Sir Gawain saw many an unfriendly countenance turned towards him. They straitly prayed their lord that he would make the knight known to them; how he came thither; who he was, whence he came, and whither he went, and what might be his name?
Then spake the host: "He is my guest, and he hath my safe conduct, good and fast, the while he is within; and be ye sure of this, that if any wrong him by word or deed, he shall rue it in such wise that it shall cost him goods and life. Nor will I change for prayer of man or woman. My surety that I will hold to every guest standeth so fast that no word I have spoken shall be broken with my knowledge or my will. Have patience and hold ye still, on peril of your lives and goods. I know so good counsel withal that I may speedily be ware of him who hath wrought this deed."
Then he called together his folk to one side of the hall, and said that his oath and his safe conduct might in no wise be broken, for his son were thereby but ill-avenged, valiant knight though he was. He might well rue it if he slew his guest, for thereof should he have great shame wherever men told the tale. "I shall avenge him more discreetly, if I be well-assured of the truth that my guest hath indeed wrought this murder and this great outrage."
He spake further to his folk: "Now do ye all my bidding. Ye shall abide here within this hall; no man shall follow me a foot, but do ye even as I command. I will lead my guest without, and ye shall close the door behind us. Doth the dead man cease to bleed, then shall we all be well-assured that he hath done the deed; and thereafter shall I take counsel how I may avenge my son, fittingly, and without shame." Then all agreed to his counsel, and held their peace.
Thus came the host to where Sir Gawain stood, and spake: "Sir Knight, be not wroth that my folk entreat ye not better. We are in grief, as ye see, and therefore are ye the worse served. Now shall ye come with me, and I shall amend what hath here been lacking. My folk and my household make great lamentation, as ye see, and I with them. Now come with me, and tarry not; I will lead ye hence where ye may be at ease, and sleep softly till the daylight. Here would we make our moan."
Sir Gawain thought within himself he was sorely over-matched within those (to be bare of weapons 'tis a heavy blow at need), and he knew well that the folk looked on him with unfriendly eyes, and that none were on his side, that might be seen from their mien; and therefore he thought within himself that there was no better counsel save to put himself in his host's grace, and do that which he bade him. He had no weapon upon him, and there were within of his host's folk full five hundred men whom he saw to be armed. Thus he went his way with his host, whether the adventure should turn to his harm or to his helping. The lord of the castle led him through the doorway, and his men locked it as they went forth.
Then quoth the lord of those within: "Sir Knight and dear guest, I will that ye be right well entreated here within this night." He led him to a strong tower, wherein were fair beds. He bade them bear tapers before them, and all that he knew or could in any wise deem needful for Sir Gawain, his guest. The host, sorely mourning, bade them pour out clear wine, and make ready a fair couch whereon he might sleep even as he had the will thereto. He left with him squires enow, and turned him again to the castle.
Then did they bear the dead man from where he lay, his wounds were stanched, and bled no whit. Then said all who saw it it booted not to seek another man, they were well assured 'twas their guest had slain him. The word ran through the hall; and the host turned him again to where he had left his guest, as if he marked naught. He made no sign to his folk, but locked the door of the tower so fast that none might come therein to Sir Gawain to do him harm, nor overpower him, so safely was he in his keeping. Also, I tell ye, he himself kept the keys of the strong tower wherein he had locked his guest. He would bethink him what 'twere best to do ere he let him be slain or maimed; thus did he hold him within his fortress.
What might Sir Gawain do? He must even abide his fate; he had come thither as guest, and now was he locked in a strong tower, within many doors, and in a strange place withal. He was bare of arms, and had he revealed himself and demanded his weapons they had scarce given them to him; rather had they slain him, and drawn blood-guiltiness upon themselves had not God protected him.
Thus was Sir Gawain a captive, and knew not what he might do. 'Twixt constraint and ill-fortune the night seemed to him over long; though he feared him no whit yet he deemed his end was come. He knew well that the folk were evil-disposed and bare malice and rancour towards him for the sake of the dead man who lay there, in that they had seen his wounds bleed afresh, and had thereby known his slayer. Thus was his heart sorely troubled.
Now leave we speaking of Sir Gawain. The host was within the hall, with his folk until daylight; with sorrow and lamentation did they pass the night, bemoaning their bitter loss. For though the knight had well deserved his death yet had he there many friends who lamented the loss that they had thereby suffered. They were loth to own that he was evil and cruel of heart.
So soon as they saw the fair day light the host took counsel with his folk that they might advise him well by what means, and in what way, they might avenge themselves for their heavy loss. Said the host, their lord, did he let the guest, whom he held there captive, and who had smitten his son to death, depart in safety, "Men would say I were but a coward, and durst not avenge myself, and would speak scorn of me; so many have seen how the matter fell out that it may not well remain hidden. Yet should I slay my guest then from henceforward would they cry shame upon me in every land where the tale be told."
Thus was he of two minds, and thought in his heart that to save himself from shame 'twere best to let his guest depart so soon as he arose, armed in all points as he came thither, and harm him in no wise, but bring him, unhurt by any man, without the borders of his land and his safe conduct, and there bid him farewell and return hither; while that his friends, who would fain see him avenged, waylaid Sir Gawain, and wrought their will upon him, and, if they would, slew him. Or if they took him captive they might deal with him as they thought best, either by burning him in the fire, to cool their rage, or by breaking him upon the wheel—as might seem best to them at the time. "Thus shall I put the shame from me, that neither near nor afar, now or henceforward, men make scorn of me. This seemeth to me the wisest rede in this matter, howsoe'er it stand!"
This did he tell to his folk, and it pleased them well, and they spake with one mouth that he had found the best counsel. They made no further questioning, but armed themselves, and rode forth, as they who would waylay Sir Gawain, when his host had sent him on his way. Thus they went forth from thence a great company, and well armed. Very wrathful were they, and they went right willingly. The host who would follow them called to him his seneschal, who was cruel and cunning, and bade him carry his armour to their guest straightway, and deliver it to him as if he should ride thence as soon as he had arisen, and delay no whit.
Straightway the seneschal betook him to a fair chamber (hearken ye to an evil tale!) where he found Sir Gawain's weapons and his good armour. He stole from Sir Gawain his good sword, that which he placed in its sheath was not worth twopence; he cut the straps of the harness well nigh in twain in the midst, and made a great score in the stirrup leathers so cunningly that no man might see or know aught thereof beneath the covering of the harness. And the saddle-girths did the traitor so handle that Sir Gawain was sore grieved there-for ere he had ridden a mile; he would not that it had so chanced for all King Arthur's kingdom—that shall ye hear anon.
When the seneschal who had wrought this treason had brought Sir Gawain's weapons and his horse that had been well cared for that night—they deemed it should be theirs ere long, 'twas a strong steed and well standing, and since they thought to have their pleasure of it they gave it provender enow—the host bade them undo the door and hold Sir Gawain's steed there without. The harness was in place, whereof I have told ye that it was so traitorously handled; then came forth the knight, who had arisen, and clad himself in fair robes, and descended the stairway. Little thought had he of the treason which in short while befell him. The seneschal held in his hand the false sword, well hidden in its sheath, and the while Sir Gawain made him ready did he gird it at his side—for that was the knight thereafter unblithe.
