The Castle of Marvels

Meanwhile sir gawain had been journeying on,

And one morning, between nine o'clock and noon, he came riding up a hill and saw a massive oak tree, thick with leaves, giving plenty of shade. He could see a shield hung on the oak, and beside it a good, straight lance. He hurried on towards the tree until he noticed a small, dark palfrey beside it; he was astonished by this, for it did not seem right to him: arms and a palfrey - usually a lady's mount - did not go together. Had it been a charger he would have supposed that some knight, roaming the country in search of honour and glory, had climbed the hill. But then he looked beneath the oak and saw a girl sitting there, who would have seemed most beautiful to him if only she had been happy; but her fingers were thrust into her tresses and tearing out her hair: she was going wild with grief. She was grieving for a knight, and was kissing him over and over on the eyes and lips and forehead. Sir Gawain came closer and saw that the knight was wounded, with his face cut all over and a terrible sword-wound in his head, and down both his sides blood flowed in great streams. The knight had fainted many times from his pain and now was lying motionless, and when Sir Gawain arrived he could not tell whether he was alive or dead.

'How does he seem, dear girl?' he said.

And she replied: 'You can see his wounds are dangerous: he'd die of the very smallest.'

'Good friend,' said Gawain, 'try to wake him, please; I want to ask him about the affairs of this land.'

'I'd sooner be flayed alive!' said the girl. 'I've never loved a man so much, and never will as long as I live. Now that he's sleeping and at rest I'd be a wretched fool to disturb him.'

'Then truly, I'll wake him if I can!' said Sir Gawain, and turning his lance around he nudged him on the ankle with the butt. It did not disturb the knight to be woken, for Sir Gawain shook his spur so gently that he did not hurt him. Instead the knight thanked him, saying:

'A thousand thanks, sir, for waking me so gently that I've suffered no harm. But for your own sake I beg you, go no further: you'll be a fool if you do. Take my advice and stop here.'

'Stop? Why should I?'

'No knight who's ever gone this way, by road or field, has ever come back, for this is the border of Galvoie, and no knight can cross it and return. I'm the only one who's ever done so, and look at the state I'm in: I won't last the day. I met a knight, bold and strong and fearsome: I've never tested myself against his equal. So turn back.'

'In faith,' said Sir Gawain, 'it would be foul cowardice in me if I turned back having taken this path. I'm going on until I find out why no-one can return.'

'I see,' said the wounded knight, 'you're eager to increase your honour. But I ask this of you: if God should grant you the honour which no knight has ever had - and I don't think any ever will - please return this way and see if I'm alive or dead. And if I'm dead, then in the name of charity and the Holy Trinity I beg you take care of this girl, and see that she suffers no shame or harm. Please do so, for God never made one more noble or kind-hearted.'

Sir Gawain granted his wish, promising that, if he were not prevented by capture or some other misfortune, he would return to him and give the girl such assistance as he could. With that he left them and rode on without stopping, over plains and through forests, until he caught sight of a mighty castle, one side of which was a sea-port with a fleet resting at anchor. This noble castle was worth little less than Pavia. On its other side lay a vineyard, and beneath it flowed the great river which girded its walls, enclosing the castle and town on every side. Sir Gawain rode into the castle over the bridge, and when he had climbed to the strongest part of the city he found, beneath an elm tree in a courtyard, a sweet girl, whiter than snow, gazing at her face and lips in a mirror. She had made a crown around her head with a thin circlet of golden thread. Sir Gawain dug in his spurs and cantered up towards the girl, but she shouted to him:

'Easy, sir, easy! Go gently now! You're riding like a madman. There's no need to hurry and wear out your horse: it's foolish to rush for nothing.'

'God bless you, girl,' said Sir Gawain. 'What made you so quick to tell me to go easy?'

'Oh, I had good reason, knight, truly I did; for I know exactly what you're thinking.'

'What's that?' he said.

'You want to carry me off across the neck of your horse.'

'True enough, girl!'

'I knew it,' she said, 'but curse the thinker of such a thought! I'm not one of those simpletons that knights sport with and carry off on their horses when they go in search of chivalry. And yet you could take me with you, if you dared do what I ask.'

'What's your wish?' asked Gawain, remembering his vow to the King of the Watch that he would grant whatever was asked by the first maiden who had a request of him.

'Go and fetch my palfrey from that garden,' she replied. 'If you do I'll go with you - and mishap and hardship and grief and shame will befall you in my company.'

'Is anything needed but courage, friend?' said Gawain.

'I don't think so, vassal,' she replied.

'Where shall I leave my horse if I go? He won't be able to cross that plank.'

'No, he won't. Give him to me and cross on foot. I'll keep your horse for you. But come back quickly, for I couldn't keep hold of him if he refused to be calm, or if he were taken from me by force before you came back.'

'That's true,' he said. 'But I shan't hold you to blame if he escapes or is snatched from you.'

So he gave her the horse and set off, but decided to take all his arms with him, for if there were someone in the garden who refused him the palfrey and forbade him to take it, there would be trouble and combat before he brought it back. And just as he crossed the plank he saw a great crowd of people gathered together; they stared at him in dismay and cried:

'May a hundred demons burn you, girl, for being so wicked! You've sent so many worthy men to lose their heads. What a grievous shame! You want to fetch the palfrey, knight, but you don't know what'll befall you if you touch it! Oh, knight! Turn back!'

So said all the men and women, but it was not going to change his mind; Sir Gawain headed straight for the palfrey, and was just reaching for the bridle when a great knight, sitting beneath a lush, green olive tree, said: 'Don't lay a finger on it. I advise you to be gone, for if you take that palfrey you'll find a fearsome challenge.'

'That won't stop me, sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'for the girl by the elm tree with the mirror sent me for it, and if I don't take it back I'd be damned on Earth as a cowardly good-for-nothing.'

'Then you'll suffer for it, brother,' said the knight, 'for by God the sovereign father, no knight has ever dared take the palfrey and escaped the grim fate of being beheaded.'

Sir Gawain would not linger a moment more. He drove the palfrey, whose head was black on one side and white on the other, across the plank before him. It had no trouble in crossing, for it had often done so and was well schooled in it now. Sir Gawain took it by its silken rein and came straight to the elm tree where the girl was gazing at herself in her mirror; she had cast her mantle and wimple to the ground so that she could see her face and body freely. Sir Gawain presented the saddled palfrey to her and said: 'Come now, girl, and I'll help you to mount.'

