and received wounds

unsupportable.” Then he told Arthur all his adventure. “Well,” said

Arthur, “from what I hear, it behoves Gwenhwyvar to be merciful towards

thee.” “The mercy which thou desirest, Lord,” said she, “will I grant to

him, since it is as insulting to thee that an insult should be offered to

me as to thyself.” “Thus will it be best to do,” said Arthur; “let this

man have medical care until it be known whether he may live. And if he

live, he shall do such satisfaction as shall be judged best by the men of

the Court; and take thou sureties to that effect. And if he die, too

much will be the death of such a youth as Edeyrn for an insult to a

maiden.” “This pleases me,” said Gwenhwyvar. And Arthur became surety

for Edeyrn, and Caradawc the son of Llyr, Gwallawg the son of Llenawg,

and Owain the son of Nudd, and Gwalchmai, and many others with them. And

Arthur caused Morgan Tud to be called to him. He was the chief

physician. “Take with thee Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and cause a chamber

to be prepared for him, and let him have the aid of medicine as thou

wouldst do unto myself, if I were wounded, and let none into his chamber

to molest him, but thyself and thy disciples, to administer to him

remedies.” “I will do so gladly, Lord,” said Morgan Tud. Then said the

steward of the household, “Whither is it right, Lord, to order the

maiden?” “To Gwenhwyvar and her handmaidens,” said he. And the steward

of the household so ordered her. Thus far concerning them.

* * * * *

The next day came Geraint towards the Court; and there was a watch set on

the ramparts by Gwenhwyvar, lest he should arrive unawares. And one of

the watch came to the place where Gwenhwyvar was. “Lady,” said he,

“methinks that I see Geraint, and the maiden with him. He is on

horseback, but he has his walking gear upon him, and the maiden appears

to be in white, seeming to be clad in a garment of linen.” “Assemble all

the women,” said Gwenhwyvar, “and come to meet Geraint, to welcome him,

and wish him joy.” And Gwenhwyvar went to meet Geraint and the maiden.

And when Geraint came to the place where Gwenhwyvar was, he saluted her.

“Heaven prosper thee,” said she, “and welcome to thee. And thy career

has been successful, and fortunate, and resistless, and glorious. And

Heaven reward thee, that thou hast so proudly caused me to have

retribution.” “Lady,” said he, “I earnestly desired to obtain thee

satisfaction according to thy will; and, behold, here is the maiden

through whom thou hadst thy revenge.” “Verily,” said Gwenhwyvar, “the

welcome of Heaven be unto her; and it is fitting that we should receive

her joyfully.” Then they went in, and dismounted. And Geraint came to

where Arthur was, and saluted him. “Heaven protect thee,” said Arthur,

“and the welcome of Heaven be unto thee. And since Edeyrn the son of

Nudd has received his overthrow and wounds from thy hands, thou hast had

a prosperous career.” “Not upon me be the blame,” said Geraint, “it was

through the arrogance of Edeyrn the son of Nudd himself that we were not

friends. I would not quit him until I knew who he was, and until the one

had vanquished the other.” “Now,” said Arthur, “where is the maiden for

whom I heard thou didst give challenge?” “She is gone with Gwenhwyvar to

her chamber.”

Then went Arthur to see the maiden. And Arthur, and all his companions,

and his whole Court, were glad concerning the maiden. And certain were

they all, that had her array been suitable to her beauty, they had never

seen a maid fairer than she. And Arthur gave away the maiden to Geraint.

And the usual bond made between two persons was made between Geraint and

the maiden, and the choicest of all Gwenhwyvar’s apparel was given to the

maiden; and thus arrayed, she appeared comely and graceful to all who

beheld her. And that day and that night were spent in abundance of

minstrelsy, and ample gifts of liquor, and a multitude of games. And

when it was time for them to go to sleep, they went. And in the chamber

where the couch of Arthur and Gwenhwyvar was, the couch of Geraint and

Enid was prepared. And from that time she became his bride. And the

next day Arthur satisfied all the claimants upon Geraint with bountiful

gifts. And the maiden took up her abode in the palace; and she had many

companions, both men and women, and there was no maiden more esteemed

than she in the Island of Britain.

Then spake Gwenhwyvar. “Rightly did I judge,” said she, “concerning the

head of the stag, that it should not be given to any until Geraint’s

return; and, behold, here is a fit occasion for bestowing it. Let it be

given to Enid the daughter of Ynywl, the most illustrious maiden. And I

do not believe that any will begrudge it her, for between her and every

one here there exists nothing but love and friendship.” Much applauded

was this by them all, and by Arthur also. And the head of the stag was

given to Enid. And thereupon her fame increased, and her friends

thenceforward became more in number than before. And Geraint from that

time forth loved the stag, and the tournament, and hard encounters; and

he came victorious from them all. And a year, and a second, and a third,

he proceeded thus, until his fame had flown over the face of the kingdom.

* * * * *

And once upon a time Arthur was holding his Court at Caerlleon upon Usk,

at Whitsuntide. And, behold, there came to him ambassadors, wise and

prudent, full of knowledge, and eloquent of speech, and they saluted

Arthur. “Heaven prosper you,” said Arthur, “and the welcome of Heaven be

unto you. And whence do you come?” “We come, Lord,” said they, “from

Cornwall; and we are ambassadors from Erbin the son of Custennin, thy

uncle, and our mission is unto thee. And he greets thee well, as an

uncle should greet his nephew, and as a vassal should greet his lord.

And he represents unto thee that he waxes heavy and feeble, and is

advancing in years. And the neighbouring chiefs, knowing this, grow

insolent towards him, and covet his land and possessions. And he

earnestly beseeches thee, Lord, to permit Geraint his son to return to

him, to protect his possessions, and to become acquainted with his

boundaries. And unto him he represents that it were better for him to

spend the flower of his youth and the prime of his age in preserving his

own boundaries, than in tournaments, which are productive of no profit,

although he obtains glory in them.”

“Well,” said Arthur, “go, and divest yourselves of your accoutrements,

and take food, and refresh yourselves after your fatigues; and before you

go forth hence you shall have an answer.” And they went to eat. And

Arthur considered that it would go hard with him to let Geraint depart

from him and from his Court; neither did he think it fair that his cousin

should be restrained from going to protect his dominions and his

boundaries, seeing that his father was unable to do so. No less was the

grief and regret of Gwenhwyvar, and all her women, and all her damsels,

through fear that the maiden would leave them. And that day and that

night were spent in abundance of feasting. And Arthur showed Geraint the

cause of the mission, and of the coming of the ambassadors to him out of

Cornwall. “Truly,” said Geraint, “be it to my advantage or disadvantage,

Lord, I will do according to thy will concerning this embassy.”

