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Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
   After the siege and the assault of Troy, when that burg was destroyed and burnt to ashes, and the traitor tried for his treason, the noble Æneas and his kin sailed forth to become princes and patrons of well-nigh all the Western Isles. Thus Romulus built Rome (and gave to the city his own name, which it bears even to this day); and Ticius turned him to Tuscany; and Langobard raised him up dwellings in Lombardy; and Felix Brutus sailed far over the French flood, and founded the kingdom of Britain, wherein have been war and waste and wonder, and bliss and bale, ofttimes since.
   And in that kingdom of Britain have been wrought more gallant deeds than in any other; but of all British kings Arthur was the most valiant, as I have heard tell, therefore will I set forth a wondrous adventure that fell out in his time. And if ye will listen to me, but for a little while, I will tell it even as it stands in story stiff and strong, fixed in the letter, as it hath long been known in the land.
*****
   King Arthur lay at Camelot upon a Christmas-tide, with many a gallant lord and lovely lady, and all the noble brotherhood of the Round Table. There they held rich revels with gay talk and jest; one while they would ride forth to joust and tourney, and again back to the court to make carols; 2 for there was the feast holden fifteen days with all the mirth that men could devise, song and glee, glorious to hear, in the daytime, and dancing at night. Halls and chambers were crowded with noble guests, the bravest of knights and the loveliest of ladies, and Arthur himself was the comeliest king that ever held a court. For all this fair folk were in their youth, the fairest and most fortunate under heaven, and the king himself of such fame that it were hard now to name so valiant a hero.
   Now the New Year had but newly come in, and on that day a double portion was served on the high table to all the noble guests, and thither came the king with all his knights, when the service in the chapel had been sung to an end. And they greeted each other for the New Year, and gave rich gifts, the one to the other (and they that received them were not wroth, that may ye well believe!), and the maidens laughed and made mirth till it was time to get them to meat. Then they washed and sat them down to the feast in fitting rank and order, and Guinevere the queen, gaily clad, sat on the high daïs. Silken was her seat, with a fair canopy over her head, of rich tapestries of Tars, embroidered, and studded with costly gems; fair she was to look upon, with her shining grey eyes, a fairer woman might no man boast himself of having seen.
   But Arthur would not eat till all were served, so full of joy and gladness was he, even as a child; he liked not either to lie long, or to sit long at meat, so worked upon him his young blood and his wild brain. And another custom he had also, that came of his nobility, that he would never eat upon an high day till he had been advised of some knightly deed, or some strange and marvellous tale, of his ancestors, or of arms, or of other ventures. Or till some stranger knight should seek of him leave to joust with one of the Round Table, that they might set their lives in jeopardy, one against another, as fortune might favour them. Such was the king's custom when he sat in hall at each high feast with his noble knights, therefore on that New Year tide, he abode, fair of face, on the throne, and made much mirth withal.
   Thus the king sat before the high tables, and spake of many things; and there good Sir Gawain was seated by Guinevere the queen, and on her other side sat Agravain, à la dure main; 3 both were the king's sister's sons and full gallant knights. And at the end of the table was Bishop Bawdewyn, and Ywain, King Urien's son, sat at the other side alone. These were worthily served on the daïs, and at the lower tables sat many valiant knights. Then they bare the first course with the blast of trumpets and waving of banners, with the sound of drums and pipes, of song and lute, that many a heart was uplifted at the melody. Many were the dainties, and rare the meats, so great was the plenty they might scarce find room on the board to set on the dishes. Each helped himself as he liked best, and to each two were twelve dishes, with great plenty of beer and wine.
   Now I will say no more of the service, but that ye may know there was no lack, for there drew near a venture that the folk might well have left their labour to gaze upon. As the sound of the music ceased, and the first course had been fitly served, there came in at the hall door one terrible to behold, of stature greater than any on earth; from neck to loin so strong and thickly made, and with limbs so long and so great that he seemed even as a giant. And yet he was but a man, only the mightiest that might mount a steed; broad of chest and shoulders and slender of waist, and all his features of like fashion; but men marvelled much at his colour, for he rode even as a knight, yet was green all over.
   For he was clad all in green, with a straight coat, and a mantle above; all decked and lined with fur was the cloth and the hood that was thrown back from his locks and lay on his shoulders. Hose had he of the same green, and spurs of bright gold with silken fastenings richly worked; and all his vesture was verily green. Around his waist and his saddle were bands with fair stones set upon silken work, 'twere too long to tell of all the trifles that were embroidered thereon--birds and insects in gay gauds of green and gold. All the trappings of his steed were of metal of like enamel, even the stirrups that he stood in stained of the same, and stirrups and saddle-bow alike gleamed and shone with green stones. Even the steed on which he rode was of the same hue, a green horse, great and strong, and hard to hold, with broidered bridle, meet for the rider.
   The knight was thus gaily dressed in green, his hair falling around his shoulders; on his breast hung a beard, as thick and green as a bush, and the beard and the hair of his head were clipped all round above his elbows. The lower part of his sleeves were fastened with clasps in the same wise as a king's mantle. The horse's mane was crisp and plaited with many a knot folded in with gold thread about the fair green, here a twist of the hair, here another of gold. The tail was twined in like manner, and both were bound about with a band of bright green set with many a precious stone; then they were tied aloft in a cunning knot, whereon rang many bells of burnished gold. Such a steed might no other ride, nor had such ever been looked upon in that hall ere that time; and all who saw that knight spake and said that a man might scarce abide his stroke.
   The knight bore no helm nor hauberk, neither gorget nor breast-plate, neither shaft nor buckler to smite nor to shield, but in one hand he had a holly-bough, that is greenest when the groves are bare, and in his other an axe, huge and uncomely, a cruel weapon in fashion, if one would picture it. The head was an ell-yard long, the metal all of green steel and gold, the blade burnished bright, with a broad edge, as well shapen to shear as a sharp razor. The steel was set into a strong staff, all bound round with iron, even to the end, and engraved with green in cunning work. A lace was twined about it, that looped at the head, and all adown the handle it was clasped with tassels on buttons of bright green richly broidered.
   The knight rideth through the entrance of the hall, driving straight to the high daïs, and greeted no man, but looked ever upwards; and the first words he spake were, "Where is the ruler of this folk? I would gladly look upon that hero, and have speech with him." He cast his eyes on the knights, and mustered them up and down, striving ever to see who of them was of most renown.
   Then was there great gazing to behold that chief, for each man marvelled what it might mean that a knight and his steed should have even such a hue as the green grass; and that seemed even greener than green enamel on bright gold. All looked on him as he stood, and drew near unto him wondering greatly what he might be; for many marvels had they seen, but none such as this, and phantasm and faërie did the folk deem it. Therefore were the gallant knights slow to answer, and gazed astounded, and sat stone still in a deep silence through that goodly hall, as if a slumber were fallen upon them. I deem it was not all for doubt, but some for courtesy that they might give ear unto his errand.
   Then Arthur beheld this adventurer before his high daïs, and knightly he greeted him, for fearful was he never. "Sir," he said, "thou art welcome to this place--lord of this hall am I, and men call me Arthur. Light thee down, and tarry awhile, and what thy will is, that shall we learn after."
   "Nay," quoth the stranger, "so help me He that sitteth on high, 'twas not mine errand to tarry any while in this dwelling; but the praise of this thy folk and thy city is lifted up on high, and thy warriors are holden for the best and the most valiant of those who ride mail-clad to the fight. The wisest and the worthiest of this world are they, and well proven in all knightly sports. And here, as I have heard tell, is fairest courtesy, therefore have I come hither as at this time. Ye may be sure by the branch that I bear here that I come in peace, seeking no strife. For had I willed to journey in warlike guise I have at home both hauberk and helm, shield and shining spear, and other weapons to mine hand, but since I seek no war my raiment is that of peace. But if thou be as bold as all men tell thou wilt freely grant me the boon I ask."
   And Arthur answered, "Sir Knight, if thou cravest battle here thou shalt not fail for lack of a foe."
   And the knight answered, "Nay, I ask no fight, in faith here on the benches are but beardless children, were I clad in armour on my steed there is no man here might match me. Therefore I ask in this court but a Christmas jest, for that it is Yule-tide, and New Year, and there are here many fain for sport. If any one in this hall holds himself so hardy, 4 so bold both of blood and brain, as to dare strike me one stroke for another, I will give him as a gift this axe, which is heavy enough, in sooth, to handle as he may list, and I will abide the first blow, unarmed as I sit. If any knight be so bold as to prove my words let him come swiftly to me here, and take this weapon, I quit claim to it, he may keep it as his own, and I will abide his stroke, firm on the floor. Then shalt thou give me the right to deal him another, the respite of a year and a day shall he have. Now haste, and let see whether any here dare say aught."