The while they thus made ready came the lord of the castle to Sir Gawain, and said: "Ye are early astir Sir Knight; how comes it that ye be thus hurried at this time? Scarce have ye slept, and arisen, ere ye would ride hence. Have ye heard Mass, and broken your fast ere ye depart?"
Quoth Sir Gawain: "Dear mine host, I grieve that ye yet sorrow; so may God guard me and bring me to His grace when I die as I truly mourn for your mischance. I will it were yet to do!" Quoth Sir Gawain the bold: "Though 'twere hard and painful to me yet would I for seven years long wear haircloth next my body, wherever I fared, for this that ye have received me so well. Nevertheless be ye sure of a truth—I may not deny it this day for any man, how strong soever he might be, nor through fear of any that may hear me, foe or friend—but I must needs say in sooth your son had merited his death many a time and oft ere the day came that he died! Now may God have mercy upon him! And God reward ye for the great good, and the honour, that ye do to me, all ye here, in that I have been at your charges."
Then was the host sore vexed, and he said: "I will do ye no harm for aught that hath chanced by ye; nevertheless, there be here many a man who had fain fallen upon ye, but I tell ye I will not that aught befall ye here; nor that my peace be broken, nor vengeance taken upon ye. I shall go with ye as ye ride hence, and ride with ye so far that ye be not led astray by any who remain behind. I were loth that harm befell ye."
Sir Gawain spake: "For that may God, who ruleth over all, reward ye." He took the bridle in his hand and rode forth, the host nigh to him; and at his side went he who had betrayed him aforehand. Now cometh great sorrow upon Sir Gawain. He deemed that he had safe conduct, but he had lost from its sheath his sword, which had been stolen from him; and that which the seneschal had put in its place when he drew forth the good brand was more brittle than glass. Thereto had he cunningly handled the harness, girths and stirrup-leather, whereof Sir Gawain knew naught, and the lord of the castle had sent afore the strongest and most valiant of his folk, to waylay Sir Gawain, and to take his life, A man's heart might well fail him for doubt, and great fear, did he come in such a pass, and know no wile whereby he might escape.
Sir Gawain, who knew naught of these tricks and snares rode on his way, discoursing of many things with his host, until they drew nigh to the place where his foes lay, ambushed in the thicket, who would fain slay him. When he came nigh to the place the host took leave of the knight, and turned him again towards the castle. Sir Gawain sat upon his steed and deemed that he should ride thence without strife or combat. As he laid his hand on the saddle-bow, and thrust his feet into the stirrups and thought to rise in the saddle, the girths brake asunder, the saddle turned over the left stirrup beneath the horse, and left him standing. Then Sir Gawain saw a great company of folk spring forth and come towards him with all their might. Some came from the ditches where they had lain hidden, some out of bushes, some out of thickets, and some came forth from the hollow ways. God confound traitors, since He may not mend them!
Sir Gawain abode not still; he saw well that he was betrayed, and over-matched. He drew forth from its sheath the sword, which was little worth to him, and deemed he would defend himself, as he oft had done aforetime, against those who would harm him. But ere he might smite three blows that sword brake, as it were tin—this was an ill beginning would a man defend his life. This Sir Gawain saw, and was dismayed, he wist well that he was betrayed. They who would harm him came upon him from every side, a great company and fierce, all thirsting for his life; there was a great clash of swords; they thrust at him with their spears. His sword protected him not a whit—he who gave it to him God give him woe! It brake in twain at the hilt, and fell into the sand. Sir Gawain stood empty-handed, small chance had he of escape, and they who beset him were chosen men, over-strong and over-fierce, as was there well proven. Like as a wild boar defends himself against the hounds that pursue him, even so did Sir Gawain defend himself, but it helped him naught. They harmed him most who stood afar, and thrust at him with spears to sate their rage. There was among them no sword so good but had Sir Gawain held it, and smote with it three such blows as he was oft wont to deal with his own, it had broken, or bent, and profited them no whit. But of those things which had stood him in good stead many a time before, when he was hard beset, his good steed, and his sword, the which was a very haven, of these was he now robbed.
Thus was Sir Gawain overcome, and me thinks 'twas little marvel! There lives no man so strong or so valiant but he may some time be vanquished by force, or by fraud. Sir Gawain must needs yield him; he was felled to the ground, yet were there some to whom it cost their life ere he was captive, and some it cost a limb, or twain, that might never more be healed; and he himself was so sore mis-handled that all he ware, whether it were armour or other clothing, was rent in many a place, so that the flesh might be seen. There lived on earth no man so wise that he might aid him in this stress, nor leech who might heal him; yet, an God will, he shall be healed of his smart and of his shame.
They bound Sir Gawain's hands, and set him on a sorry hack, and to anger him they led beside him Gringalet, his steed. This they did that he might be the more sorrowful when he beheld his horse, which he had now lost, and his own life withal! For of this would they deprive him, and make him to die a shameful death; burn him they would, or break him upon the wheel, that they might wreak their vengeance upon him. There were among them knights and squires, the richest, and the most nobly born after the lord of the land; and all had sworn an oath that they would lead Sir Gawain to the cross-roads, at the entering in of their land for the greater shaming of King Arthur's Court. To this had they pledged themselves, that they would there slay him without respite or delay; and were it not that 'twere shame to themselves, and too great dishonour to one who bare the name of knight, they had hung him by the neck, on the border of the two lands, to shame King Arthur; so that all his folk who were of the knightly order, and dwelt at his court, and sought for adventure, should shun their land when they heard the tidings of the vengeance wrought by them upon knights-errant who would prove their fate within those borders.
Thus it fell out that they brought Sir Gawain on the horse, sorely wounded and mishandled, within the nearness of half a mile, so that the knight knew he was nigh to the cell of the Hermit of whom at that self-same cross-road he had asked tidings of King Arthur's knights, and of that bad and evil land where many were brought to shame. And they who had brought him thither were of one mind that they should make a wheel, and break the knight upon it at the Cross by the parting of the ways whereof I have told ye afore.
Now shall I leave speaking of this matter till I come again thereto, and will forthwith tell ye how it fared with Morien when the three had parted asunder, as I told ye afore (Sir Gawain, Morien, and Sir Lancelot, he was the third), since they would fain make proof of that which the Hermit had told them. Now will I tell ye of Morien ere that I end the tale of Sir Gawain. Now doth the adventure tell that Morien, that bold knight, rode the seaward way, and came safely to the passage of the ford nigh unto the open sea. And all the day he met no man of whom he might ask concerning his father; 'twas labour wasted, for all who saw him fled from him. Little good might his asking do him, since none who might walk or ride would abide his coming. But he saw there the hoof-prints of horses, which lay before him and were but newly made; by this he deemed that his father had passed that way but a short while before.
Thus he followed the hoof-tracks to the passage of the sea. That night had he neither rest nor slumber, nor found he place where he might shelter, or where it seemed to him he might ask for food or lodging beneath a roof.
The morning early, even as it dawned and men might see clearly and well (which comforted him much), he came safely ahorse to where one might make the crossing, but he saw never a soul; no man dwelt thereabout, for the robbers had laid waste the land, and driven away the folk so that none remained. 'Twas all heath and sand, and no land beside; there grew neither barley nor wheat. He saw and heard no man, nor did folk come and go there, but he saw ships at anchor, and shipmen therein, who were wont to take over those folk who would cross into Ireland.