“Behold,” said Arthur, “though it grieves me to part with thee, it is my

counsel that thou go to dwell in thine own dominions, and to defend thy

boundaries, and to take with thee to accompany thee as many as thou wilt

of those thou lovest best among my faithful ones, and among thy friends,

and among thy companions in arms.” “Heaven reward thee; and this will I

do,” said Geraint. “What discourse,” said Gwenhwyvar, “do I hear between

you? Is it of those who are to conduct Geraint to his country?” “It

is,” said Arthur. “Then it is needful for me to consider,” said she,

“concerning companions and a provision for the lady that is with me?”

“Thou wilt do well,” said Arthur.

And that night they went to sleep. And the next day the ambassadors were

permitted to depart, and they were told that Geraint should follow them.

And on the third day Geraint set forth, and many went with him.

Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Riogonedd the son of the king of Ireland,

and Ondyaw the son of the duke of Burgundy, Gwilim the son of the ruler

of the Franks, Howel the son of Emyr of Brittany, Elivry, and Nawkyrd,

Gwynn the son of Tringad, Goreu the son of Custennin, Gweir Gwrhyd Vawr,

Garannaw the son of Golithmer, Peredur the son of Evrawc, Gwynnllogell,

Gwyr a judge in the Court of Arthur, Dyvyr the son of Alun of Dyved,

Gwrei Gwalstawd Ieithoedd, Bedwyr the son of Bedrawd, Hadwry the son of

Gwryon, Kai the son of Kynyr, Odyar the Frank, the Steward of Arthur’s

Court, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd. Said Geraint, “I think that I shall

have enough of knighthood with me.” “Yes,” said Arthur, “but it will not

be fitting for thee to take Edeyrn with thee, although he is well, until

peace shall be made between him and Gwenhwyvar.” “Gwenhwyvar can permit

him to go with me, if he give sureties.” “If she please, she can let him

go without sureties, for enough of pain and affliction has he suffered

for the insult which the maiden received from the dwarf.” “Truly,” said

Gwenhwyvar, “since it seems well to thee and to Geraint, I will do this

gladly, Lord.” Then she permitted Edeyrn freely to depart. And many

there were who accompanied Geraint, and they set forth; and never was

there seen a fairer host journeying towards the Severn. And on the other

side of the Severn were the nobles of Erbin the son of Custennin, and his

foster-father at their head, to welcome Geraint with gladness; and many

of the women of the Court, with his mother, came to receive Enid the

daughter of Ynywl, his wife. And there was great rejoicing and gladness

throughout the whole Court, and throughout all the country, concerning

Geraint, because of the greatness of their love towards him, and of the

greatness of the fame which he had gained since he went from amongst

them, and because he was come to take possession of his dominions and to

preserve his boundaries. And they came to the Court. And in the Court

they had ample entertainment, and a multitude of gifts and abundance of

liquor, and a sufficiency of service, and a variety of minstrelsy and of

games. And to do honour to Geraint, all the chief men of the country

were invited that night to visit him. And they passed that day and that

night in the utmost enjoyment. And at dawn next day Erbin arose, and

summoned to him Geraint, and the noble persons who had borne him company.

And he said to Geraint, “I am a feeble and aged man, and whilst I was

able to maintain the dominion for thee and for myself, I did so. But

thou art young, and in the flower of thy vigour and of thy youth;

henceforth do thou preserve thy possessions.” “Truly,” said Geraint,

“with my consent thou shalt not give the power over thy dominions at this

time into my hands, and thou shalt not take me from Arthur’s Court.”

“Into thy hands will I give them,” said Erbin, “and this day also shalt

thou receive the homage of thy subjects.”

Then said Gwalchmai, “It were better for thee to satisfy those who have

boons to ask, to-day, and to-morrow thou canst receive the homage of thy

dominions.” So all that had boons to ask were summoned into one place.

And Kadyrieith came to them, to know what were their requests. And every

one asked that which he desired. And the followers of Arthur began to

make gifts, and immediately the men of Cornwall came, and gave also. And

they were not long in giving, so eager was every one to bestow gifts.

And of those who came to ask gifts, none departed unsatisfied. And that

day and that night were spent in the utmost enjoyment.

And the next day, at dawn, Erbin desired Geraint to send messengers to

the men, to ask them whether it was displeasing to them that he should

come to receive their homage, and whether they had anything to object to

him. Then Geraint sent ambassadors to the men of Cornwall, to ask them

this. And they all said that it would be the fulness of joy and honour

to them for Geraint to come and receive their homage. So he received the

homage of such as were there. And they remained with him till the third

night. And the day after the followers of Arthur intended to go away.

“It is too soon for you to go away yet,” said he, “stay with me until I

have finished receiving the homage of my chief men, who have agreed to

come to me.” And they remained with him until he had done so. Then they

set forth towards the Court of Arthur; and Geraint went to bear them

company, and Enid also, as far as Diganhwy: there they parted. Then

Ondyaw the son of the duke of Burgundy said to Geraint, “Go first of all

and visit the uppermost parts of thy dominions, and see well to the

boundaries of thy territories; and if thou hast any trouble respecting

them, send unto thy companions.” “Heaven reward thee,” said Geraint,

“and this will I do.” And Geraint journeyed to the uttermost part of his

dominions. And experienced guides, and the chief men of his country,

went with him. And the furthermost point that they showed him he kept

possession of.

And, as he had been used to do when he was at Arthur’s Court, he

frequented tournaments. And he became acquainted with valiant and mighty

men, until he had gained as much fame there as he had formerly done

elsewhere. And he enriched his Court, and his companions, and his

nobles, with the best horses and the best arms, and with the best and

most valuable jewels, and he ceased not until his fame had flown over the

face of the whole kingdom. And when he knew that it was thus, he began

to love ease and pleasure, for there was no one who was worth his

opposing. And he loved his wife, and liked to continue in the palace,

with minstrelsy and diversions. And for a long time he abode at home.

And after that he began to shut himself up in the chamber of his wife,

and he took no delight in anything besides, insomuch that he gave up the

friendship of his nobles, together with his hunting and his amusements,

and lost the hearts of all the host in his Court; and there was murmuring

and scoffing concerning him among the inhabitants of the palace, on

account of his relinquishing so completely their companionship for the

love of his wife. And these tidings came to Erbin. And when Erbin had

heard these things, he spoke unto Enid, and inquired of her whether it

was she that had caused Geraint to act thus, and to forsake his people

and his hosts. “Not I, by my confession unto Heaven,” said she, “there

is nothing more hateful to me than this.” And she knew not what she

should do, for, although it was hard for her to own this to Geraint, yet

was it not more easy for her to listen to what she heard, without warning

Geraint concerning it. And she was very sorrowful.

And one morning in the summer time, they were upon their couch, and

Geraint lay upon the edge of it. And Enid was without sleep in the

apartment, which had windows of glass. And the sun shone upon the couch.

And the clothes had slipped from off his arms and his breast, and he was

asleep. Then she gazed upon the marvellous beauty of his appearance, and

she said, “Alas, and am I the cause that these arms and this breast have

lost their glory and the warlike fame which they once so richly enjoyed!”

