 The Age of Chivalry, Chapter 22, from Bullfinch's The Age of Chivalry. When Sir Percival and Sir Bohort saw Sir Gala had Deb, they made as much sorrow as ever did to men, and if they had not been good men, they might have fallen into despair. As soon as Sir Gala had was buried, Sir Percival retired to a hermitage out of the city, and took a religious clothing, and Sir Bohort was always with him, but did not change his secular clothing, because he proposed to return to the realm of Lugria. Thus a year and two months lived Sir Percival in the hermitage a full holy life, and then passed out of this world, and Sir Bohort buried him by his sister and Sir Gala had. Then Sir Bohort armed himself and departed from Saras, and entered into a ship, and sailed to the kingdom of Lugria, and in due time arrived safe at Camelot, where the king was. Then was there great joy made of him in the whole court, for they feared he had been dead. Then the king made great clerks to come before him, that they should chronicle of the high adventures of the good knights, and Sir Bohort told him of the adventures that had befallen him, and his two fellows, Sir Percival and Sir Gala had, and Sir Lancelot told the adventures of the songoreal that he had seen. All this was made in great books, and put up in the church at Salisbury. So King Arthur and Queen Guinevere made great joy of the remnant that were come home, and chiefly of Sir Lancelot and Sir Bohort. Then Sir Lancelot began to resort into Queen Guinevere again, and forgot the promise that he made in the quest, so that many in the court spoke of it, and in a special Sir Agriven, Sir Gala's brother, for he was ever open mouthed. So it happened Sir Gala and all his brothers were in King Arthur's chamber, and then Sir Agriven said thus openly, I marvel that we all are not ashamed to see and to know so noble a knight as King Arthur, so to be shamed by the conduct of Sir Lancelot and the Queen. Then spoke Sir Gala and said, Brother, Sir Agriven, I pray you in charge you move not such matters any more before me, for be assured I will not be of your counsel. Neither will we, said Sir Gaharis and Sir Gareth. Then will I, said Sir Mojad, I doubt you not, said Sir Gala, for to all mischief ever were ye prone, yet I would that ye left all this, for I know what will come of it. Mojad's narrow foxy face, heart-hiding smile, and grey persistent eye, henceforward to the powers that tend the soul to help it from the death that cannot die, and save it even in extremes began to vex and plague. Guinevere. Fall of it would fall may, said Sir Agriven, I will disclose it to the King. With that came to them, King Arthur. Now, brothers, hold your peace, said Sir Gala, and we will not, said Sir Agriven. Then said Sir Gala, I will not hear your tales, nor be of your counsel. No more will I, said Sir Gareth and Sir Gaharis, and therewith they departed, making great sorrow. Then Sir Agriven told the King, all that was said in the court of the conduct of Sir Lancelot and the Queen, and it grieved the King very much, but he would not believe it to be true without proof. So Sir Agriven laid a plot to entrap Sir Lancelot and the Queen, intending to take them together unawares. Sir Agriven and Sir Maudred led a party for this purpose, but Sir Lancelot escaped from them, having slain Sir Agriven and subwounded Sir Maudred. Then Sir Lancelot hastened to his friends, and told them what had happened, and withdrew with them to the forest. But he left spies to bring him tidings of whatever might be done. So Sir Lancelot escaped, but the Queen remained in the King's power, and Arthur could no longer doubt of her guilt. And the law was such in those days that they who committed such crimes, of what a state or condition, so ever they were, must be burned to death, and so it was ordained for Queen Guinevere. Then said King Arthur to Sir Garwin, I pray you, make you ready in your best armor with your brethren, Sir Gaharis and Sir Gareth, to bring my Queen to the fire, there to receive her death. Nay, my most noble Lord, said Sir Garwin, that will I never do, for know thou well, my heart will never serve me to see her die, and it shall never be said that I was of your counsel in her death. Then the King commanded Sir Gaharis and Sir Gareth to be there, and they said, we will be there as ye command us, sire, but in peaceable wise, and bear no armor upon us. So the Queen was led forth, and her ghostly father was brought to her to strive her, and there was weeping and wailing of many lords and ladies. And one went and told Sir Lancelot that the Queen was led forth to her death. Then Sir Lancelot and the knights that were with him fell upon the troop that guarded the Queen and dispersed them, and slew all who withstood them. And in the confusion Sir Gareth and Sir Gaharis were slain, for they were unarmed and defenseless, and Sir Lancelot carried away the Queen to his castle of La Joyeuse-Garde. Then there came one to Sir Garwin and told him how that Sir Lancelot had slain the knights and carried away the Queen. Oh, Lord, defend my brethren, said Sir Garwin, truly, said the man, Sir Gareth and Sir Gaharis are slain. Alas, said Sir Garwin, now is my joy gone, and then he fell down and swooned, and long he lay there as he had been dead. When he arose out of his swoon, Sir Garwin ran to the King, crying, Oh, King Arthur, my uncle, my brothers are slain! Then the King wept, and he both. My King, my Lord, and my uncle, said Sir Garwin, bear witness now that I make you a promise that I shall hold by my knighthood, and from this day I will never fail Sir Lancelot until the one of us has slain the other. I will seek Sir Lancelot through seven King's realms, but I shall slay him, or he shall slay me. He shall not need to seek him, said the King, for as I hear, Sir Lancelot will abide me and you in the joyous guard, and much people draw with unto him, as I hear say. That may I believe, said Sir Garwin, but my Lord, summon your friends, and I will summon mine. It shall be done, said the King. So then the King sent letters and writs throughout all England, and both in the length and breadth to summon all his knights, and unto Arthur drew many knights and dukes and earls so that he had a great host. Sir Lancelot heard, and collected all whom he could, and many good knights held with him, both for his sake and for the Queen's sake. But King Arthur's host was too great for Sir Lancelot to abide him in the field, and he was full loath to do battle against the King. So Sir Lancelot drew him to his strong castle with all manner of provisions. Then came King Arthur, with Sir Garwin, and laid siege all about La Jolla's guard, both the town and the castle, but in no wise would Sir Lancelot ride out of his castle. Neither suffer any of his knights to issue out, until many weeks were passed. Then it befell upon a day in harvest time, Sir Lancelot looked over the wall, and spoke aloud to King Arthur and Sir Garwin. My lords both, all is in vain that ye do at this siege, for here ye shall win no worship but only dishonor. For if I list to come out, and my good knights, I shall soon make an end of this war. Come forth, said Arthur, if thou darest, and I promise thee, I shall meet thee in the midst of the field. But forbid me, said Sir Lancelot, that I should encounter with the most noble King that made me knight. Fie upon thy fair language, said the King, for thou know well I am thy mortal foe, and ever will be to my dying day. And Sir Garwin said, What cause hath thou to slay my brother, Sir Gaharis, who bore no arms against thee, and Sir Gareth, whom thou madeest knight, and who loved thee more than all my kin? Therefore know thou well I shall make war to thee all the while that I may live. And Sir Bohort, and Sir Hector Demaris, and Sir Lionel heard this outcry. They called to them Sir Palaminis, and Sir Sapphire, and his brother, and Sir South-Lawain, with many more, and all went to Sir Lancelot. And they said, My Lord, Sir Lancelot, we pray you, if you will have our service, keep us no longer within these walls, for no well all your fair speech and forbearance will not avail you. Alas, said Sir Lancelot, to ride forth, and to do battle I am fool-oath. Then he spake again unto the King, and Sir Garwin, and willed them to keep out of the battle, but they despised his words. So then Sir Lancelot's fellowship came out of the castle, and full good array, and always Sir Lancelot charged all his knights, and anywise, to save King Arthur and Sir Garwin. Then came forth Sir Garwin from the King's host, and offered combat, and Sir Lionel encountered with him, and there Sir Garwin smote Sir Lionel through the body, that he fell to the earth as if dead. Then there began a great conflict, and much people were slain. But ever Sir Lancelot did what he might to save the people on King Arthur's party, and ever King Arthur followed Sir Lancelot to slay him. But Sir Lancelot suffered him, and would not strike again. Then Sir Bohort encountered with King Arthur, and smote him down, and he alighted, and drew his sword, and said to Sir Lancelot, Shall I make an end of this war? For he meant to have slain King Arthur. Not so, said Sir Lancelot, touch him no more, for I will never see that most noble king made me night either slain or shamed. And therewith Sir Lancelot alighted off his horse, and took up the king, and horsed him again, and said thus, My Lord Arthur, for God's love, cease this strife, and King Arthur looked upon Sir Lancelot, and the tears burst from his eyes, thinking on the great courtesy that was in Sir Lancelot more than in any other man. And therewith the king rode his way. Then anon both parties withdrew to repose them, and buried the dead. But the war continued, and it was noised abroad through all Christendom, and at last it was told before the pope, and he, considering the great goodness of King Arthur and of Sir Lancelot, called into him a noble clerk, which was the Bishop of Rochester, who was then in his dominions and sent them to King Arthur, charging him that he take his queen, Dame Guinevere, unto him again, and make peace with Sir Lancelot. So by means of this bishop, peace was made for this base of one year, and King Arthur received back the queen, and Sir Lancelot departed from the kingdom with all his knights, and went to his own country. So they shipped at Cardiff, and sailed unto Benwick, which some men called Bayonne. And all the people of those lands came to Sir Lancelot, and received him home right joyfully. And Sir Lancelot established and garnished all his towns and castles, and he greatly advanced all his noble knights. And Sir Lionel, and Sir Bohort, and Sir Hector de Maris, Sir Blaymore, Sir Lawayne, and many others, and made them lords of lands and castles, till he left himself no more than any one of them. Then Arthur made vast banquets and strange knights, from the four winds came in, and each one sat, though served with choice from air, land, stream, and sea, often mid-banquet, measuring with his eyes his neighbors' make and might, Pellius and Attar. But when the year was past, King Arthur and Sir Gawain came with a great host, and landed upon Sir Lancelot's lands, and burned and wasted all that they might overrun. Then spake Sir Bohort, and said, my lord, Sir Lancelot, give us leave to meet them in the field, and we shall make them rue the time that ever they came to this country. Then said Sir Lancelot, I am full loath to ride out with my knights for shedding of Christian blood, so we will yet awhile keep our walls, and I will send a messenger unto my lord Arthur, to propose