   Now if the knights had been astounded at the first, yet stiller were they all, high and low, when they had heard his words. The knight on his steed straightened himself in the saddle, and rolled his eyes fiercely round the hall, red they gleamed under his green and bushy brows. He frowned and twisted his beard, waiting to see who should rise, and when none answered he cried aloud in mockery, "What, is this Arthur's hall, and these the knights whose renown hath run through many realms? Where are now your pride and your conquests, your wrath, and anger, and mighty words? Now are the praise and the renown of the Round Table overthrown by one man's speech, since all keep silence for dread ere ever they have seen a blow!"
   With that he laughed so loudly that the blood rushed to the king's fair face for very shame; he waxed wroth, as did all his knights, and sprang to his feet, and drew near to the stranger and said, "Now by heaven foolish is thy asking, and thy folly shall find its fitting answer. I know no man aghast at thy great words. Give me here thine axe and I shall grant thee the boon thou hast asked." Lightly he sprang to him and caught at his hand, and the knight, fierce of aspect, lighted down from his charger.
   Then Arthur took the axe and gripped the haft, and swung it round, ready to strike. And the knight stood before him, taller by the head than any in the hall; he stood, and stroked his beard, and drew down his coat, no more dismayed for the king's threats than if one had brought him a drink of wine.
   Then Gawain, who sat by the queen, leaned forward to the king and spake, "I beseech ye, my lord, let this venture be mine. Would ye but bid me rise from this seat, and stand by your side, so that my liege lady thought it not ill, then would I come to your counsel before this goodly court. For I think it not seemly when such challenges be made in your hall that ye yourself should undertake it, while there are many bold knights who sit beside ye, none are there, methinks, of readier will under heaven, or more valiant in open field. I am the weakest, I wot, and the feeblest of wit, and it will be the less loss of my life if ye seek sooth. For save that ye are mine uncle naught is there in me to praise, no virtue is there in my body save your blood, and since this challenge is such folly that it beseems ye not to take it, and I have asked it from ye first, let it fall to me, and if I bear myself ungallantly then let all this court blame me."
   Then they all spake with one voice that the king should leave this venture and grant it to Gawain.
   Then Arthur commanded the knight to rise, and he rose up quickly and knelt down before the king, and caught hold of the weapon; and the king loosed his hold of it, and lifted up his hand, and gave him his blessing, and bade him be strong both of heart and hand. "Keep thee well, nephew," quoth Arthur, "that thou give him but the one blow, and if thou redest him rightly I trow thou shalt well abide the stroke he may give thee after."
   Gawain stepped to the stranger, axe in hand, and he, never fearing, awaited his coming. Then the Green Knight spake to Sir Gawain, "Make we our covenant ere we go further. First, I ask thee, knight, what is thy name? Tell me truly, that I may know thee."
   "In faith," quoth the good knight, "Gawain am I, who give thee this buffet, let what may come of it; and at this time twelvemonth will I take another at thine hand with whatsoever weapon thou wilt, and none other."
   Then the other answered again, "Sir Gawain, so may I thrive as I am fain to take this buffet at thine hand," and he quoth further, "Sir Gawain, it liketh me well that I shall take at thy fist that which I have asked here, and thou hast readily and truly rehearsed all the covenant that I asked of the king, save that thou shalt swear me, by thy troth, to seek me thyself wherever thou hopest that I may be found, and win thee such reward as thou dealest me to-day, before this folk."
   "Where shall I seek thee?" quoth Gawain. "Where is thy place? By Him that made me, I wot never where thou dwellest, nor know I thee, knight, thy court, nor thy name. But teach me truly all that pertaineth thereto, and tell me thy name, and I shall use all my wit to win my way thither, and that I swear thee for sooth, and by my sure troth."
   "That is enough in the New Year, it needs no more," quoth the Green Knight to the gallant Gawain, "if I tell thee truly when I have taken the blow, and thou hast smitten me; then will I teach thee of my house and home, and mine own name, then mayest thou ask thy road and keep covenant. And if I waste no words then farest thou the better, for thou canst dwell in thy land, and seek no further. But take now thy toll, and let see how thy strikest."
   "Gladly will I," quoth Gawain, handling his axe.
   Then the Green Knight swiftly made him ready, he bowed down his head, and laid his long locks on the crown that his bare neck might be seen. Gawain gripped his axe and raised it on high, the left foot he set forward on the floor, and let the blow fall lightly on the bare neck. The sharp edge of the blade sundered the bones, smote through the neck, and clave it in two, so that the edge of the steel bit on the ground, and the fair head fell to the earth that many struck it with their feet as it rolled forth. The blood spurted forth, and glistened on the green raiment, but the knight neither faltered nor fell; he started forward with out-stretched hand, and caught the head, and lifted it up; then he turned to his steed, and took hold of the bride, set his foot in the stirrup, and mounted. His head he held by the hair, in his hand. Then he seated himself in his saddle as if naught ailed him, and he were not headless. He turned his steed about, the grim corpse bleeding freely the while, and they who looked upon him doubted them much for the covenant.
   For he held up the head in his hand, and turned the face towards them that sat on the high daïs, and it lifted up the eyelids and looked upon them and spake as ye shall hear. "Look, Gawain, that thou art ready to go as thou hast promised, and seek leally till thou find me, even as thou hast sworn in this hall in the hearing of these knights. Come thou, I charge thee, to the Green Chapel, such a stroke as thou hast dealt thou hast deserved, and it shall be promptly paid thee on New Year's morn. Many men know me as the knight of the Green Chapel, and if thou askest, thou shalt not fail to find me. Therefore it behoves thee to come, or to yield thee as recreant."
   With that he turned his bridle, and galloped out at the hall door, his head in his hands, so that the sparks flew from beneath his horse's hoofs. Whither he went none knew, no more than they wist whence he had come; and the king and Gawain they gazed and laughed, for in sooth this had proved a greater marvel than any they had known aforetime.
   Though Arthur the king was astonished at his heart, yet he let no sign of it be seen, but spake in courteous wise to the fair queen: "Dear lady, be not dismayed, such craft is well suited to Christmas-tide when we seek jesting, laughter and song, and fair carols of knights and ladies. But now I may well get me to meat, for I have seen a marvel I may not forget." Then he looked on Sir Gawain, and said gaily, "Now, fair nephew, hang up thine axe, since it has hewn enough," and they hung it on the dossal above the daïs, where all men might look on it for a marvel, and by its true token tell of the wonder. Then the twain sat them down together, the king and the good knight, and men served them with a double portion, as was the share of the noblest, with all manner of meat and of minstrelsy. And they spent that day in gladness, but Sir Gawain must well bethink him of the heavy venture to which he had set his hand. *****
   This beginning of adventures had Arthur at the New Year; for he yearned to hear gallant tales, though his words were few when he sat at the feast. But now had they stern work on hand. Gawain was glad to begin the jest in the hall, but ye need have no marvel if the end be heavy. For though a man be merry in mind when he has well drunk, yet a year runs full swiftly, and the beginning but rarely matches the end.
   For Yule was now over-past5, and the year after, each season in its turn following the other. For after Christmas comes crabbed Lent, that will have fish for flesh and simpler cheer. But then the weather of the world chides with winter; the cold withdraws itself, the clouds uplift, and the rain falls in warm showers on the fair plains. Then the flowers come forth, meadows and grove are clad in green, the birds make ready to build, and sing sweetly for solace of the soft summer that follows thereafter. The blossoms bud and blow in the hedgerows rich and rank, and noble notes enough are heard in the fair woods.
   After the season of summer, with the soft winds, when zephyr breathes lightly on seeds and herbs, joyous indeed is the growth that waxes thereout when the dew drips from the leaves beneath the blissful glance of the bright sun. But then comes harvest and hardens the grain, warning it to wax ripe ere the winter. The drought drives the dust on high, flying over the face of the land; the angry wind of the welkin wrestles with the sun; the leaves fall from the trees and light upon the ground, and all brown are the groves that but now were green, and ripe is the fruit that once was flower. So the year passes into many yesterdays, and winter comes again, as it needs no sage to tell us.
   When the Michaelmas moon was come in with warnings of winter, Sir Gawain bethought him full oft of his perilous journey. Yet till All Hallows Day he lingered with Arthur, and on that day they made a great feast for the hero's sake, with much revel and richness of the Round Table. Courteous knights and comely ladies, all were in sorrow for the love of that knight, and though they spake no word of it, many were joyless for his sake.
   And after meat, sadly Sir Gawain turned to his uncle, and spake of his journey, and said, "Liege lord of my life, leave from you I crave. Ye know well how the matter stands without more words, to-morrow am I bound to set forth in search of the Green Knight."
   Then came together all the noblest knights, Ywain and Erec, and many another. Sir Dodinel le Sauvage, the Duke of Clarence, Launcelot and Lionel, and Lucan the Good, Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, valiant knights both, and many another hero, with Sir Mador de la Porte, and they all drew near, heavy at heart, to take counsel with Sir Gawain. Much sorrow and weeping was there in the hall to think that so worthy a knight as Gawain should wend his way to seek a deadly blow, and should no more wield his sword in fight. But the knight made ever good cheer, and said, "Nay, wherefore should I shrink? What may a man do but prove his fate?"
