King Arthur's Knights
all tournaments that were held within easy reach of his kingdom. Thus
he became acquainted with every mighty knight of his hands throughout
the lands of Cornwall, Wales and Logres; and so great in strength and
prowess did he become that men hailed him as one of the Three Great
Heroes of the Isle of Britain; the other two being Sir Lancelot du Lake
and Sir Tristram of Lyones. And though there Were other great and
valiant warriors, as Sir Lamorake, Sir Bors, Sir Gawaine and his
brother, Sir Gareth, and Sir Palomides, yet all these had been overcome
by one or other of the three heroes. For as yet Sir Perceval was in the
forest with his widowed mother, and knew no arms but a stone or a
stick; and Sir Galahad was not yet born. And these two were knights
stainless of pride or any evil desire, and by that force alone did
strike down every arm, however mighty, that relied on knightly prowess
alone.
When his fame had spread over all the kingdoms south of Trent, so that
no knight that knew him or saw the device of the golden falcon on his
shield would have to do with him, Sir Geraint began to seek ease and
pleasure, for there was no one who would joust with him. He began to
stay at home and never went beyond his wife's bower-chamber, but sat
and delighted in playing chess, or hearing the bards of the court sing
songs of glamour and wizardry, or tell him tales of ancient warriors
and lovers, long since dead.
The whole court marvelled at his slothfulness as time passed and he
changed not. He gave up the friendship of his nobles, and went not
hunting or hawking; and found no pleasure but in the company of his
wife, whom he dearly loved.
Men began to scoff and jeer at his name over their cups in hall, or as
they rode with hawk on fist to the hunting, or as they tilted in the
lists. And the lawless lords upon the marches of the land began to stir
and to dare, and when none came to punish them, their plunderings and
oppressions grew.
Soon these things came to the ears of the old King Erbin, and great
heaviness was upon him. And he called the Lady Enid to him one day, and
with stern sorrow in his eyes spoke thus:
'Fair woman, is it thou that hast turned my son's spirit into water? Is
it thy love that hath made his name a byword among those who should
love him because he is not as he once was--a man no one could meet in
arms and overcome? Is it thou that hath sunk him in slothfulness, so
that the wolfish lords and tyrant barons upon his marchlands begin to
creep out of their castleholds, and tear and maim his people and wrest
from them and him broad lands and fertile fields?'
'Nay, lord, nay,' said Enid, and he knew from the tears in her brave
eyes that she spoke the truth. 'It is not I, by my confession unto
Heaven! I know not what hath come to my dear lord. But there is nothing
more hateful to me than his unknightly sloth! And I know not what I may
do. For it is not harder, lord, to know what men say of my dear
husband, than to have to tell him, and see the shame in the eyes of him
I love.'
And Enid went away weeping sorely.
The next morning, when Enid awoke from sleep, she sat up and looked at
Geraint sleeping. The sun was shining through the windows, and lay upon
her husband. And she gazed upon his marvellous beauty, and the great
muscles of his arms and breast, and tears filled her eyes as she leaned
over him.
'Alas,' she said half aloud, 'am I the cause that this strength, this
noble and manly beauty have all lost the fame they once enjoyed? Am I
the cause that he hath sunk in sloth, and men scoff at his name and his
strength?'
And the words were heard by Geraint, and he felt the scalding tears
fall upon his breast, and he lay appearing to be asleep, yet he was
awake. A great rage burned in him, so that for some moments he knew not
what to do or say.
Then he opened his eyes as if he had heard and felt nothing, and in his
eyes was a hard gleam. He rose and swiftly dressed, and called his
squire.
'Go,' he said to the man, 'prepare my destrier, and get old armour and
a shield with no device thereon, old and rusty. And say naught to
none.'
'And do thou,' he said to his wife, 'rise and apparel thyself, and
cause thy horse to be prepared, and do thou wear the oldest riding-robe
thou hast. And thou wilt come with me.'
So Enid arose and clothed herself in her meanest garments.
Then Geraint went to his father and said, 'Sir, I am going upon a quest
into the land of Logres, and I do not know when I may return. Do thou
therefore keep our kingdom till I return.'
'I will do so, my son,' said Erbin, 'but thou art not strong enough to
go through the land of Logres alone. Wilt thou not have a company with
thee?'
'But one person shall go with me,' said Geraint, 'and that is a woman.
Farewell.'
Then he put on the old and rusty suit of armour, and took the shield
with no device, and a sword and a lance, and then mounting his horse he
took his way out of the town. And Enid went before him on her palfrey,
marvelling what all this might mean.
Geraint called unto her and said sternly:
'Go thou and ride a long way before me. And whatever ye see or hear
concerning me, say naught, and turn not back. And unless I speak to
thee, speak not thou to me.'
All day they rode thus, and deeper and deeper they sank into a desolate
land, where huge rocks jutted from the starved soil, and there was no
sound or sight of living thing, except it was the wolf looking from his
lair beneath a stone, or the breaking of a branch, as the brown bear on
a distant hillslope tore at a tree to get a honeycomb, and blinked down
at them, marvelling, maybe, to see a knight and a lady in his desolate
domain.
