 Eric and a Need by Cretan DuTois translated by WW Comfort part 2 This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org read by MJ Eric and a need part 2 When the kiss of the stag was taken according to the custom of the country Eric, like a polite and kind man, was solicitous for his poor host. It was not his intention to fail to execute what he had promised. Here how he kept his covenant, for he sent him now five sumptor mules, strong and sleek, loaded with dresses and clothes, buckrams and scarlet marks of gold and silver plate, furs both bare and gray, skins of sable, purple studs, and silks. When the mules were loaded with all that a gentleman can need, he sent with them an escort of ten knights and sergeants chosen from his own men and straightly charged them to salute his host and show great honor both to him and to his lady, as if it were to himself in person. And when they should have presented to them the sumptors, which they brought them, the gold, the silver, and money, and all the other furnishings which were in the boxes, they should escort the lady and the Vavasor with great honor into his kingdom of Father Wales. Two towns there he had promised them, the most choice and the best situated, that there were in all his land, with nothing to fear from attack. Montrevelle was the name of one and the other's name was Rwandaan. When they should arrive in his kingdom, they should make over to them these two towns, together with their rents and their jurisdiction, in accordance with what he had promised them. All was carried out as Eric had ordered. The messengers made no delay, and in good time they presented to his host the gold and the silver and the sumptors and the robes and the money, of which there was great plenty. They escorted them into Eric's kingdom and strove to serve them well. They came into the country on the third day and transferred to them the towers of the towns, for King Locke made no objection. He gave them a warm welcome and showed them honor, loving them for the sake of his son Eric. He made over to them the title to the towns and established their sovereignty by making knights and bourgeois swear that they would reverence them as their true liege lords. When this was done and accomplished, the messengers returned to their lord, Eric, who received them gladly. When he asked for news of the Vavasor and his lady, of his own father and of his kingdom, the report they gave him was good and fair. Not long after this the time grew near when Eric was to celebrate his marriage. The delay was irksome to him, and he resolved no longer to suffer and wait. So he went and asked of the king that it might please him to allow him to be married at the court. The king vouchsafed him the boon, and sent through all his kingdom to search for the kings and counts who were his liegemen, bidding them that none be so bold as not to be present at Pentecost. No one dares to hold back and not go to court that the king summons. Now I will tell you and listen well who were these counts and kings. With a rich escort and one hundred extra mounts Count Braddis of Gloucester came. After him came Memagoran, who was Count of Plybodon, and he of the Hote Montagne came with very rich following. The Count of Trevorrain came, too, with a hundred of his knights, and Count Gordegrain, with his many more, along with those whom I have just mentioned, came Melaroas, a great baron, lord of the Isle of Bois. In this island no thunder is heard, no lightning strikes, nor tempests rage, nor do toads or serpents exist there, nor is it ever too hot or too cold. Grayslemere of Thaimpostern brought twenty companions, and had with him his brother Guiguma, lord of the Isle of Avalon. Of the latter we have heard it said he was a friend of Morgan the Faye, and such he was, in very truth. David of Tindigal came, who never suffered woe or grief. Guirgassin, the Duke of Hopewa, came with a very rich equipment. There was no lack of counts and dukes, but of kings there were still more. Garros of Cork, a dowdy king, was there with five hundred knights clad in mantles, hoes, and tunics of bouquet and silk. Upon a Cappadocian steed came Anguisa, the Scottish king, and brought with him his two sons, Cadrette and Poix. Too much respected knights. Along with those whom I have named came King Ban-Ur-Gomerai, and he had in his company only young men, beardless as yet on chin and lip. A numerous and gay band he brought, two hundred of them in his suite, and there was none, whoever he be, but had a falcon or a terse, a merlin or a sparrow-hawk, or some precious pigeon-hawk, golden or merrid. Karen, the old king of Rial, brought no youth, but rather three hundred companions of whom the youngest was seven-score-years-old. Because of their great age their heads were all as white as snow, and their beards reached down to their girdles. Arthur held them in great respect. The lord of the dwarfs came next, Thyllis, the king of the Andropods. This king of whom I speak was a dwarf himself, and his own brother of Brion. Brion, on one hand, was the smallest of all the dwarfs, while his brother Brion was a half-foot or a full-palm taller than any other knight in the kingdom. To display his wealth and power Brilis brought with him two kings who were also dwarfs, and who were vassals of his, Grigoris and Glacidalen. Everyone looked at them as marvels. But they had arrived at court they were treated with great esteem. All three were honored and served at the court like kings, for they were very perfect gentlemen. In brief, when King Arthur saw all his lords assembled, his heart was glad. Then to heighten the joy he ordered a hundred squires to be bathed, whom he wished to dub knights. There was none of them but had a party-colored robe of rich brocade of Alexandria. Each one choosing such as pleased his fancy. All had arms of a uniform pattern, and horses swift and full of metal, of which the worst was worth a hundred leaves. When Eric received his wife, he must needs called her by her right name. Her wife is not espoused unless she is called by her proper name. As yet no one knew her name, but now, for the first time, it was made known. A need was her baptismal name. The archbishop of Canterbury, who had come to the court, blessed them as is his right. When the court was all assembled, there was not a minstrel in the countryside who possessed any pleasing accomplishment that did not come to the court. In the great hall there was much merry-making, each one contributing what he could to the entertainment. One jumps, another tumbles, another does magic. There is storytelling, singing, whistling, playing from notes. They play in the harp, the rote, the fiddle, the violin, the flute, the violin, the pipe. The maidens sing and dance, and out do each other in the merry-making. At the wedding that day, everything was done which can give joy and incline man's heart to gladness. Drums are beaten, large and small, and there is plain of pipes, wipes, horns, trumpets, and bagpipes. What more shall I say? There was not a thicket or a gate kept closed, but the exits and entrances all stood ajar, so that no one, poor or rich, was turned away. King Arthur was not miserly, but gave orders to the bakers, the cooks, and the butlers that they should serve everyone generously with red wine and venison. No one asked anything whatever to be passed to him without getting all he desired. There was great merry-ment in the palace. But I will pass over the rest, and you shall hear of the joy and pleasure in the bridal chamber. Bishops and archbishops were there over the night, when the bride and groom retired. At this their first meeting. Ysut was not filched away, nor was Brangian put in her place. The queen herself took charge of their preparations for the night, for both of them were dear to her. The hunted stag, which pants for thirst, does not so long, for the spring, nor does the hungry sparrow-hawk return so quickly when he is called. As did these two come to hold each other in a close embrace. That night they had full compensation for their long delay. After the chamber had been cleared they allow each sense to be gratified. The eyes which are the entranceway of love, and which carry messages to the heart, take satisfaction in the glance, for they rejoice in all they see. After the message of the eyes comes the far-surpassing sweetness of the kisses inviting love. Both of them make trial of this sweetness, and let their hearts quuff so freely that hardly can they leave off. Thus kissing was their first sport. And the love which is between them emboldened the maid, and left her quite without her fears, regardless of pain she suffered off. Before she rose she no longer bore the