The Mabinogion (Oxford World's Classics) (32 page)

‘I do,’ he replied, ‘and however much you are ordered to hold your tongue, you will never be quiet. Your warning means nothing to me; and do not talk to me.’

He turned on the knight, and at the first thrust threw him to the ground under his horse’s feet. And for as long as one of the eighty knights remained, at the first thrust he threw each one of them. And they came at him from best to next best, apart from the earl. And last of all the earl came at him, and broke a lance, and a second. Geraint turned on him and struck with a spear in the centre of his shield, so that his shield splits and all the armour breaks at that point, and he is thrown over his horse’s crupper to the ground, and is in danger of his life.

Geraint approached him, and because of the noise of the horse the earl gained consciousness.

‘Lord,’ he said to Geraint, ‘your mercy!’ And Geraint showed him mercy. And what with the hardness of the ground where the men were thrown, and the violence of the blows they received, not one of the men left Geraint without a deadly painful, aching-hurtful, mighty-bruising fall.

Geraint proceeded along the highroad he was travelling, and the maiden kept her distance. And nearby they could see the fairest valley that anyone had ever seen, and a wide river along the valley. And they could see a bridge over the river, and the highroad coming to the bridge, and above the bridge on the other side of the river they could see the fairest walled town that anyone had ever seen. As he made for the bridge, he could see a man approaching him through a small patch of thick brushwood on a huge, tall horse, even-paced, high-spirited but manageable.

‘Knight,’ said Geraint, ‘where do you come from?’

‘I come from the valley below,’ he replied.

‘Sir,’ said Geraint, ‘will you tell me who owns this fair valley and the walled town over there?’

‘I will, gladly,’ he replied. ‘The French and the English call him
Gwiffred Petit
, but the Welsh call him
Y Brenin Bychan
.’
*

‘Shall I go to that bridge over there,’ said Geraint, ‘or to the lower highroad below the town?’

‘Do not go on to his land on the other side of the bridge,’ said the knight, ‘unless you wish to fight him, for it is his custom to fight every knight that comes on to his land.’

‘Between me and God,’ said Geraint, ‘I shall go my own way despite him.’

‘I think it most likely,’ said the knight, ‘that if you do that now you will be shamed and humiliated, fiercely, with courage and fury.’

Geraint proceeded along the road as was his intention before, and it was not the road that led to the town from the bridge that Geraint took, but the road that made for the ridge of the rough land, lofty, elevated, with a wide outlook. As he was travelling like this, he could see a knight following him on a sturdy, strong charger, bold-paced and wide-hoofed and broad-chested. And he had never seen a man smaller than the one he saw on the horse, and plenty of armour on him and his horse. When he caught up with Geraint, he said to him, ‘Tell me, sir,’ he said, ‘was it because of ignorance or arrogance that you were seeking to take away my prerogative and break my special custom?’

‘No,’ said Geraint, ‘I did not know that the road was restricted to anyone.’

‘Since you were unaware,’ he replied, ‘come with me to my court to make amends.’

‘No, I will not, by my faith,’ he replied. ‘I would not go to your lord’s court unless Arthur were your lord.’

‘Now by Arthur’s hand,’ he said, ‘I insist on having recompense from you, or else you will cause me great distress.’

Immediately they charged at each other, and a squire of his came to supply him with lances as they broke. And each dealt the other hard, painful blows, until their shields lost all their colour. Geraint found fighting him to be unpleasant, because he was so small and it was so difficult to aim at him, and the blows he dealt were so severe. But they did not tire of it until the horses fell to their knees. At last Geraint threw him head-first to the ground. And then they fought on foot, and each dealt the other blows—fast and furious, bold and bitter, powerful and painful—and they pierced their helmets, and broke the mail caps, and shattered the armour until their eyes were losing their sight because of the sweat and blood. Finally Geraint became enraged and summoned up his strength and, furious and valiant, swift and ardent, bloody and resolute, he raised his sword and struck him on top of his head, a deadly painful, poisonous-piercing, violent-bitter blow, so that all the head armour is broken, and the skin and the flesh, and there is a wound to the bone, and Y Brenin Bychan’s sword is thrown out of his hand to the far end of the open
ground, away from him. Then in God’s name he begged for Geraint’s protection and mercy.

‘You shall have mercy,’ said Geraint, ‘—though your behaviour was rude and you were overbearing—on condition that you become my companion, and do not disagree with me a second time, and if you hear that I am in distress, you will intervene.’