And as she said this, the tears dropped from her eyes, and they fell upon

his breast. And the tears she shed, and the words she had spoken, awoke

him; and another thing contributed to awaken him, and that was the idea

that it was not in thinking of him that she spoke thus, but that it was

because she loved some other man more than him, and that she wished for

other society, and thereupon Geraint was troubled in his mind, and he

called his squire; and when he came to him, “Go quickly,” said he, “and

prepare my horse and my arms, and make them ready. And do thou arise,”

said he to Enid, “and apparel thyself; and cause thy horse to be

accoutred, and clothe thee in the worst riding-dress that thou hast in

thy possession. And evil betide me,” said he, “if thou returnest here

until thou knowest whether I have lost my strength so completely as thou

didst say. And if it be so, it will then be easy for thee to seek the

society thou didst wish for of him of whom thou wast thinking.” So she

arose, and clothed herself in her meanest garments. “I know nothing,

Lord,” said she, “of thy meaning.” “Neither wilt thou know at this

time,” said he.

Then Geraint went to see Erbin. “Sir,” said he, “I am going upon a

quest, and I am not certain when I may come back. Take heed, therefore,

unto thy possessions, until my return.” “I will do so,” said he, “but it

is strange to me that thou shouldest go so suddenly. And who will

proceed with thee, since thou art not strong enough to traverse the land

of Lloegyr alone?” “But one person only will go with me.” “Heaven

counsel thee, my son,” said Erbin, “and may many attach themselves to

thee in Lloegyr.” Then went Geraint to the place where his horse was,

and it was equipped with foreign armour, heavy and shining. And he

desired Enid to mount her horse, and to ride forward, and to keep a long

way before him. “And whatever thou mayest see, and whatever thou mayest

hear concerning me,” said he, “do thou not turn back. And unless I speak

unto thee, say not thou one word either.” And they set forward. And he

did not choose the pleasantest and most frequented road, but that which

was the wildest and most beset by thieves, and robbers, and venomous

animals. And they came to a high road, which they followed till they saw

a vast forest, and they went towards it, and they saw four armed horsemen

come forth from the forest. When the horsemen had beheld them, one of

them said to the others, “Behold, here is a good occasion for us to

capture two horses and armour, and a lady likewise; for this we shall

have no difficulty in doing against yonder single knight, who hangs his

head so pensively and heavily.” And Enid heard this discourse, and she

knew not what she should do through fear of Geraint, who had told her to

be silent. “The vengeance of Heaven be upon me,” she said, “if I would

not rather receive my death from his hand than from the hand of any

other; and though he should slay me yet will I speak to him, lest I

should have the misery to witness his death.” So she waited for Geraint

until he came near to her. “Lord,” said she, “didst thou hear the words

of those men concerning thee?” Then he lifted up his eyes, and looked at

her angrily. “Thou hadst only,” said he, “to hold thy peace as I bade

thee. I wish but for silence, and not for warning. And though thou

shouldest desire to see my defeat and my death by the hands of those men,

yet do I feel no dread.” Then the foremost of them couched his lance,

and rushed upon Geraint. And he received him, and that not feebly. But

he let the thrust go by him, while he struck the horseman upon the centre

of his shield in such a manner that his shield was split, and his armour

broken, and so that a cubit’s length of the shaft of Geraint’s lance

passed through his body, and sent him to the earth, the length of the

lance over his horse’s crupper. Then the second horseman attacked him

furiously, being wroth at the death of his companion. But with one

thrust Geraint overthrew him also, and killed him as he had done the

other. Then the third set upon him, and he killed him in like manner.

And thus also he slew the fourth. Sad and sorrowful was the maiden as

she saw all this. Geraint dismounted from his horse, and took the arms

of the men he had slain, and placed them upon their saddles, and tied

together the reins of their horses, and he mounted his horse again.

“Behold what thou must do,” said he; “take the four horses, and drive

them before thee, and proceed forward, as I bade thee just now. And say

not one word unto me, unless I speak first unto thee. And I declare unto

Heaven,” said he, “if thou doest not thus, it will be to thy cost.” “I

will do, as far as I can, Lord,” said she, “according to thy desire.”

Then they went forward through the forest; and when they left the forest,

they came to a vast plain, in the centre of which was a group of thickly

tangled copse-wood; and from out thereof they beheld three horsemen

coming towards them, well equipped with armour, both they and their

horses. Then the maiden looked steadfastly upon them; and when they had

come near, she heard them say one to another, “Behold, here is a good

arrival for us; here are coming for us four horses and four suits of

armour. We shall easily obtain them spite of yonder dolorous knight, and

the maiden also will fall into our power.” “This is but too true,” said

she to herself, “for my husband is tired with his former combat. The

vengeance of Heaven will be upon me, unless I warn him of this.” So the

maiden waited until Geraint came up to her. “Lord,” said she, “dust thou

not hear the discourse of yonder men concerning thee?” “What was it?”

asked he. “They say to one another, that they will easily obtain all

this spoil.” “I declare to Heaven,” he answered, “that their words are

less grievous to me than that thou wilt not be silent, and abide by my

counsel.” “My Lord,” said she, “I feared lest they should surprise thee

unawares.” “Hold thy peace, then,” said he, “do not I desire silence?”

And thereupon one of the horsemen couched his lance, and attacked

Geraint. And he made a thrust at him, which he thought would be very

effective; but Geraint received it carelessly, and struck it aside, and

then he rushed upon him, and aimed at the centre of his person, and from

the shock of man and horse, the quantity of his armour did not avail him,

and the head of the lance and part of the shaft passed through him, so

that he was carried to the ground an arm and a spear’s length over the

crupper of his horse. And both the other horsemen came forward in their

turn, but their onset was not more successful than that of their

companion. And the maiden stood by, looking at all this; and on the one

hand she was in trouble lest Geraint should be wounded in his encounter

with the men, and on the other hand she was joyful to see him victorious.

Then Geraint dismounted, and bound the three suits of armour upon the

three saddles, and he fastened the reins of all the horses together, so

that he had seven horses with him. And he mounted his own horse, and

commanded the maiden to drive forward the others. “It is no more use for

me to speak to thee than to refrain, for thou wilt not attend to my

advice.” “I will do so, as far as I am able, Lord,” said she; “but I

cannot conceal from thee the fierce and threatening words which I may

hear against thee, Lord, from such strange people as those that haunt

this wilderness.” “I declare to Heaven,” said he, “that I desire nought

but silence; therefore, hold thy peace.” “I will, Lord, while I can.”

And the maiden went on with the horses before her, and she pursued her

way straight onwards. And from the copse-wood already mentioned, they

journeyed over a vast and dreary open plain. And at a great distance

from them they beheld a wood, and they could see neither end nor boundary

to the wood, except on that side that was nearest to them, and they went

towards it. Then there came from out the wood five horsemen, eager, and

bold, and mighty, and strong, mounted upon chargers that were powerful,

and large of bone, and high-mettled, and proudly snorting, and both the

men and the horses were well equipped with arms. And when they drew near

to them, Enid heard them say, “Behold, here is a fine booty coming to us,

which we shall obtain easily and without labour, for we shall have no

trouble in taking all those horses and arms, and the lady also, from

yonder single knight, so doleful and sad.”

