King Arthur's Knights
THE DEEDS OF SIR GERAINT
King Arthur was spending Whitsuntide at Caerleon-upon-Usk, and one day
he hunted the stag in the forests that lay thereby. As he had given
permission for his queen to go and see the hunting, she set out with
one handmaiden, and rode in the misty dawning down to the river, and
across the ford.
They climbed up the other bank, following the track of the men and
horses which had formed the king's hunting party, until they stood on
the edge of the dark forest, where the young leaves were fresh and
sweetly green. The sun burst forth, and sucked up the mists along the
meadow flats beside the river below them, and the water flashed and the
birds sang.
'Here will we stay,' said the queen, who felt happy with the sunlight
upon her, and the smell of the forest blowing out from the trees, 'and
though we shall not see the killing, we shall hear the horns when they
sound, and we shall hear the dogs when they are let loose and begin to
cry so eagerly.'
Suddenly they heard a rushing sound and the thud of hoofs behind them,
and, turning, they saw a young man upon a hunter foal of mighty size.
The rider was a fair-haired handsome youth, of princely mien, yet
withal kindly of look and smile. A riding-robe and surcoat of satin
were upon him, low-cut shoes of soft leather were on his feet, and in
his girdle was a golden-hilted sword. A fillet of gold bound his curly
hair, and a collar of gold, with a blue enamel swastika pendant, hung
about his neck.
He checked his horse as he neared the queen, and it came towards her
with step stately, swift and proud, and the rider bowed full low to
Gwenevere.
'Heaven prosper thee, Sir Geraint,' she said. 'And its welcome be unto
thee.'
'Heaven accord you long life and happiness, O queen,' replied Geraint.
'Why didst thou not go with my lord to hunt?' asked the queen.
'Because I knew not when he went,' said Geraint. 'But men told me in
hall that you had gone out alone, and I came to crave permission to
accompany and guard you.'
'Gramercy,' said the queen. 'Thy protection is very agreeable to me.'
As they stood talking, they heard the clatter of steel armour, and
looking between the trees, they beheld a proud knight upon a war-horse
of great size, wearing a heavy chain-mail jesseraunt, with coif and
vizored helm, and his horse was also clothed in harness of chain mail.
Following him was a lady upon a beautiful white horse, which went with
stately and proud steps along the forest way. The lady was clothed in a
great robe of gold brocade, and her headcloth, of fine cambric, was
turned so that her face was hidden. Behind them rode a little dark man,
hairy and fierce of face, dressed as a page; and he sat on a great
horse, strong and spirited, yet the dwarf held it well in hand. Hung to
his saddle-bow was the knight's shield, but the device was hidden by a
cloth, and two lances were fixed to the girdle of the dwarf. In his
right fist the page carried a whip, long and heavy and knotted.
'Sir Geraint,' said Gwenevere, 'knowest thou the name of that tall
knight?'
'I know him not, lady,' said Geraint, 'and his helm conceals his face,
and his shield is also hidden. But I will go and ask the page, that you
may learn his name.'
And Sir Geraint rode up to the dwarfish page.
'Who is yonder knight?' said Sir Geraint.
'I will not tell thee,' replied the dwarf, and scowled.
'Then I will ask him himself,' said Sir Geraint.
'That thou wilt not, by my head,' said the dwarf angrily, 'for thou art
not of honour enough to speak to my lord.'
Geraint turned his horse's head to go towards the knight, whereupon the
dwarf spurred forward and overtook him and lashed towards him with the
long and knotted whip. The lash struck the mouth of Sir Geraint, and
blood flowed, and dropped upon the silken scarf that he wore.
Instantly Sir Geraint turned, with sword half drawn, and the dwarf
cowed and pulled back. But Sir Geraint thought it would be no vengeance
to carve the dwarf's head from his shoulders, and to be attacked
unarmed by the mail-clad knight.
He thrust his sword back with a clang into its scabbard, and rode
towards the queen.
'Thou hast acted wisely and nobly, Sir Geraint,' said the queen, 'and I
sorrow for the insult the craven knave hath placed upon thee.'
'Lady, I fear he was but copying his master,' said Geraint, whose eyes
flashed with anger. 'But if your ladyship will permit me, I will follow
this knight, and at last he will come to some town where I may get arms
either as a loan or from a friend, and then will I avenge the insult
which this stranger knight hath given to you, my queen and lady.'
'Go,' said Gwenevere, 'but I beg of thee, do not encounter with the
knight until thou hast good arms, for he is a man almost as big as Sir
Lancelot du Lake. And I shall be anxious concerning thee until thou
dost return, or send tidings.'
'If I be alive,' said Sir Geraint, 'you shall hear tidings of me by
to-morrow at evensong.'
Thus he departed. All that day Sir Geraint followed the knight and the
lady and the page, keeping them in sight, though at a distance. Through
the forest they went first, and thereafter the road ran along a ridge
of high ground, with the great downs and combes falling and heaving
below their feet, the sun flashing back from lakes and streams, the
bees humming at the flowers in the grass, and the larks rising with
thrilling song in the warm sweet air of the spring.
Sir Geraint loved it all, but he kept his eyes ever on the knight, who
flashed as he moved far before him. At length he saw the towers of a
high castle, and beneath it the red roofs of a little town nestling at
the foot of the grey walls. They rode into the town, and as the haughty
knight passed through it the people in the booths and cabins and those
beside the way saluted him. He did not acknowledge any of their
greetings, but looked before him proudly, as he had done when he rode
through the solitary paths of the wilderness.
