King Arthur did not wait for an adventure to come before he began every feast, but none the less he was always happy if such a thing should happen; therefore he was particularly pleased one Easter Day as he sat feasting at Caerleon to see a tall, handsome youth dressed in green and white, with a great golden-hilted sword at his waist, come striding suddenly into the hall.
‘Greetings, noble King Arthur!’ said the youth, bowing low before the King.
‘I give you welcome, fair sir,’ answered King Arthur. ‘Come you to tell of some adventure? Methinks I have seen you before this day – and yet your name I know not.’
‘I am Geraint, the son of Erbin,’ was the answer. ‘And I dwell in the Forest of Dean not far from here. This day as I wandered down a leafy glade, I beheld a strange and wondrous stag: pure white it was, with antlers of clear gold, and it stepped delicately over the grass and leaves, not herding with any of the other deer in your forest. Then I sought out your royal huntsmen and bade them mark where the white stag went: and I came in haste to tell you.’
‘You did well, young sir!’ said Arthur. ‘To-morrow we will rise early and go forth with many of our knights to hunt this stag.’
‘Let me come after you, to watch the hunting,’ begged Queen Guinevere. ‘This young squire Geraint shall accompany me.’
‘Be it as you say,’ answered Arthur. ‘And whosoever slays the stag, Geraint shall have the head of it, on this condition: that he shall give it to the lady of his heart.’
‘Alas, I have no lady,’ sighed Geraint.
‘Then we will find you one!’ laughed Guinevere. And so the matter was arranged.
On the morrow King Arthur, with Gawain and Kay, and many another knight, rose early and went forth into the forest in search of the white stag. But Guinevere followed later in the day, accompanied by one maiden only, and by Geraint who rode still in his tunic of white and his green cloak, with only the golden-hilted sword at his side.
Presently they came to the edge of the forest, and they heard the horns blowing in the distance, but could not tell in which direction the hunt was going. And as they sat waiting there on the green verge of the forest, they saw a little cavalcade come by upon the road. First of all came a misshapen dwarf riding upon a prancing horse, and carrying a long cruel whip of leather thongs; and behind him rode a proud lady on a beautiful white horse; her garments were of gold brocade, and she was followed by a knight in shining armour who rode upon a great black war-horse – a giant of a man upon a monstrous horse.
‘Geraint,’ said Guinevere,’ know you the name of yonder knight?’
‘I know him not,’ answered Geraint, ‘and I cannot see his face, for he rides with his vizor down.’
‘Go you and ask,’ said Guinevere to her damsel, who rode at once towards the dwarf and asked him the knight’s name.
‘I will not tell you!’ snapped the dwarf.
‘As you are so rude I’ll ask the knight himself,’ said the damsel.
‘That shall you not, by my faith!’ said the dwarf.
‘Wherefore not?’ asked the damsel.
‘Because you are not fit to speak to such a one as my lord!’ answered the dwarf. But the damsel turned her horse nevertheless, and was about to ride towards the knight when the dwarf struck her a savage blow with his whip so that the blood ran from her face.
Sobbing bitterly, the damsel returned to Queen Guinevere, and told her what had happened.
‘A vile churl this dwarf is!’ cried Geraint. ‘I’ll ride and speak with him myself!’
‘Go!’ said Guinevere, and Geraint went up to the dwarf.
‘Who is yonder knight?’ he asked.
‘I will not tell you!’ snapped the dwarf.
‘As you are so rude, I will e’en ask the knight himself,’ said Geraint.
‘That you shall not, by my faith!’ cried the dwarf.
‘Wherefore not?’ asked Geraint.
‘Because you are not fit to speak with such a one as my lord!’ answered the dwarf.
‘I’ve spoken with greater than he!’ said Geraint angrily, and turning his horse, he was about to ride after the knight, when the dwarf struck him a savage blow with his whip, so that the blood ran down his face and stained the whiteness of his tunic.
Geraint’s hand flew to the golden sword-hilt, but then he thought: ‘It will be no vengeance if I slay the dwarf and am myself slain unarmed by this knight.’ So he returned to Queen Guinevere, and told her what had chanced.