Sorely grieved was the maiden upon hearing this discourse, so that she

knew not in the world what she should do. At last, however, she

determined to warn Geraint; so she turned her horse’s head towards him.

“Lord,” said she, “if thou hadst heard as I did what yonder horsemen said

concerning thee, thy heaviness would be greater than it is.” Angrily and

bitterly did Geraint smile upon her, and he said, “Thee do I hear doing

everything that I forbade thee; but it may be that thou will repent this

yet.” And immediately, behold, the men met them, and victoriously and

gallantly did Geraint overcome them all five. And he placed the five

suits of armour upon the five saddles, and tied together the reins of the

twelve horses, and gave them in charge to Enid. “I know not,” said he,

“what good it is for me to order thee; but this time I charge thee in an

especial manner.” So the maiden went forward towards the wood, keeping

in advance of Geraint, as he had desired her; and it grieved him as much

as his wrath would permit, to see a maiden so illustrious as she having

so much trouble with the care of the horses. Then they reached the wood,

and it was both deep and vast; and in the wood night overtook them. “Ah,

maiden,” said he, “it is vain to attempt proceeding forward!” “Well,

Lord,” said she, “whatsoever thou wishest, we will do.” “It will be best

for us,” he answered, “to turn out of the wood, and to rest, and wait for

the day, in order to pursue our journey.” “That will we, gladly,” said

she. And they did so. Having dismounted himself, he took her down from

her horse. “I cannot, by any means, refrain from sleep, through

weariness,” said he. “Do thou, therefore, watch the horses, and sleep

not.” “I will, Lord,” said she. Then he went to sleep in his armour,

and thus passed the night, which was not long at that season. And when

she saw the dawn of day appear, she looked around her, to see if he were

waking, and thereupon he woke. “My Lord,” she said, “I have desired to

awake thee for some time.” But he spake nothing to her about fatigue, as

he had desired her to be silent. Then he arose, and said unto her, “Take

the horses, and ride on; and keep straight on before thee as thou didst

yesterday.” And early in the day they left the wood, and they came to an

open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers mowing the meadows.

And there was a river before them, and the horses bent down, and drank

the water. And they went up out of the river by a lofty steep; and there

they met a slender stripling, with a satchel about his neck, and they saw

that there was something in the satchel, but they knew not what it was.

And he had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of

the pitcher. And the youth saluted Geraint. “Heaven prosper thee,” said

Geraint, “and whence dost thou come?” “I come,” said he, “from the city

that lies before thee. My Lord,” he added, “will it be displeasing to

thee if I ask whence thou comest also?” “By no means—through yonder wood

did I come.” “Thou camest not through the wood to-day.” “No,” he

replied, “we were in the wood last night.” “I warrant,” said the youth,

“that thy condition there last night was not the most pleasant, and that

thou hadst neither meat nor drink.” “No, by my faith,” said he. “Wilt

thou follow my counsel,” said the youth, “and take thy meal from me?”

“What sort of meal?” he inquired. “The breakfast which is sent for

yonder mowers, nothing less than bread and meat and wine; and if thou

wilt, Sir, they shall have none of it.” “I will,” said he, “and Heaven

reward thee for it.”

So Geraint alighted, and the youth took the maiden from off her horse.

Then they washed, and took their repast. And the youth cut the bread in

slices, and gave them drink, and served them withal. And when they had

finished, the youth arose, and said to Geraint, “My Lord, with thy

permission, I will now go and fetch some food for the mowers.” “Go,

first, to the town,” said Geraint, “and take a lodging for me in the best

place that thou knowest, and the most commodious one for the horses, and

take thou whichever horse and arms thou choosest in payment for thy

service and thy gift.” “Heaven reward thee, Lord,” said the youth, “and

this would be ample to repay services much greater than those I have

rendered unto thee.” And to the town went the youth, and he took the

best and the most pleasant lodgings that he knew; and after that he went

to the palace, having the horse and armour with him, and proceeded to the

place where the Earl was, and told him all his adventure. “I go now,

Lord,” said he, “to meet the young man, and to conduct him to his

lodging.” “Go, gladly,” said the Earl, “and right joyfully shall he be

received here, if he so come.” And the youth went to meet Geraint, and

told him that he would be received gladly by the Earl in his own palace;

but he would go only to his lodgings. And he had a goodly chamber, in

which was plenty of straw, and drapery, and a spacious and commodious

place he had for the horses; and the youth prepared for them plenty of

provender. And after they had disarrayed themselves, Geraint spoke thus

to Enid: “Go,” said he, “to the other side of the chamber, and come not

to this side of the house; and thou mayest call to thee the woman of the

house, if thou wilt.” “I will do, Lord,” said she, “as thou sayest.”

And thereupon the man of the house came to Geraint, and welcomed him.

“Oh, chieftain,” he said, “hast thou taken thy meal?” “I have,” said he.

Then the youth spoke to him, and inquired if he would not drink something

before he met the Earl. “Truly I will,” said he. So the youth went into

the town, and brought them drink. And they drank. “I must needs sleep,”

said Geraint. “Well,” said the youth; “and whilst thou sleepest, I will

go to see the Earl.” “Go, gladly,” he said, “and come here again when I

require thee.” And Geraint went to sleep; and so did Enid also.

And the youth came to the place where the Earl was, and the Earl asked

him where the lodgings of the knight were, and he told him. “I must go,”

said the youth, “to wait on him in the evening.” “Go,” answered the

Earl, “and greet him well from me, and tell him that in the evening I

will go to see him.” “This will I do,” said the youth. So he came when

it was time for them to awake. And they arose, and went forth. And when

it was time for them to take their food, they took it. And the youth

served them. And Geraint inquired of the man of the house, whether there

were any of his companions that he wished to invite to him, and he said

that there were. “Bring them hither, and entertain them at my cost with

the best thou canst buy in the town.”

And the man of the house brought there those whom he chose, and feasted

them at Geraint’s expense. Thereupon, behold, the Earl came to visit

Geraint, and his twelve honourable knights with him. And Geraint rose

up, and welcomed him. “Heaven preserve thee,” said the Earl. Then they

all sat down according to their precedence in honour. And the Earl

conversed with Geraint, and inquired of him the object of his journey.

