So he started out to retrace his path, leaving the lady much chagrined, whose joy he had caused a while before. When he will not tarry longer she is the more distressed and ill at ease in proportion to the happiness he had brought to her, for she would have wished to honor him, and would have made him, with his consent, lord of all her possessions, or else she would have paid him for his services whatever sum he might have named. But he would not heed any word of man or woman. Despite their grief he left the knights and the lady who vainly tried to detain him longer.

Pensively my lord Yvain proceeded through a deep wood until he heard among the trees a very loud and dismal cry, and he turned in the direction whence it seemed to come. And when he had arrived upon the spot he saw in a cleared space a lion, and a serpent which held him by the tail, burning his hind-quarters with flames of fire.

My lord Yvain did not gape at this strange spectacle, but took counsel with himself as to which of the two he should aid. Then he says that he will succour the lion, for a treacherous and venomous creature deserves to be harmed. Now the serpent is poisonous, and fire bursts forth from its mouth—so full of wickedness is the creature. So my lord Yvain decides that he will kill the serpent first.

Drawing his sword he steps forward, holding the shield before his face in order not to be harmed by the flame emerging from the creature's throat, which was larger than a pot. If the lion attacks him next, he too shall have all the fight he wishes; but whatever may happen afterwards he makes up his mind to help him now. For pity urges him and makes request that he should bear succour and aid to the gentle and noble beast.

With his sword, which cuts so clean, he attacks the wicked serpent, first cleaving him through to the earth and cutting him in two, then continuing his blows until he reduces him to tiny bits. But he had to cut off a piece of the lion's tail to get at the serpent's head, which held the lion by the tail. He cut off only so much as was necessary and unavoidable.

When he had set the lion free, he supposed that he would have to fight with him, and the lion would come at him; but the lion was not minded so.

Just hear now what the lion did! He acted nobly and as one well-bred; for he began to make it evident that he yielded himself to him, by standing upon his two hind-feet and bowing his face to the earth, with his fore-feet joined and stretched out toward him. Then he fell on his knees again, and all his face was wet with the tears of humility. My lord Yvain knows for a truth that the lion is thanking him and doing him homage because of the serpent which he had killed, thereby delivering him from death. He was greatly pleased by this episode.

He cleaned his sword of the serpent's poison and filth; then he replaced it in its scabbard, and resumed his way. And the lion walks close by his side, unwilling henceforth to part from him; he will always in future accompany him, eager to serve and protect him. He goes ahead until he scents in the wind upon his way some wild beasts feeding; then hunger and his nature prompt him to seek his prey and to secure his sustenance. It is his nature so to do. He started ahead a little on the trail, thus showing his master that he had come upon and detected the odor and scent of some wild game. Then he looks at him and halts, wishing to serve every wish, and unwilling to proceed against his will. Yvain understands by his attitude that he is showing that he awaits his pleasure. He perceives this and understands that if he holds back he will hold back too, and that if he follows him he will seize the game which he has scented.

Then he incites and cries to him, as he would do to hunting-dogs. At once the lion directed his nose to the scent which he had detected, and by which he was not deceived, for he had not gone a bow-shot when he saw in a valley a deer grazing all alone. This deer he will seize, if he has his way. And so he did, at the first spring, and then drank its blood still warm. When he had killed it he laid it upon his back and carried it back to his master, who thereupon conceived a greater affection for him, and chose him as a companion for all his life, because of the great devotion he found in him.

It was near night-fall now, and it seemed good to him to spend the night there, and strip from the deer as much as he cared to eat. Beginning to carve it he splits the skin along the rib, and taking a steak from the loin he strikes from a flint a spark, which he catches in some dry brush-wood; then he quickly puts his steak upon a roasting-spit to cook before the fire, and roasts it until it is quite cooked through. But there was no pleasure in the meal, for there was no bread, or wine, or salt, or knife, or anything else.

While he was eating, the lion lay at his feet; not a movement did he make, but watched him steadily until he had eaten all that he could eat of the steak. What remained of the deer the lion devoured, even to the bones. And while all night his master laid his head upon his shield to gain such rest as that afforded, the lion showed such intelligence that he kept awake, and was careful to guard the horse as it fed upon the grass, which yielded some slight nourishment.

In the morning they go off together, and the same sort of existence, it seems, as they had led that night, they two continued to lead all the ensuing week, until chance brought them to the spring beneath the pine-tree. There my lord Yvain almost lost his wits a second time, as he approached the spring, with its stone and the chapel that stood close by.

So great was his distress that a thousand times he sighed "alas!" and grieving fell in a swoon; and the point of his sharp sword, falling from its scabbard, pierced the meshes of his hauberk right in the neck beside the cheek. There is not a mesh that does not spread, and the sword cuts the flesh of his neck beneath the shining mail, so that it causes the blood to start.

Then the lion thinks that he sees his master and companion dead. You never heard greater grief narrated or told about anything than he now began to show. He casts himself about, and scratches and cries, and has the wish to kill himself with the sword with which he thinks his master has killed himself. Taking the sword from his master with his teeth he lays it on a fallen tree, and steadies it on a trunk behind, so that it will not slip or give way, when he hurls his breast against it. His intention was nearly accomplished when his master recovered from his swoon and the lion restrained himself as he was blindly rushing upon death, like a wild boar heedless of where he wounds himself.

Thus my lord Yvain lies in a swoon beside the stone, but, on recovering, he violently reproached himself for the year during which he had overstayed his leave, and for which he had incurred his lady's hate, and he said: "Why does this wretch not kill himself who has thus deprived himself of joy? Alas! why do I not take my life? How can I stay here and look upon what belongs to my lady? Why does the soul still tarry in my body? What is the soul doing in so miserable a frame? If it had already escaped away it would not be in such torment. It is fitting to hate and blame and despise myself, even as in fact I do. Whoever loses his bliss and contentment through fault or error of his own ought to hate himself mortally. He ought to hate and kill himself. And now, when no one is looking on, why do I thus spare myself? Why do I not take my life? Have I not seen this lion a prey to such grief on my behalf that he was on the point just now of thrusting my sword through his breast? And ought I to fear death who have changed happiness into grief? Joy is now a stranger to me. Joy? What joy is that? I shall say no more of that, for no one could speak of such a thing; and I have asked a foolish question. That was the greatest joy of all which was assured as my possession, but it endured for but a little while. Whoever loses such joy through his own misdeed is undeserving of happiness."