   He dwelt there all that day, and on the morn he arose and asked betimes for his armour; and they brought it unto him on this wise: first, a rich carpet was stretched on the floor6 (and brightly did the gold gear glitter upon it), then the knight stepped on to it, and handled the steel; clad he was in a doublet of silk, with a close hood, lined fairly throughout. Then they set the steel shoes upon his feet, and wrapped his legs with greaves, with polished knee-caps, fastened with knots of gold. Then they cased his thighs in cuisses closed with thongs, and brought him the byrny of bright steel rings sewn upon a fair stuff. Well burnished braces they set on each arm with good elbow-pieces, and gloves of mail, and all the goodly gear that should shield him in his need. And they cast over all a rich surcoat, and set the golden spurs on his heels, and girt him with a trusty sword fastened with a silken bawdrick. When he was thus clad his harness was costly, for the least loop or latchet gleamed with gold. So armed as he was he hearkened Mass and made his offering at the high altar. Then he came to the king, and the knights of his court, and courteously took leave of lords and ladies, and they kissed him, and commended him to Christ.
   With that was Gringalet ready, girt with a saddle that gleamed gaily with many golden fringes, enriched and decked anew for the venture. The bridle was all barred about with bright gold buttons, and all the covertures and trappings of the steed, the crupper and the rich skirts, accorded with the saddle; spread fair with the rich red gold that glittered and gleamed in the rays of the sun.
   Then the knight called for his helmet, which was well lined throughout, and set it high on his head, and hasped it behind. He wore a light kerchief over the vintail, that was broidered and studded with fair gems on a broad silken ribbon, with birds of gay colour, and many a turtle and true-lover's knot interlaced thickly, even as many a maiden had wrought diligently for seven winter long. But the circlet which crowned his helmet was yet more precious, being adorned with a device in diamonds. Then they brought him his shield, which was of bright red, with the pentangle painted thereon in gleaming gold.7 And why that noble prince bare the pentangle I am minded to tell you, though my tale tarry thereby. It is a sign that Solomon set ere-while, as betokening truth; for it is a figure with five points and each line overlaps the other, and nowhere hath it beginning or end, so that in English it is called "the endless knot." And therefore was it well suiting to this knight and to his arms, since Gawain was faithful in five and five-fold, for pure was he as gold, void of all villainy and endowed with all virtues. Therefore he bare the pentangle on shield and surcoat as truest of heroes and gentlest of knights.
   For first he was faultless in his five senses; and his five fingers never failed him; and all his trust upon earth was in the five wounds that Christ bare on the cross, as the Creed tells. And wherever this knight found himself in stress of battle he deemed well that he drew his strength from the five joys which the Queen of Heaven had of her Child. And for this cause did he bear an image of Our Lady on the one half of his shield, that whenever he looked upon it he might not lack for aid. And the fifth five that the hero used were frankness and fellowship above all, purity and courtesy that never failed him, and compassion that surpasses all; and in these five virtues was that hero wrapped and clothed. And all these, five-fold, were linked one in the other, so that they had no end, and were fixed on five points that never failed, neither at any side were they joined or sundered, nor could ye find beginning or end. And therefore on his shield was the knot shapen, red-gold upon red, which is the pure pentangle. Now was Sir Gawain ready, and he took his lance in hand, and bade them all Farewell, he deemed it had been for ever.
   Then he smote the steed with his spurs, and sprang on his way, so that sparks flew from the stones after him. All that saw him were grieved at heart, and said one to the other, "By Christ, 'tis great pity that one of such noble life should be lost! I'faith, 'twere not easy to find his equal upon earth. The king had done better to have wrought more warily. Yonder knight should have been made a duke; a gallant leader of men is he, and such a fate had beseemed him better than to be hewn in pieces at the will of an elfish man, for mere pride. Who ever knew a king to take such counsel as to risk his knights on a Christmas jest?" Many were the tears that flowed from their eyes when that goodly knight rode from the hall. He made no delaying, but went his way swiftly, and rode many a wild road, as I heard say in the book.
   So rode Sir Gawain through the realm of Logres, on an errand that he held for no jest. Often he lay companionless at night, and must lack the fare that he liked. No comrade had he save his steed, and none save God with whom to take counsel. At length he drew nigh to North Wales, and left the isles of Anglesey on his left hand, crossing over the fords by the foreland over at Holyhead, till he came into the wilderness of Wirral8, where but few dwell who love God and man of true heart. And ever he asked, as he fared, of all whom he met, if they had heard any tidings of a Green Knight in the country thereabout, or of a Green Chapel? And all answered him, Nay, never in their lives had they seen any man of such a hue. And the knight wended his way by many a strange road and many a rugged path, and the fashion of his countenance changed full often ere he saw the Green Chapel.
   Many a cliff did he climb in that unknown land, where afar from his friends he rode as a stranger. Never did he come to a stream or a ford but he found a foe before him, and that one so marvellous, so foul and fell, that it behoved him to fight. So many wonders did that knight behold, that it were too long to tell the tenth part of them. Sometimes he fought with dragons and wolves; sometimes with wild men that dwelt in the rocks; another while with bulls, and bears, and wild boars, or with giants of the high moorland that drew near to him. Had he not been a doughty knight, enduring, and of well-proved valour, and a servant of God, doubtless he had been slain, for he was oft in danger of death. Yet he cared not so much for the strife, what he deemed worse was when the cold clear water was shed from the clouds, and froze ere it fell on the fallow ground. More nights than enough he slept in his harness on the bare rocks, near slain with the sleet, while the stream leapt bubbling from the crest of the hills, and hung in hard icicles over his head.
   Thus in peril and pain, and many a hardship, the knight rode alone till Christmas Eve, and in that tide he made his prayer to the Blessed Virgin that she would guide his steps and lead him to some dwelling. On that morning he rode by a hill, and came into a thick forest, wild and drear; on each side were high hills, and thick woods below them of great hoar oaks, a hundred together, of hazel and hawthorn with their trailing boughs intertwined, and rough ragged moss spreading everywhere. On the bare twigs the birds chirped piteously, for pain of the cold. The knight upon Gringalet rode lonely beneath them, through marsh and mire, much troubled at heart lest he should fail to see the service of the Lord, who on that self-same night was born of a maiden for the cure of our grief; and therefore he said, sighing, "I beseech Thee, Lord, and Mary Thy gentle Mother, for some shelter where I may hear Mass, and Thy mattins at morn. This I ask meekly, and thereto I pray my Paternoster, Ave, and Credo." Thus he rode praying, and lamenting his misdeeds, and he crossed himself, and said, "May the Cross of Christ speed me."
   Now that knight had crossed himself but thrice ere he was aware in the wood of a dwelling within a moat, above a lawn, on a mound surrounded by many mighty trees that stood round the moat. 'Twas the fairest castle that ever a knight owned9; built in a meadow with a park all about it, and a spiked palisade, closely driven, that enclosed the trees for more than two miles. The knight was ware of the hold from the side, as it shone through the oaks. Then he lifted off his helmet, and thanked Christ and S. Julian that they had courteously granted his prayer, and hearkened to his cry. "Now," quoth the knight, "I beseech ye, grant me fair hostel." Then he pricked Gringalet with his golden spurs, and rode gaily towards the great gate, and came swiftly to the bridge end.
   The bridge was drawn up and the gates close shut; the walls were strong and thick, so that they might fear no tempest. The knight on his charger abode on the bank of the deep double ditch that surrounded the castle. The walls were set deep in the water, and rose aloft to a wondrous height; they were of hard hewn stone up to the corbels, which were adorned beneath the battlements with fair carvings, and turrets set in between with many a loophole; a better barbican Sir Gawain had never looked upon. And within he beheld the high hall, with its tower and many windows with carven cornices, and chalk-white chimneys on the turreted roofs that shone fair in the sun. And everywhere, thickly scattered on the castle battlements, were pinnacles, so many that it seemed as if it were all wrought out of paper, so white was it.
   The knight on his steed deemed it fair enough, if he might come to be sheltered within it to lodge there while that the Holy-day lasted. He called aloud, and soon there came a porter of kindly countenance, who stood on the wall and greeted this knight and asked his errand.
   "Good sir," quoth Gawain, "wilt thou go mine errand to the high lord of the castle, and crave for me lodging?"
   "Yea, by S. Peter," quoth the porter. "In sooth I trow that ye be welcome to dwell here so long as it may like ye."
   Then he went, and came again swiftly, and many folk with him to receive the knight. They let down the great drawbridge, and came forth and knelt on their knees on the cold earth to give him worthy welcome. They held wide open the great gates, and courteously he bid them rise, and rode over the bridge. Then men came to him and held his stirrup while he dismounted, and took and stabled his steed. There came down knights and squires to bring the guest with joy to the hall. When he raised his helmet there were many to take it from his hand, fain to serve him, and they took from him sword and shield.