Morien came riding over the sea-sand, and cried with a loud voice shipward: "Ye who be within tell me that which I ask lest it be to your own loss, as also I would fain know for my own profit and rejoicing. Know ye if any within these few days past have carried a knight over the water?"
But all they who lay in the ships, when they beheld Morien who had doffed his helm, were so afeard for him that they might neither hear nor understand question nor answer. They were altogether in fear of him, since he was so tall, and black withal. Each man turned his boat seaward, and put off from the shore, for Morien was to look upon even as if he were come out of hell. They deemed they had seen the Foul Fiend himself, who would fain deçeive them, so they departed as swiftly as they might and would in no wise abide his coming. Then must Morien turn him again, for none would hearken to his speech nor tell him that which he fain would know; all were of one mind that 'twas the Devil, and none else, who rode there upon the sand, so they fled with one consent from the shore.
Morien saw well that his labour was in vain, for would he make the crossing there was no man would abide his coming or receive him into his boat. Thus must he needs turn him back, and great lamentation did he make thereof. He saw the footprints where two horses had ridden afore him, and ever he hoped that 'twas his father who rode there, and that he had crossed the water, but he thought within himself: "What doth it profit a man to labour if he know it to be in vain? None will take me over the water since I am a Moor, and of other countenance than the dwellers in this land; this my journey is for naught. I may not do better than return to the Hermit, that good man, there where I parted from my comrades." He had neither eaten nor drunk since that he rode thence; his head was dazed with hunger and with grief. He looked behind and afore, and saw nowhere where food was in preparing, nor saw he man nor woman, nor creature that had life, upon the seashore.
Then he rode swiftly upon the backward trail till he came once more to the parting of the ways; there found he carpenter-folk hewing and shaping timber, whereof they had made a great wheel. He saw a knight sitting upon the ground, in sore distress, naked and covered with blood; he had been brought thither to be broken upon the wheel, so soon as it might be made ready. Well might his heart misgive him!
Morien who came thither saw the gleam of many a hauberk; there were armed folk enow! Others there were who were but in evil case, unarmed, and unclad, who were scarce whole. Their limbs were bandaged, some the arm, some the leg, some the head, and stained with blood. And Sir Gawain, who sat there sore mishandled, knew that well, and as Morien came nigh, he cried, so that all might hear: "Dear my comrade, ye be welcome. God give me joy of your coming hither! I am Gawain, your comrade; little did I foresee this mischance when we parted, you and I, at this cross-way! Have pity upon the sore stress in which ye see me. May God who hath power over us all strengthen ye well; would that He might here show forth His power!"
When Morien who was hard beset by them who stood there heard this, never might one hear in book or song that any man smote such fierce blows as he smote with the sword which he drew forth. Do what he might with that sword it suffered neither dint nor scar; he smote straight to the mid-ward; nor was their harness so good that it might withstand him. Thereto helped his great strength, that he fought so fiercely against them who withstood him, and smote such ghastly wounds that nevermore might they be healed, nor salved by the hand of any leech. He clave many to the teeth, through helm and coif, so that they fell to the ground. And ever as he cast his eyes around and they lighted upon Sir Gawain, who was in such evil case, his courage waxed so great that were the Devil himself against him he had slain him even as a man; might he die, he had there lost his life. Sir Gawain sat by the wayside in sorry plight, with his hands bound; but the good knight Morien so drave aback the folk who had brought him thither that they had little thought for him. He defended him so well with his mighty blows that none might come at him to harm him; he felled them by twos and by threes, some under their horses, some beside them. The space began to widen round Sir Gawain and Morien; for all there deemed that he came forth from hell, and was hight Devil, in that he so quelled them and felled them underfoot that many hereafter spake thereof. That men thrust and smote at him troubled him little, therein was he like to his father, the noble knight Sir Agloval; he held parley with no man, but smote ever, blow after blow, on all who came nigh him. His blows were so mighty; did a spear fly towards him, to harm him, it troubled him no whit, but he smote it in twain as it were a reed; naught might endure before him. He ware a hauberk that bold overstrong hero, wherewith he was none too heavy laden, yet none might harm him with any weapon they brought thither. Then might ye see the blood run red upon the ground for the good knight's sword spared neither horse nor man. There might ye see lying heads and hands, arms and legs; some hewn from the body, some smitten in twain. They who might escape death fared little better, for good fortune had departed from them—thus many chose their end. He who came betimes to the conflict, and fled without waiting to see what might chance further, he was blithe! Thus were they put to rout, and either slain or driven from the field, or helpless of limb; some who came thither ahorse had lost their steeds, and must rue their journey. They might no longer ride, but must go hence afoot.
Then Morien dismounted, and took Sir Gawain in his arms, and said full oft, "Alas, my comrade, how were ye thus betrayed? I fear physician may aid ye never more, ye have wounds so many and so sore."
With that he had unbound his hands; and Sir Gawain said: "Of physician have I no need." He thanked God and Morien a hundredfold, that he was thus delivered from peril, and comforted in his need; his heart was light within him, and he said he should speedily mend might he but have repose for two days, and neither walk nor ride; by the help of God, and by leechcraft and the aid of certain herbs the virtue of which he knew well, so might he regain all his strength.
Now had they left upon the field Gringalet and certain other steeds, the masters whereof were slain or had fled afar. Gringalet was bare of harness, he had lost his saddle as ye heard afore, and therefore no man had mounted him. He who had brought him thither had forgat him upon that field, his journey had been dearly bought and he lay there dead in the green grass. And Sir Gawain when he was ware of that was fain to forget all his pain. He arose from where he sat, and went towards his steed, and as he looked upon him his heart rose high within him, and he deemed that he was well-nigh healed. And even as he came Gringalet knew his lord, nor would flee from him, but came towards him, and for very friendship seized him with his teeth.
Then did they abide no longer, but betook them to the hermit who had been sore afeard for all that he heard and saw through the window of his cell. He knew the two knights well, when he heard their tale, and how that they were even the same who had but lately passed his way, and he spake to the Father of Adventure: "Even so did I foretell ye when ye would ride toward that land, and I prayed ye to refrain. But that would ye not do, and so have ye come to harm therein! They who are fain to despise counsel ofttimes do so to their own mischief. But since it hath so befallen, think ye what may best profit ye, and abide overnight with me, here within; for an ye depart hence I know not where ye may find shelter. That evil beast whereof I spake when ye were here afore hath so laid waste the land that no man dwelleth herein. If I still dwell here 'tis that I have no need to flee nor to fear death ere my day come, when as it hath been foretold and declared I shall break the rule of my order. A long tale is ill to hear, I will weary ye not, but see that naught be lacking to your ease. Ye shall stable your steeds, and abide this night within my chapel. That which I have will I give ye, for the love of God and the honour of knighthood." Then Sir Gawain and Morien his comrade thanked him much, and went their way to the chapel, where they abode throughout the day; each told to the other his adventures as they had befallen, neither more nor less. The hermit tended the horses well with all that was needful to them; he bade the lad who served him, as a good man doth his friend, bring forth all the store that he had within, and fetch water from the spring, and warm it to Sir Gawain's liking that he might therewith wash his limbs, and cleanse them from the blood. He had upon him no mortal wound, so good was his hauberk, otherwise had he lost his life from the blows he had received.