Then my lord Yvain departs, and the lion, as usual, after him. They journeyed until they came to a baron's fortified place, which was completely surrounded by a massive, strong, and high wall. The castle, being extraordinarily well protected, feared no assault of catapult or storming machine; but outside the walls the ground was so completely cleared that not a single hut or dwelling remained standing. You will learn the cause of this a little later, when the time comes.

My lord Yvain made his way directly toward the fortified place, and seven varlets came out who lowered the bridge and advanced to meet him. But they were terrified at the sight of the lion, which they saw with him, and asked him kindly to leave the lion at the gate lest he should wound or kill them.

And he replies: "Say no more of that! For I shall not enter without him. Either we shall both find shelter here or else I shall stay outside; he is as dear to me as I am myself. Yet you need have no fear of him! For I shall keep him so well in hand that you may be quite confident."

They made answer: "Very well!"

Then they entered the town, and passed on until they met knights and ladies and charming damsels coming down the street, who salute him and wait to remove his armor as they say: "Welcome to our midst, fair sire! And may God grant that you tarry here until you may leave with great honor and satisfaction!"

High and low alike extend to him a glad welcome, and do all they can for him, as they joyfully escort him into the town. But after they had expressed their gladness they are overwhelmed by grief, which makes them quickly forget their joy, as they begin to lament and weep and beat themselves. Thus, for a long space of time, they cease not to rejoice or make lament: it is to honor their guest that they rejoice, but their heart is not in what they do, for they are greatly worried over an event which they expect to take place on the following day, and they feel very sure and certain that it will come to pass before midday.

My lord Yvain was so surprised that they so often changed their mood, and mingled grief with their happiness, that he addressed the lord of the place on the subject. "For God's sake," he said, "fair gentle sir, will you kindly inform me why you have thus honored me, and shown at once such joy and such heaviness?"

"Yes, if you desire to know, but it would be better for you to desire ignorance and silence. I will never tell you willingly anything to cause you grief. Allow us to continue to lament, and do you pay no attention to what we do!"

"It would be quite impossible for me to see you sad and not take it upon my heart, so I desire to know the truth, whatever chagrin may result to me."

"Well, then," he said, "I will tell you all. I have suffered much from a giant, who has insisted that I should give him my daughter, who surpasses in beauty all the maidens in the world. This evil giant, whom may God confound, is named Harpin of the Mountain. Not a day passes without his taking all of my possessions upon which he can lay his hands. No one has a better right than I to complain, and to be sorrowful, and to make lament. I might well lose my senses from very grief, for I had six sons who were knights, fairer than any I knew in the world, and the giant has taken all six of them. Before my eyes he killed two of them, and to-morrow he will kill the other four, unless I find someone who will dare to fight him for the deliverance of my sons, or unless I consent to surrender my daughter to him. That is the disaster which awaits me to-morrow, unless the Lord God grant me His aid. So it is no wonder, fair sir, if we are all in tears. But for your sake we strive for the moment to assume as cheerful a countenance as we can. For he is a fool who attracts a gentleman to his presence and then does not honor him; and you seem to be a very perfect gentleman. Now I have told you the entire story of our great distress. Neither in town nor in fortress has the giant left us anything, except what we have here. If you had noticed, you must have seen this evening that he has not left us so much as an egg, except these walls which are new; for he has razed the entire town. When he had plundered all he wished, he set fire to what remained. In this way he has done me many an evil turn."

My lord Yvain listened to all that his host told him, and when he had heard it all he was pleased to answer him: "Sire, I am sorry and distressed about this trouble of yours; but I marvel greatly that you have not asked assistance at good King Arthur's court. There is no man so mighty that he could not find at his court some who would be glad to try their strength with his."

Then the wealthy man reveals and explains to him that he would have had efficient help if he had known where to find my lord Gawain. "He would not have failed me upon this occasion, for my wife is his own sister; but a knight from a strange land, who went to court to seek the King's wife, has led her away. However, he could not have gotten possession of her by any means of his own invention, had it not been for Kay, who so befooled the King that he gave the Queen into his charge and placed her under his protection. He was a fool, and she imprudent to entrust herself to his escort. And I am the one who suffers and loses in all this! for it is certain that my excellent lord Gawain would have made haste to come here, had he known the facts, for the sake of his nephews and his niece. But he knows nothing of it, wherefore I am so distressed that my heart is almost breaking, for he is gone in pursuit of him, to whom may God bring shame and woe for having led the Queen away."

While listening to this recital my lord Yvain does not cease to sigh. Inspired by the pity which he feels, he makes this reply: "Fair gentle sire, I would gladly undertake this perilous adventure, if the giant and your sons should arrive to-morrow in time to cause me no delay, for to-morrow at noon I shall be somewhere else, in accordance with a promise I have made."

"Once for all, fair sire," the good man said, "I thank you a hundred thousand times for your willingness." And all the people of the house likewise expressed their gratitude.

Just then the damsel came out of a room, with her graceful body and her face so fair and pleasing to look upon. She was very simple and sad and quiet as she came, for there was no end to the grief she felt: she walked with her head bowed to the ground. And her mother, too, came in from an adjoining room, for the gentleman had sent for them to meet his guest.

They entered with their mantles wrapped about them to conceal their tears, and he bid them throw back their mantles, and hold up their heads, saying: "You ought not to hesitate to obey my behests, for God and good fortune have given here a very well-born gentleman who assures me that he will fight against the giant. Delay no longer now to throw yourselves at his feet!"