   Sir Gawain gave good greeting to the noble and the mighty men who came to do him honour. Clad in his shining armour they led him to the hall, where a great fire burnt brightly on the floor; and the lord of the household came forth from his chamber to meet the hero fitly. He spake to the knight, and said: "Ye are welcome to do here as it likes ye. All that is here is your own to have at your will and disposal."
   "Gramercy!" quote Gawain, "may Christ requite ye."
   As friends that were fain each embraced the other; and Gawain looked on the knight who greeted him so kindly, and thought 'twas a bold warrior that owned that burg.
   Of mighty stature he was, and of high age; broad and flowing was his beard, and of a bright hue. He was stalwart of limb, and strong in his stride, his face fiery red, and his speech free: in sooth he seemed one well fitted to be a leader of valiant men.
   Then the lord led Sir Gawain to a chamber, and commanded folk to wait upon him, and at his bidding there came men enough who brought the guest to a fair bower. The bedding was noble, with curtains of pure silk wrought with gold, and wondrous coverings of fair cloth all embroidered. The curtains ran on ropes with rings of red gold, and the walls were hung with carpets of Orient, and the same spread on the floor. There with mirthful speeches they took from the guest his byrny and all his shining armour, and brought him rich robes of the choicest in its stead. They were long and flowing, and became him well, and when he was clad in them all who looked on the hero thought that surely God had never made a fairer knight: he seemed as if he might be a prince without peer in the field where men strive in battle.
   Then before the hearth-place, whereon the fire burned, they made ready a chair for Gawain, hung about with cloth and fair cushions; and there they cast around him a mantle of brown samite, richly embroidered and furred within with costly skins of ermine, with a hood of the same, and he seated himself in that rich seat, and warmed himself at the fire, and was cheered at heart. And while he sat thus the serving men set up a table on trestles, and covered it with a fair white cloth, and set thereon salt-cellar, and napkin, and silver spoons; and the knight washed at his will, and set him down to meat.
   The folk served him courteously with many dishes seasoned of the best, a double portion. All kinds of fish were there, some baked in bread, some broiled on the embers, some sodden, some stewed and savoured with spices, with all sorts of cunning devices to his taste. And often he called it a feast, when they spake gaily to him all together, and said, "Now take ye this penance, and it shall be for your amendment." Much mirth thereof did Sir Gawain make.
   Then they questioned that prince courteously of whence he came; and he told them that he was of the court of Arthur, who is the rich royal King of the Round Table, and that it was Gawain himself who was within their walls, and would keep Christmas with them, as the chance had fallen out. And when the lord of the castle heard those tidings he laughed aloud for gladness, and all men in that keep were joyful that they should be in the company of him to whom belonged all fame, and valour, and courtesy, and whose honour was praised above that of all men on earth. Each said softly to his fellow, "Now shall we see courteous bearing, and the manner of speech befitting courts. What charm lieth in gentle speech shall we learn without asking, since here we have welcomed the fine father of courtesy. God has surely shewn us His grace since He sends us such a guest as Gawain! When men shall sit and sing, blithe for Christ's birth, this knight shall bring us to the knowledge of fair manners, and it may be that hearing him we may learn the cunning speech of love."
   By the time the knight had risen from dinner it was near nightfall. Then chaplains took their way to the chapel, and rang loudly, even as they should, for the solemn evensong of the high feast. Thither went the lord, and the lady also, and entered with her maidens into a comely closet, and thither also went Gawain. Then the lord took him by the sleeve and led him to a seat, and called him by his name, and told him he was of all men in the world the most welcome. And Sir Gawain thanked him truly, and each kissed the other, and they sat gravely together throughout the service.
   Then was the lady fain to look upon that knight; and she came forth from her closet with many fair maidens. The fairest of ladies was she in face, and figure, and colouring, fairer even than Guinevere, so the knight thought. She came through the chancel to greet the hero, another lady held her by the left hand, older than she, and seemingly of high estate, with many nobles about her. But unlike to look upon were those ladies, for if the younger were fair, the elder was yellow. Rich red were the cheeks of the one, rough and wrinkled those of the other; the kerchiefs of the one were broidered with many glistening pearls, her throat and neck bare, and whiter than the snow that lies on the hills; the neck of the other was swathed in a gorget, with a white wimple over her black chin. Her forehead was wrapped in silk with many folds, worked with knots, so that naught of her was seen save her black brows, her eyes, her nose and her lips, and those were bleared, and ill to look upon. A worshipful lady in sooth one might call her! In figure was she short and broad, and thickly made--far fairer to behold was she whom she led by the hand.
   When Gawain beheld that fair lady, who looked at him graciously, with leave of the lord he went towards them, and, bowing low, he greeted the elder, but the younger and fairer he took lightly in his arms, and kissed her courteously, and greeted her in knightly wise. Then she hailed him as friend, and he quickly prayed to be counted as her servant, if she so willed. Then they took him between them, and talking, led him to the chamber, to the hearth, and bade them bring spices, and they brought them in plenty with the good wine that was wont to be drunk at such seasons. Then the lord sprang to his feet and bade them make merry, and took off his hood, and hung it on a spear, and bade him win the worship thereof who should make most mirth that Christmas-tide. "And I shall try, by my faith, to fool it with the best, by the help of my friends, ere I lose my raiment." Thus with gay words the lord made trial to gladden Gawain with jests that night, till it was time to bid them light the tapers, and Sir Gawain took leave of them and gat him to rest.
   In the morn when all men call to mind how Christ our Lord was born on earth to die for us, there is joy, for His sake, in all dwellings of the world; and so was there here on that day. For high feast was held, with many dainties and cunningly cooked messes. On the daïs sat gallant men, clad in their best. The ancient dame sat on the high seat, with the lord of the castle beside her. Gawain and the fair lady sat together, even in the midst of the board, when the feast was served; and so throughout all the hall each sat in his degree, and was served in order. There was meat, there was mirth, there was much joy, so that to tell thereof would take me too long, though peradventure I might strive to declare it. But Gawain and that fair lady had much joy of each other's company through her sweet words and courteous converse. And there was music made before each prince, trumpets and drums, and merry piping; each man hearkened his minstrel, and they too hearkened theirs.
   So they held high feast that day and the next, and the third day thereafter, and the joy on S. John's Day was fair to hearken, for 'twas the last of the feast and the guests would depart in the grey of the morning. Therefore they awoke early, and drank wine, and danced fair carols, and at last, when it was late, each man took his leave to wend early on his way. Gawain would bid his host farewell, but the lord took him by the hand, and led him to his own chamber beside the hearth, and there he thanked him for the favour he had shown him in honouring his dwelling at that high season, and gladdening his castle with his fair countenance. "I wis, sir, that while I live I shall be held the worthier that Gawain has been my guest at God's own feast."
   "Gramercy, sir," quoth Gawain, "in good faith, all the honour is yours, may the High King give it you, and I am but at your will to work your behest, inasmuch as I am beholden to you in great and small by rights."
   Then the lord did his best to persuade the knight to tarry with him, but Gawain answered that he might in no wise do so. Then the host asked him courteously what stern behest had driven him at the holy season from the king's court, to fare all alone, ere yet the feast was ended?
   "Forsooth," quoth the knight, "ye say but the truth: 'tis a high quest and a pressing that hath brought me afield, for I am summoned myself to a certain place, and I know not whither in the world I may wend to find it; so help me Christ, I would give all the kingdom of Logres an I might find it by New Year's morn. Therefore, sir, I make request of you that ye tell me truly if ye ever heard word of the Green Chapel, where it may be found, and the Green Knight that keeps it. For I am pledged by solemn compact sworn between us to meet that knight at the New Year if so I were on life; and of that same New Year it wants but little--I'faith, I would look on that hero more joyfully than on any other fair sight! Therefore, by your will, it behoves me to leave you, for I have but barely three days, and I would as fain fall dead as fail of mine errand."
   Then the lord quoth, laughing, "Now must ye needs stay, for I will show you your goal, the Green Chapel, ere your term be at an end, have ye no fear! But ye can take your ease, friend, in your bed, till the fourth day, and go forth on the first of the year and come to that place at mid-morn to do as ye will. Dwell here till New Year's Day, and then rise and set forth, and ye shall be set in the way; 'tis not two miles hence."
   Then was Gawain glad, and he laughed gaily. "Now I thank you for this above all else. Now my quest is achieved I will dwell here at your will, and otherwise do as ye shall ask."
   Then the lord took him, and set him beside him, and bade the ladies be fetched for their greater pleasure, tho' between themselves they had solace. The lord, for gladness, made merry jest, even as one who wist not what to do for joy; and he cried aloud to the knight, "Ye have promised to do the thing I bid ye: will ye hold to this behest, here, at once?"
   "Yea, forsooth," said that true knight, "while I abide in your burg I am bound by your behest."
