King Arthur's Knights Part 24

'Sir Geraint,' he said, 'forgive me my words concerning thee, but men told me that ye had forgotten that you had once been so glorious a man, and were softening to a fool.'

'Nay,' said Sir Geraint, 'they were the fools that said so. And now I will depart, for I see these marches are in safe keeping in your hands, fair king.'

But the little king wished Geraint to come to his castle to be rested and healed of his wounds, and Geraint and Enid went and abode there a few days. But ever Sir Geraint was cold and stern to his wife, for he was still angry at her disbelief in him.

Sir Geraint would not stay longer, though his wounds were but half healed, and on the third day he commanded Enid to mount her horse and to go before him with the four other horses.

While the sun climbed up the sky they rode through the wilderness, by tangled woods, deep valleys and quaking marshes, until they reached a deep dark forest. Suddenly as they rode they heard a great wailing of distress, and bidding Enid stay, Geraint dashed through the trees towards the crying, and came out upon a great bare upland, and beside the wood were a knight, dead in his armour, and two horses, one with a woman's saddle upon it.

And looking further Geraint saw three small dark s.h.a.ggy trolls making swift way up the hill towards a great green mound, and in the arms of one of them was a damsel, who shrieked as she was borne away.

Fiercely Sir Geraint spurred his horse up the slope, bidding the trolls to stop, but they only ran with an exceeding great swiftness. But he pursued them, and when they were within a few steps of a small door in the hillside, the one dropped the maiden, and the three of them turned at bay. And the damsel ran shrieking away down the hill.

The trolls had dark thin faces, with curly black hair and fierce black eyes, and their rage was horrible to see. They were lightly clothed in skins, and in their arms they held, one a bar of iron, another a great club, and the third a long sharp stick.

Sir Geraint commended his soul to Heaven, for he knew he was to battle with evil dwarfs who lived in the hollow hills, and whose strength was greater than any man's, and whose powers of wizardry were stronger than Merlin's.

He dashed with his lance at the one with the iron bar, but the hill-troll slipped away, and brought the great bar with a heavy blow upon his lance, so that it snapped in twain. Then one leaped like a wild cat upon the arm that held the rein, but happily Sir Geraint had drawn his sword, and with one stroke slew him. Then the two others leaped towards him, but the blows of the bar and club he caught upon his s.h.i.+eld and slew the troll with the club.

Ere Sir Geraint could draw his sword back from this blow, he felt his horse fall under him, for the dwarf with the iron bar had with one blow broken the beast's back. Quickly avoiding the horse, Sir Geraint dashed at the dwarf, who ran towards the hole in the hill, but ere he could reach it Sir Geraint gave him a blow on the crown of his head, so fierce and hard, that the skull was split to the shoulders.

So then Sir Geraint turned and walked slowly down the hill, for he was dazed, and his old wounds had broken afresh. But he came to where Enid stood comforting the damsel mourning over the dead knight, and when he was there, straightway he fell down lifeless.

Enid shrieked with the anguish of the thought that he was dead, and came and knelt beside him and undid his helm and kissed him many times.

And the sound of her wailing reached an earl named Madoc, who was pa.s.sing with a company along the road from a plundering expedition, and he came and took up Geraint and the dead knight, and laid them in the hollow of their s.h.i.+elds, and with the damsels took them to his castle a mile along the road.

Now the earl was a tyrant and a robber, and had done much evil on the borderlands of Geraint, in burning, plundering and slaying, since he had heard that Geraint was become soft and foolish. And he had recognised Sir Geraint while he lay in the swoon, and rejoiced that now he was like to die.

As he rode along he thought that if he could prevail upon the Lady Enid to wed him, he might get much land with her, as the widow of the dead Sir Geraint, future King of Cornwall. And he determined to make her marry him.

When, therefore, he and his host had reached his castle, he ordered the dead knight to be buried, but Sir Geraint he commanded to be laid in his s.h.i.+eld on a litter-couch in front of the high table in the hall. So that Sir Geraint should die, he commanded that no leech should be sent for.

While his knights and men-at-arms sat down to dine, Earl Madoc came to Enid and begged her to make good cheer. But, thinking to gain more from secrecy, he did not tell her that he knew who she was, nor did he show her that he knew who was her lord.

'Take off thy travelling clothes, fair lady,' he said, 'and weep not for this dead knight.'

'I will not,' she said, and hung over Geraint, chafing his hands and looking earnestly into his pallid face.