“I have none,” he replied, “but to seek adventures, and to follow my own

inclination.” Then the Earl cast his eye upon Enid, and he looked at her

steadfastly. And he thought he had never seen a maiden fairer or more

comely than she. And he set all his thoughts and his affections upon

her. Then he asked of Geraint, “Have I thy permission to go and converse

with yonder maiden, for I see that she is apart from thee?” “Thou hast

it gladly,” said he. So the Earl went to the place where the maiden was,

and spake with her. “Ah, maiden,” said he, “it cannot be pleasant to

thee to journey thus with yonder man!” “It is not unpleasant to me,”

said she, “to journey the same road that he journeys.” “Thou hast

neither youths nor maidens to serve thee,” said he. “Truly,” she

replied, “it is more pleasant for me to follow yonder man, than to be

served by youths and maidens.” “I will give thee good counsel,” said he.

“All my Earldom will I place in thy possession, if thou wilt dwell with

me.” “That will I not, by Heaven,” she said; “yonder man was the first

to whom my faith was ever pledged; and shall I prove inconstant to him!”

“Thou art in the wrong,” said the Earl; “if I slay the man yonder, I can

keep thee with me as long as I choose; and when thou no longer pleasest

me I can turn thee away. But if thou goest with me by thine own good

will, I protest that our union shall continue eternal and undivided as

long as I remain alive.” Then she pondered these words of his, and she

considered that it was advisable to encourage him in his request.

“Behold, then, chieftain, this is most expedient for thee to do to save

me any needless imputation; come here to-morrow, and take me away as

though I knew nothing thereof.” “I will do so,” said he. So he arose,

and took his leave, and went forth with his attendants. And she told not

then to Geraint any of the conversation which she had had with the Earl,

lest it should rouse his anger, and cause him uneasiness and care.

And at the usual hour they went to sleep. And at the beginning of the

night Enid slept a little; and at midnight she arose, and placed all

Geraint’s armour together, so that it might be ready to put on. And

although fearful of her errand, she came to the side of Geraint’s bed;

and she spoke to him softly and gently, saying, “My Lord, arise, and

clothe thyself, for these were the words of the Earl to me, and his

intention concerning me.” So she told Geraint all that had passed. And

although he was wroth with her, he took warning, and clothed himself.

And she lighted a candle, that he might have light to do so. “Leave

there the candle,” said he, “and desire the man of the house to come

here.” Then she went, and the man of the house came to him. “Dost thou

know how much I owe thee?” asked Geraint. “I think thou owest but

little.” “Take the eleven horses and the eleven suits of armour.”

“Heaven reward thee, lord,” said he, “but I spent not the value of one

suit of armour upon thee.” “For that reason,” said he, “thou wilt be the

richer. And now, wilt thou come to guide me out of the town?” “I will,

gladly,” said he, “and in which direction dost thou intend to go?” “I

wish to leave the town by a different way from that by which I entered

it.” So the man of the lodgings accompanied him as far as he desired.

Then he bade the maiden to go on before him; and she did so, and went

straight forward, and his host returned home. And he had only just

reached his house, when, behold, the greatest tumult approached that was

ever heard. And when he looked out, he saw fourscore knights in complete

armour around the house, with the Earl Dwnn at their head. “Where is the

knight that was here?” said the Earl. “By thy hand,” said he, “he went

hence some time ago.” “Wherefore, villain,” said he, “didst thou let him

go without informing me?” “My Lord, thou didst not command me to do so,

else would I not have allowed him to depart.” “What way dost thou think

that he took?” “I know not, except that he went along the high road.”

And they turned their horses’ heads that way, and seeing the tracks of

the horses upon the high road, they followed. And when the maiden beheld

the dawning of the day, she looked behind her, and saw vast clouds of

dust coming nearer and nearer to her. And thereupon she became uneasy,

and she thought that it was the Earl and his host coming after them. And

thereupon she beheld a knight appearing through the mist. “By my faith,”

said she, “though he should slay me, it were better for me to receive my

death at his hands, than to see him killed without warning him. My

Lord,” she said to him, “seest thou yonder man hastening after thee, and

many others with him?” “I do see him,” said he; “and in despite of all

my orders, I see that thou wilt never keep silence.” Then he turned upon

the knight, and with the first thrust he threw him down under his horse’s

feet. And as long as there remained one of the fourscore knights, he

overthrew every one of them at the first onset. And from the weakest to

the strongest, they all attacked him one after the other, except the

Earl: and last of all the Earl came against him also. And he broke his

lance, and then he broke a second. But Geraint turned upon him, and

struck him with his lance upon the centre of his shield, so that by that

single thrust the shield was split, and all his armour broken, and he

himself was brought over his horse’s crupper to the ground, and was in

peril of his life. And Geraint drew near to him; and at the noise of the

trampling of his horse the Earl revived. “Mercy, Lord,” said he to

Geraint. And Geraint granted him mercy. But through the hardness of the

ground where they had fallen, and the violence of the stroke which they

had received, there was not a single knight amongst them that escaped

without receiving a fall, mortally severe, and grievously painful, and

desperately wounding, from the hand of Geraint.

And Geraint journeyed along the high road that was before him, and the

maiden went on first; and near them they beheld a valley which was the

fairest ever seen, and which had a large river running through it; and

there was a bridge over the river, and the high road led to the bridge.

And above the bridge upon the opposite side of the river, they beheld a

fortified town, the fairest ever seen. And as they approached the

bridge, Geraint saw coming towards him from a thick copse a man mounted

upon a large and lofty steed, even of pace and spirited though tractable.

“Ah, knight,” said Geraint, “whence comest thou?” “I come,” said he,

“from the valley below us.” “Canst thou tell me,” said Geraint, “who is

the owner of this fair valley and yonder walled town?” “I will tell

thee, willingly,” said he. “Gwiffert Petit he is called by the Franks,

but the Cymry call him the Little King.” “Can I go by yonder bridge,”

said Geraint, “and by the lower highway that is beneath the town?” Said

the knight, “Thou canst not go by his tower on the other side of the

bridge, unless thou dost intend to combat him; because it is his custom

to encounter every knight that comes upon his lands.” “I declare to

Heaven,” said Geraint, “that I will, nevertheless, pursue my journey that

way.” “If thou dost so,” said the knight, “thou wilt probably meet with

shame and disgrace in reward for thy daring.” Then Geraint proceeded

along the road that led to the town, and the road brought him to a ground

that was hard, and rugged, and high, and ridgy. And as he journeyed

thus, he beheld a knight following him upon a warhorse, strong, and

large, and proudly-stepping, and wide-hoofed, and broad-chested. And he

never saw a man of smaller stature than he who was upon the horse. And

both he and his horse were completely armed. When he had overtaken

Geraint, he said to him, “Tell me, chieftain, whether it is through

ignorance or through presumption that thou seekest to insult my dignity,

and to infringe my rules.” “Nay,” answered Geraint, “I knew not this

road was forbid to any.” “Thou didst know it,” said the other; “come

with me to my Court, to give me satisfaction.” “That will I not, by my

faith,” said Geraint; “I would not go even to thy Lord’s Court, excepting

Arthur were thy Lord.” “By the hand of Arthur himself,” said the knight,

“I will have satisfaction of thee, or receive my overthrow at thy hands.”