   "Ye have travelled from far," said the host, "and since then ye have waked with me, ye are not well refreshed by rest and sleep, as I know. Ye shall therefore abide in your chamber, and lie at your ease tomorrow at Mass-tide, and go to meat when ye will with my wife, who shall sit with you, and comfort you with her company till I return; and I shall rise early and go forth to the chase." And Gawain agreed to all this courteously.
   "Sir knight," quoth the host, "we shall make a covenant. Whatsoever I win in the wood shall be yours, and whatever may fall to your share, that shall ye exchange for it. Let us swear, friend, to make this exchange, however our hap may be, for worse or for better."
   "I grant ye your will," quoth Gawain the good; "if ye list so to do, it liketh me well."
   "Bring hither the wine-cup, the bargain is made," so said the lord of that castle. They laughed each one, and drank of the wine, and made merry, these lords and ladies, as it pleased them. Then with gay talk and merry jest they arose, and stood, and spoke softly, and kissed courteously, and took leave of each other. With burning torches, and many a serving-man, was each led to his couch; yet ere they gat them to bed the old lord oft repeated their covenant, for he knew well how to make sport. *****
   Full early, ere daylight, the folk rose up; the guests who would depart called their grooms, and they made them ready, and saddled the steeds, tightened up the girths, and trussed up their mails. The knights, all arrayed for riding, leapt up lightly, and took their bridles, and each rode his way as pleased him best.
   The lord of the land was not the last. Ready for the chase, with many of his men, he ate a sop hastily when he had heard Mass, and then with blast of the bugle fared forth to the field.10 He and his nobles were to horse ere daylight glimmered upon the earth.
   Then the huntsmen coupled their hounds, unclosed the kennel door, and called them out. They blew three blasts gaily on the bugles, the hounds bayed fiercely, and they that would go a-hunting checked and chastised them. A hundred hunters there were of the best, so I have heard tell. Then the trackers gat them to the trysting-place and uncoupled the hounds, and forest rang again with their gay blasts.
   At the first sound of the hunt the game quaked for fear, and fled, trembling, along the vale. They betook them to the heights, but the liers in wait turned them back with loud cries; the harts they let pass them, and the stags with their spreading antlers, for the lord had forbidden that they should be slain, but the hinds and the does they turned back, and drave down into the valleys. Then might ye see much shooting of arrows. As the deer fled under the boughs a broad whistling shaft smote and wounded each sorely, so that, wounded and bleeding, they fell dying on the banks. The hounds followed swiftly on their tracks, and hunters, blowing the horn, sped after them with ringing shouts as if the cliffs burst asunder. What game escaped those that shot was run down at the outer ring. Thus were they driven on the hills, and harassed at the waters, so well did the men know their work, and the greyhounds were so great and swift that they ran them down as fast as the hunters could slay them. Thus the lord passed the day in mirth and joyfulness, even to nightfall.
   So the lord roamed the woods, and Gawain, that good night, lay ever a-bed, curtained about, under the costly coverlet, while the daylight gleamed on the walls. And as he lay half slumbering, he heard a little sound at the door, and he raised his head, and caught back a corner of the curtain, and waited to see what it might be. It was the lovely lady, the lord's wife; she shut the door softly behind her, and turned towards the bed; and Gawain was shamed, laid him down softly and made as if he slept. And she came lightly to the bedside, within the curtain, and sat herself down beside him, to wait till he wakened. The knight lay there awhile, and marvelled within himself what her coming might betoken; and he said to himself, "'Twere more seemly if I asked her what hath brought her hither." Then he made feint to waken, and turned towards her, and opened his eyes as one astonished, and crossed himself; and she looked on him laughing, with her cheeks red and white, lovely to behold, and small smiling lips.
   "Good morrow, Sir Gawain," said that fair lady; "ye are but a careless sleeper, since one can enter thus. Now are ye taken unawares, and lest ye escape me I shall bind you in your bed; of that be ye assured!" Laughing, she spake these words.
   "Good morrow, fair lady," quoth Gawain blithely. "I will do your will, as it likes me well. For I yield me readily, and pray your grace, and that is best, by my faith, since I needs must do so." Thus he jested again, laughing. "But an ye would, fair lady, grant me this grace that ye pray your prisoner to rise. I would get me from bed, and array me better, then could I talk with ye in more comfort."
   "Nay, forsooth, fair sir," quoth the lady, "ye shall not rise, I will rede ye better. I shall keep ye here, since ye can do no other, and talk with my knight whom I have captured. For I know well that ye are Sir Gawain, whom all the world worships, wheresoever ye may ride. Your honour and your courtesy are praised by lords and ladies, by all who live. Now ye are here and we are alone, my lord and his men are afield; the serving men in their beds, and my maidens also, and the door shut upon us. And since in this hour I have him that all men love, I shall use my time well with speech, while it lasts. Ye are welcome to my company, for it behoves me in sooth to be your servant."
   "In good faith," quoth Gawain, "I think me that I am not him of whom ye speak, for unworthy am I of such service as ye here proffer. In sooth, I were glad if I might set myself by word or service to your pleasure; a pure joy would it be to me!"
   "In good faith, Sir Gawain," quoth the gay lady, "the praise and the prowess that pleases all ladies I lack them not, nor hold them light; yet are there ladies enough who would liever now have the knight in their hold, as I have ye here, to dally with your courteous words, to bring them comfort and to ease their cares, than much of the treasure and the gold that are theirs. And now, through the grace of Him who upholds the heavens, I have wholly in my power that which they all desire!"
   Thus the lady, fair to look upon, made him great cheer, and Sir Gawain, with modest words, answered her again: "Madam," he quoth, "may Mary requite ye, for in good faith I have found in ye a noble frankness. Much courtesy have other folk shown me, but the honour they have done me is naught to the worship of yourself, who knoweth but good."
   "By Mary," quoth the lady, "I think otherwise; for were I worth all the women alive, and had I the wealth of the world in my hand, and might choose me a lord to my liking, then, for all that I have seen in ye, Sir Knight, of beauty and courtesy and blithe semblance, and for all that I have hearkened and hold for true, there should be no knight on earth to be chosen before ye!"
   "Well I wot," quoth Sir Gawain, "that ye have chosen a better; but I am proud that ye should so prize me, and as your servant do I hold ye my sovereign, and your knight am I, and may Christ reward ye."
   So they talked of many matters till mid-morn was past, and ever the lady made as though she loved him, and the knight turned her speech aside. For though she were the brightest of maidens, yet had he forborne to shew her love for the danger that awaited him, and the blow that must be given without delay.
   Then the lady prayed her leave from him, and he granted it readily. And she gave [the text reads "have"] him good-day, with laughing glance, but he must needs marvel at her words:
   "Now He that speeds fair speech reward ye this disport; but that ye be Gawain my mind misdoubts me greatly."
   "Wherefore?" quoth the knight quickly, fearing lest he had lacked in some courtesy.
   And the lady spake: "So true a knight as Gawain is holden, and one so perfect in courtesy, would never have tarried so long with a lady but he would of his courtesy have craved a kiss at parting."
   Then quoth Gawain, "I wot I will do even as it may please ye, and kiss at your commandment, as a true knight should who forbears to ask for fear of displeasure."
   At that she came near and bent down and kissed the knight, and each commended the other to Christ, and she went forth from the chamber softly.
   Then Sir Gawain arose and called his chamberlain and chose his garments, and when he was ready he gat him forth to Mass, and then went to meat, and made merry all day till the rising of the moon, and never had a knight fairer lodging than had he with those two noble ladies, the elder and the younger.
   And even the lord of the land chased the hinds through holt and heath till eventide, and then with much blowing of bugles and baying of hounds they bore the game homeward; and by the time daylight was done all the folk had returned to that fair castle. And when the lord and Sir Gawain met together, then were they both well pleased. The lord commanded them all to assemble in the great hall, and the ladies to descend with their maidens, and there, before them all, he bade the men fetch in the spoil of the day's hunting, and he called unto Gawain, and counted the tale of the beasts, and showed them unto him, and said, "What think ye of this game, Sir Knight? Have I deserved of ye thanks for my woodcraft?"
   "Yea, I wis," quoth the other, "here is the fairest spoil I have seen this seven year in the winter season."
   "And all this do I give ye, Gawain," quoth the host, "for by accord of covenant ye may claim it as your own."
   "That is sooth," quoth the other, "I grant you that same; and I have fairly won this within walls, and with as good will do I yield it to ye." With that he clasped his hands round the lord's neck and kissed him as courteously as he might. "Take ye here my spoils, no more have I won; ye should have it freely, though it were greater than this."
   "'Tis good," said the host, "gramercy thereof. Yet were I fain to know where ye won this same favour, and if it were by your own wit?"
   "Nay," answered Gawain, "that was not in the bond. Ask me no more: ye have taken what was yours by right, be content with that."
   They laughed and jested together, and sat them down to supper, where they were served with many dainties; and after supper they sat by the hearth, and wine was served out to them; and oft in their jesting they promised to observe on the morrow the same covenant that they had made before, and whatever chance might betide to exchange their spoil, be it much or little, when they met at night. Thus they renewed their bargain before the whole court, and then the night-drink was served, and each courteously took leave of the other and gat him to bed.