With that came the hermit into the chapel, and spake, and told them how he had heard tidings from pilgrims who had come thither that the Red Knight and his companions had but late ridden the road that led toward the sea coast, though he had marked it not; 'twas but yesterday he had been told thereof.
Then spake the knight Morien and said by his troth he had even followed the hoof prints of horses that were but newly made till he came to where one must needs cross over the water; "and then did I lose all sign of their further track; but howsoever I might pray, or call upon those who lay there in their ships, when they saw me they were terrified as hares, and would tell me nought, the fools, of that I asked them! One and all fled, and put them out to sea. Methinks they were afraid of me. But by the faith that I owe to God and Our Lady, and the honour of knighthood, it shall avail them naught that they thus refuse me; I shall turn again from here, and otherwise take my way; may I but find on shore one of those who were there, and who belongeth to the ships, in sooth he were born in an evil hour! An he carry me not over the water I will thrust him through with my spear, or deal him such a stroke with my sword, that he shall fall dead upon the earth. My heart forbode me that he who went before me was my father! But in all my journey I met no living soul of whom I might ask aught. Then I began to wax fearful, for hunger beset me, and therein I found neither man nor woman, nor aught but heather and waste land wherein I was a stranger. No man might I see or hear, no wheat or barley grew there; 'tis the truth I tell ye, thither cometh no man save that he desire to cross the wide water in the ships that there lie ready. Thus had I my pain for naught. But whatsoe'er befall me since that I have heard from our host, that good man, that my father in sooth rode that way I shall follow hard after, if so be that I may but cross over, and will but await tomorrow's dawn. Since that I have heard he rideth not so far ahead I may well overtake him, an my steed, which is so swift, and strong, and good, foil me not!"
"God speed ye!" quoth Sir Gawain. Such was indeed his counsel, and he sore lamented his own evil plight. But ill had it chanced with him; within the castle had they stolen from him his good sword wherewith he should defend himself. God give him shame who stole it! His saddle-girth, his stirrup-leathers, were cut midway through; as he thought to sit upon his steed they brake clean in twain, and left him standing upon his feet. This did Sir Gawain tell them there, even as ye have heard aforetime. If his heart were heavy when he took count of this, 'twas small marvel!
Then did they wash Sir Gawain's limbs, and he himself searched his wounds. So good a leech might no man find since the day of Mother Eve as was Sir Gawain; whatever wound he tended, 'twas healed even as ye looked upon it!
That night had they all the comfort that the hermit might prepare till that they saw the fair day dawn and the sun begin to rise. Sir Gawain was somewhat troubled, since he lacked alike arms and clothing: also his wounds, which were sore, pained him the more. Nor did there live any near at hand whom he knew, and who might give them what was lacking. Neither bread, meat, nor wine had they; naught remained to the hermit, he had given the knights all his store. Morien's heart was set upon following his father, and Sir Gawain was of a mind to ride in quest of Sir Lancelot, and learn how it had fared with him. He was loth to delay or abide there, for he would fain, so soon as he might ride, fare in search of his comrade. Yet must he tarry a day ere he might mount his steed, such was his stress from the wounds he had received—sooth, it was a marvel that he escaped! And now food had failed them, and that was a sore lack. Even had they money or pledge to offer there dwelt none that side of the border, as they too well knew, but their bitter foes, who had fain wrought them woe. 'Twas seven miles and more hard riding, ere they might find village or fort in King Arthur's land. Hereof was Sir Gawain troubled. He might neither ride nor walk for his own aid. Thus both were ill at ease and sore oppressed.
Morien was loth to remain, yet he thought it shame to forsake his comrade, Sir Gawain, and thus he abode with him in the chapel.
Then as Morien stood by the window, it seemed to him that he saw a knight come riding in great haste, on a horse tall and swift; he was well armed, and seemed a goodly knight withal. Morien spake to Sir Gawain as he lay there. "What may this be? Here cometh a knight, and I know not whither he goeth!"
Sir Gawain abode not still, but went as best he might to the window; he looked upon the knight, and deemed by his armour and the tokens whereby a man may be known of men, that 'twas his own brother, Sir Gariët, the son alike of his father and of his mother. He came riding, as one sore pressed, on that self-same road that led from Britain. The more Sir Gawain looked upon him the more he deemed he knew him; and when he came nigh to the Hermitage he knew well the arms that he bare. Then was Sir Gawain gladder at heart than I may tell ye, for Sir Gariët his brother, that strong and valiant knight, brought with him that of which they were sorely in need, bread and meat, and wine fresh and clear.
'Twas sore need brought him hither, as ye shall now hear: They of Britain had lost King Arthur their lord, and were in sore danger of losing all their land, therefore had they sent Sir Gariët to seek Sir Gawain, and Sir Lancelot, since they twain were without peer, the most valiant knights of the court. Sir Perceval might well be accounted the third, but 'twas not for long that he practised knighthood; nevertheless he brought many into sore stress, even as ye have heard.
When Sir Gariët had come before the hermitage, Sir Gawain came forth with haste from the chapel on to the road, as one who was blithe beyond measure when he beheld his brother; and he said, "God give ye good day, that ye come, brother, and that I see ye! Never was I so joyful of aught, since that I was born."
Sir Gariët alighted on the turf when he saw his brother; and as he came nigh to him he took him in his arms saying: "Alas, brother, woe is me! How hath this so chanced? Methinks ye have suffered harm, and been in such sore strife that 'tis a marvel an ye be healed, and escape with life, ye seem to me in such evil case." Thus spake Sir Gariët. And Sir Gawain said, "I have never a limb but feeleth the smart of wounds, yet am I whole of heart, and shall heal myself right well. But let that tale be, and make known to me the errand upon which ye ride that ye be now come hither. Fain would I know the truth."
Quoth Sir Gariët, "That will I tell ye."
Thus went the twain into the chapel, where they found that good man, the hermit, and Morien, who was black of face and of limb. Then was Sir Gariët somewhat in fear, when he saw him so great of limb and of such countenance. This marked well his brother, Sir Gawain, and he gave him to wit of the knight, and of his name, who he was, and whence he came, ere he asked him aught; for he saw well that he somewhat misdoubted him when he saw the good knight Morien of such countenance.