'May God never let it be said,' she replied, 'that you held me in your arms. If your bare hand touched any part of me I'd think myself disgraced. I'd rather have the flesh flayed from my bones! And God grant that I see what I expect: disaster befalling you before the day is out! Go where you like: I'll follow your every step until you've suffered some grave disgrace and mishap. I'm sure I'll make you come to grief - you can't escape it any more than death!'

Sir Gawain heard every word the haughty girl said, but made no reply. He just gave her the palfrey and she returned his horse. Then he bent down, meaning to pick up her mantle from the ground and drape it round her; but the girl, who was never slow in saying shameful words to a knight, said: 'Vassal, what business have you with my mantle? Your hands aren't fit to touch anything I wear.'

So the girl mounted, and donned and fastened her clothes herself, and said: 'Now, knight, go where you please, and I'll follow you everywhere, until I see you disgraced because of me - and that'll be today, if it please God!'

Sir Gawain, feeling humbled and embarrassed, was silent, unable to find a word in reply. He mounted, and they set off; and with his head bowed he turned back along the path towards the oak where he had left the girl and the knight who was in sore need of a doctor. Sir Gawain knew more than any man about healing wounds, and he saw a herb in a hedgerow which was very good for taking the pain from a wound, and he went and picked it; then he carried on until he found the girl beneath the oak tree, lamenting; and as soon as she saw him she said: 'Dear sir, I think this knight is dead now: he hears nothing any more.'

Sir Gawain dismounted, and found that the knight had a firm pulse, and his mouth and cheek were not very cold.

'No, girl,' he said, 'this knight's alive; and I've brought a herb which will relieve the pain of his wounds as soon as it touches him; no finer herb can be set upon a wound, and if it were bound to the bark of an infected tree, the roots would recover and the tree would return to leaf and flower. We'll need a wimple of fine cloth to make a bandage.'

'Take the one I'm wearing,' she said without hesitation. And she took the wimple from her head, and it was very fine and white; and Sir Gawain cut it up as necessary and bound the herb on all the knight's wounds. Then Gawain stayed motionless until the knight gave a sigh and spoke, saying:

'May God reward the one who's restored my speech, for I was greatly afraid of dying without confession. Demons came here in procession, seeking my soul. I know a chaplain near here, and if only I had something to ride I'd go and confess my sins and take communion - then I'd no longer fear death. So do me this service, I pray you: give me the packhorse of that squire who's trotting this way.'

Sir Gawain turned and saw a squire coming, of most unpleasant appearance: his hair was red and stood stiffly on end like the spines of an angry porcupine, and his eyebrows were the same; and he had a great slit of a mouth, and a wide beard, forked and curled, and a short neck and a swollen chest.

Sir Gawain said to the knight: 'God help me, sir, I don't know who this squire is, but I'd rather give you seven chargers than his packhorse, whoever he may be.'

'I tell you,' said the knight, 'he's intent on one thing only: to do you harm if he can.'

Sir Gawain went to meet the squire and asked him where he was going. And he, being far from amiable, replied: 'What business is it of yours, vassal? Whatever my path may be, I wish ill-fortune on your body!'

In an instant Sir Gawain gave him his just deserts, striking him with his open palm; and, his arm being armoured and his will to strike keen, he toppled him and emptied his saddle; and when the squire tried to rise he staggered and fell down flat again.

'You hit me, vassal!'

'Indeed I did,' said Gawain, 'and I'm sorry, but you spoke most offensively.'

'Well, you'll pay for it! You'll lose the hand and the arm that dealt that blow, for it'll never be forgiven you!'

While this was happening, the wounded knight's heart, which had been so weak, returned to him, and he said to Sir Gawain: 'Leave that squire: you'll never have an honourable word from him. But bring me his packhorse: I need to make confession - I shan't stop until I've received the last sacrament.'

Sir Gawain took the packhorse at once and gave it to the knight; his sight had now returned and cleared, and he saw Sir Gawain and recognised him for the first time. Gawain took the girl and, like the kind and courteous knight he was, set her upon the dark palfrey; and while he was helping her into the saddle, the knight took Gawain's horse and mounted, and began to send him charging hither and thither in all directions. Sir Gawain saw him galloping about the hill and laughed in amazement; but as he laughed he said:

'By my faith, sir knight, you're foolish to make my horse leap about like that! Dismount and give him to me, for you could easily reopen your wounds.'

But he replied: 'Hold your tongue, Gawain! You'd better take the packhorse, for you've lost your charger! I like the way he goes, and I'm taking him with me for my own!'

'What! I come here to help you and you'd do me wrong? Don't you dare take my horse: it would be treachery.'

'Gawain, I'd like to tear your heart from your belly with both hands!'

'This reminds me of a proverb,' Gawain replied. '"Do some men a good deed and your neck will bleed"! I'd like to know why you'd have my heart, and why you're taking my horse; for never in my life have I done you any harm. I've never seen you before, as far as I know.'

'Yes, you have, Gawain. And you did me a great disgrace. Don't you remember the man you humiliated by making him eat with the dogs for a month, with his hands tied behind his back? I tell you, that was a foolish deed! But now you're paying for it!'

And Gawain, recalling an incident from many years before, remembered the knight's name and said: 'Are you then Greoreas, who abducted the girl and had your way with her? Yet you knew full well that in King Arthur's land girls are protected; the king has given them a safeguard, and watches over them and ensures their safe conduct. The punishment I dealt you was for the sake of justice, which is imposed throughout the king's land.'

'And now you must suffer the justice that I'll exact: I'm taking your charger Gringalet, for that's the best revenge I can have for now; and you'll have to make do with the squire's packhorse - you've not much choice, I'd say!'

With that Greoreas left him and raced off after his sweetheart, who was riding swiftly away. And the haughty girl laughed at Sir Gawain and said: 'Oh, vassal, vassal, what are you going to do? It may well be said of you now: "There's one born every day"! By God, it's great fun following you! If only the packhorse were a mare! Then your disgrace would be greater still!'

Then Sir Gawain, having no choice, mounted the stupid, trotting packhorse. It was an ugly beast, with a bent spine, a thin neck, a fat head and long, limp ears, and all the imperfections of age: its lips sagged, its eyes were cloudy and dim, its hooves covered in sores, and its flanks were hard and slashed by spurs. The reins and bridle were made of old rope, and the saddle, which had seen better days, had no blanket. And the stirrups were so short and weak that he did not dare stand up in them.

'Oh,' cried the girl, plaguing him, 'what a noble escort you look for a girl! Give your horse a bit of a spur and test him - but watch out: he's like lightning! I'll follow you, yes, and I'll never leave you till total disgrace has befallen you - as it surely will.'

