<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></SPAN>CHAPTER XX</h2>
<h3>GERAINT AND ENID</h3>
<p>Geraint and the fair Enid abode more than a year at Arthur's court;
Enid winning daily more and more the love of all by her gentleness
and goodness, and Geraint being ever amongst the foremost in the
tournament. But presently there came word of robber raids upon the
borders of Devon; wherefore the Prince craved leave of Arthur to
return to his own land, there to put down wrong and oppression, and
maintain order and justice. And the King bade him go and secure to
every man his due.</p>
<p>So Geraint passed to his own land, Enid going with him; and soon he
had driven the oppressors from their strongholds and established
peace and order, so that the poor man dwelt in his little cot
secure in his possessions. But when all was done, and there was
none dared defy him, Geraint abode at home, neglectful of the
tournament and the chase, and all those manly exercises in which he
had once excelled, content if he had but the companionship of his
wife; so that his nobles murmured because he withdrew himself from
their society, and the common people jeered at him for a laggard.</p>
<p>Now these evil rumours came to Enid's ears, and it grieved her that
she should be the cause, however unwillingly, of her husband's
dishonour; and since she could not bring herself to speak to her
lord of what was in her heart, daily she grew more sorrowful, till
the Prince, aware of her altered demeanour, became uneasy, not
knowing its source.</p>
<p>So time went by till it chanced, one summer morning, that with the
first rays of the sun, Enid awoke from her slumbers, and, rising,
gazed upon her husband as he lay, and marvelled at his strength.
"Alas!" said she, "to be the cause that my lord suffers shame!
Surely I should find courage to tell him all, were I indeed true
wife to him!" Then, by ill chance, her tears falling upon him awoke
him, so that he heard her words, but brokenly, and seeing her weep
and hearing her accuse herself, it came into his thought that, for
all his love and care for her, she was weary of him, nay, even that
perhaps she loved him not at all. In anger and grief he called to
his squire and bade him saddle his charger and a palfrey for Enid;
and to her he said: "Put on thy meanest attire, and thou shalt ride
with me into the wilderness. It seems that I have yet to win me
fame; but before thou seest home again, thou shalt learn if indeed
I am fallen so low as thou deemest." And Enid, wondering and
troubled, answered, "I know naught of thy meaning, my lord." "Ask
me nothing," said Geraint. So sorrowfully and in silence Enid
arrayed herself, choosing for her apparel the faded robe and veil
in which first her lord had seen her.</p>
<p>Then the squire brought them their horses; but when he would have
mounted and ridden after, Geraint forbade him. And to Enid the
Prince said: "Ride before me and turn not back, no matter what thou
seest or hearest. And unless I speak to thee, say not a word to
me."</p>
<p>So they rode forward along the least frequented road till they came
to a vast forest, which they entered. There Enid, as she rode in
front, saw four armed men lurking by the road, and one said to the
other: "See, now is our opportunity to win much spoil at little
cost; for we may easily overcome this doleful knight, and take from
him his arms and lady." And Enid hearing them, was filled with fear
and doubt; for she longed to warn her lord of his danger, yet
feared to arouse his wrath, seeing he had bidden her keep silence.
Then said she to herself: "Better to anger him, even to the slaying
of me, than have the misery of seeing him perish." So she waited
till Geraint drew near, and said: "Lord, there lie in wait for thee
four men fully armed, to slay and rob thee." Then he answered her
in anger: "Did I desire thy silence or thy warning? Look, then, and
whether thou desirest my life or my death, thou shalt see that I
dread not these robbers." Then, as the foremost of the four rode
upon him, Geraint drove upon him with his spear with such force
that the weapon stood out a cubit behind him; and so he did with
the second, and the third, and the fourth. Then, dismounting from
his horse, he stripped the dead felons of their armour, bound it
upon their horses, and tying the bridle reins together, bade Enid
drive the beasts before her. "And," said he, "I charge thee, at thy
peril, speak no word to me."</p>
<p>So they went forward; and presently Enid saw how three horsemen,
well armed and well mounted, rode towards them. And one said to the
other: "Good fortune, indeed! Here are four horses and four suits
of armour for us, and but one knight to deal with; a craven too, by
the way he hangs his head." Then Enid thought within herself how
her lord was wearied with his former combat, and resolved to warn
him even at her own peril. So she waited till he was come up with
her, and said: "Lord, there be three men riding towards us, and
they promise themselves rich booty at small cost." Wrathfully spoke
Geraint: "Their words anger me less than thy disobedience"; and
immediately rushing upon the mid-most of the three knights, he bore
him from his horse; then he turned upon the other two who rode
against him at the same moment, and slew them both. As with the
former caitiffs, so now Geraint stripped the three of their armour,
bound it upon the horses, and bade Enid drive these forward with
the other four.</p>
<p>Again they rode on their way, and, for all his anger, it smote
Geraint to the heart to see the gentle lady labouring to drive
forward the seven horses. So he bade her stay, for they would go no
farther then, but rest that night as best they might in the forest;
and scarcely had they dismounted and tethered the horses before
Geraint, wearied with his encounters, fell asleep; but Enid
remained watching, lest harm should come to her lord while he
slept.</p>
<p>With the first ray of light, Geraint awoke, and his anger against
Enid was not passed; so, without more ado, he set her on her
palfrey and bade her drive the horses on in front as before,
charging her that, whatever befell, that day at least, she should
keep silence.</p>
<p>Soon they passed from the forest into open land, and came upon a
river flowing through broad meadows where the mowers toiled. Then,
as they waited to let the horses drink their fill, there drew near
a youth, bearing a basket of bread and meat and a blue pitcher
covered over with a bowl. So when the youth saluted them, Geraint
stayed him, asking whence he came. "My lord," said the lad, "I am
come from the town hard by, to bring the mowers their breakfast."
