King Arthur's Knights Part 25

The stranger stopped his horse, and called out:

'O Heaven, is it my lord, Sir Geraint?'

'Yes, in truth,' said Enid, 'and who art thou?'

'I am the little king!' said the other, and rode swiftly towards Sir Geraint. Then he leaped from his horse and came to the stirrup of his chief.

'My lord,' he said, 'I learned that thou wert in trouble, and came to see if I could aid thee.'

And Enid ran forward with joy at hearing this, and welcomed the little king, and told him in what a hard pa.s.s was Sir Geraint.

'My lord and my lady,' said Griffith, 'I thank Heaven sincerely for the favour that I come to you in your need. I learned of thy fight with the trolls and of thy slaying of Earl Madoc, and that thou wert wounded.

Therefore I rode on to find thee.'

'I thank thee heartily,' said Sir Geraint, 'and my dear wife also thanks thee. For of a truth I am spent, and must needs get me rest and a leech for my wounds.'

'Then come at once with me,' said the little king, and after he had helped Enid to her place before Geraint, he leaped on his own horse.

'Now thou shalt go to the hall of a son-in-law of my sister which is near here,' said King Griffith, 'and thou shalt have the best medical advice in the kingdom.'

At the hall of the baron, whose name was Tewder, and a most knightly and gentle lord, Sir Geraint and the Lady Enid were received with great welcome and hospitality. Physicians were sent for, and they attended Geraint day by day until he was quite well again.

The fame of his adventures began to spread along the borders of his kingdom, and at length reached his own court. And the robber lords and brigands of the marches, hearing of his deeds, ceased their evil-doing and made haste to hide from his wrath. Also his father Erbin and the host at his court repented of their hard thoughts and sneers concerning him, and praised the strength of his arm, the gentleness of his courtesy, and his justice and mercy.

When Sir Geraint and the Lady Enid returned home, all the people gathered to welcome them. And thenceforth he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendour lasted with renown and honour and love, both to him and to the Lady Enid, from that time forth.

VII

HOW SIR PERCEVAL WAS TAUGHT CHIVALRY, AND ENDED THE EVIL WROUGHT BY SIR BALIN'S DOLOROUS STROKE

It befell upon a time when King Arthur was Pendragon, or overlord of the island of Britain, that Earl Evroc held an earldom of large dominion in the north under King Uriens. And the earl had seven sons, the last being but a child still at play about his mother's chair as she sat with her maidens in the bower.

Lord Evroc was a valiant and a mighty warrior, ever battling against the hated pagans, when their bands of blue-eyed fierce fighters landed on his coasts. And when peace was on the land, he went about on errantry, jousting in tournaments and fighting champions.

His six elder sons did likewise, and all were famed for their knightly prowess.

But the mother sat at home, sad of mood. For she hated war, and would rather have had her lord and her six tall sons about her in the home.

And in her heart she resolved that she would plead with Evroc to let her have her little son Perceval to be a clerk or a learned bard, so that he should stay at home with her and run no risk of death.

The sorrow she was ever dreading smote her at length. For a messenger came one day, saying that Earl Evroc her lord had been slain at Bamborough, in a mighty melee between some of the best and most valiant knights of Logres and Alban, and two tall sons with him.

As the years pa.s.sed, and her little son began to run, three black days came within a little of each other, for on these days messengers came with the sad news of the death of her other boys. One of them had been done to death by an evil troll on the lonely wastes by the Roman wall, two others were slain by the sh.o.r.es of Humber, repelling a horde of fair-haired Saxon raiders, and the other was killed at a ford, where he had kept at bay six bandit knights that would have pursued and slain his wounded lord.

Then, in her grief, the widow dame resolved that she would fly with her little son, and make a home for him in some wilderness, where never sounds or sights of war or death would come, where knights would be unknown, and no one would speak to him of arms and battles. And thus did she do, and she left the hall where she had lived, and removed to the deserts and wastes of the wilderness, and took with her only her women, and a few boys and spiritless men, too old or feeble to fight, or to think of fighting.

Thus she reared the only son left to her, teaching him all manner of n.o.bleness in thought and action and in learning, but never suffering him to see a weapon, nor to hear a tale of war or knightly prowess.

He grew up loving all n.o.ble things, gentle of speech and bearing, but quick to anger at evil or mean actions, merciful of weak things, and full of pity and tenderness.