a treaty, for better is peace than always war. So Sir Lancelot sent forth a damsel and a dwarf with her, requiring King Arthur to leave his warring upon his lands, and so she started on a palfry, and the dwarf ran by her side. And when she came to the pavilion of King Arthur, she alighted, and there met her a gentle knight, Sir Lucan, the butler, and said, fair damsel, come ye from Sir Lancelot to lock? Ye, sir, she said, I come hither to speak with the king. Alas, said Sir Lucan, my lord Arthur would be reconciled to Sir Lancelot, but Sir Gawain will not suffer him. And with this Sir Lucan led the damsel to the king, where he sat with Sir Gawain to hear what she would say. So when she had told her tale, the tears ran out of the king's eyes, and all the lords were forward to advise the king to be accorded with Sir Lancelot. Save only Sir Gawain, and he said, my lord, my uncle, what will you do? Will you now turn back? Now you are so far advanced upon your journey. If you do, all the world will speak shame of you. Nay, said King Arthur, I will do as ye advise me, but do thou give the damsel her answer, for I may not speak to her for pity. Then said Sir Gawain, damsel, say ye to Sir Lancelot, that it is waste labour to sue to my uncle for peace, and say that I, Sir Gawain, sent him word that I promise him, by the faith I owe unto God and to knighthood, I shall never leave him, till he have slain me or I him. So the damsel returned, and when Sir Lancelot had heard this answer, the tears ran down his cheeks. Then it befell on a day Sir Gawain came before the gates, armed at all points, and cried with a loud voice, Where art there now, thou false traitor, Sir Lancelot, why hideest thou thyself within holes and walls like a coward? Look out now, thy traitor knight, and I will avenge upon thy body the death of my three brethren. All this language heard Sir Lancelot, and the knights which were about him, and they said to him, Sir Lancelot, thou must ye defend ye like a knight, or else be ashamed for ever, for you have slept over long, and suffered over much. Then Sir Lancelot spake on high unto King Arthur, and said, My Lord Arthur, now I have foreborn long, and suffered you in Sir Gawain to do what ye would, and now must I needs defend myself, and as much as Sir Gawain hath appealed me of treason. Then Sir Lancelot armed him, and mounted upon his horse, and the noble knights came out of the city, and the host without stood all apart, and so the covenant was made that no man should come near the two knights, nor deal with them till one were dead or yielded. Then Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain departed a great way as thunder, and then they came together with all their horses might, and each smote the other in the middle of their shields, but neither of them was unhorsed. But their horses fell to the earth, and then they leapt from their horses, and drew their swords, and gave many sad strokes, so that the blood burst out in many places. Now Sir Gawain hath this gift from a holy man, that every day in the year, from morning to noon, his strength was increased threefold, and then it fell again to its natural measure. Sir Lancelot was aware of this, and therefore during the three hours that Sir Gawain's strength was at the height, Sir Lancelot covered himself with his shield, and kept his might and reserve. And during that time Sir Gawain gave him many sad brunts that all the knights that looked on marveled how Sir Lancelot might endure them. Then when it was past noon, Sir Gawain had only his own might, and when Sir Lancelot felled him so, brought down, he stretched himself up, and doubled his strokes, and gave Sir Gawain such a buffet that he fell down on his side. And Sir Lancelot drew back, and was striking no more. Why withdrawest thou, false traitor? Then said Sir Gawain, now turn again and slay me, for if thou leave me thus when I am whole again, I shall do battle with thee again. I shall endure you, sir, by God's grace, said Sir Lancelot, but know thou well, Sir Gawain, I will never smite a felled knight. And so Sir Lancelot went into the city, and Sir Gawain was born unto King Arthur's Pavilion, and his wounds were looked to. Thus the siege endured, and Sir Gawain lay helpless near a month, and when he was near recovered came tidings unto King Arthur that made him return with all his hosts to England. Sir Mordred was left ruler of all England, and he caused letters to be written, as if from beyond sea, that King Arthur was slain in battle. So he called a parliament, and made himself be crowned king. And he took the Queen Guinevere, and said plainly that he would wed her, but she escaped from him and took refuge in the Tower of London. And Sir Mordred went and laid siege about the Tower of London, and made great assaults there at, but all might not avail him. Then came word to Sir Mordred that King Arthur had raised the siege of Sir Lancelot, and was coming home. Then Sir Mordred summoned all the barony of the land, and much people drew unto Sir Mordred, and said they would abide with him for better and for worse. And he drew a great host to Dover, for there he heard say that King Arthur would arrive. I hear the steps of Mordred in the west, and with him many of thy people, and knights once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser groan than he then, spitting at their vows and thee. The passing of Arthur. And as Sir Mordred was at Dover with his host, came King Arthur, with a great number of ships and galleys, and there was Sir Mordred awaiting upon the landing. Then was there launching of great boats and small, full of noble men of arms, and there was much slaughter of gentle knights on both parts. But King Arthur was so courageous, there might no manner of knights prevent him to land, and his knights fiercely followed him, and so they landed, and put Sir Mordred aback, so that he fled, and all his people. And when the battle was done, King Arthur commanded to bury his people that were dead, and then was noble Sir Gawain found in a great boat, lying more than half dead. And King Arthur went to him, and made sorrow out of measure. My uncle, said Sir Gawain, know thou well my death-day is come, and all is through my own hastiness and willfulness, for I am smitten upon the old wound which Sir Lancelot gave me, of which I feel I must die. And had Sir Lancelot been with you as of old, this war had never begun, and of all this I am the cause. Then Sir Gawain prayed the king to send for Sir Lancelot, and to cherish him above all other knights. And so at the hour of noon Sir Gawain yielded up his spirit, and then the king bade inter him in a chapel within Dover Castle, and there all men may see the skull of him, and the same wound is seen that Sir Lancelot gave him in battle. Then it was told the king that Sir Mordred had pitched his camp upon barren down, and the king rode with thither, and there was a great battle betwixt them, and King Arthur's party stood best, and Sir Mordred and his party fled unto Canterbury. And there was a day assigned to betwixt King Arthur and Sir Mordred that they should meet upon a down beside Salisbury, and not far from the seaside, to do battle yet again. And at night, as the king slept, he dreamed a wonderful dream. It seemed him verily that there came Sir Gawain unto him, with a number of fair ladies with him. And when King Arthur saw him, he said, Welcome, my sister's son, I weaned thou hadst been dead, and now I see thee alive great as my joy. But, O fair nephew, what be these ladies that hither become with you? Sir, said Sir Gawain, all these be ladies for whom I have fought when I was a living man, and because I did battle for them in righteous quarrel they have given me grace to bring me hither unto you, to warn you of your death, if ye fight tomorrow with Sir Mordred. Therefore take ye treaty, and proffer you largely for a month's delay, for within a month shall come Sir Lancelot and all his noble knights, and rescue you worshipfully, and slay Sir Mordred and all that hold with him. And then Sir Gawain and all the ladies vanished. And anon the king called to fetch his noble lords and wise bishops unto him. And when they were come the king told them his vision and what Sir Gawain had told him. Then the king sent Sir Lucan, the butler, and Sir Bevedere with two bishops, and charged them in any wise to make a treaty for a month and a day with Sir Mordred. So they departed and came to Sir Mordred. And so at the last Sir Mordred was agreed to have Cornwall and Kent during Arthur's life and all England after his death. Sir Mordred, he the nearest to the king, his nephew ever like a subtle beast, lay countenant with his eyes upon the throne, ready to spring, waiting a chance, Guinevere. Then it was agreed that King Arthur and Sir Mordred should meet betwixt both their hosts, and each of them should bring fourteen persons, and then in there they should sign the treaty. And when King Arthur and his knights were prepared to go forth, he warned all his hosts. If so be ye see any sword drawn, look ye come on fiercely and slay whomever with standeth, for I am no wise trust that traitor Sir Mordred. In likewise Sir Mordred warned his hosts. So they met and were agreed and accorded thoroughly, and wine was brought and they drank. Right then came an adder out of a little heath-bush, and stung a knight on the foot. And when the knight felt him sting, he looked down and saw the adder, and then he drew his sword to slay the adder, and thought of no other harm. And when the host on both sides saw that sword drawn, they blew trumpets and horns and shouted greatly. And King Arthur took his horse and rode to his party, saying, Alas, this unhappy day! And Sir Mordred did in likewise. And never was there a more doleful battle in Christian land. And ever King Arthur rode throughout the battle, and did full nobly, as a worthy king should. And Sir Mordred that day did his devoir, and put himself in great peril. And thus they fought all the long day, till the most of all the noble knights lay dead upon the ground. Then the king looked about him, and saw of all his hosts were left alive but two knights. Sir Lucan the butler, and Sir Bevedere his brother, and they were full sore wounded. Then King Arthur saw where Sir Mordred leaned upon his sword among a great heap of dead men. Now give me my spear, said Arthur to Sir Lucan, for yonder I aspire the traitor that hast wrought all this woe. Sir, let him be, said Sir Lucan, for if he passed this unhappy day, ye shall be right well revenged upon him. Remember what the sprite of Sir Gawain told you, and leave off now, for ye have won the field. And if ye leave off now this evil day of destiny is passed. Betide me life, betide me death, said King Arthur, he shall not now escape my hands. Then the king took his spear in both hands, and ran towards Sir Mordred crying, traitor, now is thy death day come. And there King Arthur smote Sir Mordred under the shield with a thrust of his spear through the body. And when Sir Mordred felt that he had his death wound, with the might that he had, he smote King Arthur, with his sword holding in both his hands on the side of the head, that the sword pierced the helmet and the brain pan, and then Sir Mordred fell stark dead upon the earth. And the noble Arthur fell in a swoon to the earth. And Sir Lucan, the butler, and Sir Bevedere raised him up, and gently laid him betwixt them both to a little chapel not far from the seaside. And when the king was there, he thought him well eased. Then heard they people cry in the field. And Sir Lucan went