"May God never let me see that!" my lord Yvain hastens to exclaim; "surely it would not be proper under any circumstances for the sister and the niece of my lord Gawain to prostrate themselves at my feet. May God defend me from ever giving place to such pride as to let them fall at my feet! Indeed, I should never forget the shame which I should feel; but I should be very glad if they would take comfort until to-morrow, when they may see whether God will consent to aid them. I have no other request to make, except that the giant may come in such good time that I be not compelled to break my engagement elsewhere; for I would not fail for anything to be present to-morrow noon at the greatest business I could ever undertake."

Thus he is unwilling to reassure them completely, for he fears that the giant may not come early enough to allow him to reach in time the damsel who is imprisoned in the chapel. Nevertheless, he promises them enough to arouse good hope in them. They all alike join in thanking him, for they place great confidence in his prowess, and they think he must be a very good man, when they see the lion by his side as confident as a lamb would be. They take comfort and rejoice because of the hope they stake on him, and they indulge their grief no more.

When the time came they led him off to bed in a brightly lighted room; both the damsel and her mother escorted him, for they prized him dearly, and would have done so a hundred thousand times more had they been informed of his prowess and courtesy.

He and the lion together lay down there and took their rest. The others dared not sleep in the room; but they closed the door so tight that they could not come out until the next day at dawn.

When the room was thrown open, he got up and heard Mass, and then, because of the promise he had made, he waited until the hour of prime. Then in the hearing of all he summoned the lord of the town and said: "My lord, I have no more time to wait, but must ask your permission to leave at once; I cannot tarry longer here. But believe truly that I would gladly and willingly stay here yet awhile for the sake of the nephews and the niece of my beloved lord Gawain, if I did not have a great business on hand, and if it were not so far away."

At this the damsel's blood quivered and boiled with fear, as well as the lady's and the lord's. They were so afraid he would go away that they were on the point of humbling themselves and casting themselves at his feet, when they recalled that he would not approve or permit their action.

Then the lord makes him an offer of all he will take of his lands or wealth, if only he will wait a little longer.

And he replied: "God forbid that ever I should take anything of yours!"

Then the damsel, who is in dismay, begins to weep aloud, and beseeches him to stay. Like one distracted and a prey to dread, she begs him by the glorious queen of heaven and of the angels, and by the Lord, not to go, but to wait a little while; and then too, for her uncle's sake, whom he says he knows, and loves, and esteems. Then his heart is touched with deep pity when he hears her adjuring him in the name of him whom he loves the most, and by the mistress of heaven, and by the Lord, who is the very honey and sweet savour of pity. Filled with anguish he heaved a sigh, for were the kingdom of Tarsus at stake he would not see her burned to whom he had pledged his aid. If he could not reach her in time, he would be unable to endure his life, or would live on without his wits; on the other hand, the kindness of his friend, my lord Gawain, only increased his distress: his heart almost bursts in half at the thought that he cannot delay.

Nevertheless, he does not stir, but delays and waits so long that the giant came suddenly, bringing with him the knights; and hanging from his neck he carried a big square stake with a pointed end, and with this he frequently spurred them on. For their part they had no clothing on that was worth a straw, except some soiled and filthy shirts; and their feet and hands were bound with cords, as they came riding upon four limping jades, which were weak and thin, and miserable. As they came riding along beside a wood, a dwarf, who was puffed up like a toad, had tied the horses' tails together, and walked beside them, beating them remorselessly with a four-knotted scourge until they bled, thinking thereby to be doing something wonderful.

Thus they were brought along in shame by the giant and the dwarf. Stopping in the plain in front of the city gate, the giant shouts out to the noble lord that he will kill his sons unless he delivers to him his daughter.

The worthy man is well-nigh beside himself. His agony is like that of one who would rather be dead than alive. Again and again he bemoans his fate, and weeps aloud and sighs.

Then my frank and gentle lord Yvain thus began to speak to him: "Sire, very vile and impudent is that giant who vaunts himself out there. But may God never grant that he should have your daughter in his power! He despises her and insults her openly. Give me now my arms and horse! Have the drawbridge lowered, and let me pass. One or the other must be cast down, either I or he, I know not which. If I could only humiliate the cruel wretch who is thus oppressing you, so that he would release your sons and should come and make amends for the insulting words he has spoken to you, then I would commend you to God and go about my business."

Then they go to get his horse, and hand over to him his arms, striving so expeditiously that they soon have him quite equipped. They delayed as little as they could in arming him. When his equipment was complete, there remained nothing but to lower the bridge and let him go. They lowered it for him, and he went out. But the lion would by no means stay behind.

All those who were left behind commended the knight to the Saviour, for they fear exceedingly lest their devilish enemy, who already had slain so many good men on the same field before their eyes, would do the same with him. So they pray God to defend him from death, and return him to them safe and sound, and that He may give him strength to slay the giant. Each one softly prays to God in accordance with his wish.

And the giant fiercely came at him, and with threatening words thus spake to him: "By my eyes, the man who sent thee here surely had no love for thee! No better way could he have taken to avenge himself on thee. He has chosen well his vengeance for whatever wrong thou hast done to him."

But the other, fearing naught, replies: "Thou treatest of what matters not. Now do thy best and I'll do mine. Idle parley wearies me."

Thereupon my lord Yvain, who was anxious to depart, rides at him. He goes to strike him on the breast, which was protected by a bear's skin, and the giant runs at him with his stake raised in air.

My lord Yvain deals him such a blow upon the chest that he thrusts through the skin and wets the tip of his lance in his body's blood by way of sauce. And the giant belabors him with the stake, and makes him bend beneath the blows. My lord Yvain then draws the sword with which he knew how to deal fierce blows. He found the giant unprotected, for he trusted in his strength so much that he disdained to arm himself. And he who had drawn his blade gave him such a slash with the cutting edge and not with the flat side, that he cut from his cheek a slice fit to roast. Then the other in turn gave him such a blow with the stake that it made him sink in a heap upon his horse's neck.