Yet was he also very strong of body, fleet of foot, quick of eye and hand. Daily he went to divert himself in the great dark forest that climbed the high mountains beside his home, or he roamed the wide rolling moors. And he practised much with the throwing of stones and sticks, so that with a stick he could hit a small mark at a great distance, and with a sharp stone he could cut down a sapling at one blow.

One day he saw a flock of his mother's goats in the forest, and near them stood two hinds. The boy wondered greatly to see the two deer which had no horns, while the goats had two each; and he thought they had long run wild, and had lost their horns in that way. He thought he would please his mother if he caught them, so that they should not escape again. And by his great activity and swiftness he ran the two deer down till they were spent, and then he took them and shut them up in the goat-house in the forest.

Going home, he told his mother and her servants what he had done, and they went to see, and marvelled that he could catch such fleet creatures as the wild red deer.

Once he overheard his mother say that she yearned for fresh venison, but that the hunter who was attached to her house was lying wounded by a wild boar. Always Perceval had wondered what the little dark man did whom they called the hunter, who was always so secret, so that Perceval could never see where he went or when he returned from the forest.

So he went to the hut where Tod the hunter lay sick, and charged him by the love and wors.h.i.+p he bore to the countess, that he should tell him how he could obtain fresh venison. And the dwarf told him.

Then Perceval took a few sticks of stout wood, with points hardened by fire, and went into the forest as Tod had told him, and seeing a deer he hurled a stick at it and slew it. And then he brought it home.

The countess was greatly wroth that Tod had taught him how to slay, and she said that never more should the dwarf serve her. And Tod wept, but when he was well again the countess would not suffer him to stay, but said he should leave the hall and never come there again.

She commanded Perceval never to slay any more living things, and the lad promised. But hard was it to keep his word, when he was in the forest and saw the wild things pa.s.sing through the brakes.

Once, as he strayed deep in the wood, he came upon a wide glade or laund, with two green hillocks in the middle thereof. And feeding upon the gra.s.s was a great buck, and it had a silver ring round its neck.

Perceval wondered at this beast being thus adorned, and went up to it to stroke it.

But the buck was fierce, and would have gored him with its horns, but Perceval seized them, and after a great struggle he threw the animal, and held it down, and in his wrath he would have slain it with a sharp stick. With that a swarm of little angry trolls poured from the hollow hillocks with great cries, and seizing Perceval would have hurt him.

But suddenly Tod ran among them, and commanded them to release him. And in the end Tod, who came himself of the troll folk, made the little people pa.s.s the words of peace and friends.h.i.+p with Perceval, and ever after that the boy went with the trolls, and sported with them in wrestling, running and other games; and he learned many things of great wisdom from them concerning the secrets of the earth and air and the wind, and the spirits that haunt waste places and standing stones, and how to put to naught the power of witches and wizards.

Tod ever bade them treat the young lord with reverence. 'For this is he who shall do great deeds,' he said. 'He shall be a stainless knight, who shall gain from evil the greatest strength, and, if G.o.d wills, he shall beat down the evil powers in this land.'

But the lad knew not what he meant, though he was very content to have the trolls for his friends.

One day Perceval was in the forest far up the mountain, and he looked over the blue distance far below across the moor, and saw a man riding on a wide road which he had never noticed before. And the man rode very fast, and as he went the sun seemed to flash from him as if he was clothed in gla.s.s. Perceval wondered what he was, and resolved to go across the moor to the road he had seen.

When he reached the road he found it was very broad, and banked on either side, and went straight as the flight of a wild duck right across the moor, and never swerved by the hills or pools, but went over everything in its way. And as he stood marvelling what mighty men had builded it, he heard a strange rattling sound behind him, and, turning, he saw three men on horseback, and the sun shone from them as he had seen it s.h.i.+ne from the first horseman.

The foremost checked his horse beside Perceval, and said:

'Tell me, good soul, sawest thou a knight pa.s.s this way either this day or yesterday?'

'I know not what a knight is,' answered Perceval.

'Such a one as I,' said the horseman, smiling good-naturedly, for it was Sir Owen, one of King Arthur's knights.

'If ye will tell me what I ask, I will tell you,' said Perceval.

[Ill.u.s.tration: YOUNG PERCEVAL QUESTIONS SIR OWEN]

'I will answer gladly,' said Sir Owen, smiling, yet wondering at the fearless and n.o.ble air of this youth in so wild a waste.