to see what that cry be tokened. And he saw by the moonlight that pillars and robbers were come to rob the dead. And he returned and said to the king, By my reed, it is best that we bring you to some town. I would it were so, said the king. And when the king tried to go, he fainted. Then Sir Lucan took up the king on the one part, and Sir Bevedere on the other part. And in the lifting, Sir Lucan fell in a swoon to the earth, for he was grievously wounded. And then the noble knight's heart burst. And when the king awoke, he beheld Sir Lucan how he lay foaming at the mouth and speechless. Alas, said the king, this is to me a full heavy sight. To see this noble duke so die for my sake. For he would have holped in me that had more need of help than I, and he would not complain. His heart was so set to help me. Then Sir Bevedere wept for his brother. Leave this morning in weeping, said the king. For will to thou well, if I might live myself, the death of Sir Lucan would grieve me ever more. But my time higheth fast. Therefore, said Arthur unto Sir Bevedere, take thou excalibur, my good sword, and go with it to yonder waterside, and when thou comest there I charge thee, throw my sword in that water, and come again and tell me what thou there seest. My lord, said Sir Bevedere, your commandment shall be done. So Sir Bevedere departed, and by the way he beheld that noble sword, that the pommel and the haft were all of precious stones. And then he said to himself, if I throw this rich sword into the water, no good shall come thereof, but only harm and loss. And then Sir Bevedere hid excalibur under a tree. And so, as soon as he might, he came again to the king. What sawest thou there, said the king? Sir, he said, I saw nothing. Alas, thou hast deceived me, said the king, go thou lightly again, and as thou love me, spare not to throw it in. And then Sir Bevedere went again, and took the sword in his hand to throw it, but again it beseen to him but sin and shame to throw away that noble sword, and he hid it away again, and returned and told the king he had done his commandment. What sawest thou there, said the king? Sir, he said, I saw nothing but waters deep, and waves won. Ah, traitor untrue, said King Arthur, now hast thou betrayed me twice, and yet thou art named a noble knight, and hast been leaf and deer to me. But now go again, and do as I bid thee, for thy long tearing puteth me in jeopardy of my life. Then Sir Bevedere went to the sword, and lightly took it up, and went to the waterside, and he bound the girdle about the hill, and then he threw the sword as far into the water as he might. And there came an arm and a hand out of the water, and met it and caught it, and shook it thrice and brandished it, and then vanished away the hand with the sword in the water. Then Sir Bevedere came again to the king, and told him what he saw. Help me hence, said the king, for I fear I have teared too long. Then Sir Bevedere took the king on his back, and so went with him to that waterside, and when they came there, even fast by the bank there rode a little barge with many fair ladies in it, and among them was a queen, and all had black hoods, and they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur. Now put me in the barge, said the king, and there received him three queens with great mourning, and in one of their laps King Arthur laid his head. And the queen said, Ah, dear brother, why have ye teared so long? Alas, this wound on your head hath caught over much cold. And then they rode from the land, and Sir Bevedere beheld them go from him. Then he cried, Ah, my Lord Arthur, will ye leave me here alone among my enemies? Comfort thyself, said the king, for in me there is no further help, for I will to the Isle of Avalon to heal me of my grievous wound. And as soon as Sir Bevedere had lost sight of the barge, he wept and wailed. Then he took the forest, and went all that night, and in the morning he was where of a chapel into Hermitage. Then went Sir Bevedere thither, and when he came into the chapel, he saw where lay a hermit on the ground near a tomb that was newly graven. Sir, said Sir Bevedere, what man is there buried that ye pray so near unto? Fair son, said the hermit, I know not, verily, but this night there came a number of ladies, and brought hither one dead, and prayed me to bury him. Alas, said Sir Bevedere, that was my lord, King Arthur. Then Sir Bevedere swooned, and when he awoke he prayed the hermit he might abide with him to live with fasting in prayers. Ye are welcome, said the hermit, so there bode Sir Bevedere with the hermit. And he put on poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and in prayers. Thus of Arthur I find never more written in books that be authorized, nor more of the very certainty of his death, but thus was he led away in a ship, wherein were three queens, and one was King Arthur's sister, Queen Morgan Lafay, the other was Vivian, the lady of the lake, and the third was the queen of North Gallus, and this tale Sir Bevedere, Knight of the Table Round, made to be written. But some men say that King Arthur is not dead, but hid away into another place, and men say that he shall come again and reign over England. But many say that there is written on his tomb this verse. High Facet Arthurus, Rexquandum, Rexcae Futurus. Here Arthur lies, King once and King to be. And when Queen Guinevere understood that King Arthur was slain, and all the noble knights with him, she stole away and five ladies with her, and so she went to Almsbury, and made herself a nun, and wear white clothes in black, and took great penance as ever did sinful lady, and lived in fasting, prayers, and alms-deeds. And there she was Abbas, and ruler of the nuns. And when she came to Almsbury she spake, there to the nuns and said, Mine enemies, persume, but oh peaceful sisterhood, receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask her name to whom ye yield it, till her time to tell you. And her beauty, grace, and power, wrought as a charm upon them, and they spared to ask it, Guinevere. Now turn we from her and speak of Sir Lancelot of the lake. When Sir Lancelot heard in his country that Sir Mordred was crowned King of England, and made war against his own uncle, King Arthur, then was Sir Lancelot wroth out of measure, and said to his kinsmen, Alas, that double traitor, Sir Mordred, now it repenteth me that ever he escaped out of my hands. Then Sir Lancelot and his fellows made ready in all haste with ships and galleys to pass into England, and so he passed over till he came to Dover, and there he landed with a great army. Then Sir Lancelot was told that King Arthur was slain. Alas, said Sir Lancelot, this is the heaviest tidings that ever came to me. Then he called the kings, dukes, barons, and knights, and said thus, My fair lords, I thank you all for coming into this country with me, but we came too late, and that shall repent me while I live. But since it is so, said Sir Lancelot, I will myself ride and seek my lady, Queen Guinevere, for I have heard say she hath fled into the west. Therefore ye shall abide me here fifteen days, and if I come not within that time, then take your ships and your host and depart into your country. So Sir Lancelot departed and rode westerly, and there he sought many days, and at last he came to a nunnery and was seen of Queen Guinevere as he walked in the cloister, and when she saw him she swooned away, and when she might speak she bade him to be called to her. And when Sir Lancelot was brought to her, she said, Sir Lancelot, I require thee and beseech thee, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that you never see me more, but return to thy kingdom and take thee a wife, and live with her with joy and bliss, and pray for me to my lord that I may get my soul's health. Nay, madame, said Sir Lancelot, wit you well that I shall never do, but the same destiny that ye have taken you to, will I take me unto, for to please and serve God? And so they parted with tears and much lamentation, and the ladies bared the Queen to her chamber, and Sir Lancelot took his horse and rode away weeping. And at last Sir Lancelot was wear of a hermitage and a chapel, and then he heard a little bell ring to mass, and thither he rode and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate and heard mass, and he that sang the mass was the hermit with whom Sir Bebedir had taken up his abode, and Sir Bebedir knew Sir Lancelot, and they spake together after mass. But when Sir Bebedir had told his tale, Sir Lancelot's heart almost burst for sorrow, then he kneeled down and prayed the hermit to shrive him, and besought that he might be his brother. Then the hermit said, I will gladly, and then he put a habit upon Sir Lancelot, and there he served God day and night with prayers and fastings. And the great host abode at Dover till the end of the fifteen days set by Sir Lancelot, and then Sir Bohort made them to go home again to their own country, and Sir Bohort, Sir Hector de Marys, Sir Blaymore, and many others took on them to ride through all England to seek Sir Lancelot. So Sir Bohort by fortune rode until he came to the same chapel where Sir Lancelot was, and when he saw Sir Lancelot in that manner of clothing, he prayed the hermit that he might be in that same. And so there was an habit put upon him, and there he lived in prayers and fasting. And within half a year came others of the knights, their fellows, and took such a habit as Sir Lancelot and Sir Bohort had. Thus they endured in great penance six years. And upon a night there came a vision to Sir Lancelot, and charged him to haste towards Almsbury, and, quote, by the time thou come there, thou shalt find Queen Guinevere dead, end quote. Then Sir Lancelot rose up early and told the hermit thereof. Then said the hermit, it were well that ye disobey not this vision. And Sir Lancelot took his seven companions with him, and on foot they went from Glastonbury to Almsbury, which is more than thirty miles. And when they were come to Almsbury they found that Queen Guinevere died but half an hour before. Then Sir Lancelot saw her visage, but he wept not greatly, but sighed. And so he did all the observance of the service himself, both the dirge at night and at morn he sang mass. And there was prepared in Horace beer, and Sir Lancelot and his fellows followed the beer on foot from Almsbury until they came to Glastonbury. Then she was wrapped in seared clothes and laid in a coffin of marble. And when she was put in the earth Sir Lancelot swooned and lay long as one dead. And Sir Lancelot never after ate but little meat nor drank, but continually mourned. And within six weeks Sir Lancelot fell sick, and he sent for the hermit and all his true fellows and said, Sir hermit, I pray you give me all my rights that a Christian man ought to have. I shall not need, said the hermit and all his fellows, it is but heaviness of your blood, and to-morrow morn you shall be well. My fair lords, said Sir Lancelot, my careful body will into the earth. I have warning more than now I will say. Therefore give me my rights." So when he was household and annalled, and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he prayed the hermit that his fellows might bear his body to joyous guard. Some men say it was Alnwick, and some say it was Bamburil. It repenteth me sore, said Sir Lancelot, but I made avow a foretime that in joyous guard I would be buried. Then there was weeping and ringing of hands among his fellows, and that night Sir Lancelot died, and when Sir Bohort and his fellows came to his bedside the