'Dear friend,' he replied, 'it isn't right for a girl to speak so impolitely when she's past the age of ten; she should be well-mannered and courteous, if she has the wit to learn.'

'What! You want to teach me lessons, do you, Sir Hapless? I don't need instruction from you! Ride on and hold your tongue, for you're equipped now as I wanted you to be.'

And so they rode on till evening, and neither of them said a word. Sir Gawain went ahead and she rode behind. He didn't know what to do with his pack-horse: it went at a walk whether he liked it or not, for if he dug in his spurs he had a dreadful ride: it shook up his insides so much that he couldn't bear to have it go above walking-pace.

On the packhorse carried him through wild and lonely forests, until he came to a flat land beside a deep river, so wide that no mangonel or catapult could have thrown a stone across. On the further bank, overlooking the river, very well appointed and immensely strong, stood a castle on a cliff, with a great palace set upon a sheer rock, built entirely of grey marble. There were a good five hundred open windows in the palace, and all were filled with girls and ladies, gazing out before them at the meadows and flowery gardens. Many of the girls were dressed in samite, and most wore silken gowns of different colours, all brocaded with gold. From outside they could be seen from the waist up, with their shining heads and comely bodies.

The most evil woman in the world, who was now riding ahead of Sir Gawain, came straight down to the river. There she stopped and dismounted from her little mottled palfrey; and on the bank she found a boat, fastened and padlocked to a stone. But there was an oar on board, and on the stone lay the key to the lock. The evil-hearted girl climbed into the boat and drew her palfrey in after her, as she had done many times before.

'Vassal,' she called to Gawain, 'dismount now and climb in here with your packhorse - it's as skinny as a chicken! - and take up the anchor. I tell you, you'll be in a sorry plight unless you cross this river quickly - or can swim fast!'

'What, girl? Why?'

'You haven't seen what I can see: if you had you'd flee with all speed!'

Sir Gawain looked round and saw a knight riding towards him across the meadow, fully armed. 'Who's that?' he asked. 'He's mounted on my horse, which that traitor stole this morning after I healed him of his wounds!'

'I wouldn't tell you if I thought it was good news!' said the girl. 'But since I'm sure it's not I shan't hide it from you: he's Greoreas's nephew! He's sent him after you, and I'll tell you why: Greoreas has commanded him to track you to your death and to take him back your head! That's why I advise you to climb aboard and flee, unless you want to die right here!'

'I certainly won't flee because of him, girl. I'll wait for him.'

'Well I shan't stop you!' said the girl. 'Oh, what a fine charge you'll make in front of all those beautiful girls at the windows! They'll love it, with you mounted on that mighty packhorse!'

'Whatever it may cost me, girl, I'm not going to shirk this. I want to win back my horse.'

And he turned his packhorse to face the knight who was spurring across the sandy riverbank. Sir Gawain prepared to meet him, and braced himself so firmly in the stirrups that he snapped the left one clean off; and the packhorse wouldn't move: for all his spurring he couldn't make it stir.

'Oh!' he cried. 'A packhorse is no mount for a knight when he wants to do battle!'

And the knight gave Gawain such a blow with his lance that it bent like a bow and snapped clean across, leaving the head in his shield. And Sir Gawain struck him above the boss, and with such force that it smashed through both shield and mail-coat and brought him crashing down in the fine sand. Sir Gawain reached out and seized his horse and leaped into the saddle. This adventure was so sweet to him that he had never felt happier in his life. He rode back to the girl who had climbed into the boat - but there was no sign either of the boat or of her. He had no idea what had become of them.

While he sat there thinking about the girl he saw a skiff coming from the castle, guided by a pilot. And when the pilot reached the bank he said: 'Sir, I bring you greetings from the girls at the windows yonder; and they send you word not to withhold my rightful possession.'

'God bless you and all that fair company,' Gawain replied. 'What is it you want from me?'

'I saw you topple a knight here whose horse I should rightfully have. Unless you mean to do me wrong you ought to hand the horse to me.'

And Gawain said: 'It would be a great hardship for me, my friend, to give up what you say is yours, for I'd have to continue on foot.'

'Shame upon you! Those girls will think you most disloyal now, refusing to return what is rightfully mine. Whenever a knight's been unhorsed on this bank I've always claimed his mount. And if I didn't get the horse I was given the knight.'

'I'll not refuse you the knight, my friend: you're welcome to him!'

'That's no gift!' said the pilot. 'I'd never be able to take him if he decided to defend himself! If you've got it in you, go and capture him and bring him to me; then you can keep what's rightfully mine.'

'Friend, if I dismount and go on foot, can I trust you to keep my horse in good faith?'

'Certainly,' he said. 'I'll keep him and return him faithfully, I swear it.'

So Gawain climbed from Gringalet and entrusted him to the pilot, and set out, sword drawn; but the knight had no need of further trouble, for he was badly wounded in the side and had lost a good deal of blood.

'It's no use pretending, sir,' he said, in great difficulty. 'I've such a grievous wound that I can do without receiving worse; I've lost a gallon of blood - I submit to your mercy.'

'Get up, then,' said Sir Gawain.

And the knight struggled up, and Gawain led him back to the pilot, who thanked him deeply. Then Gawain asked him to tell him about the girl he had led there, and where she had gone.

'Forget about her, sir,' the pilot replied. 'She's not a girl: she's worse than Satan! On this bank she's caused many a knight to be beheaded. Come now and accept such lodging as I can offer, for it's no good staying here on the riverbank: it's a wild place, and full of strange marvels.'

Sir Gawain did as the pilot advised. His horse was taken aboard, and he climbed in after, and they set out and sailed to the other bank. The pilot's house was close to the water, and was such that a count could have disembarked there: he had every comfort in that house. The pilot led his guest and his prisoner inside, and gave them the finest welcome that he could. Sir Gawain was served with everything befitting a worthy man: he dined on plover and pheasant and partridge and venison, and the wines were strong and clear, white and red, new and old. Sir Gawain's host and lodging that night were much to his liking: he deeply appreciated the pilot's hospitality.

Next morning he rose as soon as he saw day break, as was his custom, and the pilot rose likewise to look after his guest. They went together and leaned at the windows of a turret, and Sir Gawain gazed out over the countryside, which was beautiful indeed, and saw the forests and the plains and the castle on the cliff.

'Kind host,' he said, 'who is the lord of this land and the castle?'