name of maid. In the morning she was a new maid dame. That day the minstrels were in happy mood, for they were all well-paid, and they were fully compensated for the entertainment they had given. And many a handsome gift was bestowed upon them, robes of gray squirrel skin and ermine, of rabbit skins and violet stuff, scarlets and silken stuff. Whether it be a horse or money, each one got what he deserved, according to his skill. And thus the wedding festivities and the court lasted almost a fortnight with great joy and magnificence. For his own glory and satisfaction, as well as to honour Eric the Moor, King Arthur made all the nights remain a full fortnight. When the third week began, all together by common consent agreed to hold a tournament. On the one side my Lord Gowen offered himself assurity that it would take place between Iberrock and Tenebac, and Melis and Meliadoc, for guarantees on the other side. Then the court separated. A month after Pentecost the tournament assembled, and the jousting began in the plain below Tenebrock. Many an ensign of red, blue and white, many a veil and many a sleeve were bestowed as tokens of love. Many a lance was carried there, flying the colours, argent and green, or gold and azure blue. There were many, too, with different devices, some with stripes and some with dots. That day one saw laced on many a helmet of gold or steel, some green, some yellow, and others red, all a glowing in the sun. So many scrunchions and white fabrics, so many swords girt on the left side, so many good shields fresh and new, some resplendent in silver and green, others of azure with buckles of gold. So many good steeds marked with white or sorrel, tawny white, black, and bay. All gather hastily, and now the field is quite covered with arms. On either side the ranks tremble and a roar rises from the fight. The shock of the lances is very great. Lances break and shields are riddled, and the habits receive bumps and are torn asunder. Saddles go empty and horsemen ramble, while the horses sweat and foam. Swords are quickly drawn on those who tumble noisily, and some run to receive the promise of a ransom, others to stave off this disgrace. Eric rode a white horse and came forth alone at the head of the line to joust, if he may find an opponent. From the opposite side there rise out to meet him, or Julius de Lande, mounted on an Irish steed which bears him along with marvellous speed. On the shield before his breast Eric strikes him with such force that he knocks him from his horse, he leaves him prone and passes on. Then Randurant opposed him, son of the old dame of Turgalo, covered with blue cloth of silk. He was a knight of great prowess. Against one another now they charge and deal fierce blows on the shields about their neck. Eric, from a lances length, lays him over on the hard ground. While riding back he met the king of the Red City, who was very valiant and bold. They grasped their reins by the knots, and their shields by the inner straps. They both had fine arms and strong swift horses and good shields, fresh and new. With such fury they strike each other that both their lances fly and splinters. Never was there seen such a blow. They rushed together with shields, arms, and horses, but neither girth nor rain nor breast-wrap could prevent the king from coming to earth. So he flew from his steed, carrying with him saddle and stern, and even the reins of his bridle in his hand. All those who witnessed the jousting were filled with amazement, and said it cost him dear to joust with such a goodly knight. Eric did not wish to stop to capture either horse or rider, but rather to joust and distinguish himself in order that his prowess might appear. He thrills the ranks in front of him. Gowen animates those who are on his side by his prowess, and by winning horses and knights to the discomforture of his opponents, I speak of my Lord Gowen who did right well and valiantly. In the fight he unhorsed Gwansal and took Gowden of the mountain. He captured knights and horses alike. My Lord Gowen did well, girthlet the son of Do and Yvan and Sagamore the Impetuous so evilly and treated their adversaries that they drove them back to the gates, capturing and unhorsing many of them. In front of the gate of the town the strife began again between those within and those without. There Sagamore was thrown down, who was a very gallant knight. He was on the point of being detained and captured when Eric spurs to rescue him, breaking his lance into slinters upon one of the opponents. So hard he strikes him on the breast that he made him quit the saddle. Then he made of his sword and advances upon them, crushing and splitting their helmets. Some flee and others make way before him, for even the boldest fears him. Finally he distributed so many blows and thrusts that he rescued Sagamore from them and drove them all in confusion into the town. Meanwhile the vesper hour drew to a close. Eric bore himself so well that day that he was the best of the combatants. But on the morrow he did much better yet, for he took so many knights and left so many saddles empty that no one could believe it except those who had seen it. Everyone on both sides said that with his lance and shield he had won the honors of the tournament. Now was Eric's renown so high that no one spoke save of him, nor was anyone such goodly favored. In countenance he resembled Absalon. In language he seemed to soul him. In boldness he equaled Samson, and in generous giving and spending he was the equal of Alexander. On his return from the tourney Eric went to speak with the king. He went to ask him for leave to go and visit his own man, but first he thanked him like a frank, wise and courteous man for the honor which he had done him, for very deep was his gratitude. Then he asked his permission to leave, for he wished to visit his own country, and he wished to take his wife with him. This request the king could not deny, and yet he would have had him stay. He gives him leave and begs him to return as soon as possible, for in the whole court there was no one better nor more gallant knight save only his dear nephew Gowan, with him no one could be compared. But next after him he prized Eric most and held him more dear than any other knight. Eric wished to delay no longer. As soon as he had the king's leave he bid his wife make her preparations, and he retained his escort sixty nights of merit, with horses and with dappled engraved furs. As soon as he was ready for his journey he tarried little further at court, but took leave of the queen and commended the knights to God. The queen grants him leave to depart. At the hour of prime he set out from the royal palace. In the presence of them all he mounted his steed, and his wife mounted the dappled horse which she had brought from her own country. Then all his escort mounted, counting knights and squires, they were full seven score in the train. After four long days' journey over hills and slopes, through forests, plains, and streams, they came on the fifth day to Carnant, where King Locke was residing in a very charming town. No one ever saw one better situated, for the town was provided with forests and meadowlands, with vineyards and farms, with streams and orchards, with ladies and knights, and fine, lively youths, and polite, well-mannered clerks who spent their incomes freely with fair and charming maidens, and with prosperous burders. Before Eric reached the town he sent two knights ahead to announce his arrival to the king. When he heard the news, the king had clerks, knights, and damsels quickly mount, and ordered the bells to be rung, and the streets hung with tapestries and silken stuffs, that his son might be received with joy. Then he himself saw his horse. Of clerks there were present four score, gentle and honourable men, clad in grey cloaks bordered with sable. Of knights there were full five hundred, mounted on bay, sorrel, or white-spotted steeds. There were so many burgers and dames that no one could tell the number of them. The king and his son galloped and rode on, till they saw and recognized each other. They both jumped down from their horses and embraced and greet each other for a long time, without stirring from the place where they first met. Each party wished the other joy. The king makes much of Eric, but all at once breaks off to turn to a need. On all sides he is in clover. He embraces and kisses them both, and knows not which of the two pleases him the more. As they gaily enter the castle the bells all ring their peals to honour Eric's arrival. The streets are all strewn with reeds, mint, and iris, and are hung overhead with curtains and tapestries of fancy silk and satin