‘You shall have that, lord, gladly.’ He took his oath on that.

‘And you, lord,’ he said, ‘will you come with me to my court over there to throw off your weariness and fatigue?’

‘No I will not, between me and God,’ he replied.

Then Gwiffred Petit looked over at Enid, and he was distressed to see so much pain in so noble a lady. Then he said to Geraint, ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘you are wrong not to take rest and relaxation. And if you encounter adversity in that condition, it will not be easy for you to overcome it.’

Geraint wanted nothing but to go on his way, and he mounted his horse, bleeding and uncomfortable. And the maiden kept her distance.

They travelled towards a forest which they could see some way from them. And it was very hot, and because of the sweat and the blood, the armour was sticking to his flesh. When they got to the forest, he stood beneath a tree to shelter from the heat, and he remembered the pain then more so than when he had first received it. And the maiden stood under another tree. Suddenly they could hear hunting-horns and a commotion, due to Arthur and his host dismounting in the forest. Geraint pondered which route he should take to avoid them. Then, behold, a man on foot caught sight of him. He was the steward’s servant, and he came to the steward, and told him what sort of a man he had seen in the forest. The steward then had his horse saddled and took his spear and shield and came to where Geraint was.

‘Knight,’ he said, ‘what are you doing there?’

‘Standing under a shady tree and avoiding the heat and the sun.’

‘Where are you going, and who are you?’

‘I am just looking for adventures and going wherever I please.’

‘Well,’ said Cai, ‘come with me to see Arthur who is close by.’

‘I will not, between me and God,’ replied Geraint.

‘You will be forced to come,’ said Cai.

Geraint recognized Cai, but Cai did not recognize Geraint. And
Cai attacked him as best he could. Geraint became angry, and with the shaft of his spear he struck him until he fell head-first to the ground. And he had no wish to do him more harm than that.

Frantic and fearful, Cai got up and mounted his horse and came to his lodging. From there he wandered to Gwalchmai’s tent.

‘Sir,’ he said to Gwalchmai, ‘I heard from one of the servants that a wounded knight has been seen in the forest over there, wearing armour that’s in poor condition. And if you do what is right, you would go and see whether that is so.’

‘I do not mind going,’ said Gwalchmai.

‘Then take your horse,’ said Cai, ‘and some of your armour. I have heard that that he is none too polite to those who come his way.’ Gwalchmai took his spear and his shield and mounted his horse and came to where Geraint was.

‘Knight,’ he said, ‘where are you going?’

‘Going about my business and looking for adventures.’

‘Will you tell me who you are, or will you come and see Arthur, who is close by?’

‘I will not tell you my name and I will not go and see Arthur,’ he said. And he recognized Gwalchmai, but Gwalchmai did not recognize him.

‘It will never be said of me,’ said Gwalchmai, ‘that I let you get away without finding out who you are.’ And he attacked him with a spear and struck him on his shield so that the spear was shattered and broken, and the horses forehead to forehead. Then he looked closely at him and recognized him.

‘Oh! Geraint,’ he said, ‘is it you?’

‘I am not Geraint,’ he said.

‘Geraint, between me and God,’ he replied, ‘and this is a sorry, ill-advised state of affairs.’ He looked around him and caught sight of Enid, and greeted her and was glad to see her.

‘Geraint,’ said Gwalchmai, ‘come and see Arthur: he is your lord and your cousin.’

‘I will not,’ he replied. ‘I am in no state to go and see anyone.’

Then, behold, one of the squires came after Gwalchmai to seek news. Gwalchmai sent him to tell Arthur that Geraint was there, wounded, and would not come to see him, and that it was pitiful to see the state he was in (and that without Geraint knowing, in a whisper between him and the squire).

‘And ask Arthur,’ he said, ‘to move his tent closer to the road, for he won’t come to see him of his own free will, and it won’t be easy to force him in his present state.’

The squire came to Arthur, and told him that, and he moved his tent to the side of the road. Then the maiden’s heart rejoiced. Gwalchmai enticed Geraint along the road to where Arthur was encamped, and where his squires were pitching a tent at the side of the road.

‘Lord,’ said Geraint, ‘greetings.’

‘May God prosper you,’ said Arthur, ‘and who are you?’

‘This is Geraint,’ said Gwalchmai, ‘and by choice he would not have come to see you today.’

