“Well,” said Arthur, “go, and divest yourselves of your accoutrements, and refresh yourselves after your fatigue; and before you go forth hence you shall have an answer.” Then the ambassadors went to eat. Arthur considered that it would go hard with him to let Geraint depart from him and from his Court; but neither did he think it fair that Geraint should be restrained from going to protect his dominions and his boundaries. No less was the grief and regret of Gwenhuivar, and all her women, and all her maidens, through fear that Enid would leave them.
Then Arthur spoke to Geraint about the coming of the ambassadors out of Cornwall. “Truly,” said Geraint, “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 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 do I hear between you?” said Gwenhuivar. “Is it of those who are to conduct Geraint to his own country?” “It is,” said Arthur. “Then it will be needful for me to consider,” said she, “concerning companions and a provision for the Lady Enid.” “Thou wilt do well,” said Arthur.
That night they went to sleep. And the next day the ambassadors were permitted to depart, and they were told that Geraint would follow them. And on the third day Geraint set forth, and many went with him. Never was there seen a fairer host journeying towards the Severn. On the other side of the Severn were the nobles of Erbin, the Prince of Cornwall, to welcome Geraint with gladness; and many of the women of the court, with his mother, came to receive Enid. There was great rejoicing and gladness throughout the 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.
In the court they had ample entertainment, and a multitude of gifts, and a variety of minstrelsy and games. And to do honour to Geraint all the chief men of the country were invited that night to visit him. At dawn next day Erbin arose, and summoned to him Geraint, and the noble persons who had borne him company on the way. 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 thy youth; henceforth do thou preserve thy possessions. Into thy hands I give them, and this day also shalt thou receive the homage of thy subjects.”
Then 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. And they all said that it would be the fullness of joy and honour to them for Geraint to come and receive their homage. He received the homage of such as were there. After that, the followers of Arthur went; and Geraint went to bear them company, and Enid also, as far as Deganway; there they parted.
After that Geraint journeyed to the uttermost part of his dominions. And experienced guides, and the chief men of the country, went with him. And the furthermost point that they showed him he kept possession of.
As he had been used to do when he was at Arthur’s Court, he frequented tournaments. He became acquainted with valiant and mighty men, until he had gained as much fame there as he had formerly done elsewhere. He ceased not until his fame had flown over the face of the whole kingdom.
When he knew that his fame was such, he began to love ease and pleasure, for there was no one who was worth his opposing. After that he came to like staying within his palace, with minstrelsy and diversions. 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 gave up the friendship of his nobles, together with his hunting and his amusements, and he 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.
These tidings came to Erbin, Geraint’s aged father. And when Erbin heard them, he spoke unto Enid, and inquired of her whether it was she who had caused Geraint to act thus, and to forsake his people and the men who fought for him. “Not I, by my confession unto Heaven,” said Enid. And she knew not what she should do, for, although it were hard for her to own this to Geraint, yet it was not more easy for her to listen to what she heard, without warning Geraint concerning it. And Enid was very sorrowful.
One morning, in the summertime, Geraint lay upon the edge of Enid’s couch. Enid was without sleep in the chamber which had windows of glass. And the sun shone through the windows upon the couch. The clothes had slipped from off Geraint’s arms and his breast, and he was asleep. 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.
The tears she shed and the words she had spoken awoke him. Then he called his squire, and when he came to him, “Go quickly,” he said, “and prepare my horse and my arms, and make them ready.” And to Enid he said, “Do thou arise, 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,” he said, “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 Enid 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 Erbin, his father. “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.” “And who will proceed with thee?” his father asked. “But one person only will go with me,” said Geraint. “Heaven counsel thee, my son,” said Erbin.
Then went Geraint to the place where his horse was, and it was equipped with foreign armour, heavy and shining. 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 then they set forward.
“Alas, and am I the cause that these arms have lost their glory!”
III
The road that Geraint chose was not the pleasantest and the most frequented road; it was the road that was wildest and most beset by thieves and robbers, and venomous animals. They followed the road till they saw a vast forest, and they went towards the forest.
