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Paul Edmund Norman's Monthly Online Literary Magazine ~ July 2005 Issue No. 81
KING ARTHUR'S KNIGHTS
by Henry Gilbert
V: The Deeds of Sir Geraint II
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Thereupon they proceeded on
their way to the court of King Arthur, and what had seemed a long journey to
Geraint when he had followed Sir Edern, now seemed too short, for he and the
maid Enid passed it in much pleasant converse.
Towards evening they arrived at Caerleon-upon-Usk, and Queen Gwenevere received
Sir Geraint with great welcome, calling him "her glorious knight and
champion," and telling him that Sir Edern had yielded himself into her
hands to do such atonement as seemed fitting, when he should have recovered
from his wounds.
At the beauty of the maid Enid all the court marvelled; and the queen hastened
to clothe her in robes of satin, rich and rare, with gold upon her hair and
about her throat. And when she was so dressed, all were glad that one of so
sweet a dignity and rare a beauty had come among them.
King Arthur gave her to Sir Geraint with many rich gifts, and Enid and Geraint
were married in the abbey church, and the court gave itself up to feasting and
sport, and acclaimed her one of the three most lovely ladies in all the isle of
Britain.
When a year had passed in great happiness, ambassadors came from King Erbin of
Comwall, with a request to King Arthur that he should let Sir Geraint go home
to his father.
"For," said the messengers, "King Erbin waxes old and feeble,
and the more he ageth the more insolent and daring are the barons and lords on
his marches, trying to wrest parts of his lands to add to their own.
Therefore," said they, "the king begs you to let his son Sir Geraint
return home, so that, knowing the fame of the strength of his arm and his
prowess, the turbulent lords would desist, and if they would not, Sir Geraint
would hurl them from his boundaries."
King Arthur, though very reluctant to let so great an ornament of his court
depart, let him go, and Geraint and Enid went with a great party of the best
knights of the Round Table, and rode to the Severn Shore, and there took ship
to the shores of Cornwall.
When they reached there, all the people came from their villages welcoming Sir
Geraint and his lovely bride, for the fame of his prowess, and the way in which
he had won his wife, had spread over all the land. And King Erbin welcomed his
son and was glad of his coming, and the next day all the chief subjects, the
lords and barons holding land or offices, and the chief tenants of common
degree, came into the hall, and, kneeling before Sir Geraint, did honour to him
and swore fealty.
Then, with a great company of his chief warriors, Sir Geraint visited all the
bounds of his territory. Experienced guides went with him, and old men learned
in the marks of the boundaries, and priests, and they renewed the mere-marks
that were broken down, and replaced those which had been wrongfully moved.
Thereafter men lived peacefully in the land, and on all the borders, for under
the shadow of the strong young chief no border lords dared to invade the land,
and no fierce baron used oppression.
Then, as had been his wont at the court of Arthur, Sir Geraint went to all
tournaments that were held within easy reach of his kingdom. Thus he became
acquainted with every mighty knight of his hands throughout the lands of
Cornwall, Wales, and Logres; and so great in strength and prowess did he become
that men hailed him as one of the Three Great Heroes of the Isle of Britain;
the other two being Sir Lancelot du Lake and Sir Tristram of Lyones. And though
there were other great and valiant warriors, as Sir Lamorake, Sir Bors, Sir
Gawaine and his brother Sir Gareth, and Sir Palomides, yet all these had been
overcome by one or other of the three heroes. For as yet Sir Perceval was in
the forest with his widowed mother, and knew no arms but a stone or a stick;
and Sir Galahad was not yet born. And these two were knights stainless of pride
or any evil desire, and by that force alone did strike down every arm, however
mighty, that relied on knightly prowess alone.
When his fame had spread over all the kingdoms south of Trent, so that no
knight that knew him or saw the device of the golden falcon on his shield would
have to do with him, Sir Geraint began to seek ease and pleasure, for there was
no one who would joust with him. He began to stay at home and never went beyond
his wife's bower-chamber, but sat and delighted in playing chess, or hearing
the bards of the court sing songs of glamour and wizardry, or tell him tales of
ancient warriors and lovers, long since dead.
The whole court marvelled at his slothfulness as time passed and he changed
not. He gave up the friendship of his nobles, and went not hunting or hawking;
and found no pleasure but in the company of his wife, whom he dearIy loved.
Men began to scoff and jeer at his name over their cups in hall, or as they rode
with hawk on fist to the hunting, or as they tilted in the lists. And the
lawless lords upon the marches of the land began to stir and to dare, and when
none came to punish them, their plunderings and oppressions grew.
Soon these things came to the ears of the old King Erbin, and great heaviness
was upon him. And he called the Lady Enid to him one day, and with stern sorrow
in his eyes spoke thus:
"Fair woman, is it thou that hast turned my son's spirit into water? Is it
thy love that hath made his name a byword among those who should love him
because he is not as he once was - a man no one could meet in arms and
overcome? Is it thou that hath sunk him in slothfulness, so that the wolfish
lords and tyrant barons upon his marchlands begin to creep out of their
castle-holds, and tear and maim his people and wrest from them and him broad
lands and fertile fields?"