But the pilot replied: 'I don't know, sir.'

'Truly? You astonish me: you're a retainer of the castle and it brings you a handsome living, yet you don't know who its lord is?'

'I promise you,' he said, 'I don't know and have never known.'

'Then tell me, who defends the castle?'

'It's very well guarded, sir: there are five hundred bows and crossbows always at the ready. If the castle were ever threatened they'd shoot ceaselessly and never tire, so ingeniously are they arranged. And I tell you this: there's a queen at the castle, a noble, rich and wise lady of the highest lineage. She came to live in this land with a great treasure of gold and silver, and built the mighty castle you see before you; and she brought with her a lady whom she dearly loves: she's her daughter, and a queen likewise. She, too, has a daughter, who does nothing to debase or shame her line, for I don't think there's a girl of fairer looks or manners beneath heaven. And the hall, let me tell you, is protected by magic and enchantment. In that great hall a clerk versed in astronomy has created unheard-of marvels; for no knight can enter there and live if there's any vice in him. No coward or traitor or perjurer can survive: all die there in an instant. But there are many squires from many lands serving at the castle as a training for arms - well over five hundred. And there are old ladies without husbands or lords: they've been wrongfully deprived of their lands and inheritance since their husbands died. And with the two queens are orphaned girls who are kept with great honour. All these people go about their lives at the castle, nursing a wild and impossible hope: they're waiting for a knight to come and support them, who'll restore the ladies to their lands, give husbands to the girls, and make the squires knights. But all the sea will turn to ice before they find a knight who can stay in that hall, for he'd have to be handsome and wise, worthy and bold, noble and loyal, and clean of all baseness and wickedness. If such a knight came he could be lord of the castle, and cast out the enchantments of the hall.'

This news enthralled Sir Gawain. 'Let's go down,' he said. 'Have my arms and my horse brought to me at once. I'm not dallying here - I want to go!'

'Where, sir? Oh, stay - God keep you - today and tomorrow and longer still!'

'Bless your house, good host, but that shall not be. I'm going to see the girls and the marvels of the hall!'

'No, sir! Please God, you'll not do such a foolish thing. Take my advice and stay.'

'Do you take me for a faint-hearted coward? God forsake my soul if I ever take such advice.'

'In faith, sir, I'll hold my tongue, for I can see I'll be wasting my breath. Go, since you want to go so earnestly - though it grieves me. But I'll guide you there - and I tell you, no escort could be more valuable to you than I.'

Then Gawain called for his horse and his arms again, and he armed and mounted and set off, the pilot leading him faithfully to where he did not wish him to go.

They rode on until, at the foot of the steps before the hall, they found a onelegged man sitting all alone on a bundle of straw. He had a false leg made of silver, inlaid here and there with gold and precious stones. His hands were not idle: he was holding a knife and was busy sharpening a stick of ash-wood. He did not address the two riding past him, and they said nothing to him. The pilot drew Sir Gawain to him and said: 'Sir, what do you make of that one-legged man?'

'His false leg's not made of poplar, that's certain,' said Sir Gawain. 'It looks beautiful.'

'Truly,' said the pilot, 'he's rich indeed, with great and handsome revenues. You'd hear news now that would distress you much if I weren't escorting you.'

They climbed up to the hall. One of the doors was of ivory, magnificently carved; the other was of ebony, and likewise sculpted on its face; and both of them shone with gold and jewels. The paving in the hall was of many colours: green and red, indigo and deep blue, finely worked and polished. And in the middle of the hall there stood a bed, and not one part of it was wooden: every bit of it was gold, except the cords on which the mattress sat, which were made of silver, and wherever they interlaced there hung a bell; and across it was spread a huge coverlet of samite; and on each of the bed-posts was mounted a garnet, which yielded more light than four brightly burning candles. The bed stood on grotesque carved dogs with grimacing cheeks, and the dogs were mounted on four casters, so smooth and swift that the bed could be sent from one end of the hall to the other at the push of a single finger. No bed like it was ever made for any king or any count. And there it stood in the middle of the hall. And all around the hall's marble walls were windows, four hundred closed and a hundred open, with glass so clear that anyone watching could see all who entered the hall as soon as they came through the door.

'Dear host,' said Gawain, 'I can't see anything here to make a man afraid! I'm going to sit on this bed and rest for a while: I've never seen one so luxurious.'

'Oh, good sir! If you go near that bed you'll die the most dreadful death that any knight has ever known! Turn back, sir - leave this castle - leave this land!'

'For all the world I shan't give up sitting on this bed and seeing the girls I saw from across the river!'

'There's no chance of your seeing them! Though, God save me, they can see you clearly at this very moment - through those windows: their chambers are on the other side.'

'Well if I can't see the girls I'll at least sit on the bed. Such a bed can have been made for one thing only: to have a worthy man or noble lady lie upon it. And - by my soul - I'm going to sit on it, whatever may befall me!'

The pilot saw there was no stopping him, and said nothing more; but he had no desire to stay and see him sit on the bed, and he took his leave, saying: 'Sir, your death upsets me deeply. No knight has ever sat upon that bed and left it alive, for it is the Bed of Marvels! May God have mercy on your soul!'

With that he left the hall. Sir Gawain, armed as he was, with his shield hung at his neck, sat down upon the bed. And the moment he did so, the bed-cords made a deafening din as all the bells began to ring until the whole hall resounded; then all the windows opened, and the marvels and enchantments were now uncovered and revealed, for down through the windows flew arrows and crossbow-bolts: more than seven hundred smashed into Sir Gawain's shield, and he didn't know what had hit him - the enchantment was such that no man could see where the bolts and arrows came from or the archers who had loosed them. Gawain would not have been there then for a thousand marks! The windows closed in an instant, without anybody's touch. Sir Gawain began to pull out the bolts embedded in his shield, and they had wounded him in several places and he was losing blood. But before he had drawn out all of them he was presented with another test: the bed suddenly began to career about the hall on its casters, smashing from wall to wall; and while Sir Gawain was busy clinging on, a door was kicked open, and a ravenous lion, ferociously strong and wondrously huge, leaped from a vault and in through the door and hurled itself at Gawain in a furious attack. Its claws ripped into his shield as though through wax; but Gawain wrestled free and drew his naked sword and dealt the beast such a blow that he cut off its head and its forefeet together. That very instant the bed stopped its mad careering and all was still. And Sir Gawain was jubilant, for the lion's feet were left hanging on his shield by the claws.