"I pray thee, then," said the Prince, "give of the food to this
lady, for she is faint." "That will I gladly," answered the youth,
"and do ye also partake, noble sir"; and he spread the meal for
them on the grass while they dismounted. So when they had eaten and
were refreshed, the youth gathered up the basket and pitcher,
saying he would return to the town for food for the mowers. "Do
so," said the Prince, "and when thou art come there, take for me
the best lodging that thou mayst. And for thy fair service, take a
horse and armour, whichsoever thou wilt." "My lord, ye reward me
far beyond my deserts," cried the youth. "Right gladly will I make
all ready against your arrival, and acquaint my master, the Earl,
of your coming."</p>
<p>So Geraint and Enid followed after the youth to the town, and
there they found everything prepared for their comfort, even as he
had promised; for they were lodged in a goodly chamber well
furnished with all that they might require. Then said Geraint to
Enid: "Abide at one end of the room and I will remain at the other.
And call the woman of the house if thou desirest her aid and
comfort in aught." "I thank thee, lord," answered Enid patiently;
but she called for no service, remaining silent and forlorn in the
farthest corner of the great chamber.</p>
<p>Presently there came to the house the Earl, the youth's master, and
with him twelve goodly knights to wait upon him. And Geraint
welcomed them right heartily, bidding the host bring forth his best
to furnish a feast. So they sat them down at the table, each in his
degree according to his rank, and feasted long and merrily; but
Enid remained the while shrinking into her corner if perchance she
might escape all notice.</p>
<p>As they sat at the banquet, the Earl asked Prince Geraint what
quest he followed. "None but mine own inclination and the adventure
it may please heaven to send," said Geraint. Then the Earl, whose
eye had oft sought Enid as she sat apart, said: "Have I your good
leave to cross the room and speak to your fair damsel? For she
joins us not in the feast." "Ye have it freely," answered the
Prince. So the Earl arose, and approaching Enid, bowed before her,
and spoke to her in low tones, saying: "Damsel, sad life is yours,
I fear, to journey with yonder man." "To travel the road he takes
is pleasant enough to me," answered Enid. "But see what slights he
puts upon you! To suffer you to journey thus, unattended by page or
maiden, argues but little love or reverence for you." "It is as
nothing, so that I am with him," said Enid. "Nay, but," said the
Earl, "see how much happier a life might be yours. Leave this
churl, who values you not, and all that I have, land and riches,
and my love and service for ever shall be yours." "Ye cannot tempt
me, with aught that ye can offer, to be false to him to whom I
vowed my faith," said she. "Ye are a fool!" said the Earl in a
fierce whisper. "One word to these my knights, and yonder is a dead
man. Then who shall hinder me that I take you by force? Nay, now,
be better advised, and I vow you my whole devotion for all time."