next morning they found him stark dead, and he lay as if he had smiled and the sweetest savor all about him that ever they knew. And they put Sir Lancelot into the same horse-beer that Queen Guinevere was laid in, and the hermit and they all together went with the body till they came to joyous guard. And there they laid his corpse in the body of the choir, and sang and read many psalms and prayers over him, and ever his visage was laid open and naked that all folks might behold him. And right thus, as they were at their service, there came Sir Hector de Maris that had seven years sought Sir Lancelot his brother through all England, Scotland, and Wales, and when Sir Hector heard such sounds in the chapel of joyous guard he alighted and came into the choir, and all they knew Sir Hector. Then went Sir Bohort and told him how there lay Sir Lancelot his brother dead, then Sir Hector threw his shield, his sword, and helm from him. And when he beheld Sir Lancelot's visage, it were hard for any tongue to tell the doleful complaints he made for his brother. Ah, Sir Lancelot, he said, there thou liest, and now I dare to say thou wert never matched of none earthly knight's hand, and thou wert the courteousest knight that ever bear shield, and thou wert the truest friend of thy lover that ever bestrowed horse, and thou wert the truest lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman, and thou wert the kindest man that ever struck with sword, and thou wert the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights, and thou wert the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies, and thou wert the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest. Then there was weeping and dolor out of measure, thus they kept Sir Lancelot's corpse fifteen days, and then they buried it with great devotion. Then they went back with the hermit to his hermitage, and Sir Bevedere was there ever still hermit to his life's end, and Sir Bohort, Sir Hector, Sir Blamor, and Sir Blaeoborus went into the holy land, and these four knights did many battles upon the miscreants the Turks, and there they died upon a good Friday as it pleased God. Marvellous ended this noble and joyous book entitled Lamort de Arthur, notwithstanding its treatise of the birth, life, and acts of the said King Arthur, and of his noble knights of the round table, their marvellous end quests and adventures, the achieving of the sand grail, and in the end, Lamort de Arthur, with the dolerous death and departing out of this world of them all. Which book was reduced into English by Sir Thomas Mallory, last night, and divided into twenty-one books, chaptered and imprinted and finished in the Abbey Westminster, the last day of July, the year of our Lord, fourteen eighty-five. Caxton May Fieri Fesset. End of chapter twenty-three. The Mavenogion introduction and chapter one from Bullfinches the Age of Chivalry. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Age of Chivalry by Thomas Bullfinch. The Mavenogion Introductory Note. And Chapter One, The Britons. The Mavenogion Introductory Note. It has been well known to the literati and antiquarians of Europe that there exist in the great public library's voluminous manuscripts of romances and tales once popular, but which, on the invention of printing, had already become antiquated and fallen into neglect. They were therefore never printed, and seldom perused even by the learned, until about half a century ago, when attention was again directed to them, and they were found very curious monuments of ancient manners, habits, and modes of thinking. Several have since been edited, some by individuals, as Sir Walter Scott and the poet Suthie, others by antiquarian societies. The class of readers which could be counted on for such publications was so small that no inducement of profit could be found to tempt editors and publishers to give them to the world. It was therefore only a few, and those the most accessible, which were put in print. There was a class of manuscripts of this kind which were known, or rather suspected, to be both curious and valuable, but which it seemed almost hopeless to expect ever to see in fair printed English. These were the Welsh popular tales called Mabinogion, a plural word, the singular being Mabinogie, a tale. Manuscripts of these were contained in the Baudelaire Library at Oxford and elsewhere, but the difficulty was to find translators and editors. The Welsh is a spoken language among the peasantry of Wales, but is entirely neglected by the learned, unless they are natives of the Principality. Of the few Welsh scholars none were found who took sufficient interest in this branch of learning to give these publications to the English public. Sothe and Scott, and others who like them, loved the old romantic legends of their country, often urged upon the Welsh literati the duty of reproducing the Mabinogion. Sothe, in the preface of his edition of Morta d'Arthur, says, The specimens which I have seen are exceedingly curious, nor is there a greater desideratum in British literature than an addition of these tales, with a literal version, and such comments as Mr Davies of all men is best qualified to give. Certain it is that many of the round-to-table fictions originated in Wales, or in Britannia, and probably might still be traced there. Again, in a letter to Sir Charles W. W. N., dated 1819, he says, I begin almost to despair of ever seeing more of the Mabinogion, and yet if some competent Welshman could be found to edit it carefully, with as literal a version as possible, I am sure it might be made worth his while by a subscription, printing a small edition at a high price, perhaps two hundred at five guineas. I myself would gladly subscribe at that price per volume for such an addition of the whole of your genuine remains in pros and verse. Till some such collection is made, the gentlemen of Wales ought to be prohibited from wearing a leek, I, and interdicted from toasted cheese also, your bards would have met with better usage if they had been Scotchmen. Sharon Turner and Sir Walter Scott also expressed a similar wish for the publication of the Welsh manuscripts. The former took part in an attempt to effect it, through the instrumentality of a Mr Owen, a Welshman, but we judge by what Suthie says of him, imperfectly acquainted with English. His language is William Owen lent me three parts of the Mabinojian, delightfully translated into so Welsh and idiom and syntax that such a translation is as instructive as an original. In another letter he adds, Let Sharon make his language grammatical, but not alter their idiom in the slightest point. It is probable Mr Owen did not proceed far in an undertaking which, so executed, could expect but little popular patronage. It was not till an individual should appear possessed of the requisite knowledge of the two languages, of enthusiasm sufficient for the task, and of pecuniary resources sufficient to be independent of the booksellers and of the reading public, that such a work could be confidently expected. Such an individual has, since Suthie's day and Scotch's, appeared in the person of Lady Charlotte Guest, an English lady united to a gentleman of property in Wales, who having acquired the language of the Principality, and become enthusiastically fond of its literary treasures, has given them to the English reader, in a dress which the printers and the engravers' arts have done their best to adorn. In four royal octavo volumes containing the Welsh originals, the translation and ample illustrations from French, German, and other contemporary and affiliated literature, the Mabinojian is spread before us. To the antiquarian and the student of language and ethnology, an invaluable treasure, yet it can hardly in such a form win its way to popular acquaintance. We claim no other merit than that of bringing it to the knowledge of our readers, of abridging its details, of selecting its most attractive portions, and of faithfully preserving throughout the style in which Lady Guest has clothed her legends. For this service we hope that our readers will confess we have laid them under no light obligation. The Britons The earliest inhabitants of Britain are supposed to have been a branch of that great family known in history by the designation of Celts. Cambria, which is a frequent name for Wales, is thought to be derived from Cymru, the name which the Welsh traditions apply to an immigrant people who entered the island from the adjacent continent. This name is thought to be identical with those of Samarians and Cymbry, under which the Greek and Roman historians describe a barbarous people, who spread themselves from the north of the Yuxin over the whole of northwestern Europe. The origin of the names Wales and Welsh has been much canvassed. Some writers make them a derivation from Gael or Gaul, which names are said to signify woodlanders. Others observe that Walsh, in the northern languages, signifies a stranger, and that the Aboriginal Britons were so called by those who, at a later era, invaded the island and possessed the greater part of it, the Saxons and Angles. The Romans held Britain from the invasion of Julius Caesar till their voluntary withdrawal from the island, A.D. 420, that is, about five hundred years. In that time there must have been a wide diffusion of their arts and institutions among the natives. The remains of roads, cities, and fortifications show that they did much to develop and improve the country, while those of their villas and castles prove that many of the settlers possessed wealth and taste for the ornamental arts. Yet the Roman sway was sustained chiefly by force, and never extended over the entire island. The northern portion, now Scotland, remained independent, and the western portion, constituting Wales and Cornwall, was only nominally subjected. Neither did the later invading hordes succeed in subduing the remoter sections of the island. For ages after the arrival of the Saxons under Hengist and Horsa, A.D. 449, the whole western coast of Britain was possessed by the Aboriginal inhabitants, engaged in constant warfare with the invaders. It has, therefore, been a favorite boast of the people of Wales and Cornwall, that the original British stock flourishes in its unmixed purity only among them. We see this notion flashing out in poetry occasionally, as when Gray, in the bard, prophetically describing Queen Elizabeth, who was of the Tudor, a Welsh race, says, her eye proclaims her of the Britain line, and, contrasting the princes of the Tudor with those of the Norman race, he exclaims, all hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue hail. The Welsh Language and Literature The Welsh language is one of the oldest in Europe. It possesses poems the original of which is referred with probability to the sixth century. The language of some of these is so antiquated that the best scholars differ about the interpretation of many passages. But generally speaking, the body of poetry, which the Welsh possess from the year 1000 downwards, is intelligible to those who are acquainted with the modern language. Till within the last half-century these compositions remained buried in the libraries of colleges or of individuals, and so difficult of access that no successful attempt was made to give them to the world. This reproach was removed after ineffectual appeals to the patriotism of the gentry of Wales by Owen Jones, a ferrier of London, who at his own expense collected and published the chief productions of Welsh literature, under the title of the Merurian Archaeology