Having killed the beast he sat down on the bed again, and his host came running back into the hall, his face beaming, and said: 'You've nothing more to fear, sir, I promise you! Take off all your armour now, for you've cast out the enchantments of the hall for evermore, and you'll be served and honoured here by young and old - may God be praised!'

Then a stream of squires appeared, dressed in the finest tunics, and they all went down on their knees and said: 'Good sir, we offer you our services: we've longed for your coming!'

Then they began to disarm him, while others went to stable his horse. And while he was being disarmed a most beautiful girl entered, with a circlet of gold upon her head, and her hair was as bright as the gold or brighter. Her face was white, and illumined by Nature with a pure red hue. She was lithe and fair, with a comely figure and a tall, fine bearing; and behind her came other girls, all of considerable beauty. Sir Gawain gazed in wonder, and rose to meet them, saying: 'Welcome, young ladies!'

The first of them bowed to him and said: 'Good sir, my lady the queen sends you greetings, and commands all her people to acknowledge you as their rightful lord. I shall be the first to offer you my service in all faithfulness, and these girls here all hold you as their lord and have long desired your coming. They're overjoyed to see you, the finest of all worthy men.'

And with that they all knelt before him, vowing to serve and honour him. Then the girl said: 'My lady sends you this gown to don before she sees you, for she thinks you'll have suffered great toil and hardship. So put it on and see if it fits you: wise men guard against the cold after being hot, for it endangers and benumbs the blood.'

And Sir Gawain replied, like the most courteous knight in the world: 'May that Lord in whom no good thing is lacking guard my lady the queen - and guard you, too, for speaking so kindly and being so courteous and fair. Give her my deepest thanks.'

'I shall, sir,' said the girl, 'most willingly. In the meantime put on this gown and enjoy the view from the windows; or if you like, climb the tower and look at the forests and meadows and rivers until I return.'

With that the girls turned away; and Sir Gawain donned the gown, which was rich indeed, all lined with ermine, and set off with his host to survey the land. They climbed a spiral staircase at the side of the vaulted hall, until they reached the top of the tower and saw the country all around, fairer than any man could describe. Sir Gawain gazed at the river and the meadowlands and the forests, teeming with game, and turned to his host and said: 'By God, I'd love to live here and go hunting in those forests!'

'Sir,' said the pilot, 'you'd better say no more of that. For it was decreed that whoever came to be lord and protector here would never be able to leave this house. So it's no good talking of hunting, for this is where you stay: you'll never leave here again.'

'Silence, host!' he cried. 'You'll drive me out of my mind! I tell you, if I couldn't go out when I wanted I could no more live here for seven days than for seven score years!'

And with that he came down from the tower and back into the hall. Lost in anger and vexation, he sat down on the bed again, crestfallen, until the girl who had been there earlier returned. When Sir Gawain saw her he rose to meet her, angry as he was, and greeted her. She saw that his countenance had changed, and realised that something had disturbed him. But she did not dare refer to it; instead she said:

'Sir, whenever you wish my lady will come and see you. And dinner is ready now, and you may eat.'

Sir Gawain replied: 'I've no wish for food. A curse upon my body if I eat or make merry before I hear news I badly need.'

The girl returned at once in consternation, and the queen summoned her and asked her for news, saying: 'Dear granddaughter, how did you find the good lord whom God has sent us?'

'Oh, my lady, honoured queen, I'm dying of grief for the good, kind-hearted lord; for the only words he'll utter are of anger and rage. When I first saw him I found him so polite and fair of speech that one could never tire of listening to his words or gazing at his joyful face. Now suddenly he's changed and would gladly be dead, I think.'

'Don't worry, granddaughter. He'll soon calm down when he sees me. However great his rage may be, I'll cast it out and set joy in its place.'

So saying, the queen came to the hall, accompanied by the other queen, her daughter, who was only too pleased to go; and with them they took a good 250 girls and at least as many squires. As soon as Sir Gawain saw her coming, holding her daughter by the hand, his heart told him that she was the queen, guessing with ease by her white tresses which hung down to her hips, and by the white mottled silk she wore, finely embroidered with golden flowers. He was not slow to go and meet her, and he greeted her, and she him. And she said:

'I am lady of this palace, sir, second to you. I yield the lordship to you, for you've well deserved it. But are you of King Arthur's household?'

'Yes indeed, lady.'

'And are you one of the Round Table, who are the most esteemed in all the world?'

'Lady,' he said, 'I wouldn't dare to say I'm one of the most esteemed; I don't consider myself one of the finest, nor do I think I'm one of the worst.'

'That is a most courteous reply, good sir. But tell me now of King Lot: how many sons did he have by his wife?'

'Four, my lady.'

'Tell me their names.'

'Gawain was the eldest, lady, and the next was Engrevain, the proud one with strong hands; the other two are named Gaheriet and Guerrehet.'

And the queen said: 'Those were indeed their names. I would to God they were all together here with us! But tell me now, do you know King Urien?'

'Yes, lady.'

'Has he a son at court?'

'Yes, lady, he has two, of great renown: one of them is named Sir Yvain, the courteous and polite. I'm happier all day if I see him in the morning, for I find him so wise and generous. The other is also called Yvain, but he's not his full brother: that's why he's called the Bastard. He outfights any knight who does battle with him. They're both at court, and are most worthy, wise and courteous knights.'

'And King Arthur, good sir,' she said, 'how is he faring now?'

'Better than ever: in finer health and spirits, and stronger.'

'In faith, sir, that's as it should be, for King Arthur is a child: why, he's surely no more than a hundred years old - no, he can't be. But I'd like you to tell me just one thing more, if you will: how is the queen, how is she faring?'

'Truly, lady, she's so courteous and beautiful and wise that God never made so fair a lady. There has never been a lady of such renown since God made the first woman from Adam's rib. And she's justly renowned: all goodness stems and passes down from her. No man does any good or honourable deed who hasn't learned it from my lady. No man, however unhappy, leaves her with his grief intact.'

'Nor will you, sir, leave me so.'

'I believe you, lady,' he said, 'for before I saw you I didn't care what happened to me, such was my despair and grief. But now I'm as happy as I could ever be.'

'In the name of God who gave me life,' said the queen with the white tresses, 'your happiness will double yet, and your joy will increase constantly and never fail. And since you're now at ease and happy, dinner is ready, and you may eat whenever you wish and wherever you like.'

'Lady, has any knight dined here in this hall before?'

'No, sir, none that ever left again or stayed alive so much as half an hour.'

'Then I shall dine here, my lady, by your leave.'

'I grant you that, sir, willingly. You shall be the first knight who has ever dined here.'