   By the time the cock had crowed thrice the lord of the castle had left his bed; Mass was sung and meat fitly served. The folk were forth to the wood ere the day broke, with hound and horn they rode over the plain, and uncoupled their dogs among the thorns. Soon they struck on the scent, and the hunt cheered on the hounds who were first to seize it, urging them with shouts. The others hastened to the cry, forty at once, and there rose such a clamour from the pack that the rocks rang again. The huntsmen spurred them on with shouting and blasts of the horn; and the hounds drew together to a thicket betwixt the water and a high crag in the cliff beneath the hillside. There where the rough rock fell ruggedly they, the huntsmen, fared to the finding, and cast about round the hill and the thicket behind them. The knights wist well what beast was within, and would drive him forth with the bloodhounds. And as they beat the bushes, suddenly over the beaters there rushed forth a wondrous great and fierce boar, long since had he left the herd to roam by himself. Grunting, he cast many to the ground, and fled forth at his best speed, without more mischief. The men hallooed loudly and cried, "Hay! Hay!" and blew the horns to urge on the hounds, and rode swiftly after the boar. Many a time did he turn to bay and tare the hounds, and they yelped, and howled shrilly. Then the men made ready their arrows and shot at him, but the points were turned on his thick hide, and the barbs would not bite upon him, for the shafts shivered in pieces, and the head but leapt again wherever it hit.
   But when the boar felt the stroke of the arrows he waxed mad with rage, and turned on the hunters and tare many, so that, affrightened, they fled before him. But the lord on a swift steed pursued him, blowing his bugle; as a gallant knight he rode through the woodland chasing the boar till the sun grew low.
   So did the hunters this day, while Sir Gawain lay in his bed lapped in rich gear; and the lady forgat not to salute him, for early was she at his side, to cheer his mood.
   She came to the bedside and looked on the knight, and Gawain gave her fit greeting, and she greeted him again with ready words, and sat her by his side and laughed, and with a sweet look she spoke to him:
   "Sir, if ye be Gawain, I think it a wonder that ye be so stern and cold, and care not for the courtesies of friendship, but if one teach ye to know them ye cast the lesson out of your mind. Ye have soon forgotten what I taught ye yesterday, by all the truest tokens that I knew!"
   "What is that?" quoth the knight. "I trow I know not. If it be sooth that ye say, then is the blame mine own."
   "But I taught ye of kissing, " quoth the fair lady. "Wherever a fair countenance is shown him, it behoves a courteous knight quickly to claim a kiss."
   "Nay, my dear," said Sir Gawain, "cease that speech; that durst I not do lest I were denied, for if I were forbidden I wot I were wrong did I further entreat."
   "I' faith," quoth the lady merrily, "ye may not be forbid, ye are strong enough to constrain by strength an ye will, were any so discourteous as to give ye denial."
   "Yea, by Heaven," said Gawain, "ye speak well; but threats profit little in the land where I dwell, and so with a gift that is given not of good will! I am at your commandment to kiss when ye like, to take or to leave as ye list."
   Then the lady bent her down and kissed him courteously.
   And as they spake together she said, "I would learn somewhat from ye, an ye would not be wroth, for young ye bare and fair, and so courteous and knightly as ye are known to be, the head of all chivalry, and versed in all wisdom of love and war--'tis ever told of true knights how they adventured their lives for their true love, and endured hardships for her favours, and avenged her with valour, and eased her sorrows, and brought joy to her bower; and ye are the fairest knight of your time, and your fame and your honour are everywhere, yet I have sat by ye here twice, and never a word have I heard of love! Ye who are so courteous and skilled in such love ought surely to teach one so young and unskilled some little craft of true love! Why are ye so unlearned who art otherwise so famous? Or is it that ye deemed me unworthy to hearken to your teaching? For shame, Sir Knight! I come hither alone and sit at your side to learn of ye some skill; teach me of your wit, while my lord is from home."
   "In good faith," quoth Gawain, "great is my joy and my profit that so fair a lady as ye are should deign to come hither, and trouble ye with so poor a man, and make sport with your knight with kindly countenance, it pleaseth me much. But that I, in my turn, should take it upon me to tell of love and such like matters to ye who know more by half, or a hundred fold, of such craft than I do, or ever shall in all my lifetime, by my troth 'twere folly indeed! I will work your will to the best of my might as I am bounden, and evermore will I be your servant, so help me Christ!"
   Then often with guile she questioned that knight that she might win him to woo her, but he defended himself so fairly that none might in any wise blame him, and naught but bliss and harmless jesting was there between them. They laughed and talked together till at last she kissed him, and craved her leave of him, and went her way.
   Then the knight arose and went forth to Mass, and afterward dinner was served and he sat and spake with the ladies all day. But the lord of the castle rode ever over the land chasing the wild boar, that fled through the thickets, slaying the best of his hounds and breaking their backs in sunder; till at last he was so weary he might run no longer, but made for a hole in a mound by a rock. He got the mound at his back and faced the hounds, whetting his white tusks and foaming at the mouth. The huntsmen stood aloof, fearing to draw nigh him; so many of them had been already wounded that they were loth to be torn with his tusks, so fierce he was and mad with rage. At length the lord himself came up, and saw the beast at bay, and the men standing aloof. Then quickly he sprang to the ground and drew out a bright blade, and waded through the stream to the boar.
   When the beast was aware of the knight with weapon in hand, he set up his bristles and snorted loudly, and many feared for their lord lest he should be slain. Then the boar leapt upon the knight so that beast and man were one atop of the other in the water; but the boar had the worst of it, for the man had marked, even as he sprang, and set the point of his brand to the beast's chest, and drove it up to the hilt, so that the heart was split in twain, and the boar fell snarling, and was swept down by the water to where a hundred hounds seized on him, and the men drew him to shore for the dogs to slay.
   Then was there loud blowing of horns and baying of hounds, the huntsmen smote off the boar's head, and hung the carcase by the four feet to a stout pole, and so went on their way homewards. The head they bore before the lord himself, who had slain the beast at the ford by force of his strong hand.
   It seemed him o'er long ere he saw Sir Gawain in the hall, and he called, and the guest came to take that which fell to his share. And when he saw Gawain the lord laughed aloud, and bade them call the ladies and the household together, and he showed them the game, and told them the tale, how they hunted the wild boar through the woods, and of his length and breadth and height; and Sir Gawain commended his deeds and praised him for his valour, well proven, for so mighty a beast had he never seen before.
   Then they handled the huge head, and the lord said aloud, "Now, Gawain, this game is your own by sure covenant, as ye right well know."
   "'Tis sooth," quoth the knight, "and as truly will I give ye all I have gained." He took the host round the neck, and kissed him courteously twice. "Now are we quits," he said, "this eventide, of all the covenants that we made since I came hither."
   And the lord answered, "By S. Giles, ye are the best I know; ye will be rich in a short space if ye drive such bargains!"
   Then they set up the tables on trestles, and covered them with fair cloths, and lit waxen tapers on the walls. The knights sat and were served in the hall, and much game and glee was there round the hearth, with many songs, both at supper and after; song of Christmas, and new carols, with all the mirth one may think of. And ever that lovely lady sat by the knight, and with still stolen looks made such feint of pleasing him, that Gawain marvelled much, and was wroth with himself, but he could not for his courtesy return her fair glances, but dealt with her cunningly, however she might strive to wrest the thing.
   When they had tarried in the hall so long as it seemed them good, they turned to the inner chamber and the wide hearthplace, and there they drank wine, and the host proffered to renew the covenant for New Year's Eve; but the knight craved leave to depart on the morrow, for it was nigh to the term when he must fulfil his pledge. But the lord would withhold him from so doing, and prayed him to tarry, and said,
   "As I am a true knight I swear my troth that ye shall come to the Green Chapel to achieve your task on New Year's morn, long before prime. Therefore abide ye in your bed, and I will hunt in this wood, and hold ye to the covenant to exchange with me against all the spoil I may bring hither. For twice have I tried ye, and found ye true, and the morrow shall be the third time and the best. Make we merry now while we may, and think on joy, for misfortune may take a man whensoever it wills."
   Then Gawain granted his request, and they brought them drink, and they gat them with lights to bed.
   Sir Gawain lay and slept softly, but the lord, who was keen on woodcraft, was afoot early. After Mass he and his men ate a morsel, and he asked for his steed; all the knights who should ride with him were already mounted before the hall gates.
   'Twas a fair frosty morning, for the sun rose red in ruddy vapour, and the welkin was clear of clouds. The hunters scattered them by a forest side, and the rocks rang again with the blast of their horns. Some came on the scent of a fox, and a hound gave tongue; the huntsmen shouted, and the pack followed in a crowd on the trail. The fox ran before them, and when they saw him they pursued him with noise and much shouting, and he wound and turned through many a thick grove, often cowering and hearkening in a hedge. At last by a little ditch he leapt out of a spinney, stole away slily by a copse path, and so out of the wood and away from the hounds. But he went, ere he wist, to a chosen tryst, and three started forth on him at once, so he must needs double back, and betake him to the wood again.