"Nay, lord, nay," said Enid, and he knew from the tears in her brave
eyes that she spoke the truth. "It is not I, by my confession unto heaven!
I know not what hath come to my dear lord. But there is nothing more hateful to
me than his unknightly sloth! And I know not what I may do. For it is not
harder, lord, to know what men say of my dear husband, than to have to tell
him, and see the shame in the eyes of him I love."
And Enid went away weeping sorely.
The next morning, when Enid awoke from sleep, she sat up and looked at Geraint
sleeping. The sun was shining through the windows, and lay upon her husband.
And she gazed upon his marvellous beauty, and the great muscles of his arms and
breast, and tears filled her eyes as she leaned over him.
"Alas," she said half aloud, "am I the cause that this strength,
this noble and manly beauty, have all lost the fame they once enjoyed? Am I the
cause that he hath sunk in sloth, and men scoff at his name and his
strength?"
And the words were heard by Geraint, and he felt the scalding tears fall upon
his breast, and he lay appearing to be asleep, yet he was awake. A great rage
burned in him, so that for some moments he knew not what to do or say.
Then he opened his eyes as if he had heard and felt nothing, and in his eyes
was a hard gleam. He rose and swiftly dressed, and called his squire.
"Go," he said to the man, "prepare my destrier, and get old
armour and a shield with no device thereon, old and rusty. And say naught to
none.
"And do thou," he said to his wife, "rise and apparel thyself,
and cause thy horse to be prepared, and do thou wear the oldest riding-robe
thou hast. And thou wilt come with me."
So Enid arose and clothed herself in her meanest garments.
Then Geraint went to his father and said, "Sir, I am going upon a quest
into the land of Logres, and I do not know when I may return. Do thou therefore
keep our kingdom till I return."
"I will do so, my son," said Erbin, "but thou art not strong
enough to go through the land of Logres alone. Wilt thou not have a company
with thee?"
"But one person shall go with me," said Geraint, "and that is a
woman. Farewell."
Then he put on the old and rusty suit of armour, and took the shield with no
device, and a sword and a lance, and then mounting his horse he took his way
out of the town. And Enid went before him on her palfrey, marvelling what all
this might mean.
Geraint called unto her and said sternly:
"Go thou and ride a long way before me. And whatever ye see or hear
concerning me, say naught, and turn not back. And unless I speak to thee, speak
not thou to me."
All day they rode thus, and deeper and deeper they sank into a desolate land,
where huge rocks jutted from the starved soil, and there was no sound or sight
of living thing, except it was the wolf looking from his lair beneath a stone,
or the breaking of a branch, as the brown bear on a distant hillslope tore at a
tree to get a honeycomb, and blinked down at them, marvelling, maybe, to see a
knight and a lady in his desolate domain.
When, late in the afternoon, their long shadows marched before them down a
broad green road which they had struck upon, Enid's heart suddenly lifted to
see the white walls and roofs of what looked like a rich town for she knew not
what was in her lord's mind, and feared lest his strange anger should push him
to go on through the night, and so become a prey to robbers or wild animals.
But she marvelled that there was no sight or sound of people; no carters or
travellers going to or coming from the city, and no smoke rising above the
housetops.
When they came nearer, she saw the wall of the gate was broken down, and that
along the broad road beyond the wall the grass waved high across the street,
and the little wooden booths and cabins beside the road were rotting and
decayed. Anon they rode into a broad market-place or forum, where white
buildings rose above them, the windows gaping, grass growing on the roofs or in
the crannies of the walls, and the doorways choked with bushes. And out of the
broad hallway of the basilica she saw the grey form of a wolf walk and slink
away in the shadows.
With a sinking heart she knew that this was one of the fair cities which the
Romans had built, and when they had left Britain this town had been deserted
and left desolate, to become a place where the wolf and the bear made their
lairs, where the beaver built his dam in the stream beneath the wall of the
palace, and where robbers and wild men lay hid, or the small people of the
hills came and made their magic and weaved their spers, with the aid of the
spirits haunting the desolate hearths of the Romans.
And as Enid checked her horse and waited for Geraint to come up, that she might
ask him whether it was his pleasure to pass the night there, she saw, down the
wide street before her, the forms of men, creeping and gathering in the gloom.
Then, fearing lest they should fall upon her husband before he was aware of
them, she turned her horse and rode towards him and said:
"Lord, dost thou see the wild men which gather in the shadows there in the
street before us, as if they would attack thee?"
Geraint lifted up his angry eyes to hers:
"Thou wert bid to keep silent," he said, "whatsoever thou hast
seen or heard. Why dost thou warn one whom thou dost despise?"