So sat they down together, and each bade the other welcome, and made much joy of their meeting. But Sir Gawain was more desirous than I may tell ye of knowing wherefore Sir Gariët, his brother, came thither, till he brought him to that point that he spake the truth concerning what had chanced to King Arthur, and told how the worst had befallen him. "King Arthur is taken captive! As he fared on a day to hunt in a great forest, as he was wont to do, there came upon him the greatest company of armed men that I may tell ye of, in these few words, who were all the King of the Saxons' men. They were in such force that they took King Arthur, who foresaw naught of this, and had but few folk with him, as he but went a-hunting. Thereof are his people sore troubled, and the queen above all—she is well nigh distraught in that the king is captive. She knows not whither the folk who took him in the forest have led him, or what may since have befallen him. Thereof is many a heart sorrowful. The forest standeth by the sea shore, whence came the folk who took the king by force, and led him whither they would. They who rode with King Arthur were unarmed, and defenceless; their strength was not worth a groat. Thereto have we another woe; the Irish King hath come into the land, and made war; one town hath he already won, and layeth siege to another. He hath made his boast that he will win all Arthur's land, hill and vale, castle and town (this is his intent), and bring all under his hand ere he quit our land. Of this is the queen sore afraid, and they who be with her, they look not to escape. Had ye, brother, been in the land, and Perceval, and Lancelot, then had we never come to such a pass, for there liveth no man so bold that he durst withstand ye three in any venture that might chance. Now hath my lady the queen taken counsel, and sent messengers far and near into every land to seek ye and Lancelot in this her sore need. And I be one of these messengers, and have ridden as swiftly as my steed might bear me from Arthur's Court hitherward, and ever have I sought tidings of ye, till at length men told me, and I knew that ye twain had come over to this cross, to this parting of the ways. And beyond the border did men tell me that would I ride hither I must fare for long upon the road ere I found a soul, man or woman, who lived, and was of the faith of Christendom. Against this did I prepare myself, and brought with me food, meat and bread, lest I had need thereof, and cool clear wine in two flasks that hang here by my saddle, that I might lay my hand on them when I had need thereto."
Then laughed Sir Gawain the bold when he heard him speak of food, and said that he had come thither in a good hour since they had no victuals, much or little, nor drink there within, nor knew they where they might find any had he brought none with him. But God had thought upon them betimes, and Mary, His Blessed Mother.
Then quoth Sir Gariët his brother, "Let us eat and drink, and begin our meal, as we have need to do—but where is Sir Lancelot, that I see him not here? Sir Gawain, brother, tell me, for fain would I know the truth?"
And Sir Gawain spake, "He rode hence a while ago to seek Sir Perceval."
Sir Gariët answered and said, "That ye vex yourselves thus to seek him, 'tis labour lost, for tidings have come to court that Perceval hath become hermit, and doeth penance for his sins. He hath learnt the truth; did he seek till Doomsday that which he went forth to seek, the spear and the grail, he would find them not; that cometh altogether from his sin against his mother whereas he left her in the forest, and would no more remain with women—then did she die for sorrow. That sin hath hindered him, did he otherwise come upon them, of winning the spear and the grail. He must be pure and clean from all stain, from all sin (so is it now declared for truth) who would have the spear at his will, and the grail. For sorrow at this hath Perceval betaken himself to a hermitage, thereof have tidings come to court, even as he willed that it should be made known. And concerning his brother Sir Agloval, of him did they tell that he lay sick, with his uncle, sorely wounded; but the messenger did us to wit that he was like to be healed, that do I tell ye, Sir Gawain. Now let us eat, and go on our way to the queen with honour, that doth my lady require of ye and of Sir Lancelot, upon your faith to her. But I am sore vexed that he hath thus escaped me!"
When Morien, the son of Sir Agloval, had heard and understood this tale, he asked forthwith if any there within could give him true tidings and make known to him the road to the hermitage whither his uncle had betaken himself, and where his father lay wounded; since he would fain know thereof.
Their host quoth straightway, "He that had a boat at his will and a favouring wind might be there ere even." He said that he knew the hermit; "And 'twixt water and land 'tis a good fifteen mile thither, that do I know for a truth, for oft-times have I heard men speak thereof since I came hither. Now hearken to what I tell ye," (thus he spake to Morien) "over the arm of the sea, there where ye cross, neither more nor less, on the further shore is there a forest, to all seeming the greatest men may wot of, and the wildest—'tis long withal and wide. But as ye come thither, to one side, at the entering in of the forest, they who would seek it may find the hermitage within but a short distance, even as it were the mountance of a mile. Of this be ye sure, with never a doubt."
"So help me God," quoth Morien, "an it fall out according to my will there shall I be ere even. And may I but see my father, an good luck befall me, I turn not from that goal, e'en if I find the man who gave me life, but ere I depart he shall keep the vow that he sware to my mother when he aforetime parted from her, and left her sorrowing sore, even that he would wed her, and make her his wife. Rather would I, ere even, be flayed with a sharp knife than refrain from this. Were he twofold my father he might well be in fear of death, should he fail to keep his oath, and ride with me to the Moorish land." He began to make ready as one who would straightway ride thence.
Then spake Sir Gariët, "An God will, it shall fall out better than ye say, 'twixt ye and your father; we will eat and drink, and I rede ye, an ye be wise, ye shall bethink ye well ere ye do aught save good to your father. I conjure ye by the faith that ye owe to our Lady, and by the honour of knighthood, that ye do my bidding, and let your thoughts be of good, and not of evil, and hearken Sir Gawain's rede, thereof shall never harm befall ye—he shall give ye the best counsel."
And Morien answered that were he fain to do.
Herewith they left speaking of this matter, and Sir Gariët brought forth a napkin, white and clean, and spread it before the knights, as is meet for noble folk, and those worthy of honour. Then he brought forth more than seven loaves, white as snow, that he had with him, and laid them upon the napkin before the knights. He brought forth ham and venison that he had bidden make ready, there, where he had lain over night, since that men told him he drew near to the wilderness whither had gone the knights whom he sought, and who rode before him. Since he was upon their track he had risen long ere 'twas day, and now came thither with the sun-rising. He brought forth also clear wine, two good bottles full. He was not altogether dull in that he had so well bethought him, and brought food with him lest peradventure he have need thereof. 'Twas right welcome to them who now partook of it; and through these good victuals forgat they all their tribulation, as they ate and drank. They were above measure joyful, those three knights, at that time, and with them the hermit, for they would in no wise forget him, but he must eat and drink with them.
When the meal was ended then Morien thought to ride on his way. But the good knight Sir Gariët said, "Sir Knight ye will do better to abide than to depart in this haste, in short while shall ye have trouble an ye seek your father. Follow ye our counsel; 'tis now high day, did ye come in safety to the ships it would be o'er late ere ye came to the other side."
Quoth Sir Gawain his brother, as one wise in counsel, "Knight I will tell ye what ye shall do; from haste cometh seldom good that abideth to honour. Therefore tarry over night with us, since ye may not achieve your goal this day; and I will make ready my weapons as best I may; I must needs be better healed ere I have strength to ride whither I would. Tomorrow shall it fare better with me. Then will we ride, without delay, so soon as it be daylight. If God will I shall be more at ease in limbs and at heart, and I shall have less pain than I have as at this while. I have no mind to abide here behind ye, nor to hinder ye and cause ye to delay when ye would fain ride hence, as I know right well! Here have I foes nigh at hand, who have wrought me harm, and were ready to do yet more did they know me to be here, in this place."
Then did Morien after his counsel, and abode there throughout the night, and told all the adventures that had befallen him. And Sir Gawain made ready his harness and his weapons, and scoured and polished them, and tested them where they were mishandled. But that which grieved him the most was his sorrow for his good sword which he had thus lost, for it was a sword of choice.
What boots it to make long my tale? The morrow as the day dawned, and shed beauty over hill and vale, they rode forth together, and Sir Gawain the Father of Adventure with them. They would not spare themselves. Then said Sir Gawain he would fare in quest of Sir Lancelot who departed with him from court when he left King Arthur, since he might not well, for his honour, return without him. He wist not how it had gone with him; and would fain learn how his venture had fallen out and return in short space, would God prosper him, and bring Sir Lancelot with him to the aid of the queen. On this was his mind set, nor would he do otherwise, for any man's prayer.
