Stories from Le Morte D'Arthur and the Mabinogion by Beatrice E. Clay (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

So Geraint passed to his own land, Enid going with him; and soon he had driven the oppressors from their strongholds and established peace and order, so that the poor man dwelt in his little cot secure in his possessions. But when all was done, and there was none dared defy him, Geraint abode at home, neglectful of the tournament and the chase, and all those manly exercises in which he had once excelled, content if he had but the companionship of his wife; so that his nobles murmured because he withdrew himself from their society, and the common people jeered at him for a laggard.

Now these evil rumours came to Enid's ears, and it grieved her that she should be the cause, however unwillingly, of her husband's dishonour; and since she could not bring herself to speak to her lord of what was in her heart, daily she grew more sorrowful, till the Prince, aware of her altered demeanour, became uneasy, not knowing its source.

So time went by till it chanced, one summer morning, that with the first rays of the sun, Enid awoke from her slumbers, and, rising, gazed upon her husband as he lay, and marvelled at his strength. "Alas!" said she, "to be the cause that my lord suffers shame! Surely I should find courage to tell him all, were I indeed true wife to him!" Then, by ill chance, her tears falling upon him awoke him, so that he heard her words, but brokenly, and seeing her weep and hearing her accuse herself, it came into his thought that, for all his love and care for her, she was weary of him, nay, even that perhaps she loved him not at all. In anger and grief he called to his squire and bade him saddle his charger and a palfrey for Enid; and to her he said: "Put on thy meanest attire, and thou shalt ride with me into the wilderness. It seems that I have yet to win me fame; but before thou seest home again, thou shalt learn if indeed I am fallen so low as thou deemest." And Enid, wondering and troubled, answered, "I know naught of thy meaning, my lord." "Ask me nothing," said Geraint. So sorrowfully and in silence Enid arrayed herself, choosing for her apparel the faded robe and veil in which first her lord had seen her.

Then the squire brought them their horses; but when he would have mounted and ridden after, Geraint forbade him. And to Enid the Prince said: "Ride before me and turn not back, no matter what thou seest or hearest. And unless I speak to thee, say not a word to me."

So they rode forward along the least frequented road till they came to a vast forest, which they entered. There Enid, as she rode in front, saw four armed men lurking by the road, and one said to the other: "See, now is our opportunity to win much spoil at little cost; for we may easily overcome this doleful knight, and take from him his arms and lady." And Enid hearing them, was filled with fear and doubt; for she longed to warn her lord of his danger, yet feared to arouse his wrath, seeing he had bidden her keep silence. Then said she to herself: "Better to anger him, even to the slaying of me, than have the misery of seeing him perish." So she waited till Geraint drew near, and said: "Lord, there lie in wait for thee four men fully armed, to slay and rob thee." Then he answered her in anger: "Did I desire thy silence or thy warning? Look, then, and whether thou desirest my life or my death, thou shalt see that I dread not these robbers." Then, as the foremost of the four rode upon him, Geraint drove upon him with his spear with such force that the weapon stood out a cubit behind him; and so he did with the second, and the third, and the fourth. Then, dismounting from his horse, he stripped the dead felons of their armour, bound it upon their horses, and tying the bridle reins together, bade Enid drive the beasts before her. "And," said he, "I charge thee, at thy peril, speak no word to me."

So they went forward; and presently Enid saw how three horsemen, well armed and well mounted, rode towards them. And one said to the other: "Good fortune, indeed! Here are four horses and four suits of armour for us, and but one knight to deal with; a craven too, by the way he hangs his head." Then Enid thought within herself how her lord was wearied with his former combat, and resolved to warn him even at her own peril. So she waited till he was come up with her, and said: "Lord, there be three men riding towards us, and they promise themselves rich booty at small cost." Wrathfully spoke Geraint: "Their words anger me less than thy disobedience"; and immediately rushing upon the mid-most of the three knights, he bore him from his horse; then he turned upon the other two who rode against him at the same moment, and slew them both. As with the former caitiffs, so now Geraint stripped the three of their armour, bound it upon the horses, and bade Enid drive these forward with the other four.

Again they rode on their way, and, for all his anger, it smote Geraint to the heart to see the gentle lady labouring to drive forward the seven horses. So he bade her stay, for they would go no farther then, but rest that night as best they might in the forest; and scarcely had they dismounted and tethered the horses before Geraint, wearied with his encounters, fell asleep; but Enid remained watching, lest harm should come to her lord while he slept.

With the first ray of light, Geraint awoke, and his anger against Enid was not passed; so, without more ado, he set her on her palfrey and bade her drive the horses on in front as before, charging her that, whatever befell, that day at least, she should keep silence.