And immediately they charged one another. And a squire of his came to

serve him with lances as he broke them. And they gave each other such

hard and severe strokes that their shields lost all their colour. But it

was very difficult for Geraint to fight with him on account of his small

size, for he was hardly able to get a full aim at him with all the

efforts he could make. And they fought thus until their horses were

brought down upon their knees; and at length Geraint threw the knight

headlong to the ground; and then they fought on foot, and they gave one

another blows so boldly fierce, so frequent, and so severely powerful,

that their helmets were pierced, and their skullcaps were broken, and

their arms were shattered, and the light of their eyes was darkened by

sweat and blood. At the last Geraint became enraged, and he called to

him all his strength; and boldly angry, and swiftly resolute, and

furiously determined, he lifted up his sword, and struck him on the crown

of his head a blow so mortally painful, so violent, so fierce, and so

penetrating, that it cut through all his head armour, and his skin, and

his flesh, until it wounded the very bone, and the sword flew out of the

hand of the Little King to the furthest end of the plain, and he besought

Geraint that he would have mercy and compassion upon him. “Though thou

hast been neither courteous nor just,” said Geraint, “thou shalt have

mercy, upon condition that thou wilt become my ally, and engage never to

fight against me again, but to come to my assistance whenever thou

hearest of my being in trouble.” “This will I do, gladly, Lord,” said

he. So he pledged him his faith thereof. “And now, Lord, come with me,”

said he, “to my Court yonder, to recover from thy weariness and fatigue.”

“That will I not, by Heaven,” said he.

Then Gwiffert Petit beheld Enid where she stood, and it grieved him to

see one of her noble mien appear so deeply afflicted. And he said to

Geraint, “My Lord, thou doest wrong not to take repose, and refresh

thyself awhile; for, if thou meetest with any difficulty in thy present

condition, it will not be easy for thee to surmount it.” But Geraint

would do no other than proceed on his journey, and he mounted his horse

in pain, and all covered with blood. And the maiden went on first, and

they proceeded towards the wood which they saw before them.

And the heat of the sun was very great, and through the blood and sweat,

Geraint’s armour cleaved to his flesh; and when they came into the wood,

he stood under a tree, to avoid the sun’s heat; and his wounds pained him

more than they had done at the time when he received them. And the

maiden stood under another tree. And lo! they heard the sound of horns,

and a tumultuous noise; and the occasion of it was, that Arthur and his

company had come down to the wood. And while Geraint was considering

which way he should go to avoid them, behold, he was espied by a

foot-page, who was an attendant on the Steward of the Household; and he

went to the Steward, and told him what kind of man he had seen in the

wood. Then the Steward caused his horse to be saddled, and he took his

lance and his shield, and went to the place where Geraint was. “Ah,

knight!” said he, “what dost thou here?” “I am standing under a shady

tree, to avoid the heat and the rays of the sun.” “Wherefore is thy

journey, and who art thou?” “I seek adventures, and go where I list.”

“Indeed,” said Kai; “then come with me to see Arthur, who is here hard

by.” “That will I not, by Heaven,” said Geraint. “Thou must needs

come,” said Kai. Then Geraint knew who he was, but Kai did not know

Geraint. And Kai attacked Geraint as best he could. And Geraint became

wroth, and he struck him with the shaft of his lance, so that he rolled

headlong to the ground. But chastisement worse than this would he not

inflict on him.

Scared and wildly Kai arose, and he mounted his horse, and went back to

his lodging. And thence he proceeded to Gwalchmai’s tent. “Oh, Sir,”

said he to Gwalchmai, “I was told by one of the attendants, that he saw

in the wood above a wounded knight, having on battered armour; and if

thou dost right, thou wilt go and see if this be true.” “I care not if I

do so,” said Gwalchmai. “Take, then, thy horse, and some of thy armour,”

said Kai; “for I hear that he is not over courteous to those who approach

him.” So Gwalchmai took his spear and his shield, and mounted his horse,

and came to the spot where Geraint was. “Sir Knight,” said he,

“wherefore is thy journey?” “I journey for my own pleasure, and to seek

the adventures of the world.” “Wilt thou tell me who thou art; or wilt

thou come and visit Arthur, who is near at hand?” “I will make no

alliance with thee, nor will I go and visit Arthur,” said he. And he

knew that it was Gwalchmai, but Gwalchmai knew him not. “I purpose not

to leave thee,” said Gwalchmai, “till I know who thou art.” And he

charged him with his lance, and struck him on his shield, so that the

shaft was shivered into splinters, and their horses were front to front.

Then Gwalchmai gazed fixedly upon him, and he knew him. “Ah, Geraint,”

said he, “is it thou that art here?” “I am not Geraint,” said he.

“Geraint thou art, by Heaven,” he replied, “and a wretched and insane

expedition is this.” Then he looked around, and beheld Enid, and he

welcomed her gladly. “Geraint,” said Gwalchmai, “come thou and see

Arthur; he is thy lord and thy cousin.” “I will not,” said he, “for I am

not in a fit state to go and see any one.” Thereupon, behold, one of the

pages came after Gwalchmai to speak to him. So he sent him to apprise

Arthur that Geraint was there wounded, and that he would not go to visit

him, and that it was pitiable to see the plight that he was in. And this

he did without Geraint’s knowledge, inasmuch as he spoke in a whisper to

the page. “Entreat Arthur,” said he, “to have his tent brought near to

the road, for he will not meet him willingly, and it is not easy to

compel him in the mood he is in.” So the page came to Arthur, and told

him this. And he caused his tent to be removed unto the side of the

road. And the maiden rejoiced in her heart. And Gwalchmai led Geraint

onwards along the road, till they came to the place where Arthur was

encamped, and the pages were pitching his tent by the roadside. “Lord,”

said Geraint, “all hail unto thee.” “Heaven prosper thee; and who art

thou?” said Arthur. “It is Geraint,” said Gwalchmai, “and of his own

free will would he not come to meet thee.” “Verily,” said Arthur, “he is

bereft of his reason.” Then came Enid, and saluted Arthur. “Heaven

protect thee,” said he. And thereupon he caused one of the pages to take

her from her horse. “Alas! Enid,” said Arthur, “what expedition is

this?” “I know not, Lord,” said she, “save that it behoves me to journey

by the same road that he journeys.” “My Lord,” said Geraint, “with thy

permission we will depart.” “Whither wilt thou go?” said Arthur. “Thou

canst not proceed now, unless it be unto thy death.” “He will not suffer

himself to be invited by me,” said Gwalchmai. “But by me he will,” said

Arthur; “and, moreover, he does not go from here until he is healed.” “I

had rather, Lord,” said Geraint, “that thou wouldest let me go forth.”

“That will I not, I declare to Heaven,” said he. Then he caused a maiden

to be sent for to conduct Enid to the tent where Gwenhwyvar’s chamber

was. And Gwenhwyvar and all her women were joyful at her coming; and

they took off her riding-dress, and placed other garments upon her.