stuffs. There was great rejoicing, for all the people came together to see their new lord, and no one ever saw greater happiness than was shown alike by young and old. First they came to the church, where very devoutedly they were received in a procession. Eric kneeled before the altar of the crucifix, and two nights led his wife to the image of Our Lady. When she had finished her prayer she stepped back a little and crossed herself with her right hand, as a well-bred dame should do. Then they came out from the church and entered a royal palace when the festivity began. That day Eric received many presents from the knights and burgers, from one a palfrey of northern stock, and from another a golden cup. One presents him with a golden pigeon-hawk, another with a setter-dog, this one a greyhound, this other a sparrow-hawk, and another a swift-arabstee, this one a shield, this one an ensign, this one a sword, and this a helmet. Never was a king more gladly seen in his kingdom, nor received with greater joy, as all strove to serve him well. Yet greater joy they made of the need, than of him, for the great beauty which they saw in her, and still more for her open charm. She was seated in the chamber upon a cushion of brocade, which had been brought from Thessaly. Round about her was many a fair lady, yet as a luster's gem outshines the brown flint, and as the rose excels the poppy, so is a mead fairer than any other lady or damsel to be found in the world, wherever one might search. She was so gentle and honourable, of wise speech and affable, of pleasing character and kindly mean. No one could ever be so watchful as to detect in her any folly or sign of evil or villainy. She had been so schooled in good manners, that she had learned all virtues which any lady can possess, as well as generosity and knowledge. All loved her for her open heart, and whoever could do her any service was glad and esteemed himself the more. No one spoke any ill of her, for no one could do so. In the realm or empire there was no lady of such good manners. But Eric loved her with such a tender love, that he cared no more for arms, nor did he go to tournaments, nor have any desire to joust, but he spent his time in cherishing his wife. He made of her his mistress and his sweetheart. He devoted all his heart and mind to fondling and kissing her, and sought no delight in other pastime. His friends grieved over this, and often regretted among themselves that he was so deep in love. Often it was past noon before he left her side. For there he was happy, say what they might. He rarely left her society. And yet he was as open-handed as ever to his knights with arms, dress, and money. There was not a tournament anywhere to which he did not send them well apparelled and equipped. Whatever the cost might be, he gave them fresh deeds for the tourney and joust. All the knights said it was a great pity and misfortune, that such a valiant man as he was, want to be, should no longer wish to bear arms. He was blamed so much on all sides by the knights and squires that burgers reached a kneed's ears, how that her lord had turned craven about arms and deeds of chivalry, and that his manner of life was greatly changed. She grieved sorely over this, but she did not dare to show her grief, for her lord at once would take a front if she should speak to him. So the matter remained a secret, until one morning they lay in bed where they had had sport together. There they lay in close embrace, like the true lovers they were. He was asleep, but she was awake, thinking of what many a man in the country was saying of her lord. And when she began to think it all over, she could not keep back the tears. Such was her grief in her chagrin, that by mischance she let fall a word for which she later felt remorse, though in her heart there was no guile. She began to survey her lord from hand to foot, his well-shaped body and his clear countenance, until her tears fell fast upon the bosom of her lord, and she said, Alas, woe is me that I ever left my country! What did I come here to seek? The earth ought by right to swallow me up when the best night, the most hearty, gray, fair, and courteous that ever was a count or king, has completely abjured all his deeds of chivalry because of me. And thus, in truth, it is I who have brought shame upon his head, though I would fain not have done so at any price. Then she said to him, unhappy thou. And then kept silence and spoke no more. Eric was not sound asleep, and though dozing, heard plainly what she said. He aroused at her words, and much surprised to see her weeping, he asked her. Tell me, my precious beauty, why do you weep thus? What has caused you woe or sorrow? Surely it is my wish to know. Tell me now, my gentle sweetheart, and raise care to keep nothing back, why you said that woe was me, for you said it of me, and of no one else. I heard your words plainly enough. Then was Enid in great flight, afraid and dismayed. Sire, says she, I know nothing of what you say. Lady, why do you conceal it? Concealment is of no avail. You have been crying. I can see that. And you do not cry for nothing. And in my sleep I heard what you said. Ah, fair Sire, you never heard it, and I dare say it was a dream. Now you are coming to me with lies. I hear you come, and lying to me. But if you do not tell me the truth now, you will come to repent of it later. Sire, since you torment me thus, I will tell you the whole truth, and keep nothing back. But I am afraid you will not like it. In this land they all say, the dark, the fair, and the ruddy, that it is a great pity that you should renounce your arms. Your reputation has suffered from it. Everyone used to say, not long ago, that in all the world it was known no better, or more gallant night. Now they all go about making game of you, old and young, little and great, calling you a repriant. Do you suppose it does not give me pain to hear you thus spoken of with scorn? It grieves me when I hear it said, and yet it grieves me more that they put the blame for it on me. Yes, I am blamed for it, I regret to say, and they all assert it is because I have so ensnared and caught you that you are losing all your merit, and do not care for ought but me. You must choose another course, so that you may silence this reproach and regain your former fame. For I have heard too much of this reproach, and yet I did not dare to disclose it to you. Many a time, when I think of it, I have to weep for very brief, such chagrin I felt just now that I could not keep myself from saying that you were ill-starred. Lady, said he, you were in the right, and those who blame me do so with reason. And now at once prepare yourself to take the road. Rise up from here, and dress yourself in your richest robe, and order your saddle to be put on your best palfry. Now Enid is in great stress, very sad and pensive. She gets up, blaming and abrading herself for the foolish words she spoke. She had now made her bed and must lie in it. Ah, said she, poor fool, I was too happy for there lacked me nothing. God, why was I so forward as to dare to utter such folly? God did not, my Lord, love me to excess. In faith, alas, he was too fond of me, and now I must go away into exile. But I have yet a greater grief that I shall no longer see my Lord, who loved me with such tenderness that there was nothing he held so dear. The best man that was ever born had become so wrapped up in me that he cared for nothing else. I lacked for nothing then. I was very happy. But pride it is that stirred me up. Because of my pride I must suffer woe for telling him such insulting words, and it is right that I should suffer woe. One does not know what good fortune is until he has made trial of evil. Thus the lady bemoaned her fate, while she dressed herself fitly in her richest robe, yet nothing gave her any pleasure, but rather cause for deep chagrin. Then she had a maid call one of her squires, and bids him saddle her precious palfrey of northern stock, than which no count or king had a better. As soon as she had given him the command, the fellow asked for no delay, but straightway went and saddled the dappled palfrey, and Derek summoned another squire and made him bring his arms to arm his body with all. Then he went up into a bower and had a limose rug laid out before him on the floor. Meanwhile the squire ran to fetch the arms, and came back and laid them on the rug. Eric took a seat opposite, on the figure of a leopard which was portrayed on the rug. He prepares and gets ready to put on his arms. First he had laced on a pair of greaves of polished steel. Next he dons a hobbock, which was so fine that not a mesh could be cut away from it. This hobbock of his was rich