When, late in the afternoon, their long shadows marched before them
down a broad green road which they had struck upon, Enid's heart
suddenly lifted to see the white walls and roofs of what looked like a
rich town; for she knew not what was in her lord's mind, and feared
lest his strange anger should push him to go on through the night, and
so become a prey to robbers or wild animals. But she marvelled that
there was no sight or sound of people; no carters or travellers going
to or coming from the city, and no smoke rose above the housetops.
When they came nearer, she saw the wall of the gate was broken down,
and that along the broad road beyond the wall the grass waved high
across the street, and the little wooden booths and cabins beside the
road were rotting and decayed. Anon they rode into a broad market-place
or forum, where white buildings rose above them, the windows gaping,
grass growing on the roofs or in the crannies of the walls, and the
doorways choked with bushes. And out of the broad hallway of the
basilica she saw the grey form of a wolf walk and slink away in the
shadows.
With a sinking heart she knew that this was one of the fair cities
which the Romans had built, and when they had left Britain this town
had been deserted and left desolate, to become a place where the wolf
and the bear made their lairs, where the beaver built his dam in the
stream beneath the wall of the palace, and where robbers and wild men
lay hid, or the small people of the hills came and made their magic and
weaved their spells, with the aid of the spirits haunting the desolate
hearths of the Romans.
And as Enid checked her horse and waited for Geraint to come up, that
she might ask him whether it was his pleasure to pass the night there,
she saw, down the wide street before her, the forms of men, creeping
and gathering in the gloom. Then, fearing lest they should fall upon
her husband before he was aware of them, she turned her horse and rode
towards him and said:
'Lord, dost thou see the wild men which gather in the shadows there in
the street before us, as if they would attack thee?'
Geraint lifted up his angry eyes to hers:
'Thou wert bid to keep silent,' he said, 'whatsoever thou hast seen or
heard. Why dost thou warn one whom thou dost despise?'
Even as he spoke, from the broken houses through which they had crept
to assail the single knight, dashed ten robbers, naked of feet, evil of
look, clothed in skins. One leaped at the knight with a knife in his
hand, to be cut down, halfway in his spring, by Sir Geraint's fierce
sword-stroke. Then, while Enid stood apart, terror in her heart, prayer
on her lips, she saw him as if he were in the midst of a pack of
tearing wolves, and in the silent street with its twilight was the
sudden clash of steel, the howls and cries of wounded men.
Then she was aware that six lay quiet on the road, and the remaining
four broke suddenly away towards the shelter of the houses. But two of
these Sir Geraint pursued, and cut down before they could reach cover.
He rejoined her in silence and sought for a place of lodging; and in a
small villa they found a room with but one door. Here they supped from
the scrip of food and the bottle of wine which Enid had brought, and
there they slept that night.
On the morrow they pursued their way, and followed the green road out
of the ruined city until they reached the forest. And in the heat and
brightness of the high noon the green and coolness of the forestways
were sweet, and the sound of tiny streams hidden beneath the leaves was
refreshing.
Then they came upon a plain where was a village surrounded by a bank of
earth, on which was a palisade. And there was a wailing and weeping
coming from between the little mud-cabins therein; and as they
approached they saw in the middle green four knights in armour and a
crowd of poor frightened folk about them.
As they passed the gate of the village a poor man ran from the group,
and threw himself before Sir Geraint.
'O sir knight,' he cried full piteously, 'if thou art a good knight and
a brave, do thou see justice done here. For these four lords would cut
my father's throat if he say not where his money is hid.'
'Are they his proper lords?' asked Geraint.
'Nay, sir knight,' said the man. 'Our land is Geraint's, and these
lords say that he sleeps all day, and so they will be our masters. And
they do ever oppress us with fine and tax and torture.'
Therewith Sir Geraint rode through the gate of the village and
approached the group. He saw where the four knights stood cruelly
torturing a poor old man whom they had tied to a post, and the sweat
stood upon the peasant's white face, and the fear of death was in his
eyes.
'Lords! lords,' he cried in a spent voice, 'I have no money, for you
did take all I had when you told us our lord Geraint was become a court
fool.'
'Thou miser!' jeered one of the knights, 'that was two months agone,
and thou hast something more by now. Will this loose thy secret,
carrion?'
At the cruel torture the man shrieked aloud, and by reason of the pain
his head sank and he slid down the post in a swoon. And a young woman
rushed forth, threw her arm about the hanging body, and with flashing
eyes turned and defied the knights.
Next moment it would have gone ill with her, but the voice of Sir
Geraint rang out.
'Ho, there, sir knights,' he cried, 'or sir wolves--I know not which ye
are--have ye naught to do but to squeeze poor peasants of mean
savings?'
The knights turned in rage, and laughed and sneered when they saw but
one solitary knight in old and rusty armour.
'Ah, sir scarecrow!' cried one, leaping on his horse, 'I will spit thee
for thy insolence.'
'Knock him down and truss him up with this starveling peasant,' cried
another.
All now had mounted, and the first prepared to run at Sir Geraint, who
backed his horse through the gateway into the open plain. Anon the
first knight came, hurling himself angrily upon him. But deftly Sir
Geraint struck the other's lance aside with his sword, and as the rider