With this was Sir Gariët but ill-pleased; he said Sir Gawain would do better to return, and take the place of his uncle, and care for the land and comfort the folk. But this he would not do, howsoe'er he prayed him, but said he must first seek Sir Lancelot, and learn if harm had befallen him. Sir Gariët gave him his sword, which was good and bright; then took they leave, each of the other, for Sir Gawain would not return ere he had spoken with Sir Lancelot, saying that the good fellowship betwixt them twain should not be broken by his default; but that he would bring him again to the court of King Arthur, and keep his covenant.
When they were thus made ready, armed and fittingly clad, they mounted their steeds as they who would ride on their way. They took leave of the good man, their host, and departed thence.
Sir Gawain had chosen his road, and Sir Gariët and Sir Morien bare him company for a space, as it were the mountance of a mile. Each spake his mind to the other. Sir Gawain said he would return with Sir Lancelot as swiftly as he might, and put to shame the folk who had led his uncle captive; and he quoth, "Brother, tell this to my lady the queen, and bear her greeting in all good faith and loyalty. 'Tis not my will that ye ride further, nor tarry longer with me, since 'twill profit ye naught!"
Then Sir Gariët and Sir Morien turned their bridle. They commended Sir Gawain to the care of God and all His saints, and so did he them. Each saw the other's tears spring from their eyes and run down even to their beards when they parted asunder. I may not tell ye how oft and how warmly Sir Gawain thanked Morien, that he had saved his life that day on the field, where he had of a surety been slain had not God and that good knight come to his aid. Now will I here cease speaking of Sir Gawain and tell of Sir Morien. The adventure doeth us to wit that when Sir Morien and Sir Gariët had parted from Sir Gawain, they rode once more to the crossways, for they had made a compact that they should not part before that they had found his father, Sir Agloval. Thus they rode both together, for Morien sware an oath that, would Sir Gariët ride with him, he would e'en pray his uncle and his father to come to the aid of the queen, King Arthur's wife, and help her to win back her land. On this covenant and on this behest would Sir Gariët ride with him and bear Morien company.
As they came to the ships, Morien told him how it had fared with him before when he thought to make the crossing, and he said that he found no living soul among all that he saw there who would let him into his ship, since he seemed to them so huge, and black withal.
"They counted themselves for lost, deeming that I were the devil, and were sore afeard, and put out to sea. Now see, Sir Gariët, what counsel ye may find, and how we may so contrive that we cross the water; doubt ye not that an they once behold me and know me they will straightway set sail again and put to sea. I fear me we may not cross over!"
Quoth Sir Gariët: "By what ye tell me, methinks 'twere better that I ride on ahead, and hire me a ship. Ye shall follow on softly; and let me once come therein, and have my steed aboard and the boatman in my power, he shall not depart hence ere that ye be come thither. May my soul be lost if he do!" Further spake the knight Sir Gariët: "Even should he be beside himself when he first see ye, I shall not let him free ere he have taken us to the further shore, or I shall have from him such forfeit 'twere better for him to be sunken and drowned in the depths of the sea!"
Then answered Morien: "Ye have found the best counsel that may be devised. Now ride ye without delay, and hire us a boat, good and strong, that may well carry us over the water. I shall abide behind, and wait till ye have done your part. I will do even as ye shall counsel!"
Thus they agreed together, and Sir Gariët rode alone till he came to the ships, where he found a boat that pleased him well. He offered the boatman money enow to take him to the further side with no delay. He gave him the gold in his hand, and he made him ready and hoisted sail and rigging. Of this did he swiftly repent. Even as the steed was aboard and all was ready for the crossing came Morien riding, blacker than any son of man whom Christian eyes had e'er beheld. And the boatman was fain to flee when he beheld him and he drew nigh to him, for he had seen him aforetime. He deemed that he should surely die of fear, and scarce might move a limb.
Then Sir Gariët asked him: "Sir boatman, what aileth thee? By Heaven, it availeth thee naught; thou shall ferry us over swiftly. Now make us no ado, or this shall be thy last day. By the Lord who made us, of what art thou afraid? This is not the devil! Hell hath he never seen! 'Tis but my comrade; let him in. I counsel thee straitly!"
Then must the boatman obey, though he liked it but ill. He saw that better might not be: he might neither leap out of the boat nor otherwise escape. So soon as he had in his boat Morien, of whom he was sore afraid, in that he was so huge, and had shipped his steed, which was in seeming over-strong, he pushed the boat from shore and put out to sea. He feared him greatly, even as one who deems that he is lost.
When Morien had sat himself down he did off his helmet of steel. Then the boatman deemed that he was a dead man, and prayed for mercy, beholding his face, for he though he might scarce be a Christian. Sir Gariët asked of him tidings, if there had passed that way two knights, of whom the one bestrode a red horse and wore red armour, and the other bare the badge of King Arthur. If he might tell him aught of them he besought him to do so; an he knew where they yet abode he would give him great thanks.
The boatman said: "'Tis not long since that they were even in my boat; the one knight ware red armour and had with him a red steed, and the other was wounded and bare King Arthur's badge; and I know full well," quoth the boatman, "the knights who bear that badge, by that same token shall ye yourself be one of King Arthur's knights. They would both cross over, and I ferried them to the further side. 'Twas to them an unknown land; that did I hear well from their speech. Methought that they were ill at ease, I wist not wherefore. I saw that the one wept so that the tears fell thick adown his face. And when I had brought them to the other side the knight, who was glad thereof, asked me if I knew where stood a hermitage wherein a hermit dwelt. That did I shew him—no more and no less."
Thus fared they, having heard the tale and speaking of the twain, till that they touched the sand. Then did the boatman shew them the way they should ride thence to where the hermitage stood, and declared to them the road. Thus left they the boatman, who was much rejoiced to be safely quit of them. But the knights went on their way till they knew that they drew near to the hermitage, and came even unto it. Then they dismounted, and made fast their steeds before the door, and cried with a loud voice to those within: "Let us in! Open of your goodwill!" A lad came to the door and asked them what they desired, and if aught ailed them that they required aid.
Then Sir Gariët spake, and said that an it were pleasing to them, they would fain have speech with the hermit and with Sir Agloval. And the messenger went his way to the twain, and told them how two knights stood without the gate. "The one is a goodly man to look upon and well armed, and so, forsooth, is the other, but his armour and his limbs, so far as I might see, were blacker than soot or pitch. I wot not if ye know aught of them or of their errand. They said that they would fain speak with ye, and they prayed me straitly, the twain of them, that I should come hither and tell ye this."
Sir Agloval, who deemed this passing strange, went, as best he might, to the gate, and his uncle the hermit followed him with no delay. Sir Agloval looked through the wicket, and was ware of Sir Gariët, Sir Gawain's brother, and bethought him how that he belonged to King Arthur's court and was worthy of great honour, for though he were not so well known throughout the land as was his brother Sir Gawain, yet was he a strong knight and bold, and a doer of valiant deeds.
When they beheld each other they gave fair and courteous greeting, the one to the other, and Sir Gariët spake. "May He who can do all things shew favour and honour to ye Sir Knight, and to all who be with ye there within!"