Then was Enid filled with dread of the man and his might, and
seeking but to gain time, she said: "Suffer me to be for this
present, my lord, and to-morrow ye shall come and take me as by
force. Then shall my name not suffer loss." "So be it," said he; "I
will not fail you." With that he left her, and taking his leave of
Geraint, departed with his followers.</p>
<p>Never a word of what the Earl had said did Enid tell her husband
that night; and on the departure of his guests, the Prince,
unheedful of her, flung him on the couch, and soon slept, despite
his grief and wrath. But Enid watched again that night, and, before
cock-crow, arose, set all his armour ready in one place, and then,
though fearful of his wrath, stepped to his side and touching him
gently, said: "Awake, my lord, and arm you, and save me and
yourself." Then she told him of all the Earl had said and of the
device she had used to save them both. Then wrathfully he rose and
armed himself, bidding her rouse the host to saddle and bring forth
the horses. When all was ready, Prince Geraint asked the man his
reckoning. "Ye owe but little," said the host. "Take then the seven
horses and the suits of armour," said Geraint. "Why, noble sir,"
cried the host, "I scarce have spent the value of one." "The richer
thou," answered Geraint. "Now show me the road from the town."</p>
<p>So the man guided them from the town, and scarce was he returned
when Earl Durm—for so was the Earl named—hammered at the door,
with forty followers at his back. "Where is the knight who was here
erewhile?" "He is gone hence, my lord," answered the host. "Fool
and villain!" cried the Earl, "why didst thou suffer him to escape?
Which way went he?" And the man, fearful and trembling, directed
the Earl the road Geraint had gone.</p>
<p>So it came to pass, as they rode on their way, Enid in front, the
Prince behind, that it seemed to Enid she heard the beat of many
horse-hoofs. And, as before, she broke Geraint's command, caring
little for aught that might befall her in comparison of loss to
him. "My lord," said she, "seest thou yonder knight pursuing thee
and many another with him?" "Yea, in good truth, I see him," said
Geraint, "and I see, too, that never wilt thou obey me." Then he
turned him about and, laying lance in rest, bore straight down upon
Earl Durm, who foremost rushed upon him; and such was the shock of
their encounter, that Earl Durm was borne from his saddle and lay
without motion as one dead. And Geraint charged fiercely upon the
Earl's men, unhorsing some and wounding others; and the rest,
having little heart for the fight after their master's overthrow,
turned and fled.</p>
<p>Then Geraint signed to Enid to ride on as before, and so they
journeyed the space of another hour while the summer sun beat upon
them with ever increasing force. Now the Prince had received a
grievous hurt in the encounter with Earl Durm and his men; but such
was his spirit that he heeded it not, though the wound bled sore
under his armour. Presently, as they rode, there came to them the
sound of wailing, and by the wayside they saw a lady weeping
bitterly over a knight who lay dead on the ground. "Lady," said
Geraint, "what has befallen you?" "Noble knight," she replied, "as
we rode through the forest, my husband and I, three villains set
upon him at once, and slew him." "Which way went they?" asked
Geraint. "Straight on by this high-road that ye follow even now,"
answered she. Then Geraint bade Enid remain with the lady while he
rode on to take vengeance on the miscreants. And Enid waited
fearfully the long while he was gone, and her heart rejoiced when
she saw him returning. But soon her joy was turned to sorrow, for
his armour was all dented and covered with blood and his face
ghastly; and even as he reached her side, he fell from his horse,
prone on the ground. Then Enid strove to loosen his armour, and
having found the wound, she staunched it as best she might and
bound it with her veil. And taking his head on her lap, she chafed
his hands and tried with her own body to shield him from the sun,
her tears falling fast the while. So she waited till, perchance,
help might come that way; and presently, indeed, she heard the
tramp of horses, and a troop came riding by with the Earl Limours
at their head. And when the Earl saw the two fallen knights and the
weeping women beside them, he stayed his horse, and said: "Ladies,
what has chanced to you?" Then she whose husband had been slain
said: "Sir, three caitiffs set on my husband at once and slew him.
Then came this good knight and went in pursuit of them, and as I
think, slew them; but when he came back, he fell from his horse,
sore wounded as ye see, and, I fear me, by now he is dead." "Nay,
gentle sir," cried Enid; "it cannot be that he is dead. Only, I
beseech you, suffer two of your men to carry him hence to some
place of shelter where he may have help and tendance." "I misdoubt
me, it is but labour wasted," said the Earl; "nevertheless, for the
sake of your fair face, it shall be as ye desire." Then he ordered
two of his men to carry Geraint to his halls and two more to stay
behind and bury the dead knight, while he caused the two women to
be placed on led horses; and so they rode to his castle. When they
were arrived there, the two spearmen who had carried Geraint,
placed him on a settle in the hall, and Enid crouched by his side,
striving if by any means she might bring him back to life. And
gradually Geraint recovered, though still he lay as in a swoon,
hearing indeed what passed around him, but dimly, as from a
distance.</p>
<p>Soon there came into the hall many servitors, who brought forth
the tables and set thereon all manner of meats, haunches of venison
and boars' heads and great pasties, together with huge flagons of
wine. Then when all was set, there came trooping to the board the
whole company of Earl Limours' retainers; last of all came the Earl
himself and took his place on the raised dais. Suddenly, as he
feasted and made merry, he espied Enid, who, mistrusting him
utterly, would fain have escaped his eye. And when he saw her, he
cried: "Lady, cease wasting sorrow on a dead man and come hither.