indeed, for neither inside nor outside of it was there enough iron to make a needle, nor could it gather any rust, for it was all made of worked silver in tiny meshes, triple wold, and it was made with such skill that I can assure you that no one who had put it on would have been more uncomfortable or sore because of it, than if he had put on a silk jacket over his undershirt. The knights and squire all began to wonder why he was being armed. No one dared to ask him why. When they had put on his hobbock, a valet laces about his head a helmet fluted with a band of gold, shining brighter than a mirror. Then he takes his sword and girds it on, and orders them to bring him saddle to his base-seat of glascony. Then he calls a valet to him and says, Valle, go quickly, run to the chamber beside the tower where my wife is, and tell her that she is keeping me waiting here too long. She has spent too much time on her attire. Tell her to come and mount it once, for I am awaiting her. And the fellow goes and finds her all ready, weeping and making more, and he straightway addresses her thus, Lady, why do you so delay? My lord is awaiting you outside, yonder, all ready fully armed. He would have mounted some time ago had you been ready. And he had wondered greatly what her lord's intention was, but she very wisely showed herself with as cheerful accountants as possible, when she appeared before him. In the middle of the courtyard she found him, and King Rock comes running out. Nights come running too, striding with each other to reach there first. There is neither young nor old, but goes to learn and ask if he will take any of them with him. So each offers and presents himself, but he states definitely and affirms that he will take no companion except his wife, asserting that he will go alone. Then the king is in great distress. First son, says he, what dost thou intend to do? Thou shouldst tell me thy business and keep nothing back. Tell me whither thou wilt go, for thou art unwilling on any account to be accompanied by an escort of squires or knights. If thou hast undertaken to fight some knight in single combat, yet shouldst thou not, for that reason, fail to take a part of thy knights with thee, to be token my wealth and lordship. A king's son ought not to fare alone. Here, son, have thy sumpters loaded now, and take thirty or forty or more of thy knights, and see that silver and gold is taken, and whatever a gentleman needs. Finally Eric makes reply, and tells him all in detail how he has planned his journey. Sire says he, it must be so. I shall take no extra horse, nor have I any use for gold or silver, squire or sergeant. Nor do I ask for any company save that of my wife alone. But I pray you, whatever may happen, should I die and she come back to love her and hold her dear for love of me and for my prayer, and give her so long as she live, without contention or any strife, the half of your land to be her own. Upon hearing his son's request, the king said, fair son, I promise it, but I grieve much to see thee thus go off without escort, and if I had my way, thou shouldst not thus depart. Sire cannot be otherwise. I go now, and to God commend you. But keep in mind, my companions, and give them horses and alms, and all that knight may need. The king cannot keep back the tears when he is parted from his son. The people round about weep too. The ladies and knights shed tears and make great moan for him. There is not one who does not moan, and many a one in the courtyard swoos. Weeping may kiss and embrace him, and are almost beside themselves with grief. I think they would not have been more sad if they had seen him dead or wounded. Then Eric said to comfort them, My lords, why do you weep so sore? I am neither in prison nor wounded. Gain nothing but his display of grief. If I go away, I shall come again when it please God, and when I can. To God I commend you one and all. So, now, let me go. Too long you keep me here. I am sorry and grieved to see you weep. To God he commends them, and they him. So they departed, leaving sorrow behind them. Eric starts and leads his wife he knows not wither, as chance dictates. Ride fast, he says, and take good care not to be so rash as to speak to me of anything you may see. Take care never to speak to me unless I address you first. Ride on now fast and with confidence. Sire says she, it shall be done. She wrote ahead and held her peace. Neither one nor the other spoke a word, but a need's heart is very sad, and within herself she thus laments soft and low that he may not hear. Alas, she says, God had raised and exalted me to such great joy, but now he has suddenly cast me down. Fortune who had beckoned me has quickly now withdrawn her hand. I should not mind that so much, alas, if only I dare to address my Lord, but I am mortified and distressed because my Lord has turned against me. I see it clearly, since he will not speak to me, and I am not so bold as to dare to look at him. While she thus laments, a knight who lived by robbery issued forth from the woods. He had two companions with him, and all three were armed. They covet the paltry which a need rides. My Lord, do you know the news I bring, says he to his two companions? If we do not now make a haul, we are good for nothing cowards in a plane in bad luck. Here comes a lady, wondrous fair, whether married or not I do not know, but she is very richly dressed. The paltry and saddle, with the breast-strap and reins, are worth a thousand lever of charge. I will take the paltry for mine, and the rest of the booty you may have. I don't want any more from my share. The knight shall not lead away the lady, so help me God. Brian tend to give him such a thrust as he will dearly pay. I it was who saw him first, and so it is my right to go the first and offer battle. They give him leave, and he rides off, crouching well beneath his shield, while the other two remain aloof. In those days it was the custom in practice, that in an attack, two knights should not join against one. Thus, if they too had assailed him, it would seem that they had acted treacherously. A need saw the robbers, and was seized with great fear. God, says she, what can I say? Now my Lord will be either killed or made a prisoner, for there are three of them, and he is alone. The contest is not fair between one night and three. That fellow will strike him now at a disadvantage, for my Lord is off his guard. Shall I be then such a craven as not to dare to raise my voice? Such a coward I will not be. I will not fail to speak to him. On the spot she turns about and calls to him. Versire, of what are you thinking? There come riding after you three knights who press you hard. I greatly fear they will do you harm. What, says Eric, what's that you say? You have surely been very bold to disdain my command and prohibition. This time you shall be pardoned. But if it should happen another time, you would not be forgiven. Then turning his shield and lands he rushes at the night. The latter sees him coming and challenges him. When Eric hears him he defies him. Both give spur and clash together, holding their lances at full extent. But he missed Eric, while Eric used him hard, for he knew well the right attack. He strikes him on the shield so fiercely that he cracks it from top to bottom. Nor is his havoc any protection. Eric pierces and crushes it in the middle of his breast, and thrusts a foot and a half of his lance into his body. When he drew back he pulled out the shaft, and the other fell to the earth. He must needs die for the blade had drunk of his life's blood. Then one of the other two rushes forward, leaving his companion behind, and spurs towards Eric, threatening him. Eric firmly grasps his shield and attacks him with a stout heart. The other holds his shield before his breast. Then they strike upon him, blazing shields. The knight's lance flies into two bits, while Eric drives a quarter of the lance's length through the other's breast. He will give him no more trouble. Eric unhorses him and leaves him in a faint, while he spurs at an angle toward the third robber. When the latter saw him coming on he began to make his escape. He was afraid and did not dare to face him, so he hastened to take refuge in the woods. But his flight is of small avail, for Eric follows him close and cries aloud, Vassal, Vassal, turn about now and prepare to defend yourself, so that I may not slay you in an act of flight. It is useless to try to escape, but the fellow has no desire to turn about and continues to flee with might and may. Following and overtaking him Eric hits him squarely on his painted shield and throws him over the other side. To these three robbers he gives no further heed. One