Four armed horsemen came forth from the forest. When the horsemen beheld Geraint and Enid, 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 heavily.” Enid heard this discourse. 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 Enid 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 thy silence, and not for warning.” As he said that, the foremost of the men couched his lance, and rushed upon Geraint. Gerai
nt 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 the shield was split, and the man’s armour broken, and the man himself sent to the earth, the length of a lance over his horse’s crupper.
The second horseman then attacked him furiously, being wroth at the death of his companion. But with one thrust, Geraint overthrew him also. Then the third set upon him, and he killed him in a like manner. And thus also he slew the fourth.
Then 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 the horses, and he mounted his horse again. “Behold what thou art to do,” said he to Enid, “take the four horses, and drive them before thee, and proceed forward. And say not one word unto me, unless I speak first unto thee.” “I will do, as far as I can, Lord,” said she, “according to thy desire.”
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 thickly-tangled copse-wood. From out thereof they beheld three horsemen coming towards them, well equipped with armour, both they and their horses. Enid looked steadfastly upon them; and when they had come near, she heard them say to one 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 Enid 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 she waited until Geraint came up to her. “Lord,” said she, “dost thou not hear the discourse of yonder men concerning thee?” “What was it?” he asked. “They say to one another that they will easily obtain all this spoil.” “I declare to Heaven,” said he, “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.” And he said, “Do not I desire silence?”
Thereupon one of the horsemen couched his lance and attacked Geraint. Geraint received his thrust carelessly, and struck it aside, and then he rushed upon the horseman, and aimed at the centre of his person; the quantity of his armour did not avail the man, 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.
Both the other horsemen came forward in their turn, but their onset was not more successful than that of their companion. Enid stood by, looking at all this; and on one hand she was in trouble lest Geraint should be wounded in the encounter with the men, and on the other hand she was joyful to see him victorious. He 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 the seven horses with him.
Then he mounted his own horse, and he commanded Enid 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, from such strange people as those that haunt this wilderness.” “I desire nought but silence,” said he; “therefore, hold thy peace.” “I will, Lord, while I can.”
Enid 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. 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, 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 armour. And when they drew near, Enid heard them say, “Behold, here is a fine booty coming towards us, which we shall obtain easily and without labour, for we shall have no trouble in taking all those horses and arms, and the maiden also, from yonder knight, so doleful and sad.”
Sorely grieved was Enid 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 dolefulness would be greater than it is.” Angrily did Geraint look upon her, and he said, “Thee do I hear doing everything I forbade thee.” And immediately, behold, the men met them, and victoriously and gallantly did Geraint overcome them all.
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 Enid went forward towards the wood, keeping in advance of Geraint, as he had desired her, and she had much trouble with the care of the horses.
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 said, “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. Thereupon he awoke. “My Lord,” said she, “I have desired to awake thee for some time.” He arose, and said to 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.
They left the wood, and they came to an open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers mowing the meadows. 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. He had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of the pitcher.
The youth saluted Geraint. “Heaven prosper thee,” said Geraint, “and whence dost thou come?” “I come,” said he, “from the town that lies before thee.” And then the youth said, “Will it be displeasing to thee if I ask whence thou comest also?” “By no means,” said Geraint. “Through yonder wood did I come.” “Thou camest not through the wood to-day?” “No,” replied Geraint, “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 Geraint. “Wilt thou follow my counsel,” said the youth, “and take thy meal from me?” “What sort of a meal?” inquired Geraint. “The breakfast which is sent to yonder mowers, nothing less than bread and meat and wine.” “I will take it,” said Geraint, “and Heaven reward thee for it.”
Geraint alighted, and the youth took Enid from off her horse. Then they washed, and took their repast. 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,” 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 tha
n those I have rendered unto thee.”
To the town the youth went, and he took the best and 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.”
The youth went to meet Geraint; he told him he would be received gladly by the earl in his own palace; but Geraint would go only to his own lodgings. 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. “I must needs sleep,” said Geraint. “Well,” said the youth, “and whilst thou sleepest, I will go to see the earl.” “Go gladly,” said Geraint, “and come here again when I require thee.” Then Geraint went to sleep; and so did Enid also.
The Story of King Arthur and Other Celtic Heroes Page 16