   Then was it joyful to hearken to the hounds; when all the pack had met together and had sight of their game they made as loud a din as if all the lofty cliffs had fallen clattering together. The huntsmen shouted and threatened, and followed close upon him so that he might scarce escape, but Reynard was wily, and he turned and doubled upon them, and led the lord and his men over the hills, now on the slopes, now in the vales, while the knight at home slept through the cold morning beneath his costly curtains.
   But the fair lady of the castle rose betimes, and clad herself in a rich mantle that reached even to the ground, left her throat and her fair neck bare, and was bordered and lined with costly furs. On her head she wore no golden circlet, but a network of precious stones, that gleamed and shone through her tresses in clusters of twenty together. Thus she came into the chamber, closed the door after her, and set open a window, and called to him gaily, "Sir Knight, how may ye sleep? The morning is so fair."
   Sir Gawain was deep in slumber, and in his dream he vexed him much for the destiny that should befall him on the morrow, when he should meet the knight at the Green Chapel, and abide his blow; but when the lady spake he heard her, and came to himself, and roused from his dream and answered swiftly. The lady came laughing, and kissed him courteously, and he welcomed her fittingly with a cheerful countenance. He saw her so glorious and gaily dressed, so faultless of features and complexion, that it warmed his heart to look upon her.
   They spake to each other smiling, and all was bliss and good cheer between them. They exchanged fair words, and much happiness was therein, yet was there a gulf between them, and she might win no more of her knight, for that gallant prince watched well his words--he would neither take her love, nor frankly refuse it. He cared for his courtesy, lest he be deemed churlish, and yet more for his honour lest he be traitor to his host. "God forbid," quoth he to himself, "that it should so befall." Thus with courteous words did he set aside all the special speeches that came from her lips.
   Then spake the lady to the knight, "Ye deserve blame if ye hold not that lady who sits beside ye above all else in the world, if ye have not already a love whom ye hold dearer, and like better, and have sworn such firm faith to that lady that ye care not to loose it--and that am I now fain to believe. And now I pray ye straitly that ye tell me that in truth, and hide it not."
   And the knight answered, "By S. John" (and he smiled as he spake) "no such love have I, nor do I think to have yet awhile."
   "That is the worst word I may hear," quoth the lady, "but in sooth I have mine answer; kiss me now courteously, and I will go hence; I can but mourn as a maiden that loves much."
   Sighing, she stooped down and kissed him, and then she rose up and spake as she stood, "Now, dear, at our parting do me this grace: give me some gift, if it were but thy glove, that I may bethink me of my knight, and lessen my mourning."
   "Now, I wis," quoth the knight, "I would that I had here the most precious thing that I possess on earth that I might leave ye as love-token, great or small, for ye have deserved forsooth more reward than I might give ye. But it is not to your honour to have at this time a glove for reward as gift from Gawain, and I am here on a strange errand, and have no man with me, nor mails with goodly things--that mislikes me much, lady, at this time; but each man must fare as he is taken, if for sorrow and ill."
   "Nay, knight highly honoured," quoth that lovesome lady, "though I have naught of yours, yet shall ye have somewhat of mine." With that she reached him a ring of red gold with a sparkling stone therein, that shone even as the sun (wit ye well, it was worth many marks); but the knight refused it, and spake readily,
   "I will take no gift, lady, at this time. I have none to give, and none will I take."
   She prayed him to take it, but he refused her prayer, and sware in sooth that he would not have it.
   The lady was sorely vexed, and said, "If ye refuse my ring as too costly, that ye will not be so highly beholden to me, I will give you my girdle 11 as a lesser gift." With that she loosened a lace that was fastened at her side, knit upon her kirtle under her mantle. It was wrought of green silk, and gold, only braided by the fingers, and that she offered to the knight, and besought him though it were of little worth that he would take it, and he said nay, he would touch neither gold nor gear ere God give him grace to achieve the adventure for which he had come hither. "And therefore, I pray ye, displease ye not, and ask me no longer, for I may not grant it. I am dearly beholden to ye for the favour ye have shown me, and ever, in heat and cold, will I be your true servant."
   "Now," said the lady, "ye refuse this silk, for it is simple in itself, and so it seems, indeed; lo, it is small to look upon and less in cost, but whoso knew the virtue that is knit therein he would, peradventure, value it more highly. For whatever knight is girded with this green lace, while he bears it knotted about him there is no man under heaven can overcome him, for he may not be slain for any magic on earth."
   Then Gawain bethought him, and it came into his heart that this were a jewel for the jeopardy that awaited him when he came to the Green Chapel to seek the return blow--could he so order it that he should escape unslain, 'twere a craft worth trying. Then he bare with her chiding, and let her say her say, and she pressed the girdle on him and prayed him to take it, and he granted her prayer, and she gave it him with good will, and besought him for her sake never to reveal it but to hide it loyally from her lord; and the knight agreed that never should any man know it, save they two alone. He thanked her often and heartily, and she kissed him for the third time.
   Then she took her leave of him, and when she was gone Sir Gawain arose, and clad him in rich attire, and took the girdle, and knotted it round him, and hid it beneath his robes. Then he took his way to the chapel, and sought out a priest privily and prayed him to teach him better how his soul might be saved when he should go hence; and there he shrived him, and showed his misdeeds, both great and small, and besought mercy and craved absolution; and the priest assoiled him, and set him as clean as if Doomsday had been on the morrow. And afterwards Sir Gawain made him merry with the ladies, with carols, and all kinds of joy, as never he did but that one day, even to nightfall; and all the men marvelled at him, and said that never since he came thither had he been so merry.
   Meanwhile the lord of the castle was abroad chasing the fox; awhile he lost him, and as he rode through a spinny he heard the hounds near at hand, and Reynard came creeping through a thick grove, with all the pack at his heels. Then the lord drew out his shining brand, and cast it at the beast, and the fox swerved aside for the sharp edge, and would have doubled back, but a hound was on him ere he might turn, and right before the horse's feet they all fell on him, and worried him fiercely, snarling the while.
   Then the lord leapt from his saddle, and caught the fox from the jaws, and held it aloft over his head, and hallooed loudly, and many brave hounds bayed as they beheld it; and the hunters hied them thither, blowing their horns; all that bare bugles blew them at once, and all the others shouted. 'Twas the merriest meeting that ever men heard, the clamour that was raised at the death of the fox. They rewarded the hounds, stroking them and rubbing their heads, and took Reynard and stripped him of his coat; then blowing their horns, they turned them homewards, for it was nigh nightfall.
   The lord was gladsome at his return, and found a bright fire on the hearth, and the knight beside it, the good Sir Gawain, who was in joyous mood for the pleasure he had had with the ladies. He wore a robe of blue, that reached even to the ground, and a surcoat richly furred, that became him well. A hood like to the surcoat fell on his shoulders, and all alike were done about with fur. He met the host in the midst of the floor, and jesting, he greeted him, and said, "Now shall I be first to fulfil our covenant which we made together when there was no lack of wine." Then he embraced the knight, and kissed him thrice, as solemnly as he might.
   "Of a sooth," quoth the other, "ye have good luck in the matter of this covenant, if ye made a good exchange!"
   "Yea, it matters naught of the exchange," quoth Gawain, "since what I owe is swiftly paid."
   "Marry," said the other, "mine is behind, for I have hunted all this day, and naught have I got but this foul fox-skin, and that is but poor payment for three such kisses as ye have here given me."
   "Enough," quoth Sir Gawain, "I thank ye, by the Rood."
   Then the lord told them of his hunting, and how the fox had been slain.
   With mirth and minstrelsy, and dainties at their will, they made them as merry as a folk well might till 'twas time for them to sever, for at last they must needs betake them to their beds. Then the knight took his leave of the lord, and thanked him fairly.
   "For the fair sojourn that I have had here at this high feast may the High King give ye honour. I give ye myself, as one of your servants, if ye so like; for I must needs, as you know, go hence with the morn, and ye will give me, as ye promised, a guide to show me the way to the Green Chapel, an God will suffer me on New Year's Day to deal the doom of my weird."
   "By my faith," quoth the host, "all that ever I promised, that shall I keep with good will." Then he gave him a servant to set him in the way, and lead him by the downs, that he should have no need to ford the stream, and should fare by the shortest road through the groves; and Gawain thanked the lord for the honour done him. Then he would take leave of the ladies, and courteously he kissed them, and spake, praying them to receive his thanks, and they made like reply; then with many sighs they commended him to Christ, and he departed courteously from that folk. Each man that he met he thanked him for his service and his solace, and the pains he had been at to do his will; and each found it as hard to part from the knight as if he had ever dwelt with him.