Sir Agloval looked upon Morien, and marked right well the fashion of him, and marvelled within himself what manner of knight he might well be who bare such guise. And Morien stood before him and asked him if he yet remembered how, seeking for Sir Lancelot, he came into the land of the Moors, and how he there loved a maiden, and plighted to her his troth, and how she granted to him her favours ere he departed from her upon his quest. He asked him if he yet thought thereupon, how, when he departed from the land he pledged his word to her that he would return, so soon as might be, to the country of the Moors, for her profit and for her honour? Did he yet think upon this?
Sir Agloval made answer: "Sir Knight, I make no denial, yet have I but seldom been at rest. I rode in quest of Sir Lancelot awhile; and thereafter had I but little respite, since I brought my brother to court, where he was held in high honour, and so soon as he was made knight must I ride forth with him upon a journey which he would in no wise delay; for he was fain to avenge the harm done to our father many a year agone—that must ye understand. My brother knew well that our foes had taken to themselves the heritage that should have been ours, when they drave my father forth. This would he avenge, and spare not, and herein had we much strife ere we might regain it; but now have we done so much that we have won back our heritage and slain all those who had possessed themselves of our land. That so many years have fled since I sware to the maiden that I would return to her, that came of necessity. Now have I failed to keep mine oath, and needs must that I bethink me well, and seek counsel in the matter. I know not, and have no true tidings, whether that lady of whom ye speak be living or dead; naught do I know thereof!"
Quoth Morien: "But I shall tell ye more thereof! She to whom ye gave your troth yet liveth and is my mother, and ye, Sir Knight, are my father! If ye will come with me, at her prayer and mine, then will ye do well and courteously. Ye begat me upon her who should be your wife, had ye kept your oath. Now bethink ye well, and say if ye will come or no. When ye parted from my mother she bare me though she knew it not. Thus, Sir Knight, did the matter fall out."
Sir Agloval made answer: "By Heaven Sir Knight, I believe ye, every whit. That which the lady claimeth from me, in that I have thus betrayed her and foresworn mine oath, that will I make good, by the help of God. I will yet win her grace. Come ye to me here within to mine uncle and my brother, they shall counsel us well when they hear our tale—so shall we be more at ease."
With that he undid the wicket. 'Twould have done any heart good, who understood their speech, to see how Sir Agloval and Morien embraced and kissed each other. Any heart would have been the gladder who had seen and heard their gestures and their words, and in what love and friendship they betook themselves within, where they were right well received. Sir Agloval forthwith made known to his uncle and to Sir Perceval the true tale of his doings, and how that his son had come hither.
When Sir Perceval heard this, never did knight receive so glad a welcome as that which he gave unto his nephew; so likewise did the hermit. 'Twas bliss and fair speech there betwixt those knights, and in their honour did they bring forth such food and drink as was there within, and did all they might for their comfort. That even was there naught but gladness; each made great joy of the other, and erst as the knights were weary did they get them to sleep, as men are wont to do, till the day brake, and the sun shone forth.
The knights lay longer abed than did the hermit, who had said and sung his orisons and his Mass ere day had dawned, or that the knights had arisen and done on their garments. Then spake Morien to his father, even as ye shall hear, and said he would ride thence, and was fain to know, without contention, if he would come with him to his mother, and do that which he promised when he departed from her, for the sake of God and of his own honour, and for their profit. He told how they had been deprived of their rightful heritage which had fallen to his mother from her father. "'Twas altogether denied her by the law of the land; yet 'twas the shame rather than the loss that grieved her, in that men called her son fatherless, and she might bring no proof of her word, nor shew them to their face the man who had begotten me!"
Then said Sir Agloval, his father: "I will tell ye out and out how the thing stands with me, and tell ye all my counsel. Believe me well, I will not lie to ye in one word." And Morien hearkened and answered that he believed him fully.
Thus they abode that day with the hermit, and were better served, in all that men might prepare for them, than I may well tell ye; and Morien prayed his father straitly that he would delay not, but would tell him what was in his thought and in his intent. Thus did he urge his father, till Sir Agloval told him all his mind.
He said that he beheld a vision in a dream; it seemed to him that he rode throughout the day in a land where he saw naught but wilderness and wood, and trees, many and fair. By whiles he rode through hail and snow, by whiles through noontide heat, so that he was sore vexed. Whiles he saw the sun shine bright, whiles it was as if the twilight fell. He saw all kinds of beasts run through the forest, and folk, young and old, go up and down the woods. All this did he see in his dream, but nowhere in all this land did he come to where he might find shelter. But as it drew towards evening, and the light failed, did he think to see a tower, so strongly builded that none by force might lightly win their way within; but no doorway might he see, only, as it were, another tower that stood there. Within this he beheld a stairway, that wound upward to a doorway at the end. The door seemed to him high as a church, and of wrought ironwork. Were a man sick he might well be healed by the light that streamed forth from within, for, as he saw and looked upon it, it seemed as it might well be Heaven. And every step of the stairway was of good red gold. And he thought within himself that since those steps were so fair he might well set foot thereon, and tell the tale of them, how many they might be, that hereafter he might speak of the great marvel he had seen. But as he had counted sixty, and would set foot upon the next, lo! he saw none of all those he had left below him, save that upon which he stood, and on which his foot was set, and above him he saw naught. And it seemed to him that the door was distant from the step as high as one might shoot with a bow. Thus might he go neither forward nor backward. Then he beheld, and on the ground beneath were serpents and wild bears, even as if they would tear him; they gnashed their teeth as if they would seize him, and gaped with their jaws as they would swallow him. It seemed to him as if they were even at his heels, and he saw the snakes and dragons all twist themselves upwards. "And as I was thus fearful the step brake beneath me, and I fell downwards." From his great discomfort and his fear of the dragons he awoke, and slept no more.
The dream vexed him sorely whenever he thought thereon; he was angry and wroth, and wist not what the portent of the vision might be. But his heart forbode him that pain and mischief, and sore labour withal, drew nigh to him. Then it fell out that he met with a learned clerk, to whom he told the vision even as it had appeared to him; and when he had hearkened to his tale, and understood it well, he interpreted it in this wise: "Concerning our lands, great and small, that we thereof should be in great stress and fear ere we might win to them again; for strong were the castles and mighty the armies, therefore did the vision foretell ill to my brother and myself each and singly. And further he spake concerning my brother Perceval, and the Spear, and the Grail; for that golden stairway betokened the Holy Grail, and that Perceval should aid in the winning thereof, and in that service should he die. Thus did he foretell me. And the door that stood above and the stairway itself both alike betokened the heavenly kingdom, as might well be known by the light that shone within; and the steps that lay before it they betokened the days of Perceval's life. 'This I tell ye of a truth, each betokeneth a day, or a week, or it may be a month; but of this be ye sure, and doubt not, so long shall he live, and then shall he yield up his life. And that the steps brake beneath ye, 'twas for your sins; ye had well-nigh climbed them had not sin laid hold on ye. The bears, and the dragons, and the serpents that there lay in wait, know ye well that they gave sure and certain sign that the fiends deemed they had ye for their own in that hour, and would carry ye to Hell.'" Thus did the wise master make known to him his dream, and bade him thereof take warning and order his ways with wisdom, and that speedily, and delay not, for here should he abide no long time, but drew nigh to his end.