Arthur also called Kadyrieith, and ordered him to pitch a tent for

Geraint and the physicians; and he enjoined him to provide him with

abundance of all that might be requisite for him. And Kadyrieith did as

he had commanded him. And Morgan Tud and his disciples were brought to

Geraint.

And Arthur and his hosts remained there nearly a month, whilst Geraint

was being healed. And when he was fully recovered, Geraint came to

Arthur, and asked his permission to depart. “I know not if thou art

quite well.” “In truth I am, Lord,” said Geraint. “I shall not believe

thee concerning that, but the physicians that were with thee.” So Arthur

caused the physicians to be summoned to him, and asked them if it were

true. “It is true, Lord,” said Morgan Tud. So the next day Arthur

permitted him to go forth, and he pursued his journey. And on the same

day Arthur removed thence. And Geraint desired Enid to go on, and to

keep before him, as she had formerly done. And she went forward along

the high road. And as they journeyed thus, they heard an exceeding loud

wailing near to them. “Stay thou here,” said he, “and I will go and see

what is the cause of this wailing.” “I will,” said she. Then he went

forward unto an open glade that was near the road. And in the glade he

saw two horses, one having a man’s saddle, and the other a woman’s saddle

upon it. And, behold, there was a knight lying dead in his armour, and a

young damsel in a riding-dress standing over him, lamenting. “Ah! Lady,”

said Geraint, “what hath befallen thee?” “Behold,” she answered, “I

journeyed here with my beloved husband, when, lo! three giants came upon

us, and without any cause in the world, they slew him.” “Which way went

they hence?” said Geraint. “Yonder by the high road,” she replied. So

he returned to Enid. “Go,” said he, “to the lady that is below yonder,

and await me there till I come.” She was sad when he ordered her to do

thus, but nevertheless she went to the damsel, whom it was ruth to hear,

and she felt certain that Geraint would never return. Meanwhile Geraint

followed the giants, and overtook them. And each of them was greater of

stature than three other men, and a huge club was on the shoulder of

each. Then he rushed upon one of them, and thrust his lance through his

body. And having drawn it forth again, he pierced another of them

through likewise. But the third turned upon him, and struck him with his

club, so that he split his shield, and crushed his shoulder, and opened

his wounds anew, and all his blood began to flow from him. But Geraint

drew his sword, and attacked the giant, and gave him a blow on the crown

of his head so severe, and fierce, and violent, that his head and his

neck were split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead. So Geraint left

him thus, and returned to Enid. And when he saw her, he fell down

lifeless from his horse. Piercing, and loud, and thrilling was the cry

that Enid uttered. And she came and stood over him where he had fallen.

And at the sound of her cries came the Earl of Limours, and the host that

journeyed with him, whom her lamentations brought out of their road. And

the Earl said to Enid, “Alas, Lady, what hath befallen thee?” “Ah! good

Sir,” said she, “the only man I have loved, or ever shall love, is

slain.” Then he said to the other, “And what is the cause of thy grief?”

“They have slain my beloved husband also,” said she. “And who was it

that slew them?” “Some giants,” she answered, “slew my best-beloved, and

the other knight went in pursuit of them, and came back in the state thou

seest, his blood flowing excessively; but it appears to me that he did

not leave the giants without killing some of them, if not all.” The Earl

caused the knight that was dead to be buried, but he thought that there

still remained some life in Geraint; and to see if he yet would live, he

had him carried with him in the hollow of his shield, and upon a bier.

And the two damsels went to the Court; and when they arrived there,

Geraint was placed upon a litter-couch in front of the table that was in

the hall. Then they all took off their travelling gear, and the Earl

besought Enid to do the same, and to clothe herself in other garments.

“I will not, by Heaven,” said she. “Ah! Lady,” said he, “be not so

sorrowful for this matter.” “It were hard to persuade me to be

otherwise,” said she. “I will act towards thee in such wise, that thou

needest not be sorrowful, whether yonder knight live or die. Behold, a

good Earldom, together with myself, will I bestow on thee; be, therefore,

happy and joyful.” “I declare to Heaven,” said she, “that henceforth I

shall never be joyful while I live.” “Come, then,” said he, “and eat.”

“No, by Heaven, I will not,” she answered. “But, by Heaven, thou shalt,”

said he. So he took her with him to the table against her will, and many

times desired her to eat. “I call Heaven to witness,” said she, “that I

will not eat until the man that is upon yonder bier shall eat likewise.”

“Thou canst not fulfil that,” said the Earl, “yonder man is dead

already.” “I will prove that I can,” said she. Then he offered her a

goblet of liquor. “Drink this goblet,” he said, “and it will cause thee

to change thy mind.” “Evil betide me,” she answered, “if I drink aught

until he drink also.” “Truly,” said the Earl, “it is of no more avail

for me to be gentle with thee than ungentle.” And he gave her a box on

the ear. Thereupon she raised a loud and piercing shriek, and her

lamentations were much greater than they had been before, for she

considered in her mind that had Geraint been alive, he durst not have

struck her thus. But, behold, at the sound of her cry, Geraint revived

from his swoon, and he sat up on the bier, and finding his sword in the

hollow of his shield, he rushed to the place where the Earl was, and

struck him a fiercely-wounding, severely-venomous, and sternly-smiting

blow upon the crown of his head, so that he clove him in twain, until his

sword was stayed by the table. Then all left the board, and fled away.

And this was not so much through fear of the living as through the dread

they felt at seeing the dead man rise up to slay them. And Geraint

looked upon Enid, and he was grieved for two causes; one was, to see that

Enid had lost her colour and her wonted aspect, and the other, to know

that she was in the right. “Lady,” said he, “knowest thou where our

horses are?” “I know, Lord, where thy horse is,” she replied, “but I

know not where is the other. Thy horse is in the house yonder.” So he

went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him, and took

up Enid from the ground, and placed her upon the horse with him. And he

rode forward. And their road lay between two hedges. And the night was

gaining on the day. And lo! they saw behind them the shafts of spears

betwixt them and the sky, and they heard the trampling of horses, and the

noise of a host approaching. “I hear something following us,” said he,

“and I will put thee on the other side of the hedge.” And thus he did.

And thereupon, behold, a knight pricked towards him, and couched his

lance. When Enid saw this, she cried out, saying, “Oh! chieftain,

whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?”

“Oh! Heaven,” said he, “is it Geraint?” “Yes, in truth,” said she. “And

who art thou?” “I am the Little King,” he answered, “coming to thy

assistance, for I heard that thou wast in trouble. And if thou hadst

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.” “Yes,” said the Little King, “and I

know good counsel for thee now. Come with me to the court of a

son-in-law of my sister, which is near here, and thou shalt have the best

medical assistance in the kingdom.” “I will do so gladly,” said Geraint.