Soon they passed from the forest into open land, and came upon a river flowing through broad meadows where the mowers toiled. Then, as they waited to let the horses drink their fill, there drew near a youth, bearing a basket of bread and meat and a blue pitcher covered over with a bowl. So when the youth saluted them, Geraint stayed him, asking whence he came. "My lord," said the lad, "I am come from the town hard by, to bring the mowers their breakfast." "I pray thee, then," said the Prince, "give of the food to this lady, for she is faint." "That will I gladly," answered the youth, "and do ye also partake, noble sir"; and he spread the meal for them on the grass while they dismounted. So when they had eaten and were refreshed, the youth gathered up the basket and pitcher, saying he would return to the town for food for the mowers. "Do so," said the Prince, "and when thou art come there, take for me the best lodging that thou mayst. And for thy fair service, take a horse and armour, whichsoever thou wilt." "My lord, ye reward me far beyond my deserts," cried the youth. "Right gladly will I make all ready against your arrival, and acquaint my master, the Earl, of your coming."

So Geraint and Enid followed after the youth to the town, and there they found everything prepared for their comfort, even as he had promised; for they were lodged in a goodly chamber well furnished with all that they might require. Then said Geraint to Enid: "Abide at one end of the room and I will remain at the other. And call the woman of the house if thou desirest her aid and comfort in aught." "I thank thee, lord," answered Enid patiently; but she called for no service, remaining silent and forlorn in the farthest corner of the great chamber.

Presently there came to the house the Earl, the youth's master, and with him twelve goodly knights to wait upon him. And Geraint welcomed them right heartily, bidding the host bring forth his best to furnish a feast. So they sat them down at the table, each in his degree according to his rank, and feasted long and merrily; but Enid remained the while shrinking into her corner if perchance she might escape all notice.

As they sat at the banquet, the Earl asked Prince Geraint what quest he followed. "None but mine own inclination and the adventure it may please heaven to send," said Geraint. Then the Earl, whose eye had oft sought Enid as she sat apart, said: "Have I your good leave to cross the room and speak to your fair damsel? For she joins us not in the feast." "Ye have it freely," answered the Prince. So the Earl arose, and approaching Enid, bowed before her, and spoke to her in low tones, saying: "Damsel, sad life is yours, I fear, to journey with yonder man." "To travel the road he takes is pleasant enough to me," answered Enid. "But see what slights he puts upon you! To suffer you to journey thus, unattended by page or maiden, argues but little love or reverence for you." "It is as nothing, so that I am with him," said Enid. "Nay, but," said the Earl, "see how much happier a life might be yours. Leave this churl, who values you not, and all that I have, land and riches, and my love and service for ever shall be yours." "Ye cannot tempt me, with aught that ye can offer, to be false to him to whom I vowed my faith," said she. "Ye are a fool!" said the Earl in a fierce whisper. "One word to these my knights, and yonder is a dead man. Then who shall hinder me that I take you by force? Nay, now, be better advised, and I vow you my whole devotion for all time." Then was Enid filled with dread of the man and his might, and seeking but to gain time, she said: "Suffer me to be for this present, my lord, and to-morrow ye shall come and take me as by force. Then shall my name not suffer loss." "So be it," said he; "I will not fail you." With that he left her, and taking his leave of Geraint, departed with his followers.

Never a word of what the Earl had said did Enid tell her husband that night; and on the departure of his guests, the Prince, unheedful of her, flung him on the couch, and soon slept, despite his grief and wrath. But Enid watched again that night, and, before cock-crow, arose, set all his armour ready in one place, and then, though fearful of his wrath, stepped to his side and touching him gently, said: "Awake, my lord, and arm you, and save me and yourself." Then she told him of all the Earl had said and of the device she had used to save them both. Then wrathfully he rose and armed himself, bidding her rouse the host to saddle and bring forth the horses. When all was ready, Prince Geraint asked the man his reckoning. "Ye owe but little," said the host. "Take then the seven horses and the suits of armour," said Geraint. "Why, noble sir," cried the host, "I scarce have spent the value of one." "The richer thou," answered Geraint. "Now show me the road from the town."

So the man guided them from the town, and scarce was he returned when Earl Durm—for so was the Earl named—hammered at the door, with forty followers at his back. "Where is the knight who was here erewhile?" "He is gone hence, my lord," answered the host. "Fool and villain!" cried the Earl, "why didst thou suffer him to escape? Which way went he?" And the man, fearful and trembling, directed the Earl the road Geraint had gone.

So it came to pass, as they rode on their way, Enid in front, the Prince behind, that it seemed to Enid she heard the beat of many horse-hoofs. And, as before, she broke Geraint's command, caring little for aught that might befall her in comparison of loss to him. "My lord," said she, "seest thou yonder knight pursuing thee and many another with him?" "Yea, in good truth, I see him," said Geraint, "and I see, too, that never wilt thou obey me." Then he turned him about and, laying lance in rest, bore straight down upon Earl Durm, who foremost rushed upon him; and such was the shock of their encounter, that Earl Durm was borne from his saddle and lay without motion as one dead. And Geraint charged fiercely upon the Earl's men, unhorsing some and wounding others;