he has killed, another wounded, and of the third he got rid by throwing him to earth from his deed. He took the horses of all three and tied them together by the bridles. In color they were not alike. The first was white as milk, the second black, and none at all bad-looking. While the third was dappled all over, he came back to the road where Anid was awaiting him. He bade her lead and drive the three horses in front of her, warning her harshly never again to be so bold as to speak a single word unless he give her lead. She makes answer, I will never do so fair sire if it be your will. Then they ride on and she holds her peace. They had not yet gone a leak, when before them in a valley there came five other knights. With lances in rest, shields held close to the neck, their shining helmets laced up tight. They, too, were unplunderbent. All at once they saw the lady approach in charge of the three horses, and Eric who followed after. As soon as they saw them, they divided their equipment among themselves, just as if they had already taken possession of it. Covetousness is a bad thing, but it did not turn out as they expected, for vigorous defense was made. Much that a fool plans is not executed, and many a man misses what he thinks to obtain. So if he fell them in misattack, one said that he would take the maid, or lose his life in the attempt, and another said that the dappled steed shall be his, and that he would be satisfied with that. The third said that he would take the black horse, and the white one for me, said the fourth. The fifth was nodded all backward and bowed that he would have the horse and arms of the knight himself. He wished to win them by himself, and would feign attack him first, if they would give him leave, and they willingly gave consent. Then he leaves them and rides ahead on a good and nimble steed. Eric saw him, but made pretence that he did not yet notice him. When a need saw them, her heart jumped with fear and great dismay. Alas! said she. I know not what to say or do. For my Lord severely threatens me and says that he will punish me if I speak a word to him. But if my Lord were dead now, there would be no comfort for me. I should be killed and roughly treated. Caught! My Lord does not see them. Why, then, do I hesitate, crazed as I am? I am indeed too cherry of my words, when I have not already spoken to him. I know well enough that those who are coming yonder are intent upon some wicked deed. And God, how shall I speak to him? He will kill me. Well, let him kill me. Yet I will not fail to speak to him. Then she softly calls to him. Sire, what says he? What do you want? Your pardon, Sire. I want to tell you that five nights have emerged from yonder, thinking of who I am in mortal fear. Having noticed them, I am of the opinion that they intend to fight with you. Four of them have stayed behind, and the other comes toward you as fast as a steed can carry him. I am afraid every moment lest he will strike you. Tis true the four have stayed behind, but still they are not far away, and will quickly aid him if need arise. Eric replies. You had an evil thought. When you transgressed by command, a thing which I had forbidden you. And yet I knew all the time that you did not hold me in esteem. Your service has been ill-employed. For it has not awakened my gratitude, but rather kindled the more my ire. I have told you that once, and I say it again. This once again I will pardon you, but another time restrain yourself, and do not again turn around to watch me. For in doing so you would be very foolish. I do not relish your words. Then he spurs across the field toward his adversary, and they come together. Each seeks out in the sails the other. Eric strikes him with such force that his shield flies from his neck, and thus he breaks his collarbone. The stirrups break, and he falls without the strength to rise again, for he was badly bruised and wounded. One of the others then appeared, but they attack each other fiercely. Without difficulty Eric thrusts the sharp and well-forged steel into his neck beneath the chin, severing thus the bones and nerves. At the back of his neck the blade protrudes, and the hot red blood flows down on both sides from the wound. He yields his spirit, and his heart is still. The third sallies forth from his hiding-place on the other side of a ford. Straight through the water on he comes. Eric spurs forward and meets him before he came out of the water, striking him so hard that he beats down flat both rider and horse. The steed lay upon the body long enough to drown him in the stream, and then struggled, until with difficulty he got upon his feet. Thus he conquered three of them, and when the other two thought it wise to quit the conflict and not to strive with him. In flight they follow the stream, and Eric after them in hot pursuit, until he strikes one upon the spine so hard that he throws him forward upon the saddle-bow. He put all his strength into the blow, and breaks his lance upon his body, so that the fellow fell head foremost. Eric makes him pay dearly for the lance, which he has broken on him, and drew his sword from the scabbard. The fellow unwisely straightened up, for Eric gave him three such strokes that he slaked his swords thirst in his blood. He severed the shoulder from his body, so that it fell down on the ground. Then with sword drawn he attacked the other, as he sought to escape without company or escort. When he sees Eric pursuing him, he is so afraid that he knows not what to do. He does not dare to face him, and cannot turn aside. He has to leave his horse, for he has no more trust in him. He throws away his shield and lance, and slips from his horse to earth. When he saw him on his feet, Eric no longer cared to pursue him. But he stooped over for the lance, not wishing to leave that, because of his own which had been broken. He carries off his lance, and goes away, not leaving the horses behind. He catches all five of them, and leads them off. A need had hard work to lead them all, for a hands over all five of them to her, with the other three, and commands her to go along smartly, and to keep from addressing him in order that no evil or harm may come to her. So not a word does she reply, but rather keep silence, and thus they go, leading with them all the eight horses. They rode till nightfall, without coming to any town or shelter. When night came on they took refuge beneath a tree in an open field. Eric bids his lady sleep, and he will watch. She replies that she will not, for it is not right, and she does not wish to do so. It is for him to sleep who is more weary. Well pleased at this, Eric exceeds. Beneath his head he placed his shield, and the lady took her cloak, and stretched over him from head to foot. Thus he slept, and she kept watch, never dozing the whole night, but holding tight in her hand by the bridle the horses, until morning broke. And much she blamed and reproached herself for the words she had uttered, and said that she acted badly, and was not half so ill-treated as she deserved to be. Alas! said she! In what an evil hour have I witnessed my pride and presumption? I might have known without doubt that there was no night better than or so good as my lord. I knew it well enough before, and now I know it better, for I have seen with my own eyes how he has not quailed before three or even five armed men. A plague forever upon my tongue for having uttered such pride and insult has now compelled me to suffer shame. All night long she thus lamented until the morning dawned. Eric rises early, and again they take the road, she in front and he behind. At noon a squire met them in a little valley, accompanied by two fellows who were carrying cakes and wine, and some rich autumn cheeses, to those who were mowing the hay in the meadows, belonging to Count Galloway. The squire was a clever fellow, and when he saw Eric in a need, who were coming from the direction of the woods, he perceived that they must have spent the night in the forest, and it had nothing to eat or drink. For within a radius of a day's journey there was no town, city, or tower, no strong place or abbey, hospice, or place of refuge. So he formed an honest purpose and turned his steps toward them, saluting them politely and saying, Sire, I presume you have had a hard experience last night. I am sure you have had no sleep and have spent the night in these woods. I offer you some of this white cake, if it please you to partake of it. I say it not in hope of reward, for I ask and demand nothing of you. The cakes are made of good wheat. I have good wine and rich cheeses too, a white cloth and fine jugs. If you feel like taking munch, you need not seek any