of Wales. In this task he was assisted by Dr. Owen and other Welsh scholars. After the cessation of Jones's exertions the old apathy returned, and continued till within a few years. Dr. Owen exerted himself to obtain support for the publication of the Mubinodgian, or prose tales of the Welsh, but died without accomplishing his purpose, which has since been carried into execution by Lady Charlotte Guest. The legends which fill the remainder of this volume are taken from this work, of which we have already spoken more fully in the introductory chapter to the first part. The Welsh Bards. The authors to whom the oldest Welsh poems are attributed are Aenurian, who is supposed to have lived A.D. 500-550, and Tulliysyn, Thawarkhen, Thawark the Aged, and Meriden, or Merlin, who were a few years later. The authenticity of the poems which bear their names has been assailed, and it is still an open question how many and which of them are authentic, though it is hardly to be doubted that some are so. The poem of Aenurian, entitled The Gododdon, bears very strong marks of authenticity. Aenurian was one of the northern Britons of Strathclyde, who have left that part of the district they inhabited the name of Cumberland, or Land of the Cymru. In this poem he laments the defeat of his countrymen by the Saxons at the Battle of Catrige, in consequence of having partaken too freely of the mead before joining in combat. The bard himself and two of his fellow warriors were all who escaped from the field. A portion of this poem has been translated by Gray, of which the following is an extract. To Catraith's veil, in glittering row, twice two hundred warriors go, every warrior's manly neck, chains of regal on her deck, wreathed in many a golden link, from the golden cup they drink, nectar that the bees produce, or the grapes exalted juice, fleshed with mirth and hope they burn, but none to Catraith's veil return, save Aaron the brave and Conan strong, bursting through the bloody throng, and I the meanest of them all, that live to weep and sing their fall. The works of Taliesin are of much more questionable authenticity. There is a story of the adventures of Taliesin so strongly marked with mythical traits as to cast suspicion on the writings attributed to him. This story will be found in the subsequent pages. The Triads The Triads are a peculiar species of poetical composition, of which the Welsh Bards have left numerous examples. They are enumerations of a triad of persons, or events, or observations, strung together in one short sentence. This form of composition, originally invented in all likelihood to assist the memory, has been raised by the Welsh to a degree of eloquence, of which it hardly at first sight appears susceptible. The Triads are of all ages, some of them probably as old as anything in the language. Part as they are individually, the collection in the Maverian archaeology occupies more than one hundred and seventy pages of double columns. We will give some specimens, beginning with personal triads, and giving the first place to one of King Arthur's own composition. I have three heroes in battle, Mael the Tall, and Their, with his army, and Caradoc, the Pillar of Wales. The three principal Bards of the island of Britain, Merlin Ambrose, Merlin the son of Morphin, called also Merlin the Wild, and Taliesin the chief of the Bards. The three golden-tongued knights of the court of Arthur, Gowyn son of Gouar, Dredvas son of Trifon, and Oad son of Magad up Uther. The three honourable feasts of the island of Britain, the Feast of Kozwallon, after repelling Julius Caesar from this isle, the Feast of Aurelius Ambrosius, after he had conquered the Saxons, and the Feast of King Arthur at Carlyon upon us. Guinevere the daughter of Lagodian the giant, bad when little, worse when great. Next follow some moral triads. Hast thou heard what Dremhetics sung, an ancient watchman on the castle walls, a refusal is better than a promise unperformed? Hast thou heard what Lendwig sung, the noble chief wearing the golden torques, the grave is better than a life of want? Hast thou heard what Garslet sung, the Irishman whom is safe to follow, sin is bad if long pursued? Hast thou heard what Avon sung, the son of Taliesin of the recording verse, the cheek will not conceal the anguish of the heart? Didst thou hear what Lohark sung, the intrepid and brave old man? Greet kindly, though there be no acquaintance. End of Section 24 Chapter 2 From the Map-Enogean From Bullfinches the Age of Chivalry. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Age of Chivalry by Thomas Bullfinch, the Map-Enogean Chapter 2 The Lady of the Fountain, Kainan's Adventure King Arthur was at Carleon upon Usk, and one day he sat in his chamber and with him were Owen, the son of Eurion, and Kainan, the son of Clyndo, and Kay, the son of Kainar, and Guinevere and her hand-batons at Needlework by the window. In the center of the chamber King Arthur sat upon a seat of green rushes. Footnote The use of green rushes in apartments was by no means peculiar to the court of Carleon upon Usk. Our ancestors had a great predilection for them, and they seemed to have constituted an essential article not only of comfort but of luxury. The custom of strewing the floor with rushes is well known to have existed in England during the Middle Ages and also in France and footnote, over which was spread a covering of flame colored satin and a cushion of red satin was under his elbow. Then Arthur spoke, If I thought you would not disparage me, said he, I would sleep while I wait for my repast, and you can entertain one another with relating tales, and can obtain a flag of meat and some meat from Kay. And the king went to sleep, and Caenon the son of Clindot asked Kay for that which Arthur had promised them. I too will have a good tale which he promised me, said Kay. Nay, answered Caenon, fairer will it be for thee to fulfill Arthur's behest in the first place, and then we will tell thee the best tale that we know. So Kay went to the kitchen and to the mead cellar and returned bearing a flagon of mead and a golden goblet and a handful of skewers upon which were broiled collops of meat. Then they ate the collops and began to drink the mead. Now, said Kay, it is time for you to give me my story. Caenon, said Owain, do thou pay to Kay the tale that is his due? I will do so, answered Caenon. I was the only son of my mother and father, and I was exceedingly aspiring, and my daring was very great. I thought there was no enterprise in the world too mighty for me, and after I had achieved all the adventures that were in my own country, I equipped myself and set forth to journey through deserts and distant regions, and at length a chance that I came to the fairest valley in the world wherein were trees all of equal growth, and a river ran through the valley and a path was by the side of the river. And I followed the path until midday and continued my journey along the remainder of the valley until the evening, and at the extremity of the plain I came to a large and lustrous castle at the foot of which was a torrent, and I approached the castle, and there I beheld two youths with yellow curling hair, each with a frontlet of gold upon his head, and clad in a garment of yellow satin, and they had gold clasps upon their in-steps. In the hand of each of them was an ivory bow strung with the sinews of the stag, and their arrows and their shafts were of the bone of the whale, and were winged with peacock's feathers. The shafts also had golden heads, and they had daggers with blades of gold and with hilts of the bone of the whale, and they were shooting at a mark. And a little away from them I saw a man in the prime of life, with his beard newly shorn, clad in a robe and mantle of yellow satin, and round the top of his mantle was a band of gold lace. On his feet were shoes of variegated leather. Footnote. Cordewal is the word in the original, and from the manner in which it is used it is evidently intended for the French Cordewan, or Cordewan leather, which derived its name from Cordova, where it was manufactured. From this comes also our English word Cordwayner, and footnote, fastened by two bosses of gold. When I saw him I went towards him and saluted him, and such was his courtesy that he no sooner received my greeting than he returned it, and he went with me towards the castle. Now there were no dwellers in the castle except those who were in one hall, and there I saw four and twenty damsels embroidering satin at a window, and this I tell thee, Kay, that the least fair of them was fairer than the fairest maid thou didst ever behold in the island of Britain. And the least lovely of them was more lovely than Guinevere, the wife of Arthur, when she appeared loveliest at the Feast of Easter. They rose up at my coming, and six of them took my horse, and divested me of my armor, and six others took my arms and washed them in a vessel till they were perfectly bright. And the third six spread cloths upon the tables and prepared meat, and the fourth six took off my soiled garments and placed others upon me, namely an undervast and a doublet of fine linen and a robe and a surcoat and a mantle of yellow satin with a broad gold band upon the mantle, and they placed cushions both beneath and around me with coverings of red linen and I sat down. Now the six maidens who had taken my horse unharnessed him as well as if they had been the best squires in the island of Britain. Then behold they brought bowls of silver wherein was water to wash and towels of linen, some green and some white, and I washed, and in a little while the man sat down at the table, and I sat next to him and below me sat all the maidens except those who waited on us. And the table was of silver, and the cloths upon the table were of linen, and no vessel was served upon the table that was not either of gold or of silver or of buffalo horn. And our meat was brought to us, and verily, Kay, I saw there every sort of meat and every sort of liquor that I ever saw elsewhere, but the meat and the liquor were better served there than I ever saw them in any other place. Until the repast was half over, neither the man nor any one of the damsels spoke a single word to me, but when the man perceived that it would be more agreeable for me to converse than to eat any more, he began to inquire of me who I was. Then I told the man who I was and what was the cause of my journey, and said that I was seeking whether anyone was superior to me or whether I could gain mastery over all. The man looked upon me and he smiled and said, if I did not fear to do thee a mischief, I would show thee that which thou seekest. Then I desired him to speak freely, and he said, sleep here tonight and in the morning arise early and take the road upwards through the valley until thou readyest the wood. A little way within the wood thou wilt come to a large sheltered glade with a mound in the center, and thou wilt see a black man of great stature on the top of the mound. He has but one foot and one eye in the middle of his forehead. He is the woodward of that wood, and thou wilt see a thousand wild animals grazing around him. Inquire of him the way out of the glade, and he will reply to thee briefly, and will point out the road by which thou shalt find that which thou art in quest of. And long seemed that night to me, and the next morning I arose and equipped myself and mounted my horse and proceeded straight through the valley to the wood, and at length I arrived in the glade. And the black man was there, sitting upon the top of the