'Ah, lady,' the earl said, 'be not so sorrowful. For he is now dead, and therefore ye need no longer mourn. But as ye are beautiful, I would wed thee, and thou shalt have this earldom and myself and much wealth and all these men to serve thee.'

'I tell you I will rather die with my dead lord, if indeed he be dead,'

cried Enid, 'than live in wealth with you or any one.'

'Come, then,' said the earl, 'and at least take food with me.'

'Nay, I will not,' said Enid, 'and never more will I eat or be joyful in life.'

'But, by Heaven, thou shalt,' said Madoc, furious at her resistance to his will.

And he drew her from beside the litter, and forced her to come to the table where his knights sat eating, and commanded her to eat.

'I will not eat,' she cried, straining from his hold towards where Geraint lay, 'unless my dear lord shall eat also.'

'But he is dead already, thou mad woman,' cried the earl. 'Drink this goblet of wine,' he commanded, 'and thou wilt change thy mind.'

'I will not drink again until my dear lord drink also,' said Enid, and strove to free herself from the grasp of the earl.

'Now, by Heaven!' said Madoc wrathfully, 'I have tried gentle means with thee. Let this teach thee that I am not to be baulked of my will.'

With that he gave her a violent blow on the ear, and tried to drag her away out of the hall. And Enid shrieked and wept and cried for help, but none of the knights that sat there dared to oppose their lord.

But suddenly men started up from their seats in terror to see the corpse of Geraint rise from the hollow of the s.h.i.+eld. Enid's cries had roused him from his swoon, and his hand as he raised himself felt the hilt of the sword beside him.

He leaped from the litter, and, drawing his sword, he ran towards the earl, who by now had almost dragged Enid to the door. Raising the sword, Geraint struck him with so fierce a blow that he cleft his head in twain.

Then, for terror at seeing what they thought was a dead man rise up to slay them, the knights ran from the hall and left Geraint and Enid alone.

Enid threw her arms about Geraint, her face bright with happiness.

'My dear lord, I thank G.o.d thou art not dead, as this man said thou wert. And I pray thy forgiveness for doubting that thou hadst forgotten thy manhood, for of a truth none is so brave, so good as thou art.'

Geraint kissed his wife, smiling wanly the while.

'Sorry I am, my dear wife,' he said, 'that I was swooning when thou hadst need of me. And as for any doubts thou hadst of me, why, let us both forget them from this time forth. And now we must away, ere this lord's men recover their fright and pursue us.'

Enid led him instantly to the stalls where she had seen the horses had been led, and Geraint took the spear and the horse of the knight whom the trolls had slain, and, when he had mounted, he took up Enid from the ground and placed her before him.

Thus they rode out of the castle, and away as rapidly as they could.

And now that they were reconciled, much joyful and loving talk was between them.

But night was coming on, and Geraint was weak from his wounds and loss of blood, and Enid was full of trouble for the pain her husband suffered. She prayed fervently that soon they might reach a town where she could obtain help for him.

Suddenly she heard far away in the distance the tramp of horses, and Enid could have wept for sorrow. But she kept her face calm, though her lips trembled, Geraint also heard the beat of the hoofs, and turning in his saddle he looked up, and saw on the skyline of the narrow road the glint of spears between them and the sky.

'Dear wife,' he said, with a faint brave smile, 'I hear some one following us. I will put thee in hiding behind this thicket, and should they slay me, do thou make thy way homeward to my father Erbin, and bid him avenge my death.'

'O my dear Geraint!' said Enid, sobbing, for all her bravery, as she thought that he would surely be slain, and that, after all their trouble, they were not to be allowed to enjoy the happiness of their reconciliation. 'I would liefer die with thee, my dear, dear lord. Let them kill us both, if it is to be.'

'Nay, dear wife,' said Geraint, 'I would not have thee slain. Revenge my death if they slay me.'

So, with many lingering kisses, he set her down upon the road, and saw her hide in the thickets.

By now the gloom of evening had settled upon them, and the sound of trampling horses had rapidly approached. And painfully, by reason of his stiff wounds, Geraint dressed his armour as best he could, and laid spear in rest, and drew his s.h.i.+eld before him, and so waited in the dark road.

He heard a single knight riding before the others, and soon saw his figure issue from the gloom with couched lance. And Sir Geraint made him ready also, resolved to sell his life dearly at the last.

But as they began to spur their horses, there came the voice of Enid from the hedgerow beside them. And she cried out piteously in the dark:

'O chieftain, whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?'