Thereupon the lion bristles up, ready to lend his master aid, and leaps up in his anger and strength, and strikes and tears like so much bark the heavy bearskin the giant wore, and he tore away beneath the skin a large piece of his thigh, together with the nerves and flesh. The giant escaped his clutches, roaring and bellowing like a bull, for the lion had badly wounded him. Then raising his stake in both hands, he thought to strike him, but missed his aim, when the lion leaped backward so he missed his blow, and fell exhausted beside my lord Yvain, but without either of them touching the other. Then my lord Yvain took aim and landed two blows on him. Before he could recover himself he had severed with the edge of his sword the giant's shoulder from his body.

With the next blow he ran the whole blade of his sword through his liver beneath his chest: the giant falls in death's embrace. And if a great oak tree should fall, I think it would make no greater noise than the giant made when he tumbled down. All those who were on the wall would fain have witnessed such a blow.

Then it became evident who was the most fleet of foot, for all ran to see the game, just like hounds which have followed the beast until they finally come up with him. So men and women in rivalry ran forward without delay to where the giant lay face downward. The daughter comes running, and her mother, too. And the four brothers rejoice after the woes they have endured.

As for my lord Yvain they are very sure that they could not detain him for any reason they might allege; but they beseech him to return and stay to enjoy himself as soon as he shall have completed the business which calls him away. And he replies that he cannot promise them anything, for as yet he cannot guess whether it will fare well or ill with him. But thus much did he say to his host: that he wished that his four sons and his daughter should take the dwarf and go to my lord Gawain when they hear of his return, and should tell and relate to him how he has conducted himself. For kind actions are of no use if you are not willing that they be known.

CHAPTER XIII
THE TURKE AND GAWAIN

And if you have any doubts about this, and find it difficult to verify the tale by consulting a Manxman (or better still an aged Manxwoman)—why you need only turn to "The History and Description of the Isle of Man," wherein Mr. Waldron only seventy years ago related all the facts as to "Curious and Authentick Relations of Apparitions of Giants that have lived under the castle from time immemorial. Likewise many comical and entertaining stories of the pranks played by fairies, &c."

He himself saw beneath Douglas Fort the "very strong and secret apartment underground, having no passage to it but a hole, which is covered with a large stone, and is called to this day 'The great man's chamber.'" Also many wise ones told him how several venturesome spirits who ventured down to the subterranean chambers at Castleton, and not one of them ever returned to give an account of what he had undoubtedly seen—except one foolhardy individual, full of "Dutch courage," who risked the attempt in spite of the grisly fate of his predecessors. This lucky person related upon his return that, after traversing interminable black passages, he at last reached a light and a magnificent dwelling, in which lay a monster fourteen feet long and ten or eleven feet around—whereat, like a wise and prudent man, he retraced his steps without further investigation.

And there is more vivid testimony than this. Probably five or six centuries back an unknown minstrel made a ballad telling all about this giant brood and what befell the valiant Sir Gawain upon his adventure into that dread island.

A few portions of this ballad are lost (they were used to light the fires by the maids in Humphrey Pitt's house in Shropshire, where Bishop Percy, about 1760, found the old 17th century manuscript book containing it!) But the course of the tale is plain, and the romance stands here essentially as it was written down about 1650, having been passed on orally for hundreds of years before that.

Listen, lords great and small, what adventures did befall in England, where hath been the knights that held the Round Table, doughty warriors and keen.

All England both east and west, lords and ladies of the best, they busked them and made them bowne, and as King Arthur sate in his seat,—lords served him at his meat,—there came a man into the hall. He was not tall, but he was broad, made like a turke (a dwarf) in his legs and thighs. Said he:

"Is there any will, as a brother, give me a buffet and take another—if any be so hardy?"

Then spoke that crabbed knight, Sir Kay:

"Man, thou seemest not so strong in wit if thou be not adread, for there are knights within this hall will fell thee to the ground with one buffet. Be thou never so stalwart of hand, I dare safely sweare I shall bring thee to the ground."

Then spake that worthy knight Sir Gawain:

"Cousin Kay, thou speakest unworthily, and rude is thy answer. If this man wants wit, small honor to thee if thou shouldst kill him."

The dwarf answered threateningly: "Come on, the better of you two, though ye be fierce as any wild boar."

With that Gawain rose and smote him, but not with his full strength, lest he slay him outright. But to his surprise the dwarf did not go down before his blow but withstood it. Then the dwarf looked upon him menacingly and said:

"Be sure that when the time comes this buffet thou hast given me shall be well quitted. But before that thou must go with me on an adventure—and I shall make thee thrice as afraid as ever man was on this middle earth ere thou see this court again."

"I plight my troth," said Gawain. "I dare go with thee and never fly. Never will I flee from an adventure, be it jousting or any other tournament."

The dwarf took leave of the crowned King, and Sir Gawain made ready his armor and steed. They rode northwards two days and more. By then Sir Gawain was sore hungered and had great need of meat and drink. The dwarf knew he needed food and spoke rough words to him, holding his head high:

"Gawain, where is all thy plenty? The other day thou wast served with dainties and gave no part to me, but bruised me with a buffet: therefore thou shalt have mickle care and shalt see adventures. I only would I had here King Arthur and many of thy fellows in brotherhood that are wont to strive for mastery."

He led Sir Gawain to a high hill. Suddenly the earth opened and closed again, and Gawain began to dread; the murk came down and the light disappeared; and a storm of snow and rain, with thunder and lightning, broke upon them.

Sir Gawain sighed heavily. "Such weather," said he, "saw I never before, in no place that I have ever been."

The dwarf paid no attention and led him on for a long journey, till at last they came in sight of a noble castle standing close beside the sea. "We shall go in," said the guide, "but take heed that if thou seest anyone within, thou speak not to man nor woman. Yea, even if they address thee, on thy peril see thou makest them no answer but only unto me."

So they rode up to the castle and Sir Gawain lighted off his horse. The dwarf, being on foot already, led him through the gates. Here they found chamber, bower and hall, with rich railings and most seemly to look upon. In the hall a board was spread with all manner of meat and drink for any grooms that might win thither. Sir Gawain would have fallen to that fare, but the dwarf bade him leave it alone on his peril so that he waxed anxious.