"Dear son," quoth Sir Agloval, "then did my brother cease his quest for the Spear and the Grail, and the adventure on which he was bound, and came hither as swiftly as he might to mine uncle the hermit, and clothed himself in this habit, through that which the clerk foretold me. Thus are we here together, and my brother would fain amend his life. Nor am I yet whole; for I was wounded wellnigh to death, and bruised and mishandled, so that I had no power left, and am yet scarce healed. Thus would I abide here awhile with my brother and mine uncle, that my wounds might be tended, and that with them I might save my soul. Now ye will that I journey with ye to your mother in the Moorish land, and I were fain to ride thither were I but healed. Yet is there another matter. I would gladly go with ye, that may ye know of a truth, for your honour, and to do away your shame, were it not that I thus brought about my death; nevertheless, I have trust in mine uncle, who is so wise, that he shall make my peace with God, and bring me to eternal bliss. Now, son, bethink ye of our profit, yours and mine, according to that which has befallen me, and that ye have now heard even as I tell ye. Counsel me as it seemeth ye best; since that I be your father, according as matters went afore 'twixt me and your mother, it behoves ye well so to do."
Then quoth Morien: "Were ye better healed I would ride gladly, but it becometh me well to shun aught that might do ye harm or mischief. I can give ye none other counsel than that ye abide here till ye be once more whole. King Arthur is captive and his land is beset and in sore stress. Here is his nephew Sir Gariët, who hath come hither with me, and now that I have learnt the truth I shall ride with him to court, to do him honour, and there abide till that ye be whole and healed; and I will return hither in the hour that I know ye be cured of your wounds and may keep the oath that ye sware to my mother, that ye be praised of men and in favour with God. So shall my mother once more be possessed of the lands of which she hath been disinherited, and which she hath this long time lacked. I shall depart and ye shall abide here, where may all good befall ye! I will aid the queen, and God grant that I may win such fame as shall be for the bettering of her cause and mine own honour and profit. I shall return, be ye sure of it, when the time is ripe, and shall ever think of ye as my father."
Then all thanked Morien, deeming that as at that time no better counsel might be found; and Sir Gariët and Morien alike besought of Sir Perceval that he would ride with them, to aid the queen and release King Arthur, and bring comfort to his land. This he sware to do would his uncle grant him leave thereto. Then did they all, and Sir Agloval with them, so straitly pray the uncle that he granted their request, and never might ye see at any time folk so blithe as were these knights in that Sir Perceval would ride with them. Thus did they take their leave and wend on their way. But now will I leave speaking of them and tell how it fared with Sir Lancelot, who would slay the evil beast. Now doth the adventure tell us that when Sir Lancelot departed from Sir Gawain at the cross-roads he delayed not, but rode that same hour till he came to the waste land wherein the beast had wrought havoc. Now in that land there dwelt a maiden who had caused it to be made known far and wide that whosoever might slay that beast him would she take for her husband. Never might man behold a fairer maiden, and the land was all in her own power. Now there dwelt also therein a traitor, a knight who loved the maiden, but had little mind to risk his life for her; he kept close watch upon that beast if so be that any man should slay it that he might play the traitor, so should the slayer pay with his life for the deed, and he should spread abroad that he himself had, of a verity, slain the monster.
Thus Sir Lancelot rode so far into the land that he came nigh to the place where he had heard that the fearful beast had made its lair. There did he see many a helm, and spear, and weapon of the knights it had slain, whose bones lay there stripped of flesh, which the monster had devoured; he might well be afraid! So soon as Lancelot might know where the beast was wont to lie, he made haste thitherward, and so soon as it was ware of his coming it came flying in such guise as it had been the Devil, and set upon Sir Lancelot straightway. It feared neither sword nor spear, nor armour, nor might of man. And Lancelot smote at the monster so that his spear brake in twain, yet had he not bruised it a whit, or pierced its hide; then he drew forth his sword and smote with great force, but he harmed it not, and it seized Lancelot by the throat and scored him in such wise that the knight was wroth thereof, for it tare a great rent through the hauberk even to the flesh, and wounded him sore. Many a time did Sir Lancelot strike and smite at the beast, but never a groat might he harm it; but the monster fell upon Sir Lancelot and scored him even to the feet, and dealt him many a wound, and breathed out venom upon him; had it not been for a ring which Sir Lancelot ware upon his finger he had fallen dead where he stood from the poison. Then the monster sprang towards him with gaping jaws, as it were fain to swallow him, and Lancelot watched his chance, and thrust his sword into its mouth, and clave the heart in sunder, and the beast gave a cry so terrible that 'twas heard a good two mile off.
Then the traitor who spied all from afar, when he heard the cry delayed not, but rode swiftly towards the lair, for he knew well from the cry that the monster was slain. When he came to the place he found Sir Lancelot sitting, binding up his wounds, which were many and deep. The knight began to bemoan his plight, and went towards him saying that he would bind his wounds for him. That cowardly and wicked knight, he came even to Sir Lancelot's side, and snatched stealthily at his sword, and sprang backward and smote at him, wounding him so that he fell as one dead.
When the false traitor saw this he deemed that he was dead, and left him lying, and went there, where the monster lay, and smote off the right foot, thinking to take it to the maiden of whom I have told ye, that he might therewith win her to wife.
But in this while had Sir Gawain ridden so far that he had learned the truth how that Sir Lancelot had found the beast, and at this time he had followed upon his tracks and came unto the lair even as the traitor had wounded Sir Lancelot, and cut off the foot, and was mounted upon Sir Lancelot's steed, which that good knight, Sir Gawain, knew right well.
So soon as he saw the stranger upon the steed, and Lancelot, who lay there wounded, he rode fast towards him, and drew out his good sword, and cried, "Abide ye still, Sir Murderer, for this beast have ye slain my comrade, that do I see right well." That false and cruel knight had fain ridden thence, but Sir Gawain was so nigh to him that he could not avoid, and smote at him so fiercely that he must needs abide, and draw bridle, and pray for mercy.
Sir Gawain was of a mind to bring him to Sir Lancelot ere he made terms with him. Thus they came together, and Lancelot, who was now recovered from the swoon in which he had lain, and was ware of Sir Gawain, cried to him concerning the traitor who had smitten him all unarmed, "Dear comrade, slay him. I shall die the easier, knowing that he be already dead." As he spake thus, Sir Gawain made no more ado but smote off the traitor's head.
Then did he forthwith go to bemoan his comrade, and quoth, "Sir Knight, may ye not be healed? Tell me now the truth; I will aid ye as I may." Then Sir Lancelot did him to wit how he had fared with the beast, and how the traitor had thereafter wounded him. "And this hath wrought me the greater harm; yet might I but find a place wherein to rest methinks I might well be healed."
Then was Sir Gawain glad at heart, and he bound up his wounds forthwith with herbs of such virtue as should stay the bleeding; and he took Sir Lancelot and set him upon his steed, and turned him again towards the hermit's cell as best he might, for 'twas in both their minds that might they but come thither Sir Gawain should surely heal him. Thus did they ride until they had found the hermitage, and scarce had they come thither when they were ware of Morien with Sir Gariët and Sir Perceval, who came thither as at that time.