mound, and I was three times more astonished at the number of wild animals that I beheld than the man had said I should be. Then I inquired of him the way, and he asked me roughly whether I would go. And when I had told him who I was and what I sought, take, said he, that path that leads toward the head of the glade, and there thou wilt find an open space like to a large valley, and in the midst of it a tall tree. Under this tree is a fountain, and by the side of the fountain a marble slab, and on the marble slab a silver bowl attached by a chain of silver that it may not be carried away. Take the bowl and throw a bowl full of water on the slab, and if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou needst not seek it during the rest of thy life. So I journeyed on until I reached the summit of the steep, and there I found everything as the black man had described it to me, and I went up to the tree, and beneath it I saw the fountain, and by its side the marble slab, and the silver bowl fastened by the chain. Then I took the bowl and cast a bowl full of water upon the slab, and immediately I heard a mighty peel of thunder, so that heaven and earth seemed to tremble with its fury. And after the thunder came a shower, and of a truth I tell thee, Kay, that it was such a shower as neither man nor beast could endure and live. I turned my horse's flank toward the shower, and placed the beak of my shield over his head and neck, while I held the upper part of it over my own neck, and thus I withstood the shower. When presently the sky became clear, and with that, behold, the birds lighted upon the tree and sang, and truly, Kay, I never heard any melody equal to that, either before or since. And when I was most charmed with listening to the birds, lo, a chiding voice was heard of one approaching me and saying, O night, what has brought thee hither? What evil have I done to thee that thou shouldst act towards me and my possessions as thou hast this day? Must thou not know that the shower today has left in my dominions neither man nor beast alive that was exposed to it? And thereupon, behold, a night on a black horse appeared, clothed in jet-black velvet, and with a tabard of black linen about him. And we charged each other, and as the onset was furious, it was not long before I was overthrown. Then the night passed the shaft of his lance through the bridal reign of my horse, and rode off with the two horses, leaving me where I was. And he did not even bestow so much notice upon me as to imprison me, nor did he to spoil me of my arms. So I returned along the road by which I had come, and when I reached the glade where the black man was, I confessed to thee, Kay, it is a marvel that I did not melt down into a liquid pool through the shame that I felt at the black man's derision. And that night I came to the same castle where I had spent the night preceding. And I was more agreeably entertained that night than I had been the night before. And I conversed freely with the inmates of the castle, and none of them alluded to my expedition to the fountain, neither did I mention it to any. And I remained there that night. When I arose on the morrow I found ready saddled a dark bay palfrey with nostrils as red as scarlet, and after putting on my armor and leaving there my blessing I returned to my own court. And that horse I still possess, and he is in the stable yonder, and I declare that I would not part with him for the best palfrey in the island of Britain. Now of a truth, Kay, no man ever before confessed to an adventure so much to his own discredit, and verily it seemed strange to me that neither before nor since have I heard of any person who knew of this adventure, and that the subject of it should exist within King Arthur's dominions without any other person lighting upon it. The Age of Chivalry by Thomas Bulfinch, The Mabinodian, Chapter 3, The Lady of the Fountain Continued, O'Wayne's Adventure. Footnote. Amongst all the characters of early British history, none is the more interesting or occupies more conspicuous place than the hero of this tale. O'Wayne, his father, was Prince of Rhaeged, a district comprising the present Cumberland and part of the adjacent country. His valour, and the consideration in which he was held, are a frequent theme of bardic song, and form the subject of several very spirited odes by Taliesin. Amongst the triads, there is one relating to him. It is thus translated. Three knights of battle were in court of Arthur Kadar, the Earl of Cornwall, Norsalot Dulac, and O'Wayne, the son of Orian. And this was their characteristic, that they would not retreat from battle, neither for spear, nor for arrow, nor for sword. And Arthur never had shame in battle the day he saw their faces there. And they were called the Knights of Battle. End footnote. Now, quote O'Wayne, would it not be well to go and endeavour to discover that place? By the hand of my friend, said Kay, often does thou utter that with thy tongue, which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds. In very truth, said Gwynevere, it were better thou word hanged, Kay, than to use such uncurtious speech towards a man like O'Wayne. By the hand of my friend, good lady, said Kay, my praise of O'Wayne is not greater than mine. With that Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not been sleeping a little. Yes, Lord, answered O'Wayne, thou has slept a while. Is it time for us to go to meet? It is, Lord, said O'Wayne. Then the horn for washing was sounded, and the king and all his household sat down to eat. And when the meal was ended, O'Wayne withdrew to his lodging, and made ready his horse and his arms. On the morrow, with the dawn of day, he put on his armour and mounted his charger, and travelled through distant lands and over desert mountains. And at length he arrived at the valley which Kynon had described to him, and he was certain that it was the same that he sought. And journeying along the valley, by the side of the river, he followed its course till he came to the plain and within sight of the castle. When he approached the castle, he saw the youths shooting with their bows, in the place where Kynon had seen them, and the yellow man, tome the castle belonged, standing hard by, and no sooner had O'Wayne saluted the yellow man than he was saluted by him in return. And he went forward towards the castle, and there he saw the chamber, and when he had entered the chamber, he beheld the maidens working at satin embroidery, in chains of gold, and their beauty and their comeliness seemed to O'Wayne far greater than Kynon had represented to him, and they arose to wait upon O'Wayne, as they had done to Kynon, and the meal which they set before him gave even more satisfaction to O'Wayne than it had done to Kynon. About the middle of the repast, the yellow man asked O'Wayne the object of his journey, and O'Wayne made it known to him, and said, I am in quest of the night to guard the fountain. Upon this the yellow man smiled, and said that he was as loath to point out that adventure to him, as he had been to Kynon. However, he described the whole to O'Wayne, and they retired to rest. The next morning O'Wayne found his horse made ready for him by the damsels, and he set forward and came to the glade where the black man was, and the stature of the black man seemed more wonderful to O'Wayne than it had done to Kynon, and O'Wayne asked of him his road, and he showed it to him, and O'Wayne followed the road till he came to the green tree, and he beheld the fountain, and the slab beside the fountain with a bowl upon it, and O'Wayne took the bowl, and threw a bowl full of water upon the slab, and low the thunder was heard, and after the thunder came the shower more violent than Kynon had described, and after the shower the sky became bright, and immediately the birds came and settled upon the tree and sang, and when their song was most pleasing to O'Wayne he beheld a knight coming towards him through the valley, and he prepared to receive him, and encountered him violently. Having broken both their lances they drew their swords and fought blade to blade, then O'Wayne struck the knight a blow through his helmet, headpiece and visor, and through the skin and the flesh and the bone until it wounded the very brain. Then the black knight felt that he had received a mortal wound upon which he turned his horse's head and fled, and O'Wayne pursued him and followed close upon him, although he was not near enough to strike him with his sword. Then O'Wayne described a vast and resplendent castle, and they came to the castle gate, and the black knight was allowed to enter, and the port cullis was let fall upon O'Wayne, and it struck his horse behind the saddle, and cut him in two, and carried away the rolls of the spurs that were upon O'Wayne's heels, and the port cullis descended to the floor, and the rolls of the spurs and part of the horse were without, and O'Wayne with the other part of the horse remained between the two gates, and the inner gate was closed so that O'Wayne could not go thence, and O'Wayne was in a perplexing situation, and while he was in this state he could see through an aperture in the gate a street facing him with a row of houses on each side, and he beheld a maiden with yellow curling hair, and a frontlet of gold upon her head, and she was clad in a dress of yellow satin, and on her feet were shoes of very gated leather, and she approached the gate and desired that it should be opened. "'Heaven knows, lady,' said O'Wayne, "'it is no more possible for me to open to thee from hence, and it is for thee to set me free.' And he told her his name, and who he was. "'Truly,' said the damsel, "'it is very sad that thou canst not be released, and every woman ought to succor thee, for I know there is no one more faithful in the service of ladies than thou. "'Therefore,' quoth she, "'whatever is in my power to do for thy release, I will do it. Take this ring and put it on thy finger with a stone inside thy hand, and close thy hand upon the stone, and as long as thou concealest it, it will conceal thee. When they come forth to fetch thee, they will be much grieved that they cannot find thee, and I will await thee on the horse-block yonder, and thou wilt be able to see me, though I cannot see thee. Therefore come and place thy hand upon my shoulder, that I may know that thou art near me, and by the way that I go hence, do thou accompany me.' Then the maiden went away from O'Wayne, and he did all that she had taught him, and the people of the castle came to seek O'Wayne to put him to death, and when they found nothing but the half of his horse, they were sorely grieved. And O'Wayne vanished from among them, and went to the maiden, and placed his hand upon her shoulder, whereupon she set off, and O'Wayne followed her, until they came to the door of a large and beautiful chamber, and the maiden opened it, and they went in. And O'Wayne looked around the chamber, and behold, there was not a single nail in it that was not painted with gorgeous colours, and there was not a single panel that had not sundry images in gold portrayed upon it. The maiden kindled a fire, and took water in a silver bowl, and gave O'Wayne water to wash. Then she placed before him a silver table inlaid with gold, upon which was a cloth of yellow linen, and she brought him food, and, of a truth, O'Wayne never saw any kind of meat that was not there in abundance, but it was better cooked there than he had ever found it in any other place, and there was not one vessel from which he was served, that was not of gold or of