father. Beneath these white beaches, here on the green swab, you might lay off your arms and rest yourself for a while. My advice is that you dismount. Eric got down from his horse and said, Fair gentle friend, I thank you kindly. I will eat something without going farther. The young man knew well what to do. He helped the lady from her horse, and the boys who had come with the squire held the steeds. Then they go and sit down in the shade. The squire relieves Eric of his helmet, unlaces the mouthpiece from before his face. Then he spreads out the cloth before them on a thick, tuft. He passes them the cake and wine, and prepares and cuts a cheese. Hungry as they were, they helped themselves, and gladly drank of the wine. The squire serves them and admits no attention. When they had eaten and drunk their fill, Eric was courteous and generous. Friend says he, as a reward I wish to present you with one of my horses. Take the one you like the best, and I pray it may be no hardship for you to return to the town and make ready there a goodly lodging. And he replies that he will gladly do whatever is in his will. Then he goes up to the horses and, untying them, chooses the dapple and speaks his thanks, for this one seems to be the best. Up he springs by the left stirrup, and, leaving them both there, he rode off to town at top speed, where he engaged suitable quarters. Now behold, he is back again. Now mount Sire quickly, says he, for you have a good fine lodging ready. Eric mounted, and then his lady, and as the town was hard by, they soon had reached their lodging place. There they were received with joy, the host with kindness welcomed them, and with joy and gladness made generous provision for their needs. When the squire had done for them all the honour that he could, he came and mounted his horse again, leading it off in front of the Count's bower to the stable. The Count and three of his vassals were leaning out of the bower, when the Count, seeing his squire mounted on the dappled steed, asked him who's it was, and he replied that it was his. The Count, greatly astonished, says, how is that? Where dost thou get him? A knight who I esteem highly gave him to me, Sire, says he, I have conducted him within this town, and he is lodged at a burger's house. He is a very courteous knight, and the handsomest man I ever saw. Even if I had given you my word and oath, I could not half tell you how handsome he is. The Count replies, I suppose, and presume he is not more handsome than I am. Upon my word, Sire, this sergeant says, you are very handsome and a gentleman. There is not a knight in this country, a native of this land, whom you do not excel in favour, but I dare maintain concerning this one that he is fairer than you, if he were not beaten black and blue beneath his harbour, and bruised. In the forest he has been fighting single-handed with eight knights, and leads away their eight horses, and there comes with him a lady so fair that never lady was half so fair as she. When the Count hears this news, the Desire takes him to go and see if this is true or false. I never heard such a thing, says he. Take me now to his lodging place, for certainly I wish to know if thou dost lie or speak the truth. He replies, Right, gladly, Sire, this is the way in the path to follow, for it is not far from here. I am anxious to see them, says the Count. Then he comes down, and the squire gets off his horse, and makes the Count mount in his place. Then he ran ahead to tell Eric that the Count was coming to visit him. Eric's lodging was rich indeed, the kind to which he was accustomed. There were many tapers and candles lighted about. The Count came attended by only three companions. Eric, who was of gracious manners, rose to meet him and exclaimed, Welcome, Sire, and the Count returned to salutation. They both sat down side by side upon a soft white couch, where they chat with each other. The Count makes him an offer and urges him to consent, to accept from him a guarantee for the payment of his expenses in the town. But Eric does not deign to accept, saying he is well supplied with money, and has no need to accept art from him. They speak long of many things, but the Count constantly glances about in the other direction, where he caught sight of the Lady. Because of her manifest beauty, he fixed all his thought on her. He looked at her as much as he could, he coveted her, and she pleased him so that her beauty filled him with love. Very craftily, he asked Eric for permission to speak with her. Sire, he says, I ask a favor of you, and may it not displease you. As an act of courtesy and as a pleasure, I would fain sit by yonder, Lady Psy, with good intent I came to see you both, and you should see no harm in that. I wish to present to the Lady my service in all respects. Know well that for love of you I would do whatever may please her. Eric was not in the least jealous and suspected no evil or treachery. Sire says he, I have no objection. You may sit down and talk with her. Don't think that I have any objection. I give you permission willingly. The Lady was seated about two spear lengths away from him, and the Count took a seat close by her on a low stool. Prudent and courteous, the Lady turned toward him. Alas, Quaqui, how grieved I am to see you in such humble state. I am sorry and feel great distress, but if you would believe my word, you could have honour and great advantage, and much wealth would accrue to you. Such beauty as yours is entitled to great honour and distinction. I would make you my mistress, if it should please you and be your wealth. You would be my mistress, dear and Lady over all my land. When I deign to woo you thus, you ought not to disdain my suit. I know and perceive that your Lord does not love and esteem you. If you will remain with me, you would be mated with a worthy Lord. Sire says in need, your proposal is vain. It cannot be. Ah, better that I were yet unborn or burned upon a fire of thorns and my ashes scattered abroad, than that I should ever, in any wise, be false to my Lord, or conceive any felony or treachery toward him. You have made a great mistake in making such a proposal to me. I shall not agree to it in any wise. The Count's eye began to rise. You disdain to love me, Lady, says he. Upon my word, you are too proud. Neither for flattery nor for prayer you will do my will. It is surely true that a woman's pride mounts the more of one praise, and flatters her. But whoever insults and dishonours her will often find her more tractable. I give you my word that if you do not do my will, there soon will be some swordplay here. Rightly or wrongly, I will have your Lord slain right here before your eyes. Ah, Sire says in need. There is a better way than that, you say. You would commit a wicked and treacherous deed if you killed him thus. Calm yourself again, I pray. For I will to your pleasure. You may regard me as all your own, for I am yours and wish to be. I did not speak as I did from pride, but to learn and prove, if I could find in you, the true love of a sincere heart. But I would not at any price have you commit an act of treason. My Lord is not on his guard, and if you should kill him thus, you would do a very ugly deed, and I should have the blame for it. Everyone in the land would say that it had been done with my consent. Go and rest until the moral, when my Lord shall be about to rise. Then you can better do him harm without blaming, without reproach. With her heart's thoughts her words do not agree. Sire says she, believe me now, have no anxiety, but send here tomorrow your knights and your squires, and have me carried away by force. My Lord will rush to my defence, for he is proud and bold enough. Either an earnest or unjust have him seized and treated ill, or strike his head off, if you will. I have led this life now long enough to tell the truth. I like not the company of this, my Lord. Rather would I feel your body lying beside me in bed, and since we have reached this point of my love you may rest assured. The Count replies, it is well, my lady, God bless the hour that you were born. In greatest state you shall be held. Sire says she, indeed I believe it, and yet I would feign to have you a word that you will always hold me dear. I could not believe you otherwise. Glad and merry the Count replies, see here, my faith I will pledge to you royally as a Count, madame, that I shall do all your behests. Have no further fear of that. All you want you shall always have. Then she took his plaited word, but little she valued or cared for it, except therewith to save her Lord. Well she knows how to deceive a fool when she puts her mind upon it. Better it were to lie to him than to her Lord should