Sir Geraint looked about him as he rode behind, to see if there was any
armourer or knightly person whom he knew, but there was none. When he
saw the knight and the lady and the dwarf enter the castle, and was
sure that they would sojourn there, he rode about the little town, and
found it full of knights and squires, with armourers and others
cleaning arms, sharpening swords and repairing harness. But no one did
he know of whom to beg a suit of armour and a lance.
Then he took his way to a little stream beneath the wall of the town,
and on the other side he saw a manor-house, old and ruinous, standing
amidst tall weeds. And thinking he might get lodging there for that
night, he forded the river and went towards the manor. He saw that the
hall-door yawned open, and that a marble bridge led up to it, over a
wide ditch full of stagnant water and thick with green weeds and
rushes.
On the bridge sat an old and reverend man in clothes that once had been
rich, but now were thin and tattered. And Geraint thought it was not
possible that so poor a place could help him in what he desired. He
looked steadfastly at the old man.
'Young sir,' said the latter, 'why art thou so thoughtful?'
'I was thinking, fair sir,' said Geraint, 'whether thou couldst give me
lodging here for this night.'
'Of a surety,' said the old man, rising. 'It is poor we are, but such
as can be given shall be of our best.'
He led Sir Geraint into the hall, which was bleak and desolate, and the
hearthstone in the centre was thick with last year's leaves, as if it
had been long since fire had flickered upon it. On the wall there hung
rusty weapons and helms, and through the cracks there crept the ivy
from the outer wall. The horse was tethered in the hall by the old man.
Then he led Sir Geraint to a door upon the dais, and ushered him into
the bower, and there he saw an old decrepit woman, sweet of look though
thin and peaked. She rose from the cushion on which she sat, greeting
him kindly, and he saw that the satin garments upon her were also old
and tattered. Yet Sir Geraint thought she must have been a lovely woman
in her happy youth.
Beside her was a maiden, upon whom was a vest and robe poor and thin,
and the veil of her headcloth was old though clean. Yet truly, thought
Geraint, he had never seen a lovelier maiden, nor one with more
sweetness and grace in her smile or gentleness in her voice. And the
heart of him stirred with pity to see her so pale and wan, as if she
fared but poorly.
'Welcome, fair sir,' said the old dame. 'This is my daughter Enid, who
will gladly prepare food for you.'
When food had been prepared they sat down, and Geraint was placed
between the white-haired man and his wife, and the maiden served them.
Afterwards, as they drank weak mead from cups of earthenware, they
spoke together; and Geraint asked whose was the manor in which they
sat.
'Mine,' said the old man, 'for I built it. And the castle up there and
the town were also mine.'
'Alas!' said Geraint, 'how is it you and yours have lost them?'
'For my sins and my greed,' said the old man sadly, 'and bitterly have
I repented me of my wrong. I am Earl Inewl, but I have lost the lands
that made my earldom. For I have a nephew, whom his father, on his
deathbed, gave into my keeping, with all his lands. And I added his
possessions to my own, and when the boy was a man he demanded them of
me, and I would not give them up. So he made war upon me, and took
everything from me except this ruined hall and one poor farm.'
'Since you are sorry for the greed that hath ruined you,' replied
Geraint, 'I will do what I may to regain your possessions, if God gives
me life. But first I would ask, why went that knight and the lady and
the dwarf just now into the town, and why is there so much furbishing
of arms there?'
'The preparations are for the jousting that is to be held to-morrow's
morn in the level meadow beside the ford,' responded the old earl. 'And
the prize is to be a falcon of pure gold. The knight thou sawest has
won the falcon two years running, and if he wins it this time he will
have it for his own, and will win the title of the Knight of the Golden
Falcon. And to gain it from him all those knights in the town will
essay. And with each will go the lady that he loveth best, and if a man
takes not his lady with him he may not enter the lists.'
'Sir,' said Sir Geraint, 'I would willingly have to do with that
knight, for he hath, by the hands of his dwarf page, most evilly
insulted the queen of my dear lord, King Arthur; but I have no armour.'
'As for that,' said the old man, 'I have arms here that will fit thee;
but if thou hast no maiden with thee, thou canst not do battle.'
'If, sir,' replied Sir Geraint, 'you and this maiden, your daughter,
will permit me to challenge for her, I will engage, if I escape alive
from the tournament, to be the maiden's knight while I shall live.'
'What say you, daughter?' said the old earl.
'Indeed, sir,' replied the maiden, gently flushing, 'I am in your
hands. And if this fair knight will have it so, he may challenge for
me.'
This said Enid to hide her true thoughts; for indeed she felt that she
had never before seen as noble a youth as Geraint, or one for whom her
thoughts were so kind.
'Then so shall it be,' said Earl Inewl.
On the morrow, ere it was dawn, they arose and arrayed themselves; and
at break of day they were in the meadow. Before the seat of the young
earl, who was Inewl's nephew, there was set up a post, and on it was
the figure of a gyr-falcon, of pure gold, and marvellously wrought,
with wings outspread and talons astretch, as if it were about to strike
its prey.
Then the knight whom Geraint had followed entered the field with his