silver, and O'Wayne ate and drank until late in the afternoon, when low they heard a mighty clamour in the castle, and O'Wayne asked the maiden what it was. They are administering extreme unction, said she, to the noble man who owns the castle, and she prepared a couch for O'Wayne, which was meat for Arthur himself, and O'Wayne went to sleep. And a little after daybreak he heard an exceeding loud clamour and wailing, and he asked the maiden what was the cause of it. They are bearing to the church the body of the noble man who owned the castle. And O'Wayne rose up and closed himself, and opened a window of the chamber, and looked towards the castle, and he could see neither the bounds nor the extent of the hosts that filled the streets. And they were fully armed, and a vast number of women were with them, both on horseback and on foot, and all the ecclesiastics in the city singing. In the midst of the throng he beheld the beer, over which was a veil of white linen, and wax tapers were burning beside and around it, and none that supported the beer was lower in rank than a powerful baron. Never did O'Wayne see an assemblage so gorgeous with silk and satin. Footnote. Before the sixth century all the silk used by Europeans had been brought to them by the Ceres, the ancestors of the present Bucarians, whence it derived its Latin name of Serica. In 551 the silkworm was brought by two monks to Constantinople, but the manufacture of silk was confined to the Greek Empire till the year 1130, when Roger, king of Sicily, returning from a crusade, collected some manufacturers from Athens and Corinth, and established them at Palermo, whence the trade was gradually disseminated over Italy. The varieties of silkstuffs known at this time were velvet, satin, which was called Semite, and taffety, called cendol or sendow, all of which were occasionally stitched with gold and silver. End footnote. And following the train he beheld a lady with yellow hair falling over her shoulders, and stained with blood, and about her a dress of yellow satin, which was torn. Upon her feet were shoes of variegated leather, and it was marvell that the ends of her fingers were not bruised from the violence with which she smote her hands together. Truly, she would have been the fairest lady a wane ever saw had she been in her usual guise. And her cry was louder than the shout of the men, or the clamour of the trumpets. No sooner had he beheld the lady, than he became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire possession of him. Then he inquired of the maiden, who the lady was. Heaven knows, replied the maiden, she is the fairest, and the most chaste, and the most liberal, and the most noble of women. She is my mistress, and she is called the Countess of the Fountain. The wife of him, whom thou dislay yesterday. Verily, said a wane, she is the woman that I love best. Verily, said the maiden, she shall also love thee, not a little. Then the maiden prepared her a past for a wane, and truly he thought he had never before so good a meal, nor was he ever so well served. Then she left him, and went towards the castle. When she came there, she found nothing but mourning and sorrow, and the Countess in her chamber could not bear the sight of any one through grief. Luned, for that was the name of the maiden, saluted her, but the Countess answered her not. And the maiden bent down towards her, and said, What aileth thee, that thou answereth no one today? Luned, said the Countess, what change hath befallen thee, that thou hast not come to visit me in my grief? It was wrong in thee, and I so sorely afflicted. Truly, said Luned, I thought thy good sense was greater than I find it to be. Is it well for thee to mourn after that good man, or for anything else that thou canst not have? I declare to heaven, said the Countess, that in the whole world there is not a man equal to him. Not so, said Luned, for an ugly man would be as good as or better than he. I declare to heaven, said the Countess, that were it not repugnant to me to put to death one whom I have brought up, I would have thee executed for making such a comparison to me. As it is, I will banish thee. I am glad, said Luned, that thou hast no other cause to do so than that I would have been of service to thee, where thou didst not know what was to thine advantage. Henceforth evil betide which ever of us shall make the first advance towards reconciliation to the other, whether I should seek an invitation from thee, or thou of thine own accord should send to invite. With that Luned went forth, and the Countess arose and followed her to the door of the chamber, and began coughing loudly, and when Luned looked back, the Countess beckoned to her, and she returned the Countess. In truth, said the Countess, evil is thy disposition, but if thou knowest what is to my advantage, declare it to me. I will do so, said she. Thou knowest that, except by warfare and arms, it is impossible for thee to preserve thy possessions, delay not, therefore, to seek someone who can defend them. And how can I do that? said the Countess. I will tell thee, said Luned, unless thou canst defend the fountain, thou canst not maintain thy dominions, and no one can defend the fountain, except it be a night of Arthur's household. I will go to Arthur's court, and ill betide me if I return not thence with a warrior who can guard the fountain as well as, or even better than, he who defended it formally. That will be hard to perform, said the Countess. Go, however, and make proof of that which thou hast promised. Luned set out, under the pretense of going to Arthur's court. But she went back to the mansion where she had left away, and she tarried there as long as it might have taken her to travel to the court of King Arthur and back. And at the end of that time she appalled herself, and went to visit the Countess. And the Countess was much rejoiced when she saw her, and inquired what news she brought from the court. I bring thee the best of news, said Luned, for I have compassed the object of my mission. When wilt thou that I should present thee the chieftain who has come with me hither, bring him here to visit me tomorrow, said the Countess, and I will cause the town to be assembled by that time. And Luned returned home. And the next day at noon O'Wayne arrayed himself in a coat and a surcoat and a mantle of yellow satin, upon which was a broad band of gold lace, and on his feet were high shoes of variegated leather, which were fastened by golden clasps in the form of lions, and they proceeded to the chamber of the Countess. Right glad was the Countess of their coming, and she gazed steadfastly upon O'Wayne, and said, Luned, this night has not the look of a traveller. What harm is there in that, lady? said Luned. I am certain, said the Countess, that no other man than this chased the soul from the body of my lord. So much the better for thee, lady, said Luned, for had he not been stronger than thy lord, he could not have deprived him of life. There is no remedy for that which is past, be it as it may. Go back to thine abode, said the Countess, and I will take counsel. The next day the Countess caused all her subjects to assemble, and showed them that her earldom was left defenceless, and that it could not be protected but with horse and arms and military skill. Therefore, said she, this is what I offer for your choice. Either let one of you take me, or give your consent for me to take a husband from elsewhere to defend my dominions. So they came to the determination that it was better that she should have permission to marry someone from elsewhere, and thereupon she sent for the bishops and archbishops to celebrate her nuptials with O'Wayne, and the men of the earldom did O'Wayne homage, and O'Wayne defended the fountain with lance and sword, and this is the manner in which he defended it. Whensoever a night came there he overthrew him and sold him for his full worth, and what he thus gained he divided among his barons at his knights, and no man in the whole world could be more beloved than he was by his subjects, and it was thus for the space of three years. Footnote. There exists an ancient poem, printed among those of Taliesin, called The Elegy of O'Wayne Ap-Oryan, and containing several very beautiful and spirited passages, it commences, The Soul of O'Wayne Ap-Oryan, May its Lord consider its exigencies, regeds chief the green turf covers. In the course of this elegy, the bard, alluding to the incessant warfare with which this chieftain harassed his Saxon foes, exclaims, Could England sleep with a light upon her eyes? End Footnote. End of chapter three. Chapter four of The Mabinodian from Bullfinch is The Age of Shivery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by David Barnes. The Age of Shivery by Thomas Bullfinch. The Mabinodian. Chapter four. The Lady of the Fountain. Continued. Gowayne's Adventure. It befell that, as Gowayne went forth one day with King Arthur, he perceived him to be very sad and sorrowful. And Gowayne was much grieved to see Arthur in this state, and he questioned him, saying, Oh, my Lord, what has befallen thee? In soothe Gowayne, said Arthur, I am grieving concerning O'Wayne, whom I have lost these three years, and I shall certainly die if the fourth year pass without my seeing him. Now I am sure that it is through the tale which Kynon, the son of Clydno, related, that I have lost O'Wayne. There is no need for thee, said Gowayne, to summon to arms thy whole dominions on this account, for thou thyself and the men of thy household will be able to avenge O'Wayne if he be slain, or to set him free if he be in prison, and if alive to bring him back with thee. And it was settled according to what Gowayne had said. Then Arthur and the men of his household prepared to go and seek O'Wayne, and Kynon, the son of Clydno, acted as their guide. And Arthur came to the castle where Kynon had been before, and when he came there the youths were shooting in the same place, and the yellow man was standing hard by. When the yellow man saw Arthur he greeted him, and invited him to the castle. And Arthur accepted his invitation, and they entered the castle together. And great as was the number of his retinue, their presence was scarcely observed in the castle, so vast was its extent. And the maidens rose up to wait on them, and the service of the maidens appeared to them all to excel any attendants they had ever met with, and even the pages who had charge of the horses were no worse served that night than Arthur himself would have been in his own palace. The next morning Arthur set out thence with Kynon for his guide, and came to the place where the black man was. And the stature of the black man was more surprising to Arthur than it had been represented to him. And they came to the top of the wooded steep, and traversed the valley till they reached the green tree, where they saw the fountain, and the bowl, and the slab. And upon that Kynon came to Arthur and spoke to him. My Lord said he, I know the meaning of all this, and my request is that thou wilt permit me to throw the water on the slab, and to receive the first adventure that may befall. And Arthur gave him leave. Then K through a bowl full of water upon the slab, and immediately there came the thunder, and after the thunder the shower, and such a thunderstorm they had never known before. After the shower had ceased the sky became clear, and on looking at the tree they beheld it completely leafless. Then the birds descended upon the tree, and the song of the birds was far sweeter than any strain they had ever