Said Gawain: "Man, I marvel that thou mayst spare none of these victuals when there is such great plenty here. Yet do I marvel more, by my fay, that I see neither man nor man, woman nor child. I had liever now be free to eat my fill of this fair meat than to have all the gold in Christendom."

At that the dwarf went forth and immediately returned, bringing meat and drink of the finest.

"Eat, Gawain," said he, "and refresh thy spirit. In faith thou shalt labor and sweat ere thou get more food."

When the knight had drunk ale and wine, he said: "I will, without boast or threat, be ready at thy bidding. Yet I would pray thee rather to give me my buffet and let me go my way for I would not longer be in this place."

The dwarf reminded him of his plighted word, presently, and led him without again. There lay a boat by the shore; and, obeying his guide, Sir Gawain turned loose his charger. Indeed there was naught else he could do.

"I plight my troth to thee," said the dwarf, "he shall be here when thou comest again."

They sailed across the water for the space of an hour, when there appeared before them an island whereon stood a fair castle whose like the knight had ne'er beheld.

Said the dwarf: "Gawain, we have come thus far without scathe; but now cometh the performance of thine oath. In yonder castle dwells the King of Man. He is a soldan of heathenesse, and he hath with him such a hideous rout of giants as one might not match did he seek far and near as wide as the world. Many adventures are before you; and doubt not that we shall be assailed before we win hence again. But an ye take good heed to me I shall help ye in need; and I trow there is none so strong in stoure that he shall gainsay us."

They landed and came into the great hall, where sat the King of Man, grim and terrible.

"Ah, Sir Gawain, stiff and stoure," said he, "how fareth thine uncle King Arthur? And that bishop, Sir Bodwine, that will not let my goods alone but spiteth them every day? He preaches much of a crown of thorns; but an ever I catch him he shall think such a crown but play. Sit down at my board, sir knight."

"Nay, that may not be," said Sir Gawain. "I trow a venturous knight shall sit down in no king's hall ere he have assayed adventures."

"Fair may it fall ye then, Gawain," said the King. "Go, fetch me forth my tennis ball," quoth he to those who stood near, "for I will see this knight play."

So they brought in a huge ball, all of brass; and behind it came a hideous company of giants. They were seventeen in number, and the least of them was half as tall again as the knight.

Gawain looked on these monstrous creatures who laughed and showed their foul teeth in pleasure at the prospect of dashing out his brains in the course of this strange game. Then he looked at the ball of brass, and knew there was no man in all England able to so much as carry it, much less play at hand-ball with it as was proposed. And in his heart he began to feel great fear that he was here presently to be shamed and slain. Just then the dwarf spoke privily in his ear.

To the grim King the knight said: "This is too easy a play for a proven knight. This boy of mine will play for you."

Then one of the giants struck the great heavy ball; and the dwarf struck it back so mightily that it flew clean out of the hall door and out of sight.

"Of a truth, that is a strong boy you have," said the King. "Now let us try at casting the axletree."

So they brought forth a monstrous axletree such as only one of the giants could so much as lift. The tallest of the giants made a cast from the other end of the hall, so that the tremendous mass crashed down before the feet of the knight and his companion. Gawain made a sign; whereat the dwarf picked up the huge axletree and hurled it so shrewdly that it thrust through one of the giants, and he fell down with grisly groaning.

"Take away the axletree," said the King. "Such a boy saw I never before; yet, as I may thrive, he shall be better assayed ere he go. This third adventure is the last before me at this time."

All turned toward a monstrous brazier which stood in the hall, within whose great iron bars there blazed coals and wood.

"Gawain," said a giant, "do you begin the play. A great giant lifted up this brazier and set it down fairly with one hand. When you have essayed it, one of us shall answer you."

Sir Gawain was never so disturbed since he was a man on middle earth. Then he bethought him and turned to the dwarf.

"Lift this brazier, boy," said he, "that is so worthily wrought."

At that the dwarf sprang forward, and seized the huge knobs of the iron brazier which rose far above his head. Then he lifted it clear and swung it thrice about his head, that the coals and red brands flew out over the hall floor, and they had much ado to put out the fire.

The King waxed wroth and he bade them lay hands on the knight; and before he could draw his sword they had disarmed him and bound him fast. The King had him taken aside and spoke to him privily.

"Ah, Gawain," said the King, "evil was the day for thee that thou camest hither. Full many a knight, mickle of might and strong in battle, hath come before thee, and all of them I have slain through my mastery. Never went there away one to tell the tale. Nor shalt thou go, fell though thou beest, nor none that belongeth to King Arthur."

The dwarf had drawn on a cloak of invisible gray and followed them, himself unseen in this weed. He heard all this, and followed still when the King led Gawain into a fast dungeon where stood a great caldron of boiling lead. The molten lead bubbled and spattered; and before it stood a loathly giant with an iron pronged fork in his hand. The giant looked eagerly upon the captive knight.

The King said to his monster: "Here are none but we two: do what is best."

But at that instant the dwarf discovered himself in his weed of invisible gray; and at the sight the giant cried out in fear.

The dwarf leaped upon him, gripped him mightily about the waist, and cast him all as he was into the caldron of molten lead, holding him down with the prings till he was scalded to death.

Sir Gawain turned to the King: "But thou agreest to be baptized, thine hour is come."

The King in anger spat upon him; and the dwarf seized him and hurled him into the fire to perish. Then he said to Sir Gawain:

"Master, the peril is past. Yet let us not tarry to complete this adventure."

So they went through the castle and slew all that foul company except such as were willing to become Christian men. And they found there vast treasure of gold and silver. Then the dwarf brought a golden basin, fit for an emperor, and a well-tempered sword, and fell on his knees before Gawain, and said:

"If ever I did aught for thee, take this keen sword and strike off my head."

"Now God forfend!" exclaimed Gawain. "Not for all the red gold would I have thee slain."

"Have done, my master. I have no dread. In this basin let me bleed and thou shalt see a new play."