be cut off. The Count now rose from her side and commends her to God a hundred times, but of little use to him will be the faith which she has pledged to him. Eric knew nothing at all of this that they were plotting to work his death, but God will be able to lend him aid, and I think he will do so. Now Eric is in great peril, and does not know that he must be on his guard. The Count's intentions are very base in planning to steal away his wife and kill him when he is without defense. In treacherous guise he takes his lead. To God I commend you, says he, and Eric replies, and so do I you, Sire. Thus they separated. Already a good part of the night was passed. Out of the way, in one of the rooms, two beds were made upon the floor. In one of them Eric lays him down. In the other, a need went to rest. Full of grief and anxiety she never closed her eyes that night, but remained on watch for her Lord's sake. For from what she had seen of the Count, she knew him to be full of wickedness. She knows full well that if he once gets possession of her Lord, he will not fail to do him harm. He may be sure of being killed, so, for his sake, she is in distress. All night she must needs keep her vigil, but before the dawn, if she can bring it about, and if her Lord will take her word, they will be ready to depart. Eric slept all night long, securely, until daylight. Then a need realized and suspected that she might hesitate too long. Her heart was tender toward her Lord, like a good and loyal lady. Her heart was neither deceitful nor false, so she rises and makes ready, and droves near to her Lord to wake him up. Ah, sire, says she, I crave your pardon. Rise quickly now, for you are betrayed beyond all doubt, though guiltless and free from any crime. The Count is a proven traitor, and if he can but catch you here, you will never get away without his having cut you in pieces. He hates you because he desires me, that if he pleases God who knows all things, you shall be neither slain nor caught. Last evening he would have killed you, had I not assured him that I would be his mistress and his wife. You will see him return here soon. He wants to seize me, and keep me here, and kill you if he can find you. Now Eric learns how loyal his wife is to him. Lady, says he, have our horses quickly saddled. Then run and call our host, and tell him quickly to come here. Treason has been long abroad. Now the horses are saddled, and the ladies summon the host. Eric has armed and dressed himself, and into his presence came the host. Sire said he, what haste is this that you are risen at such an hour before the day in the sun appear? Eric replies that he has a long road in a full day before him, and therefore he is made ready to set out. Having it much upon his mind, and he added, Sire, you have nor yet handed me any statement of my expenses. You have received me with honour and kindness, and therein great merit redounds to you. Cancel my indebtedness with these seven horses that I brought here with me. Do not disdain them, but keep them for your own. I cannot increase my gift to you by so much as the value of a halter. The burger was delighted with this gift, and bowed low, expressing his thanks and gratitude. Then Eric mounts and takes his leave, and they set out upon their way. As they ride he frequently warns a need that if she sees anything she should not be so bold as to speak to him about it. Meanwhile there entered the house a hundred nights well armed, and very much dismayed they were to find Eric no longer there. Then the Count learned that Lady had deceived him. He discovered the footsteps of the horses, and they all followed the trail, the Count threatening Eric, and bowing that, if he can come up with him, nothing can keep him from having his head on the spot. A curse on him who now hangs back and does not spur on fast, quote he. He who presents me with the head of the night, whom I hate so bitterly, will have served me to my taste. Then they plunge on at topmost speed, filled with hostility toward him who had never laid eyes on them, and had never harmed them by deed or word. They ride ahead until they made him out, at the edge of a forest they catch sight of him before he was hid by the forest trees. Not one of them halted then, but all rushed on in rivalry. A need hears the clang and noise of their arms and horses, and sees that the valley is full of them. As soon as she saw them, she could not restrain her tongue. Ah, Sire, she cries, alas, how this Count has attacked you when he leads against you such a host. Sire, ride faster now until we be within this wood. I think we can easily distance them, for they are still a long way behind. If you go on at this pace, you can never escape from death, for you are no match for them. Eric replies. Little esteem you have for me, and lightly you hold my words. It seems I cannot correct you by fair request. But as the Lord had mercy upon me until I escaped from here, I swear that you shall pay dearly for this speech of yours. That is, unless my mind should change. Then he straightway turns about, and sees the Seneshah, drawing near upon a horse, both strong and fleet, before them all he takes his stand, at the distance of four crossbow shots. He had not disposed of his arms, but was thoroughly well equipped. Eric reckons up his opponent's strength, and sees there are fully a hundred of them. Then he, who thus is pressing him, thinks he had better call a halt. Then they ride to meet each other, and strike upon each other's shield great blows with their sharp and trenchant swords. Eric caused his stout steel sword to pierce his body through and through, so that his shield and havoc protected him no more than a shred of dark blue silk. And next the count comes spurring on, who, as the story tells, was a strong and dowdy knight. But the count in this was ill-advised when he came with only shield and lance. He placed such trust in his own prowess that he thought that he needed no other arms. He showed his exceeding boldness by rushing on ahead of all his men more than the space of nine acres. When Eric saw him stand alone he turned toward him. The count is not afraid of him, and they come together with clash of arms. First the count strikes him with such violence upon the breast that he would have lost his stirrups if he had not been well set. He makes the wood of his shield to split, so that the iron of his lance protrudes on the other side. But Eric's havoc was very solid, and protected him from death without the tear of a single mesh. The count was strong and breaks his lance. Then Eric strikes him with such force on his yellow painted shield that he ran more than a yard of his lance through his abdomen, knocking him senseless from his steed. Then he turned and rode away without further tearing on the spot. Straight into the forest he spurs at full speed. Now Eric is in the woods, and the others paused awhile over those who lay in the middle of the field. Loudly they swear and vow that they will rather follow after him for two or three days than fail to capture and slaughter him. The count, though grievously wounded in the abdomen, hears what they say. He draws himself up a little and opens his eyes a tiny bit. Now he realizes what an evil deed he had begun to execute. He makes the knight step back and says, My lords, I bid you all, both strong and weak, high and low, that none of you be so bold as to dare to advance a single step. All of you return now quickly. I have done a villainous deed, and I repent me of my foul design. The lady who outwitted me is very honorable, prudent, and courteous. Her beauty fired me with love for her because I desired her wish to kill her lord and keep her back with me by force. I well deserved this woe, and now it has come upon me. How abominably disloyal and treacherous I was in my madness! Never was there a better knight born of mother than he. Never shall he receive harm through me if I can in any way prevent it. I command you all to retrace your steps. Back they go, disconsolate, carrying the lifeless seneschal on the shield reversed. The count, whose wound was not mortal, lived on for some time after. Thus was Eric delivered. Eric goes off at full speed down a road between two hedge roads. He and his wife with him, both putting spurs to their horses, they rode until they came to a meadow, which had been mown. After merging from the hedged enclosure they came upon a drawbridge before a high tower, which was all closed about with a wall and a broad and deep moat. They quickly passed over the bridge, but had not gone far before the lord of the place aspired them from up in his tower. About this man I can tell you the truth, that he was very small of