heard before. Then they beheld a night on a cold black horse, clothed in black satin, coming rapidly towards them. And K met him, and encountered him, and it was not long before K was overthrown. And the night withdrew, and Arthur and his host encamped for the night. And when they arose in the morning they perceived the signal of combat upon the lance of the night. Then one by one all the household of Arthur went forth to combat the night, until there was not one that was not overthrown by him except Arthur and Gawain. And Arthur armed himself to encounter the night. Oh, my Lord said Gawain, permit me to fight with him first. And Arthur permitted him. And he went forth to meet the night, having over himself and his horse a satin robe of honour, which had been sent him by the daughter of the Earl of Rangir. And in this dress he was not known by any of the host. And they charged each other, and fought all that day until the evening, and neither of them was able to unhorse the other. And so it was the next day they broke their lances in the shock, but neither of them could obtain the mastery. On the third day they fought with exceeding strong lances, and they were incensed with rage, and fought furiously, even until noon. And they gave each other such a shock that the girths of their horses were broken, so that they fell over their horses' croppers to the ground. And they rose up speedily, and drew their swords, and resumed the combat. And all they that witnessed their encounter felt assured that they had never before seen two men so valiant or so powerful. And had it been midnight it would have been light from the fire that flashed from their weapons. And the night gave Gawain a blow that turned his helmet from off his face, so that the night saw that it was Gawain. Then Gawain said, My Lord Gawain, I did not know thee for my cousin, owing to the robe of honour that enveloped thee, take my sword and my arms. Said Gawain, Thou, O'Wayne, art the victor, take thou my sword. And with that Arthur saw that they were conversing, and advanced toward them. My Lord Arthur, said Gawain, Here is O'Wayne, who has vanquished me, and will not take my arms. My Lord, said O'Wayne, it is he that has vanquished me, and he will not take my sword. Give me your swords, said Arthur, and then neither of you has vanquished the other. Then O'Wayne put his arms around Arthur's neck, and they embraced. And all the host hurried forward to see O'Wayne, and to embrace him. And there was nigh being a loss of life, so great was the press. And they retired that night. And the next day Arthur prepared to depart. My Lord, said O'Wayne, this is not well of thee, for I have been absent from thee these three years, and during all that time up to this very day I have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing that thou wouldst come to seek me. Tarry with me, therefore, until thou and I attendants have recovered the fatigues of the journey, and have been anointed. And they all proceeded to the castle of the Countess of the Fountain. And the banquet which had been three years preparing was consumed in three months. Never had they a more delicious or agreeable banquet, and Arthur prepared to depart. Then he sent an embassy to the Countess to beseech her to permit O'Wayne to go with him, for the space of three months that he might show him to the nobles and the fair dames of the island of Britain. And the Countess gave her consent, although it was very painful to her. So O'Wayne came with Arthur to the island of Britain. And when he was once more amongst his kindred and friends, he remained three years instead of three months with them. The adventure of the lion. And as O'Wayne one day sat at meet in the city of Caelion upon Usk, Behold a damsel entered the hall upon a bay horse with a curling mane, and covered with foam. And the bridle, and as much as was seen of the saddle, were of gold. And the damsel was arrayed in a dress of yellow satin. And she came up to O'Wayne and took the ring off from his hand. Thus said she, shall be treated the deceiver, the traitor, the faithless, the disgraced, and the beardless. And she turned her horse's head and departed. Footnote. The custom of riding into a hall while the Lord and his guests sat at meet might be illustrated by numerous passages of ancient romance and history. But a quotation from Chaucer's beautiful and half-told tale, the Camboscan is sufficient. And so befell that after the thridder course, while that these kings sat thus in his nobly, hiking his minstrels their fingers play, before him at his board deliciously, in at the hallowed door all suddenly, they came a-kneaked upon a stair-dub brass, and in his horn-dub broad mirror of glass, upon his thumb he had of gold a ring, and by his side a-naked sword hanging. And up he rideth to the higher-board, in all the hallowed ney was their spoke-award. For merry are they of this knicked, him to behold for basely they waiten, young and old. End of Footnote. Then his adventure came to O'Wayne's remembrance, and he was sorrowful, and having finished eating he went to his own abode, and made preparations that night. And the next day he arose, but did not go to the court, nor did he return to the countess of the fountain, but wandered to the distant parts of the earth, and to uncultivated mountains. And he remained there, until all his apparel was worn out, and his body was wasted away, and his hair was grown long, and he went about with the wild beasts, and fed with them, until they became familiar with him. But at length he became so weak that he could no longer bear them company. Then he descended from the mountains to the valley, and came to a park that was the fairest in the world, and belonged to a charitable lady. One day the lady and her attendants went forth to walk by a lake that was in the middle of the park, and they saw the form of a man lying as if dead, and they were terrified. Nevertheless, they went near him, and touched him, and they saw that there was life in him. And the lady returned to the castle, and took a flask full of precious ointment, and gave it to one of her maidens. Go with this, said she, and take with thee on the horse and clothing, and place them near the man we saw just now, and anoint him with this balsam near his heart. And if there is life in him, he will revive through the efficiency of this balsam. Then watch what he will do. And the maiden departed from her, and went and poured of the balsam upon a wane, and left the horse and the garments hard by, and went a little way off, and hid herself to watch him. In a short time she saw him begin to move, and he rose up, and looked at his person, and became ashamed of the unseemliness of his appearance. Then he perceived the horse and the garments that were near him, and he clothed himself, and with difficulty mounted the horse. Then the damsel discovered herself to him, and saluted him, and he and the maiden proceeded to the castle, and the maiden conducted him to a pleasant chamber, and kindled a fire, and left him. And he stayed at the castle three months till he was restored to his former guise, and became even more comely than he had ever been before. And a wane rendered signal service to the lady, in a controversy with a powerful neighbour, so that he made ample requital to her for her hospitality, and he took his departure. And as he journeyed, he heard a loud yelling in a wood, and it was repeated a second and a third time. And a wane went towards the spot, and beheld a huge craggy mound in the middle of the wood, and on the side of which was a grey rock, and there was a cleft in the rock, and a serpent was within the cleft, and near the rock stood a black lion, and every time the lion sought to go thence the serpent darted towards him to attack him. And a wane unsheathed his sword, and drew near to the rock, and as the serpent sprung out, he struck him with this sword, and cut him in two, and he dried his sword, and went on his way as before. But beheld, the lion followed him, and played about him, as though it had been a greyhound that he had reared. They proceeded thus throughout the day until the evening, and when it was time for a wane to take his rest, he dismounted, and turned his horse loose in a flat and wooded meadow, and he struck fire, and when the fire was kindled the lion brought him fuel enough to last for three nights, and the lion disappeared, and presently the lion returned bearing a fine large roebuck, and he threw it down before a wane, who went towards the fire with it. And a wane took the roebuck, and skinned it, and placed colapses of its meat upon skewers around the fire. The rest of the buck he gave to the lion to devour. While he was so employed, he heard a deep groan near him, and a second, and a third. And the place whence the groans proceeded was a cave in the rock. And a wane went near, and called out to know who it was that groaned so piteously. And a voice answered, I am luned, the handmaiden of the Countess of the Fountain. And what dost thou hear, said he? I am in prison, said she, on account of the night who came from Arthur's court, and married the Countess. And he stayed a short time with her, but he afterwards departed for the court of Arthur, and has not returned since. And two of the Countess's pages traduced him, and called him a deceiver. And because I said I would vouch for it, that he would come before long and maintain his cause against both of them, they imprisoned me in this cave, and said that I should be put to death, unless he came to deliver me by a certain day. And that is no further off than tomorrow, and I have no one to send to seek him for me. His name is Owain, the son of Urian. And art thou certain, that if that night knew all this, he would come to thy rescue? I am almost certain of it, said she. When the colapses were cooked, Owain divided them into two parts, between himself and the maiden, and then Owain laid himself down to sleep, and never did Sentinel keep stricter watch over his Lord than the lion that night over Owain. And the next day there came the two pages, with a great troop of attendants, to take Luned from her cell and put her to death. And Owain asked them what charge they had against her, and they told him of the compact that was between them, as the maiden had done the night before. And, said they, Owain has failed her, therefore we are taking her to be burnt. Truly, said Owain, he is a good night, and if he knew that the maiden was in such peril, I marveled that he came not to her rescue. But if you will accept me in his stead, I will do battle with you. We will, said the youth. And they attacked Owain, and he was hard beset by them. And with that the lion came to Owain's assistance, and they too got the better of the young men, and they said to him, Chieftain, it was not agreed that we should fight, save with thyself alone, and it is harder for us to contend with yonder animal than with thee. And Owain put the lion in the place where Luned had been imprisoned, and blocked up the door with stones, and he went to fight with the young men as before. But Owain had not his usual strength, and the two youths pressed hard upon him, and the lion roared incessantly at seeing Owain in trouble. And he burst through the wall, until he found a way out, and rushed upon the young men, and instantly slew them, so Luned was saved from being burned. Then Owain returned with Luned to the castle of the Lady of the Fountain, and when he went thence he took the countess with him to Arthur's court, and she was his wife as long as she lived. End of chapter 4