Sorrowfully, Gawain took the brand, and with one blow he smote off his head. And when the blood fell into the golden basin, the dwarf stood up in his own guise of a stalwart knight. Sir Gromer he was hight.

"Blessed be thou, Sir Gawain. Well hast thou quitted me for my aid."

Then they went throughout the castle and released many a captive knight and lady who had been held there in dolour. And after they had feasted they crossed the ocean water and returned to King Arthur's court, where there was great joy of the seventeen bright ladies thus restored.

Sir Gromer, the former dwarf, went down upon his knee before Arthur:

"Sir King, an it please you, crown Gawain King of Man."

But Gawain kneeled beside him and said: "Nay, lord, not I; give it to him, for he won it."

Then said Arthur: "Take thou the kingdom, Sir Gromer; for I see that Gawain will never consent."

And it was so.

CHAPTER XIV
AMADIS AMONG THE GIANTS

Lisuarte perceived that it was a letter of credence and bade him speak his errand.

Then said the knight: "King, I defy thee on the part of Famongomadan, the Giant of the Boiling Lake; Cartadaque, his nephew, giant of the Defended Mountain; Madanfabul, his marriage-brother, the giant of the Vermillion Tower; and for Quadragante, brother of King Abies of Ireland, and Arcalaus the Enchanter:

"They tell thee that thy death, and the death of all who call themselves thine is in their hands, for they are coming against thee on King Cildadan's side. Howbeit, if thou wilt give thy daughter Oriana to Madasima, the fair daughter of Famongomadan, to be her damsel and servant, they will not injure thee, nor be thine enemies, but will give her in marriage when it is time, to Basogante, Madasima's brother, who doth well deserve to be lord of her and thy land.

"Therefore, King, look to thy choice! Such peace or such war."

Lisuarte smiled when he began to reply, as one who set at naught the defiance. "Knight," said he, "better is a dangerous war than a dishonorable peace: a bad account should I render to Him who hath placed me in this high rank, if for lack of heart I should so shamefully debase it. Tell them I would rather choose war with them all the days of my life, and death in that war at last, than consent to the peace they offer. Tell me where I may send a knight to carry them this answer."

"They may be found," replied the embassador, "in the Boiling Lake, which is in the Isle of Mongaza."

So it was done, and a knight of King Lisuarte's carried them his reply defying them to the utmost.

Now Amadis was at a nunnery, being but barely recovered of severe wounds. He sent Enil, his squire for the time, to the next town to get arms made for him, a green shield with as many golden lions as it could hold, and to buy him a horse, and a sword and breastplate, the best he could find. For he purposed to ride to Millaflores to see Oriana, the lady of all his thoughts.

In twenty days all was ready, as he had ordered it; and at the end of that time arrived Durin, who brought word from her who was called the one without a peer. Then he walked apart with Durin, and heard the message of Oriana, and also how his brethren were to be in the battle against Cildadan and the giants, and of the defiance that Famongomadan had sent, and how he demanded Oriana to be serving-damsel to his daughter, till he should give her in marriage to his son. When he heard this, his flesh shook with exceeding anger, and he resolved in himself, so soon as he had seen his lady, to undertake no adventure till he had found Famongomadan, and fought with him a combat to the utterance for what he had dared propose.

That night Amadis, still going by the name of Beltenebros even to his companion, took leave of the nuns, and early the next day, armed in his green armor, he set forth, and Enil with him carrying his shield and helmet and lance. The day was clear, and he feeling himself in his strength and once more in arms, began to manage his horse so skilfully that Enil said to him:

"I know not, sir, what the strength of your heart may be, but I never saw a knight appear so well in arms."

"The worth," quoth Amadis, "lies in a good heart, not in a good appearance. Happy dole hath he whom God has gifted with both. You have judged the one, judge the other as you shall see it deserves when put to proof."

Seven days they travelled without adventure, and Amadis, as he drew nearer, wore his helmet that he might not be known. On the eighth, as they were passing the foot of a mountain, they met a knight upon a large bay horse, so huge in stature that he appeared to be a giant, and two squires carrying his arms.

He cried out with a loud voice to Amadis: "Stop, sir knight, till you have told me what I want to know."

Amadis looked at the stranger's shield, and seeing there golden flowers in a field azure, he knew it was Don Quadragante, brother to King Abies of Ireland and his own deadly foe. Yet, remembering Famongomadan, he would willingly now have avoided battle; as also, because he was on his way to Oriana, and feared lest the great prowess of this knight should cause him some delay. Howbeit he stopt, and bade Enil give him his arms, if they were wanted.

"God protect you!" quoth Enil. "He looks to me more like a devil than a knight."

"He is no devil," said Amadis, "but a right good knight, of whom I have heard heretofore."

By this time Quadragante was come up, and said to him: "Knight, you must tell me if you belong to the household of King Lisuarte."

"Why ask you?"

"Because I have defied him and all his household, and kill all of them whom I meet."

Amadis felt his anger rising, and replied: "You are one of those who hath challenged him?"

"I am; and I am he who will do to him and his all the evil in my power."

"And who are you?"

"My name is Don Quadragante; and I am brother to that King Abies who was foully slain by an unknown knight of Lisuarte's."

"Certes, Don Quadragante, notwithstanding your high lineage and your great prowess in arms, this is great folly in you to defy the best king in the world. They who undertake more than they can effect are rather rash than hardy. I am not this king's vassal, nor am I of his land, but for his goodness my heart is disposed to serve him, so that I may account myself among those whom you have defied; if you chuse battle with me, you may have it; if not, go your way."

"I believe, knight," said Quadragante, "you speak thus boldly because you know me so little; pray you, tell me your name."

"They call me Beltenebros: you will know me by it no better than before, for it is a name of no renown; but, though I am of a far land, I have heard that you are seeking Amadis of Gaul, and, by what I hear of him, it is no loss to you that you cannot find him."

"What!" quoth Quadragante. "Do you prize him, whom I hate so much, above me? Know that your death-hour is arrived. Take thy arms and defend thyself if thou canst."