‘I will ride after them,’ he said, ‘and when we come where I may borrow some armour and a spear and shield, I will do battle with this proud knight.’
‘Go then,’ said the Queen, ‘and, if you prove yourself worthy, you shall be a Knight of the Round Table.’
‘Ere long you shall hear of me,’ said Geraint; and with that he departed.
All day Geraint followed the knight, the lady and the dwarf through the edge of the forest, down by deep valleys, and then upwards into the hills of South Wales; and in the evening he came to a strange town with a castle towering in the midst of it. As the knight rode up the steep street towards the castle, people came to their doors and bowed low to him; and everywhere there was bustle and the jingle of steel as men-at-arms and knights strode up and down. But there was no friendly smile for Geraint as he rode slowly through the town and out at the further side once he had seen the knight his enemy enter into the frowning castle.
The shadows were growing long and dark as Geraint came once more to the edge of the forest and saw among the trees the ruins of a mighty mansion, a fortified house almost like a castle, with a moat and tall towers, thick walls and narrow windows. But the moat was grown with weeds, the towers were split and broken, with their staircases curling up into nowhere, the walls in many places were mere heaps of rubble, and only the windows of one room showed any light.
On the stone parapet of a bridge leading across the moat sat an old man in tattered garments which had once been fine, and he greeted Geraint kindly:
‘Young sir, wherefore do you ride pensively, with bowed head?’
‘I am thoughtful,’ answered Geraint, ‘because I know not where to rest this night. For I am in a strange land, and all whom I meet greet me with hostile looks.’
‘Come hither with me,’ said the old man, ‘and I will give you such welcome as I may. Once you might have feasted splendidly in my halls – but much evil and sorrow has befallen me since that time.’
Geraint rode over the bridge into the ruined manor, tied up his horse in a roofless stall, and followed his host up a stone stairway into a fine room where a fire was burning, and a table was set for a frugal dinner. Beside the fire sat an ancient lady in a high-backed chair of carved oak, and on a footstool at her side the loveliest maiden that ever Geraint had seen.
‘Surely,’ said Geraint to his host as they sat down to supper, ‘you did not always dwell thus in a ruined manor with none to tend upon you?’
‘Oh no, young sir, once it was far otherwise,’ said the old man. ‘I am Liconal, by right the Duke of this town and of all the wide domains hereby. But in the pride of my heart I withheld from Yder my nephew his dukedom which I ruled for him until he came of age. And the end of it was that he took both his own dukedom and mine, driving me out from the castle, so that I and my wife and our daughter Enid, then but a child, were forced to dwell in the one place which remained to us – this ancient manor that for long had been the home only of rooks and daws.’
‘Then it was Duke Yder who came riding into the town this day and was saluted by all?’ said Geraint. ‘I desire greatly to break a lance with him, for he is a proud and ungentle knight: his dwarf raised the lash of his whip to a damsel of Queen Guinevere – and me also he smote across the face. But I had no armour nor spear – for I am not yet a knight – so that I could not defy Duke Yder. Therefore I rode after him to discover where he dwelt – and to see if any there were who would lend me arms.’
‘That will I right willingly,’ cried
Duke Liconal. ‘And to-morrow you may ride against Yder. For he holds then his yearly tournament, and thinks to bear away the Sparrow Hawk.’
‘Tell me of this Sparrow Hawk,’ said Geraint. ‘I know not the custom.’
‘It is wrought all of pure silver,’ answered Liconal, ‘and each year come knights with their ladies to joust for it. He who wins it for three years is called the Knight of the Sparrow Hawk – and that will Duke Yder be if he win to-morrow: and he will give the Sparrow Hawk to his lady, and she shall be held to be the fairest lady in the world.’
‘To-morrow I will fight him for that Sparrow Hawk,’ said Geraint quietly.
‘You may not enter the lists to fight for it,’ said Liconal, ‘unless your lady-love rides with you, and you proclaim her the fairest lady in the world.’
‘I have no lady,’ said Geraint. ‘And yet … there is none fairer that ever I have seen than this damsel your daughter, the lady Enid … If she will ride with me, she shall be my lady as long as I live – and if I die to-morrow she is no worse off than she was this morning.’