Thou shalt have a seat by my side; ay, and myself, too, and my
Earldom to boot." "I thank you, lord," she answered meekly, "but, I
pray you, suffer me to be as I am." "Thou art a fool," said
Limours; "little enough he prized thee, I warrant, else had he not
put thy beauty to such scorn, dressing it in faded rags! Nay, be
wise; eat and drink, and thou wilt think the better of me and my
fair proffer." "I will not," cried Enid; "I will neither eat nor
drink, till my lord arise and eat with me." "Thou vowest more than
thou canst perform. He is dead already. Nay, thou shalt drink."
With the word, he strode to her and thrust into her hand a goblet
brimming with wine, crying, "Drink." "Nay, lord," she said, "I
beseech you, spare me and be pitiful." "Gentleness avails nothing
with thee," cried the Earl in wrath; "thou hast scorned my fair
courtesy. Thou shalt taste the contrary." So saying, he smote her
across the face.</p>
<p>Then Enid, knowing all her helplessness, uttered an exceeding
bitter cry, and the sound roused Geraint. Grasping his sword, with
one bound he was upon the Earl and, with one blow, shore his neck
in two. Then those who sat at meat fled shrieking, for they
believed that the dead had come to life.</p>
<p>But Geraint gazed upon Enid and his heart smote him, thinking of
the sorrow he had brought upon her. "Lady and sweet wife," he
cried, "for the wrong I have done thee, pardon me. For, hearing thy
words not three days since at morn, I doubted thy love and thy
loyalty. But now I know thee and trust thee beyond the power of
words to shake my faith." "Ah! my lord," cried Enid, "fly, lest
they return and slay thee." "Knowest thou where is my charger?" "I
will bring thee to it." So they found the war-horse and Geraint
mounted it, setting Enid behind him; thus they went forth in the
direction of the nearest town, that they might find rest and
succour. Then, as they rode, there came forth from a glade of the
forest a knight, who, seeing Geraint, at once laid lance in rest as
if he would ride upon him. And Enid, fearing for her husband,
shrieked aloud, crying: "Noble knight, whosoever ye be, encounter
not with a man nigh wounded to the death." Immediately the knight
raised his lance and looking more attentively upon, them, he
exclaimed: "What! is it Prince Geraint? Pardon me, noble knight,
that I knew you not at once. I am that Edeyrn whom once ye
overthrew and spared. At Arthur's court, whither ye sent me, I was
shown kindness and courtesy little deserved, and now am I knight of
Arthur's Round Table. But how came ye in such a case?" Then Geraint
told him of his encounter with the three caitiffs, and how he had
afterwards been borne to the castle of Earl Limours. "To do justice
on that same felon is Arthur himself here even now," cried Edeyrn.
"His camp is hard by." Then Geraint told Edeyrn how Limours lay
dead in his own halls, justly punished for the many wrongs he had
done, and how his people were scattered. "Come then yourself to
greet the King and tell him what has chanced." So he led the way to
Arthur's camp, where it lay in the forest hard by. Then were they
welcomed by the King himself and a tent assigned to them, where
Geraint rested until his wounds were healed.</p>
<p>Never again, from that time forth, had Geraint a doubt of the love
and truth of Enid; and never from that time had she to mourn that
he seemed to set small store by his knightly fame. For after he was
cured, they returned to their own land, and there Geraint upheld
the King's justice, righting wrong and putting down robbery and
oppression, so that the people blessed him and his gentle wife.
Year by year, his fame grew, till his name was known through all
lands; and at last, when his time was come, he died a knightly
death, as he had lived a knightly life, in the service of his lord,
King Arthur.</p>
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<ANTIMG src="images/illus114.png" width-obs="161" height-obs="150" alt="Crown" title="" /></div>
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<ANTIMG src="images/illus115.png" width-obs="700" height-obs="225" alt="BOOK VI - THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN" title="" /></div>
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