"I might do it with some doubt against others, but can have none in opposing thee, who art so full of pride and threats."

Then they ran their course; both felt the shock: the horse of Amadis reeled, and he himself was wounded at the nipple of the breast. Quadragante was unhorsed and hurt in the ribs. He rose and ran at Amadis, who did not see him, for he was adjusting his helmet, and mortally stabbed his horse. Amadis leaped off and went against him sword in hand in great anger.

"There was no courage in this," he cried. "Your own horse was strong enough to have finished the battle without this villainy."

The blows fell as thick and loud as though ten knights had been in combat, for both put forth all their strength and skill, and the fight lasted from the hour of tierce till vespers; but then Quadragante, overcome with fatigue and with a blow that Amadis gave him on the helmet, fell down senseless.

Amadis took off his helmet to see if he were dead; the air revived him; he placed the sword-point at his face, saying:

"Remember thy soul, for thou art a dead man."

"Ah, Beltenebros," cried he, "for God's sake let me live, for my soul's sake."

"Yield thyself vanquished then, and promise to fulfill what I command."

"I will fulfill your will to save my life," said Quadragante, "but there is no reason wherefore I should confess myself vanquished: he is not vanquished who in his defence hath shown no fear, doing his utmost till strength and breath fail him and he falls; but he who does not do what he could have done, for lack of heart."

"You say well," said Amadis, "and I like much what I have heard from you; give me your hand and your promise then." And he called the squire to witness it:

"You shall go forthwith to the court of King Lisuarte, and remain there till Amadis arrives, and then you shall pardon him for the death of your brother, King Abies; for they by their own will fought in lists together, and such revenge, even among those of meaner degree, ought not to be pursued. However, you shall make null the defiance against King Lisuarte, and not take arms against those in his service."

All this did Quadragante promise against his will and in the fear of death. He then ordered his squires to make a litter and remove him; and Amadis, mounting the bay horse of his antagonist, gave his arms to Enil and departed.

Four damsels, who were hawking with a merlin, had seen the battle, and they now came up and requested the unknown would go to their castle, where he should be honorably welcomed, for the good will which he had manifested to King Lisuarte. He thankfully accepted their hospitality, being sore wearied with the struggle, and accompanied them. They found no other wound than that upon his breast, which bled much; howbeit in three days he departed.

On the second day at noon, from a hill top he beheld the city of London, and, to the right thereof, the castle of Miraflores, where his lady Oriana then abode. Here he stood awhile, gazing and devising how he might despatch Enil.

Presently he was taunted by a company of knights to joust with them, and at last he rode against them and overthrew all ten, one after another.

Then came he, being athirst, to the Fountain of the Three Channels, and tarried there awhile, discoursing with some damsels who were on their way to the court, and determining to fix upon this as a meeting place with Enil after he had been to his lady.

While they were talking, there came along the road a waggon drawn by twelve palfreys, and on it were two dwarfs who drove. There were many knights in chains in the waggon, and their shields were hanging at the side, and many damsels and girls among them weeping and lamenting loudly.

Before it went a giant, so great that he was fearful to behold; he rode a huge black horse, and he was armed with plates of steel, and his helmet shone bright, and in his hand he had a boar spear, whose point was a full arm's-length long. Behind the waggon was another giant, who appeared more huge and terrible than the first.

The damsels with Amadis seeing them were greatly terrified, and hid themselves among the trees. Presently the giant who rode foremost turned to the dwarfs and cried:

"I will cut you into a thousand pieces if you suffer these girls to shed their own blood, for I mean to do sacrifice with it to my God, whom I adore."

When Amadis heard this he knew it was Famongomadan, for he had a custom to sacrifice damsels to an idol in the Boiling Lake, by whose advice and words he was guided in everything. At this time Amadis did not wish to encounter him, because he hoped shortly to be with Oriana, and also because his joust with the ten knights had wearied him; but he knew the knights in the waggon, and saw that Princess Leonoreta and her damsels were there, for Famongomadan, who always took his waggon with him to carry away all he could find, had seized them in their tents.

Immediately he mounted, and called to Enil for his arms. But Enil said:

"Let those devils pass by first."

"Give me!" quoth Amadis. "I shall try God's mercy before they pass, to see if I can redress this villainy."

"O, sir," cried the squire, "why have you so little compassion on your youth? If the best twenty knights of King Lisuarte's court were here, they would not venture to attack them."

"Care thou not for that," replied his master. "If I let them pass without doing my best I should be unworthy to appear among gallant men: you shall behold my fortune."

Enil gave him his arms, weeping, and Amadis then descended the sloping ground to meet them. He looked toward Miraflores as he went, and said:

"O Oriana, my lady, never did I attempt adventure confiding in my own courage, but in you: my gentle lady, assist me now, in this great need."

He felt his full strength now, and all fear was gone, and he cried out to the dwarfs to stop.

When the foremost giant, Famongomadan, heard him, he came towards him with such rage that smoke came through the vizor of his helmet, and he shook his boar spear so forcefully that its ends almost met.

"Unhappy wretch!" cried he. "Who gave thee boldness enough to dare appear before me?"

"That Lord," quoth Amadis, "whom thou hast offended, who will give me strength today to break thy pride."

"Come on! Come on!" cried the giant. "And see if his power can protect thee from mine."

Amadis fitted the lance under his arm, and ran against him full speed: he smote him below the waist with such exceeding force that the spear burst through the plates of steel, and ran through him, even so as to strike the saddle behind, that the girths broke and he fell with the saddle, the broken lance remaining in him. His boar spear had taken effect upon the horse of Amadis and mortally wounded him. The knight leaped off and drew his sword.

Famongomadan rose up so enraged that fire came from him, and he plucked the lance from his wound, and threw it at Amadis so violently that if the shield had not protected his helmet, it would have driven him to the ground; but his own bowels came out with the weapon, and he fell, crying:

"Help, Basagante! I am slain."