And Enid was placed upon the horse of one of the Little King’s squires,

and they went forward to the Baron’s palace. And they were received

there with gladness, and they met with hospitality and attention. And

the next morning they went to seek physicians; and it was not long before

they came, and they attended Geraint until he was perfectly well. And

while Geraint was under medical care, the Little King caused his armour

to be repaired, until it was as good as it had ever been. And they

remained there a fortnight and a month.

Then the Little King said to Geraint, “Now will we go towards my own

Court, to take rest, and amuse ourselves.” “Not so,” said Geraint, “we

will first journey for one day more, and return again.” “With all my

heart,” said the Little King, “do thou go then.” And early in the day

they set forth. And more gladly and more joyfully did Enid journey with

them that day than she had ever done. And they came to the main road.

And when they reached a place where the road divided in two, they beheld

a man on foot coming towards them along one of these roads, and Gwiffert

asked the man whence he came. “I come,” said he, “from an errand in the

country.” “Tell me,” said Geraint, “which is the best for me to follow

of these two roads?” “That is the best for thee to follow,” answered he,

“for if thou goest by this one, thou wilt never return. Below us,” said

he, “there is a hedge of mist, and within it are enchanted games, and no

one who has gone there has ever returned. And the Court of the Earl

Owain is there, and he permits no one to go to lodge in the town, except

he will go to his Court.” “I declare to Heaven,” said Geraint, “that we

will take the lower road.” And they went along it until they came to the

town. And they took the fairest and pleasantest place in the town for

their lodging. And while they were thus, behold, a young man came to

them, and greeted them. “Heaven be propitious to thee,” said they.

“Good Sirs,” said he, “what preparations are you making here?” “We are

taking up our lodging,” said they, “to pass the night.” “It is not the

custom with him who owns the town,” he answered, “to permit any of gentle

birth, unless they come to stay in his Court, to abide here; therefore,

come ye to the Court.” “We will come, gladly,” said Geraint. And they

went with the page, and they were joyfully received. And the Earl came

to the hall to meet them, and he commanded the tables to be laid. And

they washed, and sat down. And this is the order in which they sat:

Geraint on one side of the Earl, and Enid on the other side, and next to

Enid the Little King, and then the Countess next to Geraint; and all

after that as became their rank. Then Geraint recollected the games, and

thought that he should not go to them; and on that account he did not

eat. Then the Earl looked upon Geraint, and considered, and he bethought

him that his not eating was because of the games, and it grieved him that

he had ever established those games, were it only on account of losing

such a youth as Geraint. And if Geraint had asked him to abolish the

games, he would gladly have done so. Then the Earl said to Geraint,

“What thought occupies thy mind, that thou dost not eat? If thou

hesitatest about going to the games, thou shalt not go, and no other of

thy rank shall ever go either.” “Heaven reward thee,” said Geraint, “but

I wish nothing better than to go to the games, and to be shown the way

thither.” “If that is what thou dost prefer, thou shalt obtain it

willingly.” “I do prefer it, indeed,” said he. Then they ate, and they

were amply served, and they had a variety of gifts, and abundance of

liquor. And when they had finished eating they arose. And Geraint

called for his horse and his armour, and he accoutred both himself and

his horse. And all the hosts went forth until they came to the side of

the hedge, and the hedge was so lofty, that it reached as high as they

could see in the air, and upon every stake in the hedge, except two,

there was the head of a man, and the number of stakes throughout the

hedge was very great. Then said the Little King, “May no one go in with

the chieftain?” “No one may,” said Earl Owain. “Which way can I enter?”

inquired Geraint. “I know not,” said Owain, “but enter by the way that

thou wilt, and that seemeth easiest to thee.”

Then fearlessly and unhesitatingly Geraint dashed forward into the mist.

And on leaving the mist, he came to a large orchard; and in the orchard

he saw an open space, wherein was a tent of red satin; and the door of

the tent was open, and an apple-tree stood in front of the door of the

tent; and on a branch of the apple-tree hung a huge hunting-horn. Then

he dismounted, and went into the tent; and there was no one in the tent

save one maiden sitting in a golden chair, and another chair was opposite

to her, empty. And Geraint went to the empty chair, and sat down

therein. “Ah! chieftain,” said the maiden, “I would not counsel thee to

sit in that chair.” “Wherefore?” said Geraint. “The man to whom that

chair belongs has never suffered another to sit in it.” “I care not,”

said Geraint, “though it displease him that I sit in the chair.” And

thereupon they heard a mighty tumult around the tent. And Geraint looked

to see what was the cause of the tumult. And he beheld without a knight

mounted upon a warhorse, proudly snorting, high-mettled, and large of

bone; and a robe of honour in two parts was upon him and upon his horse,

and beneath it was plenty of armour. “Tell me, chieftain,” said he to

Geraint, “who it was that bade thee sit there?” “Myself,” answered he.

“It was wrong of thee to do me this shame and disgrace. Arise, and do me

satisfaction for thine insolence.” Then Geraint arose; and they

encountered immediately; and they broke a set of lances, and a second

set, and a third; and they gave each other fierce and frequent strokes;

and at last Geraint became enraged, and he urged on his horse, and rushed

upon him, and gave him a thrust on the centre of his shield, so that it

was split, and so that the head of his lance went through his armour, and

his girths were broken, and he himself was borne headlong to the ground

the length of Geraint’s lance and arm, over his horse’s crupper. “Oh, my

Lord!” said he, “thy mercy, and thou shalt have what thou wilt.” “I only

desire,” said Geraint, “that this game shall no longer exist here, nor

the hedge of mist, nor magic, nor enchantment.” “Thou shalt have this

gladly, Lord,” he replied. “Cause, then, the mist to disappear from this

place,” said Geraint. “Sound yonder horn,” said he, “and when thou

soundest it, the mist will vanish; but it will not go hence unless the

horn be blown by the knight by whom I am vanquished.” And sad and

sorrowful was Enid where she remained, through anxiety concerning

Geraint. Then Geraint went and sounded the horn. And at the first blast

he gave, the mist vanished. And all the hosts came together, and they

all became reconciled to each other. And the Earl invited Geraint and

the Little King to stay with him that night. And the next morning they

separated. And Geraint went towards his own dominions; and thenceforth

he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendour lasted with

renown and honour both to him and to Enid from that time forth.

KILHWCH AND OLWEN

OR THE

TWRCH TRWYTH

Kilydd the son of Prince Kelyddon desired a wife as a helpmate, and the

wife that he chose was Goleuddydd, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd. And

after their union, the people put up prayers that they might have an

heir. And they had a son through the prayers of the people. From the

time of her pregnancy Goleuddydd became wild, and wandered about, without

habitation; but when her delivery was at hand, her reason came back to

her. Then she went to a mountain where there was a swineherd, keeping a

herd of swine. And through fear of the swine the queen was delivered.

And the swineherd took the boy, and brought him to the palace; and he was

christened, and they called him Kilhwch, because he had been found in a

swine’s burrow. Nevertheless the boy was of gentle lineage, and cousin

unto Arthur; and they put him out to nurse.