‘Well,’ said Arthur, ‘he is ill-advised.’

Then Enid came to where Arthur was and greeted him.

‘May God prosper you,’ said Arthur. ‘Let someone help her dismount.’ One of the squires did so.

‘Oh! Enid,’ he said, ‘what sort of journey is this?’

‘I do not know, lord,’ she said, ‘except that I must travel any road he travels.’

‘Lord,’ said Geraint, ‘we shall be on our way, with your permission.’

‘Where will you go?’ said Arthur. ‘You cannot go now unless you want to go to your death.’

‘He would not allow me to invite him to stay,’ said Gwalchmai.

‘He will allow me,’ said Arthur, ‘and furthermore, he will not leave here until he is well.’

‘I would prefer it, lord,’ said Geraint, ‘if you would let me leave.’

‘No, I will not, between me and God,’ he replied.

Then he had maidens called to attend on Enid and take her to Gwenhwyfar’s tent. Gwenhwyfar and all the ladies were glad to see her, and her riding-dress was taken off and replaced by another. Arthur called on Cadyriaith and asked him to erect a tent for Geraint and his physicians, and made him responsible for ensuring that there was plenty of everything as he had been asked. Cadyriaith did everything that was requested of him, and brought Morgan Tud and his apprentices to Geraint. And Arthur and his host stayed there almost a month nursing Geraint.

When Geraint thought his flesh was whole, he came to Arthur and asked for permission to leave.

‘I do not know if you are fully recovered yet.’

‘I am, truly, lord,’ said Geraint.

‘It is not you I will believe on that subject, but the physicians who tended you.’ And he summoned the physicians to him and asked them whether it was true.

‘It is true,’ said Morgan Tud.

The next day Arthur allowed him to leave, and Geraint set out to complete his journey. And Arthur left there that same day.

Geraint told Enid to ride ahead and keep her distance as she had done before. And she went on, and followed the highroad. As they were thus they heard, close to them, the loudest scream in the world.

‘Stay here,’ he said, ‘and wait. And I’ll go and find out the explanation for the scream.’

‘I will,’ she said.

He went, and came to a clearing near the road. And in the clearing he could see two horses, one with a man’s saddle and the other with a woman’s saddle, and a knight in his armour, dead; and standing over the knight he saw a young, newly weddded woman in her riding-clothes, shrieking.
*

‘Lady,’ said Geraint, ‘what has happened to you?’

‘I was travelling here with the man I loved best, and suddenly three giants came up to us, and without regard for any justice in the world they killed him.’

‘Which way did they go?’ said Geraint.

‘That way, along the highroad,’ she said. He went to Enid.

‘Go to the lady who is down there,’ he said, ‘and wait for me—I shall return there.’ She was sad that he had ordered her to do that, but even so she went to the maiden, and it was dreadful to hear her. And Enid was sure that Geraint would never return.

He went after the giants and caught up with them. And each one of them was larger than three men, and there was a huge club on the shoulder of each one. Geraint charged at one of them and stabbed him with a spear through his entrails; and he pulled his spear out of him and stabbed another of them too. But the third turned on him, and struck him with a club so that his shield splits until his shoulder stops the blow, and all his wounds open, and all his blood is pouring out. With that, Geraint drew a sword and attacked him and struck him a severe-sharp, pitiless, fierce-furious blow on the top of his head,
so that his head splits, and his neck as far as the shoulders, and so that he fell dead. And he left them dead like that and came to where Enid was. And when he saw Enid he fell from his horse to the ground as if dead. Enid gave a terrible, piercing, heart-rending scream, and came and stood over him where he had fallen.

Suddenly, behold, coming in answer to the scream, Earl Limwris
*
and a retinue that was with him, who were travelling the road. And because of the scream they turned off the road. Then the earl said to Enid, ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘what has happened to you?’

‘Sir,’ she said, ‘the man that I loved best, and will always love, has been killed.’

‘What happened to you?’ he said to the other.

‘What killed them?’ he said.

‘The giants killed the man I loved best,’ she said. ‘And the other knight went after them,’ she said, ‘and as you can see, he came away from them losing blood beyond measure. And I think it likely,’ she said, ‘that he did not leave without killing either some or all of them.’ The earl saw to it that the knight who had been left dead was buried. But he thought that there was still some life in Geraint, and had him brought with him in the hollow of his shield and on a stretcher, to see whether he would live.