Then the lady Enid blushed sweetly, and said that she would indeed ride to the tournament with Geraint: but of what should chance thereafter she would say nothing.
That night Geraint slept in the ruined manor, and early the next day Duke Liconal armed him in ancient armour, set a great spear in his hand, and with Enid and his wife, led him to the great meadow below the castle. There many people were gathered together in bright array, and many knights in shining armour.
Then Duke Yder rode down the field on his great black horse to where his lady sat beneath a canopy.
‘Lady,’ he cried, ‘see yonder at the meadow’s end the silver Sparrow Hawk awaits you. For you are the fairest of women – and that have I proved these two years, and will prove it again this day if any dare doubt my words … Rise now and fetch the Sparrow Hawk, for there is no man so hardy as to do battle with me for it!’
‘Tarry a little!’ cried Geraint, riding forward suddenly. ‘Fetch it not, fair lady, for there is here a lady fairer even than you – and I will prove her right to the silver Sparrow Hawk upon any who dares deny it!’
Then Duke Yder laughed: ‘Here comes a churl who has found a suit of armour, old and red with rust, lying in some ditch!’ he said. ‘Now it were good sport to chastise his insolence: but first I will knock him off his horse!’
Then the two drew apart, and came together down the length of the field so hard that both their spears were shivered into pieces. Three times they jousted, and each time their spears were broken to fragments; but for the fourth encounter Duke Liconal gave a mighty lance to Geraint, saying: ‘This spear was set in my hand on the day when I was made a knight, and from that day to this have I jousted with it and broken it not. Moreover the point is yet sharp.’
Geraint thanked him, set the spear in rest, and thundered down once more upon Duke Yder. And this time he smote him so hard that his girths broke, and over his horse’s tail went Yder, with his saddle still under him.
Geraint sprang down to the ground, drew his golden-hilted sword, and they fought up and down the meadow, dealing mighty strokes, until the grass was all tramped and blood-stained. Moreover pieces of Liconal’s ancient armour lay scattered on every side like rusty-red petals of fallen poppies.
Duke Yder struck mightily, and Geraint staggered beneath his blows. ‘Remember the insults done to you and to Queen Guinevere!’ cried Liconal. ‘Think upon the beauty of my daughter Enid!’
Then Geraint felt new strength come to him: whirling up his sword he rushed upon Duke Yder and smote him to the earth, splitting the helmet and wounding the head beneath.
‘Have mercy upon me now,’ cried Yder. ‘I yield me to you, noble knight. Moreover, the Sparrow Hawk shall be yours to give to whom you will.’
‘Go then to the Court of King Arthur at Caerleon,’ said Geraint, ‘you, your lady, and your dwarf. Ask pardon there of Queen Guinevere for the insult which your dwarf did to her, and say that Geraint the son of Erbin sent you. Moreover the old Duke Liconal shall ride with you, and you shall lay your dispute before King Arthur – for long enough have you kept him from his dukedom, and long enough has he dwelt in the ruined manor.’
‘All these things will I do,’ said Duke Yder. ‘But come you now to my castle, and my uncle Liconal also. There we shall feast, and there our ancient hatred shall be ended.’
Great was the feast that night in the castle of Yder; and on the morrow they made ready to ride to Caerleon.
‘Come you with us also, brave Sir knight,’ said Yder to Geraint.
‘Not so,’ answered Geraint. ‘For knight am I not yet. Therefore I will ride further into the woods and valleys, seeking adventures: and so perchance I may show myself worthy to be made a knight. And thus too, fair lady Enid, may I prove myself worthy of your love.’
Then Enid was angered with Geraint, for she had thought that he was a knight already, and that he would have come that day to Caerleon with her and wedded her on the morrow: and in her anger she spoke to him foolishly:
‘You are indeed not worthy to be made a knight!’ she cried. ‘For now you ride away in fear. That you go forth to seek for adventures I may not believe – and if you go now, be sure I will seek at Caerleon for a braver and a nobler man to be my lord.’