stature, but very courageous of heart. When he sees Eric cross the bridge, he comes down quickly from his tower, and on a great sorrow-steed of his he causes a saddle to be placed, which showed portrayed a golden lion. Then he orders to be brought his shield, his stiff straight lance, a sharp polished sword, his bright shining helmet, his gleaming harbour, and triple-woven greaves, for he has seen an armed knight pass before his list, against whom he wishes to strive in arms, or else his stranger will strive against him until he shall confess defeat. His command was quickly done. Behold the horse now led forth. A squire brought him around, already bridled, and the saddle on. Another fellow brings the arms. The knight passed out through the gate, as quickly as possible, all alone, without companion. Eric is riding along a hillside. When behold the knight comes tearing down over the top of a hill, mounted upon a powerful steed, which tore along at such a pace that he crushed the stones beneath his hooves finer than a millstone grinds the corn, and bright gleaning sparks flew off in all directions, so that it seemed as if his four feet were all ablaze with fire. A need heard the noise and commotion, and almost fell from her palfry, helpless and in a faint. There was no vein in her body in which the blood did not turn, and her face became all pale and white as if she were a corpse. Great is her despair and dismay, for she does not dare to address her lord, who often threatens and chides at her, and charges her to hold her peace. She is distracted between two courses to pursue, whether to speak or to hold her peace. She takes counsel with herself, and often she prepares to speak, so that her tongue already moves, but the voice cannot issue forth, for her teeth are clenched with fear, and thus shut up her speech within. Thus she admonishes and approaches herself, but she closes her mouth and grits her teeth, so that her speech cannot issue forth. At strife with herself, she said, I am sure and certain that I shall incur a grievous loss, if here I lose my lord. Shall I tell him all then, openly? Not I. Why not? I would not dare, for thus I should enrage my lord. If my lord's ire is once aroused, he will leave me in this wild place alone, wretched and forlorn. Then I shall be worse off than now. Worse off, what care I may grief and sorrow always be mine as long as I live, if my lord does not promptly escape from here without being delivered to a violent death. But if I do not quickly inform him this night who is spurring hither, will have killed him before he is aware, for he seems a very evil intent. I think I have waited too long from fear of his vigorous prohibition, but I will no longer hesitate because of his restraint. I see plainly that my lord is so deep in thought that he forgets himself, so it is right that I should address him. She spoke to him. He threatens her, but has no desire to do her harm, for he realizes and knows full well that she loves him above all else, and he loves her too, to be utmost. He rides toward the night, who challenges him to battle, and they meet at the foot of the hill, where they attack and defy each other. Both smite each other, with their iron-tipped lances with all their strength. The shields that hang about their necks are not worth two coats of bark. The leather tears, and they split the wood, and they shatter the meshes of the harbour. Both are pierced to the vitals by the lances, and the horses fall to earth. Now both the warriors were doubting. Grievously, but not mortally wounded, they quickly got to their feet and grasped afresh their lances, which were not broken, nor the worse for wear. But they cast them away on the ground, and drawing their swords from the scabbard, they attack each other with great fury. Each wounds and injures the other, for there is no mercy on either side. They deal such blows upon the helmets, that gleaming sparks fly out when their swords recoil. They split and splinter the shields, they batter and crush the harbourks. In four places the swords are brought down to the bare flesh, so that they are greatly weakened and exhausted. And if both their swords had lasted long without breaking, they would never have retreated, nor would the battle have come to an end before one of them per force had died. A need who was watching them was almost beside herself with grief, whoever could have seen her then, as she showed her great woe by wringing her hands, tearing her hair, and shedding tears, could have seen a loyal lady. And any man would have been a vulgar wretch who saw and did not pity her. And the knights still fight, knocking the jewels from the helmets and dealing at each other fearful blows. From the third to the ninth hour the battle continued, so fierce that no one could in any wise make out which was to have the better of it. Eric exerts himself and strives. He brought his sword down upon his enemy's helmet, cleaving it to the inner lining of mail, and making him stagger, but he stood firmly and did not fall. Then he attacked Eric and turned, and dealt him such a blow upon the covering of his shield that his strong and precious sword broke when he tried to pull it out. When he saw that his sword was broken, in his sight he threw as far away as he could the part that remained in his hand. Now he was afraid and must needs draw back, for any knight that lacks his sword cannot do much execution in battle or assault. Eric pursues him until he begs him for God's sake not to kill him. Mercy noble knight, he cries, be not so cruel and harsh toward me. Now that I am left without my sword, you have the strength and the power to take my life, or make me your prisoner, for I have no means of defence. Eric replies, When thou dost petition me, I feign would hear thee admit outright, whether thou art defeated or overcome. Thou shalt not again be touched by me, if thou dost surrender at my discretion. The knight was slow to make reply. So when Eric saw him hesitate, in order to further dismay him, he again attacked him, rushing at him with drawn sword, whereupon thoroughly terrified he cried, Mercy sire, regard me as your captive, since it cannot be otherwise. Eric answers, More than that is necessary, you shall not get off so easily as that. Tell me your station and your name, and I in turn will, if tell you mine. Sire says he you are right, I am king of this country. My liegemen are Irishmen, and there is none who does not have to pay me rent. My name is Guivoret the Little. I am very rich and powerful, for there is no land-holder whose lands touch mine in any direction who ever transgresses my command, and who does not do my pleasure. I have no neighbour who does not fear me, however proud and bold he may be, but I greatly desire to be your confidant and friend from this time on. Eric replies, I too can boast that I am a noble man. My name is Eric, son of King Locke. My father is king of Father Wales, and has many a rich city, fine hall, and strong town. No king or emperor has more than he, save only King Arthur. Him, of course, I accept, for with him no one can compare. Guivoret is greatly astonished at this, and says, Sire, a great marvel is this I hear. I was never so glad of anything as of your acquaintance. You may put full trust in me, and should it please you to abide in my country within my estates, I shall have you treated with great honour. So long as you care to remain here, you shall be recognised as my lord. We both have need of a physician, and I have a castle of mine near here, not eight leagues away, not even seven. I wish to take you thither with me, and there we shall have our wounds tended. Eric replies, I thank you for what I have heard you say. However, I will not go, thank you, but only so much I request of you, that I should be in need, and you should hear that I had need of aid, you would not then forget me. Sire says he I promise you that never, so long as I am alive, shall you have need of my help, but that I shall go at once to aid you with all the assistance I can command. I have nothing more to ask of you, says Eric. You have promised me much. You are now my lord and friend. If your deed is as good as your word, then each kisses and embraces the other. Never was there such an affectionate parting after such a fierce battle, for from very affection and generosity each one cut off long, wide strips from the bottom of the shirt, and bound up the other's wounds. When they had thus bandaged each other, they commended each other to God. End of Part 2, Eric and a Need, by Kretien de Tois, translated by W. W. Comfort. This has been a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by M.J. Eric and a Need, Part 2, by Kretien de Tois.