With that the queen departed, leaving 250 of her most beautiful girls with him. They dined there with him in the hall, and served him and ensured his comfort, providing for his every wish. And squires served him joyfully at dinner; two knelt before him, one of them cutting meat for him and the other pouring wine. Sir Gawain seated his host at his side. And the dinner was not short: it was deep black night and many great torches were burning before the meal was over. There was lively conversation all the while, and afterwards much dancing before they took to their beds, as they rejoiced with all their hearts for their lord whom they dearly loved.

And when he decided to retire he lay down on the Bed of Marvels. Beneath his head one of the girls placed a pillow, which made him sleep most peacefully.

When the time came to wake next morning, a gown of ermine and samite had been prepared for him, and the pilot came and roused him, and arranged his dressing and washed his hands. And Clarissant was there, too, the fair, honourable, wise and courteous granddaughter of the queen. And when she went into her grandmother's chambers, the queen asked her: 'Has your lord risen yet?'

'Yes, lady,' she said, 'some while ago.'

'Where is he, dear granddaughter?'

'He went to the tower, my lady; I don't know if he's come down yet.'

'Granddaughter, I shall go to him; and if it please God, he shall have only joy and happiness today.'

With that the queen rose, anxious to go and see Gawain, and she and her daughter found him high up at the windows of a tower, watching a girl and a fully armed knight riding across a meadow. The two queens came, side by side, to where Sir Gawain was standing with his host.

'Sir,' said the queens together, 'a happy rising. May that glorious Father who made His daughter His mother grant you a good day.'

'May the one who sent His son to Earth grant you joy, lady. But come to this window if you will, and tell me who that girl can be who's riding this way: there's a knight with her, carrying a quartered shield.'

The lady, looking down at them, said: 'It's the one who accompanied you here last night - may an evil fire consume her! But don't concern yourself with her - she's an arrogant and wicked woman. And forget about the knight she's brought with her. He doesn't fight for amusement's sake: I've seen him kill many knights at this landing-place.'

'Lady,' said Sir Gawain, 'I wish to go and speak to the girl, by your leave.'

'No, sir! Leave her to her own affairs - she's a terrible girl! Please God, you'll never leave this hall for such a pointless cause. And you must never leave here at all, unless you wish to do us wrong.'

'Oh, come now! That distresses me! I'd think myself ill-rewarded if I could never leave. God keep me from being a prisoner here!'

'Lady,' said the pilot, 'let him do as he wishes. Don't hold him back against his will or he might die of grief.'

'Then I'll let him go,' said the queen, 'on condition that, if God guards him from death, he'll return here tonight.'

'Have no fear, lady,' said Gawain. 'I'll return if I can. But I beg a favour of you: please don't ask my name until seven days have passed.'

'If that's your wish, sir, I'll refrain from asking,' said the queen, 'though if you hadn't forbidden it, your name would have been the first thing I'd have asked you.'

And so they came down from the tower, and squires came running to arm him. Then they fetched his horse and he mounted, fully armed, and rode down to the landing-place accompanied by the pilot, and they both climbed into the boat. Oarsmen rowed them from the bank and across to the other side, and Sir Gawain stepped forth.

The other knight said to the pitiless girl: 'Tell me, my dear, this knight coming towards us - do you know him?'

'No,' the girl replied, 'but I know he's the one who brought me here last night.'

'God save me,' he said, 'he's the very man I've been looking for! I was afraid he'd escaped me, for no knight crosses the border of Galvoie to boast that he's passed through this land!'

Thereupon the knight, without a challenge, set his shield on his arm, thrust in his spurs and charged. And Sir Gawain headed for him and struck him such a blow that he wounded him gravely in the arm and side; but it was not a mortal wound, for his mail-coat held together so well that the lance-head could not fully break through; but a finger's length of the tip pierced his body and bore him to the ground. He climbed to his feet and saw, to his dismay, the blood flowing down his hauberk. He attacked Sir Gawain with his sword, but he was soon so tired that he could hold out no longer and had to cry for mercy. Sir Gawain received his assurances, and then handed him to the waiting pilot.

Meanwhile the evil girl had climbed from her palfrey. Gawain came up to her and greeted her, and said: 'Remount, dear friend, for I'm not going to leave you here. You're coming with me across the river.'

'Oh, knight!' she cried. 'How high and mighty you are now! You'd have had a battle on your hands if he hadn't been tired by old wounds of his. He'd have put an end to your lies and silenced your prattling tongue. Have you ever been checkmated in the corner of the board? That's how silent you'd have been! Do you really think you're of greater worth than he? The best man doesn't always win! But listen: if you left this landing-place and came with me beneath that tree, and did something that he did for me when I desired, then I'd admit you were his equal, and wouldn't despise you any more.'

'If it's only that far, girl,' he said, 'I've no reason to refuse your wish.'

And she whispered: 'God grant you never return from there.'

And with that they set off, she in front and he behind. And the girls and ladies in the hall tore their hair and rent their gowns in dismay, crying: 'Oh, alas! Alas! Why do we not die, when we see our lord going to his death? That evil girl goes at his right hand, leading him to the place from where no knight returns! Alas! We're accursed just when we thought our luck was blessed!'

The girl and Sir Gawain arrived at the tree.

'Tell me now,' he said, 'have I done my duty, or do you want me to do something more? I'll do it if I can, rather than lose your favour.'

And she replied: 'Do you see that ford, where the banks are so high? My love used to cross there, and I don't know any lower spot.'

'Dear girl, that's impossible; the bank's too high at every point.'

'You're afraid!' cried the girl. 'I didn't think you'd have the heart to try, for this is the Perilous Ford, which no-one dares cross on any account, unless he's exceptional.'

Sir Gawain instantly rode his horse to the bank. He saw the deep water below and the sheer bank beyond; but the river was narrow enough, and Sir Gawain felt Gringalet had cleared many greater ditches; and he had often heard that whoever could cross the deep water of the Perilous Ford would be renowned as the finest knight in the world. So he drew his horse away from the river and came galloping back to leap across; but he failed, for he didn't take the jump well, and came down in the middle of the ford. But Gringalet swam on until he got all four hooves on land, and gathering himself for a mighty leap he launched himself on to the great, high bank. Once there, he stood stock still, unable to go another step, and Sir Gawain dismounted of necessity, for he saw that Gringalet was exhausted. He decided to take off his saddle, and turned it upside down to dry. Then he removed the saddle-cloth and wiped the water from Gringalet's back and flanks and legs.