Even
as he spoke, from the broken houses through which they had crept to assail the
single knight, dashed ten robbers, naked of feet, evil of look, clothed in
skins. One leaped at the knight with a knife in his hand, to be cut down,
halfway in his spring, by Sir Geraint's fierce sword-stroke. Then, while Enid
stood apart, terror in her heart, prayer on her lips, she saw him as if he were
in the midst of a pack of tearing wolves, and in the silent street with its
twilight was the sudden clash of steel, the howls and cries of wounded men.
Then she was aware that six lay quiet on the road, and the remaining four broke
suddenly away towards the shelter of the houses. But two of these Sir Geraint
pursued, and cut down before they could reach cover.
He rejoined her in silence and sought for a place of lodging, and in a small
villa they found a room with but one door. Here they supped from the scrip of
food and the bottle of wine which Enid had brought, and there they slept that
night.
On the morrow they pursued their way, and followed the green road out of the
ruined city until they reached the forest. And in the heat and brightness of
the high noon the green and coolness of the forestways were sweet, and the sound
of tiny streams hidden beneath the leaves was refreshing.
Then they came upon a plain where was a village surrounded by a bank of earth,
on which was a palisade. And there was a wailing and weeping coming from
between the little mud-cabins therein; and as they approached they saw in the
middle green four knights in armour and a crowd of poor frightened folk about
them.
As they passed the gate of the village a poor man ran from the group, and threw
himself before Sir Geraint.
"O sir knight," he cried full piteously, "if thou art a good
knight and a brave, do thou see justice done here. For these four lords would
cut my father's throat if he say not where his money is hid."
"Are they his proper lords?" asked Geraint.
"Nay, sir knight," said the man. "Our land is Geraint's, and
these lords say that he sleeps all day, and so they will be our masters. And
they do ever oppress us with fine and tax and torture."
Therewith Sir Geraint rode through the gate of the village and approached the
group. He saw where the four knights stood cruelly torturing a poor old man
whom they had tied to a post, and the sweat stood upon the peasant's white
face, and the fear of death was in his eyes.
"Lords! lords!" he cried in a spent voice, "I have no money, for
you did take all I had when you told us our lord Geraint was become a court
fool."
"Thou miser!" jeered one of the knights, "that was two months
agone, and thou hast something more by now. Will this loose thy secret,
carrion?"
At the cruel torture the man shrieked aloud and by reason of the pain his head
sank and he slid down the post in a swoon. And a young woman rushed forth,
threw her arm about the hanging body, and with flashing eyes turned and defied
the knights.
Next moment it would have gone ill with her, but the voice of Sir Geraint rang
out.
"Ho, there, sir knights," he cried, "or sir wolves - I know not
which ye are - have ye naught to do but to squeeze poor peasants of mean
savings?"
The knights turned in rage, and Iaughed and sneered when they saw but one
solitary knight in old and rusty armour.
" Ah, sir scarecrow!" cried one, leaping on his horse, "I will
spit thee for thy insolence."
"Knock him down and truss him up with this starveling peasant," cried
another.
All now had mounted, and the first prepared to run at Sir Geraint, who backed
his horse through the gateway into the open plain. Anon the first knight came,
hurling himself angrily upon him. But deftly Sir Geraint struck the other's
lance aside with his sword, and as the rider rushed past him, he rose in his
stirrups, his blade flashed, and then sank in the neck of the felon knight, who
swayed in his saddle and then crashed to the ground.
Then the second horseman attacked him furiously, being wroth at the death of
his companion. But Sir Geraint couched his lance, and caught the other on the
edge of his shield, and the spear passed through his body.
And by good hap also he slew the other two, one with his lance, the other with
his sword on foot.
Enid, full of fear while the fight was raging, felt gladness and sorrow when
she saw how nobly her husband had smitten these torturers with justice, and she
said that of a truth she had been wrong, and that there was no sloth in his
heart, no weakness in the strong arm of her lord.
Then Sir Geraint took off the armour from each of the four knights and piled
them on their horses, and tied them tokether, and bade her drive them before
her. "And do thou go forward some way," said he sternly, "and
say not one word to me unless I speak first unto thee.
As he mounted his horse, the man that had been tortured came forward with his
people, and knelt before him, and kissed the mail-clad shoe in his stirrup, and
in rude few words they thanked him tearfully, asking for his name, so that they
could speak of him in their prayers.
"I am called Sir Slothful," said Sir Geraint, "and I deserve not
your worship. But, hark ye, if other evil lords come upon these marches and
seek to oppress thee, tell them that though Sir Geraint sleeps now, he will
soon awake and they shall not stand before his vengeance."
And so he rode on, leaving the poor folks marvelling but happy.
Then in a little while they came upon a highroad, and the lady went on first,
and for all his anger, Geraint was sorry to see how much trouble Enid had in
driving the four horses before her, yet how patient she was.
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