At this the other giant came up as fast as his horse could carry him: he had a steel axe in his hand, and with this he thought to have cut his enemy in two; but Amadis avoided the blow, and at the same time struck the giant's horse; the stroke fell short, but the tip of his sword cut through the stirrup-leather, and cut the leg also half through.

The giant in his fury did not feel the wound, though he missed the stirrup: he turned and raised his axe again. Amadis had taken the shield from his neck, and was holding it by the throngs: the axe fell on it and sank in and drove it from his hands to the ground. He had made another stroke; the sword wounded Basagante's arm, and, glancing below upon the plates of fine steel, broke, so that only the handle remained in his hand.

Not for this was he a whit dismayed; he saw the giant could not pluck his axe from the shield, and he ran and caught it by the handle also. Both struggled for the weapon; it was on that side where the stirrup had been cut away, so that Basagante lost his balance: the horse started and he fell; and Amadis got the battle-axe.

The giant drew his sword in vast fury, and would have run at the knight, but the nerves of his leg were cut through; he fell upon one knee, and Amadis smote him on the helmet, that the laces burst and it fell off. He, seeing his enemy so near, thought with his sword, which was very long, to smite off his head; the blow was aimed too high, it cut off the whole crown of the helmet, and cut away the hair with it. Amadis drew back; the helmet fell over his head upon his shoulders, and Leonoreta and the damsels, who were on their knees in the waggon praying to God to deliver them, tore their hair and began to shriek and call upon the Virgin, thinking he was surely slain. He himself put up his hand to feel if he were wounded to death, but feeling no harm made again at the giant, whose sword falling upon a stone in the last blow had broken.

Basagante's heart failed him now; he made one stroke more and cut the knight slightly in the leg with the broken sword; but Amadis let drive the battle-axe at his head: it cut away the ear and the cheek and the jaw, and Basagante fell, writhing in the agony of death.

At this time Famongomadan had taken off his helmet, and was holding his hands upon his wound to check the blood. When he saw his son slain he began to blaspheme God and His mother Holy Mary, saying that he did not so much grieve to die as that he could not now destroy their monasteries and churches, because they had suffered him and his son to be conquered by one knight.

Amadis was then upon his knees returning thanks to God when he heard the blasphemer, and he exclaimed:

"Accursed of God and of His blessed mother! Now shalt thou suffer for thy cruelties. Pray to thine idol that, as thou hast shed so much blood before him, he may stop this blood of thine from flowing out with thy life."

The giant continued to curse God and his saints. Then Amadis plucked the boar spear from the horse's body, and thrust it into the mouth of Famongomadan, and nailed him backward to the earth.

He then put on Basagante's helmet that he might not be known, and mounting the other's horse rode up to the waggon and broke the chains of all who were prisoners therein. And he besought them to take the bodies of the giants to King Lisuarte, and say they were sent him by a strange knight called Beltenebros; and he begged the princess to permit him to take the black horse of Famongomadan, because it was a strong and handsome horse, and he would ride him in the battle against King Cildadan.

The bodies of the giants were so huge that they were obliged to bend their knees to lay them in the waggon.

Leonoreta and her damsels made garlands for their heads, and being right joyful for their deliverance, entered London singing in triumph. Much was King Lisuarte astonished at their adventure, and the more for Quadragante had already presented himself on the part of Beltenebros, of whom nothing else was known.

"I would he were among us," said the King. "I would not lose him for anything that he could ask and I could grant."

As for the further exploits of Amadis; and how, by the side of his brethren and the king, he conquered all those island giants in pitched battle; and how he slew the unspeakable monstrous offspring of the giant of Devil's Island that was called the Endriago; and how he and the peerless Oriana, in whom all beauty was centered, proved in the Firm Island those final adventures of the Arch of True Lovers and of the Forbidden Chamber;—are not these and many things beside written in the Portuguese chronicler's tale of Amadis of Gaul? And was this not one of the only three romances spared by the good Curate when he purged Don Quixote's library with fire—for that forsooth it was the best of all the romances?

CHAPTER XV
GOGMAGOG

Howbeit, the child was given in charge unto a nurse, and was named Brute.

At last, after thrice five years had gone by, the lad, bearing his father company out a-hunting, slew him by striking him unwittingly with an arrow. For when the verderers drave the deer in front of them, Brute thinking to take aim at them, smote his own father under the breast. Upon the death of his father he was driven out of Italy, his kinsfolk being wroth with him for having wrought a deed so dreadful. He went therefore as an exile into Greece, and there he met with the descendants of Helenus, son of Priam, then held in bondage by the Greeks. Freeing these countrymen by a sudden attack on the Greek stronghold, and capturing Pandrasus himself, the valiant adventurer presently sailed away with the king's daughter for a wife, and a ransom of over three hundred ships laden with treasure and provisions.

They ran on together for two days and a night with a fair current of wind, and drew to land at a certain island called Leogecia, which had been uninhabited ever since it was laid waste by pirates in the days of old. Howbeit, Brute sent three hundred men inland to discover by whom it might be inhabited. Who, finding not a soul, slew such venison of divers kinds as they found in the glades and the forests.

They came, moreover, to a certain deserted city, wherein they found a temple of Diana. Now in this temple was an image of the goddess, that gave responses, if haply it were asked of any votary that there did worship.

At last they returned to their ships, laden with the venison they had found, and report to their comrades the lie of the land and the situation of the city, bearing the Duke on land that he make repair unto the temple, and after making offerings of propitiation, inquire of the deity of the place what land she would grant them as a fixed abiding place. By the common consent of all, therefore, Brute took with him Gerion the augur, and twelve of the elders, and sought out the temple, bringing with them everything necessary for making sacrifice. When they arrived, they surrounded their brows with garlands, and set up three altars according to immemorial wont, before the holy place, to the three Gods, Jove, to wit, and Mercury, as well as to Diana, and made unto each his own special libation. Brute himself, holding in his right hand a vessel full of sacrificial wine and the blood of a white hind before the altar of the goddess, with face upturned towards her image, broke silence in these words:—