After a good rest he put the saddle on again and mounted once more, and rode on at a walk until he caught sight of a knight out hunting with a sparrowhawk; and in the field before him were two small retrievers. The knight was more handsome than any tongue could tell. Sir Gawain rode up and greeted him and said:

'Good sir, may God who made you fairer than any living man give you joy and good fortune.'

And the knight was quick to reply: 'You are the fair one, sir, and good and worthy. But tell me, how did you come to leave the evil girl alone over there? What happened to her companion?'

'Sir,' replied Sir Gawain, 'a knight with a quartered shield was with her when I met her, but I defeated him in combat.'

'And what became of him then?'

'The pilot took him away, for he said he should be his prisoner.'

'True enough. That girl was once my love, but she would never deign to call me her sweetheart. And I promise you, I never kissed her except by force, and never had my way with her for I loved her against her will. I had robbed her of a love of hers whose company she used to share; I killed him and led her off and strove in every way to serve her. But my service was fruitless, for she sought the chance to leave me as soon as she could, and took for her love the knight you've just vanquished. And he's no joke, that knight! Today you've done something that no knight has ever dared do; and your valour has made you the finest and most praised knight in the world. It took the greatest courage to leap into the Perilous Ford, and I tell you truly, no knight has ever come through it before.'

'Then the girl lied to me, sir,' said Sir Gawain. 'She said her sweetheart crossed it every day out of love for her.'

'She told you that? She must be possessed by a host of demons! That devil - God confound her! - meant to drown you in the deep and roaring water. But promise me something now: that you'll tell me truthfully all I wish to know, and in return I'll promise to tell you the truth about anything you ask me.'

They exchanged these promises, and Sir Gawain was the first to start questioning, saying: 'Tell me about the city I can see over there: who does it belong to, and what's it called?'

'I can certainly tell you that, friend, for it belongs to me entirely: I owe no part of it to any man born - I'm vassal to God alone. It's called Orqueneseles.'

'And what's your name?'

'Guiromelant.'

'I've often heard that you're most worthy and valiant, and lord of a very great land. And what's the name of the girl of whom no-one has a good word to say?'

'I can assure you, sir, she's greatly to be feared, for she's full of scorn and evil. That's why she's called the Haughty Maiden of Nogres - her birthplace.'

'And who is her love who's gone to be the pilot's prisoner?'

'He's an extraordinary knight, and he's known as the Proud Knight of the Narrow Pass; he guards the border of Galvoie.'

'And what's the name of the handsome castle where I ate and drank last night?'

At that Guiromelant turned his back in sorrow and began to move away. But Sir Gawain reminded him: 'Sir, sir, remember our promise and tell me.'

Guiromelant stopped and turned his head, and said: 'Be gone; I declare you free of your promise, and you absolve me of mine. I'd planned to ask you news from there, but it seems you know as much about that castle as you do about the moon.'

'I stayed there last night,' said Gawain, 'and lay upon the Bed of Marvels. There's none like it in the world; no man has ever seen its equal.'

'By God,' he replied, 'it's great fun listening to your fantasies: like being entertained by a storyteller! I see it now - you're a minstrel! Why, I thought you were a knight and had done some feat of prowess yonder! Come now, tell me truly: what did you see at the castle?'

And Sir Gawain told him: 'Sir, the moment I sat upon the bed there was a great commotion in the hall. Without a word of a lie, the bed-cords groaned and the bells upon them rang, and closed windows opened by themselves and crossbow-bolts and smooth arrows smashed into my shield. And in it were stuck the claws of a huge, bristling lion that had been chained in a vault: it leaped at me and struck at my shield and plunged in its claws so hard that it couldn't pull them free. If you doubt my words, look: the claws are still hanging here! I cut off its head, thanks be to God, and its feet, too. What do you think of these marks of proof?'

With that, Guiromelant jumped from his horse and went down on his knees and clasped his hands together, and begged Gawain to forgive his foolish words.

'I forgive you,' he said. 'Remount now.'

And Guiromelant did so, filled with shame for his foolishness, and said: 'God save me, sir, I didn't think any knight would ever have the honour that's befallen you. But tell me, did you see the white-haired queen? Did you ask her who she was and where she was from?'

'I never thought to ask her that,' he replied, 'but I saw her and spoke to her.'

'Then I'll tell you,' said Guiromelant. 'She's King Arthur's mother.'

'By God and His power, King Arthur's not had a mother for sixty years or more!'

'But it's true, sir: she's his mother. When his father Uther Pendragon was buried Queen Ygerne came to this country, bringing all her treasure, and built that castle on the rock with its rich and beautiful hall. You doubtless saw the other lady, too, the other queen.'

'Indeed I did,' said Sir Gawain.

'She was the wife of King Lot and the mother of the one whom I wish every misfortune.'

'Who's that, sir?'

'Sir Gawain.'

'Indeed? I know Gawain well, and I've heard he's not had a mother for at least twenty years.'

'But she's his mother, you may be sure. And when she came here she was with child; the child was the noble and beautiful girl who is my love and, sad to say, the sister of Gawain - may God bring him the deepest shame! I swear he wouldn't escape with his head if he was within my reach as you are now: I'd behead him on the spot! And his sister herself couldn't stop me tearing his heart from his chest with my bare hands - I hate him so much!'

'Upon my soul,' said Sir Gawain, 'if I loved a girl, then for her sake I'd love and serve all her family.'

'You're right, but when I remember how Gawain's father killed mine, I can't feel any goodwill towards him; and Gawain himself killed one of my closest cousins, a valiant and worthy knight, and I've never had the chance to take revenge. But do this favour for me now: return to the castle and take this ring to my love and present it to her as a gift from me; and tell her I believe her love for me is such that she'd rather her brother Gawain died a foul death than that I should hurt my smallest toe! Send my love my greetings and give her this ring from me, her sweetheart.' Sir Gawain set the ring on his little finger, and Guiromelant said: 'In return I'll tell you the name of that castle, as you asked: it's called the Rock of Canguin. Do you wish to ask me anything else?'

'No, sir, only that I may leave.'

Then Guiromelant said: 'Before you go, sir, tell me your name if you don't mind.'

And Sir Gawain said: 'Before God, my name shall never be kept from you. I am the one you hate so much. I am Gawain.'

'You are Gawain?'

'Yes, truly, the nephew of King Arthur.'