White to the lips between anger and dismay spoke Geraint: ‘Lady, you do me a passing great wrong. For mine honour, I cannot now ride to Caerleon with you: but if it pleases you, ride now before me on the road that I must follow, and then you shall see what may chance. Ride far ahead, looking not behind: and see that you speak to me no word, whatever may happen!’
‘I will do this indeed,’ said Enid, sorry already for her rash and cruel words. And therewith she bade farewell to her father, turned her horse, and rode away into the deep mountain valleys, with Geraint, silent and angry, riding a little behind her.
Before long, as they came down a steep hill-path into the forest, three armed robbers met them, and one said to the others:
‘Here is a fine chance, truly! We will capture this lady and the two horses – for yonder knight who hangs his head so pensively can do naught against us!’
Then Enid turned and rode swiftly back to Geraint: ‘I will warn him,’ she thought, ‘though he bade me not to speak to him!’
But Geraint merely said: ‘You may wish to see me dead at these men’s hands, but it shall not fall out so. Therefore I command you to keep silence!’
He set his spear in rest and rode suddenly at the first robber, catching him in the throat and laying him dead on the plain. The second he pierced through shield and armour; and the third he overtook and slew from behind as he turned to run away.
Then Geraint stripped off their armour, tied it upon the horses, and said to Enid:
‘Ride ahead once more, driving these three horses before you. But say never a word to me, unless I speak first to you.’
Forward they went through a deep wood, and in the midst of it six more armed robbers met them:
‘Here is a fine chance, truly!’ they cried. ‘We will capture this lady and these five horses – for yonder knight who hangs his head so pensively can do naught against us!’
‘I will warn him this time!’ thought Enid, ‘though he bade me not speak to him!’
‘Did I not command you to keep silence?’ said Geraint. ‘Much though you may wish me dead at these men’s hands, I do not fear them.’
He set his spear in rest, and with it smote down the six robbers, one after the other, transfixing each like moths on a pin. Then he stripped off their armour, tied each suit upon its wearer’s horse, and said to Enid:
‘Ride ahead once more, driving these nine horses before you. But say never a word to me, unless I speak first to you.’
Forward they went through the wood and out into a desolate great valley of bare stones. And there Enid spied nine armed robbers coming towards her; and the leader of them cried:
‘Here is a fine chance
, truly! We shall have no difficulty in capturing all these horses and suits of armour – and the lady also: for yonder knight who hangs his head so pensively can do naught against us!’
‘This time he will surely perish, unless I warn him!’ thought Enid.
But Geraint only answered as before: ‘I do not fear these men, though you may desire my death at their hands. Moreover, methought I bade you to keep silence!’
Then he set his spear in rest, and came charging upon the robbers, piercing the leader through shield and armour so that he fell dead. Geraint turned then and charged the band of robbers from the other side, laying another dead on the ground as he passed through them. And so he rode backwards and forwards until all lay dead. Then he bound each suit of armour upon the several horses, and said to Enid:
‘Ride ahead still further, driving these eighteen horses before you. But say never a word to me, unless I speak to you first.’
Night fell not long after this, and they came to a castle at the head of the valley where Geraint asked for lodging.
‘Right welcome shall you be,’ said the lord of the castle, whose name was Sir Oringle of Limors, ‘and your fair lady also: there was surely never a fairer seen than she.’
After the banquet Geraint sat moodily apart, for his heart was still sore on account of Enid’s cruel and thoughtless words. She sat alone also, not knowing how to win back Geraint’s love, for she feared greatly that she had lost it for ever by her folly. And as she sat thus, Sir Oringle came and sat beside her:
‘Fair damsel,’ he said, ‘surely the journey with yonder dolorous knight is none of your seeking?’
‘I would rather journey with him than with any other,’ answered Enid.
‘Be counselled by me,’ went on Sir Oringle. ‘Leave this man and dwell always with me. All my earldom shall be yours, and all the good things that you shall wish for – the jewels, the fair robes, servants and handmaidens.’
‘That will I not, by Heaven!’ cried Enid. ‘My faith is pledged to yonder man, and never shall I prove inconstant to him.’
King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table Page 14