'Then you're very brave or very foolish to tell me your name when you know I hate you mortally! If only I had my helmet and shield! If I were armed as you are I'd cut your head off instantly - nothing would stop me! But if you dare to wait for me I'll fetch my arms and return to do battle with you, and bring three or four men to watch our combat. Or if you wish, we'll wait for seven days, and on the seventh we'll return here fully armed; and you will summon the king and the queen and all their people, and I shall assemble all the knights from my kingdom. Then our battle won't be fought in secret: all who come will witness it. For a battle between such worthy men as we are deemed to be shouldn't be fought without witnesses; it's only right that ladies and knights should be present, for when one of us is vanquished and everybody knows of it, the victor will have a thousand times more honour than if he alone knew.'

'Sir,' said Sir Gawain, 'I'd gladly do without all this. If I've done you any wrong I'll willingly make amends acceptable both to your friends and mine, so that all is just and fair.'

But Guiromelant said: 'I can't think what justice there can be if you won't do battle with me! I've suggested two courses of action; now choose which one you like: either wait for me here, if you dare, while I go and fetch my arms, or summon all the people of your land to come here in seven days. At Pentecost

King Arthur will be holding court at Orquenie, I'm told, which is only two days' ride from here.'

And Sir Gawain replied: 'Then God save me, I swear by this hand that I'll send him word before I sleep a wink.'

'Gawain,' he said, 'I'm going to take you to the finest bridge in the world. This river's very deep and swift, and no man alive could cross it or jump to the other bank.'

But Sir Gawain replied: 'I'm not going to seek any bridge, for the treacherous girl will think it cowardice. No, I'll keep my promise to her and go straight across.'

Without another word he thrust in his spurs and his horse leaped nimbly across the water; and when the girl who had so misled him saw him coming, she tethered her horse to the tree and came towards him on foot. And her heart and will had now changed, for she greeted him in all humility, and said that she had come to plead for mercy, admitting her guilt, for she knew she had made him suffer greatly.

'Good sir,' she said, 'listen now, and I'll tell you why I've been so haughty towards all the knights who've come to share my company. That knight - God damn him! - who was talking to you on the other bank, he ill-bestowed his love on me: I hated him - he'd caused me great pain by killing the knight I adored. Then he thought to woo me; but his efforts were vain, for at the first opportunity I escaped from him and joined company with the one from whom you took me today. Losing him doesn't bother me at all, but ever since death took my first love from me I've been mad and spoken haughtily and acted wickedly; I didn't care who I crossed - I tormented them deliberately, because I wanted to find one whose temper was such that I could drive him and anger him into cutting me to pieces, for I've yearned for death for a long time. Mete out justice now, sir; such justice that no girl who ever hears of me will dare speak shamefully to a knight again!'

'Dear girl,' said Sir Gawain, 'why should I punish you? God forbid that you suffer any harm from me. Mount now, without delay, and we'll go back to the castle. The boatman's at the landing-place, waiting to ferry us across.'

'I'll do exactly as you wish, sir,' said the girl.

Then she climbed into the saddle of her little palfrey with its long mane; and they rode down to the pilot, who ferried them across the river without the slightest trouble.

The ladies and girls, who had been lamenting bitterly for him, saw them coming. All the squires at the hall, too, had been out of their minds with grief. But now their rejoicing was the greatest ever seen. The queen was awaiting him outside the hall, and had commanded all the girls to take each other by the hand and to dance and celebrate. And so they began their rejoicing to greet Sir Gawain, singing and dancing all around, and he came and dismounted in their midst. The ladies and girls and both the queens embraced him joyfully, and the girl he had brought was greeted with joy, as well: everyone served her willingly - but for his sake, not for hers. They went then to the hall and all sat down. Sir

Gawain took his sister and seated her beside him on the Bed of Marvels, and whispered to her softly:

'I bring you a golden ring from across the river, mounted with a brilliant green emerald. A knight sends it to you as a love-token.'

'I believe it, sir,' she said. 'But if I love him at all it's from a distance, for he's never seen me, nor I him, except from across the river.'

'Oh! He's boasting that you'd rather your brother Sir Gawain were dead than that he had hurt his toe!'

'What! How could he say such a foolish thing? My brother doesn't even know I'm born, and has never seen me. Guiromelant's quite wrong: by my soul, I wouldn't have my brother harmed, any more than myself.'

While they were talking together, the aged queen said to the other queen, her daughter, who was seated beside her: 'What do you make of the lord sitting next to my granddaughter? He's been whispering to her for a long while; and I'm delighted, as we both should be: it's a mark of great nobility that he's drawn to the fairest and wisest in the hall! I wish to God he'd married her, and that she was as pleasing to him as Lavinia to Aeneas!'

'Oh, lady,' said the other queen, 'may God so incline his heart that they may be like brother and sister; that he may love her so dearly, and she him, that they may be as one flesh.'

The lady meant by her prayer that Gawain should love her and take her for his wife; she had not recognised her son.

Sir Gawain spoke with his beautiful sister for a long time; then he called to the boy who seemed the brightest and most able of all the squires in the hall, and went down to a chamber, taking only the boy with him. There Sir Gawain said to him: 'I'm going to tell you a secret, and I advise you to keep it: you'll profit greatly if you do. I'm going to send you to a place where you'll be received with joy.'

'Sir, my tongue will be torn from my throat before a single word you want hidden escapes my lips.'

'Then, brother,' said Sir Gawain, 'you're to go to my lord King Arthur - for I'm his nephew, Gawain. The way is neither long nor hard, for the king has established court for Pentecost at the city of Orquenie. When you come before the king you'll find him in low spirits; but when you give him my greetings he and all the court will be filled with joy. You're to tell the king that, since he's my lord and I'm his vassal, he mustn't fail to appear before me in the meadow below this castle on the fifth day of the feast of Pentecost. And he's to bring all the company that has gathered at his court, nobility and common folk alike, for I'm committed to battle with a knight, Guiromelant, who hates me mortally. You're to tell the queen, too, that she must come for my sake, and bring all the girls and ladies who are at court that day. But one thing worries me: have you a good hunting-horse to take you there swiftly?'

The boy replied that there was a fine one, sturdy, fast and strong, that he could take for his use.

'Excellent!' said Sir Gawain.

The boy took him quickly down to the stables and led out some strong, well-rested hunting-horses, one of which was ready to ride and travel, for he had had it newly shod, and it lacked neither saddle nor bridle.

'Go now, boy,' said Sir Gawain, 'and may the lord of all kings be your guide.'

So he sent the boy on his way, and led him down to the river where he told the pilot to ferry him across, and the boy was soon on the right road for the city of Orquenie.