   Then they led him with torches to his chamber, and brought him to his bed to rest. That he slept soundly I may not say, for the morrow gave him much to think on. Let him rest awhile, for he was near that which he sought, and if ye will but listen to me I will tell ye how it fared with him thereafter. *****
   Now the New Year drew nigh, and the night passed, and the day chased the darkness, as is God's will; but wild weather wakened therewith. The clouds cast the cold to the earth, with enough of the north to slay them that lacked clothing. The snow drave smartly, and the whistling wind blew from the heights, and made great drifts in the valleys. The knight, lying in his bed, listened, for though his eyes were shut, he might sleep but little, and hearkened every cock that crew.
   He arose ere the day broke, by the light of a lamp that burned in his chamber, and called to his chamberlain, bidding him bring his armour and saddle his steed. The other gat him up, and fetched his garments, and robed Sir Gawain.
   First he clad him in his clothes to keep off the cold, and then in his harness, which was well and fairly kept. Both hauberk and plates were well burnished, the rings of the rich byrny freed from rust, and all as fresh as at first, so that the knight was fain to thank them. Then he did on each piece, and bade them bring his steed, while he put the fairest raiment on himself; his coat with its fair cognizance, adorned with precious stones upon velvet, with broidered seams, and all furred within with costly skins. And he left not the lace, the lady's gift, that Gawain forgot not, for his own good. When he had girded on his sword he wrapped the gift twice about him, swathed around his waist. The girdle of green silk set gaily and well upon the royal red cloth, rich to behold, but the knight ware it not for pride of the pendants, polished though they were with fair gold that gleamed brightly on the ends, but to save himself from sword and knife, when it behoved him to abide his hurt without question. With that the hero went forth, and thanked that kindly folk full often.
   Then was Gringalet ready, that was great and strong, and had been well cared for and tended in every wise; in fair condition was that proud steed, and fit for a journey. Then Gawain went to him, and looked on his coat, and said by his sooth, "There is a folk in this place that thinketh on honour; much joy may they have, and the lord who maintains them, and may all good betide that lovely lady all her life long. Since they for charity cherish a guest, and hold honour in their hands, may He who holds the heaven on high requite them, and also ye all. And if I might live anywhere on earth, I would give ye full reward, readily, if so I might." Then he set foot in the stirrup and bestrode his steed, and his squire gave him his shield, which he laid on his shoulder. Then he smote Gringalet with his golden spurs, and the steed pranced on the stones and would stand no longer.
   By that his man was mounted, who bare his spear and lance, and Gawain quoth, "I commend this castle to Christ, may He give it ever good fortune." Then the drawbridge was let down, and the broad gates unbarred and opened on both sides; the knight crossed himself, and passed through the gateway, and praised the porter, who knelt before the prince, and gave him good-day, and commended him to God. Thus the knight went on his way with the one man who should guide him to that dread place where he should receive rueful payment.
   The two went by hedges where the boughs were bare, and climbed the cliffs where the cold clings. Naught fell from the heavens, but 'twas ill beneath them; mist brooded over the moor and hung on the mountains; each hill had a cap, a great cloak, of mist. The streams foamed and bubbled between their banks, dashing sparkling on the shores where they shelved downwards. Rugged and dangerous was the way through the woods, till it was time for the sun-rising. Then were they on a high hill; the snow lay white beside them, and the man who rode with Gawain drew rein by his master.
   "Sir," he said, "I have brought ye hither, and now ye are not far from the place that ye have sought so specially. But I will tell ye for sooth, since I know ye well, and ye are such a knight as I well love, would ye follow my counsel ye would fare the better. The place whither ye go is accounted full perilous, for he who liveth in that waste is the worst on earth, for he is strong and fierce, and loveth to deal mighty blows; taller is he than any man on earth, and greater of frame than any four in Arthur's court, or in any other. And this is his custom at the Green Chapel; there may no man pass by that place, however proud his arms, but he does him to death by force of his hand, for he is a discourteous knight, and shews no mercy. Be he churl or chaplain who rides by that chapel, monk or mass priest, or any man else, he thinks it as pleasant to slay them as to pass alive himself. Therefore, I tell ye, as sooth as ye sit in saddle, if ye come there and that knight know it, ye shall be slain, though ye had twenty lives; trow me that truly! He has dwelt here full long and seen many a combat; ye may not defend ye against his blows. Therefore, good Sir Gawain, let the man be, and get ye away some other road; for God's sake seek ye another land, and there may Christ speed ye! And I will hie me home again, and I promise ye further that I will swear by God and the saints, or any other oath ye please, that I will keep counsel faithfully, and never let any wit the tale that ye fled for fear of any man."
   "Gramercy," quoth Gawain, but ill-pleased. "Good fortune be his who wishes me good, and that thou wouldst keep faith with me I will believe; but didst thou keep it never so truly, an I passed here and fled for fear as thou sayest, then were I a coward knight, and might not be held guiltless. So I will to the chapel let chance what may, and talk with that man, even as I may list, whether for weal or for woe as fate may have it. Fierce though he may be in fight, yet God knoweth well how to save His servants."
   "Well," quoth the other, "now that ye have said so much that ye will take your own harm on yourself, and ye be pleased to lose your life, I will neither let nor keep ye. Have here your helm and the spear in your hand, and ride down this same road beside the rock till ye come to the bottom of the valley, and there look a little to the left hand, and ye shall see in that vale the chapel, and the grim man who keeps it. Now fare ye well, noble Gawain; for all the gold on earth I would not go with ye nor bear ye fellowship one step further." With that the man turned his bridle into the wood, smote the horse with his spurs as hard as he could, and galloped off, leaving the knight alone.
   Quoth Gawain, "I will neither greet nor groan, but commend myself to God, and yield me to His will."
   Then the knight spurred Gringalet, and rode adown the path close in by a bank beside a grove. So he rode through the rough thicket, right into the dale, and there he halted, for it seemed him wild enough. No sign of a chapel could he see, but high and burnt banks on either side and rough rugged crags with great stones above. An ill-looking place he thought it.
   Then he drew in his horse and looked around to seek the chapel, but he saw none and thought it strange. Then he saw as it were a mound on a level space of land by a bank beside the stream where it ran swiftly, the water bubbled within as if boiling. The knight turned his steed to the mound, and lighted down and tied the rein to the branch of a linden; and he turned to the mound and walked round it, questioning with himself what it might be. It had a hole at the end and at either side, and was overgrown with clumps of grass, and it was hollow within as an old cave or the crevice of a crag; he knew not what it might be.
   "Ah," quoth Gawain, "can this be the Green Chapel? Here might the devil say his mattins at midnight! Now I wis there is wizardry here. 'Tis an ugly oratory, all overgrown with grass, and 'twould well beseem that fellow in green to say his devotions on devil's wise. Now feel I in five wits, 'tis the foul fiend himself who hath set me this tryst, to destroy me here! This is a chapel of mischance: ill-luck betide it, 'tis the cursedest kirk that ever I came in!"
   Helmet on head and lance in hand, he came up to the rough dwelling, when he heard over the high hill beyond the brook, as it were in a bank, a wondrous fierce noise, that rang in the cliff as if it would cleave asunder. 'Twas as if one ground a scythe on a grindstone, it whirred and whetted like water on a mill-wheel and rushed and rang, terrible to hear.
   "By God," quoth Gawain, "I trow that gear is preparing for the knight who will meet me here. Alas! naught may help me, yet should my life be forfeit, I fear not a jot!" With that he called aloud. "Who waiteth in this place to give me tryst? Now is Gawain come hither: if any man will aught of him let him hasten hither now or never."
   "Stay," quoth one on the bank above his head, "and ye shall speedily have that which I promised ye." Yet for a while the noise of whetting went on ere he appeared, and then he came forth from a cave in the crag with a fell weapon, a Danish axe newly dight, wherewith to deal the blow. An evil head it had, four feet large, no less, sharply ground, and bound to the handle by the lace that gleamed brightly. And the knight himself was all green as before, face and foot, locks and beard, but now he was afoot. When he came to the water he would not wade it, but sprang over with the pole of his axe, and strode boldly over the brent that was white with snow.
   Sir Gawain went to meet him, but he made no low bow. The other said, "Now, fair sir, one may trust thee to keep tryst. Thou art welcome, Gawain, to my place. Thou hast timed thy coming as befits a true man. Thou knowest the covenant set between us: at this time twelve months agone thou didst take that which fell to thee, and I at this New Year will readily requite thee. We are in this valley, verily alone, here are no knights to sever us, do what we will. Have off thy helm from thine head, and have here thy pay; make me no more talking than I did then when thou didst strike off my head with one blow."
   "Nay," quoth Gawain, "by God that gave me life, I shall make no moan whatever befall me, but make thou ready for the blow and I shall stand still and say never a word to thee, do as thou wilt."
   With that he bent his head and shewed his neck all bare, and made as if he had no fear, for he would not be thought a-dread.
   Then the Green Knight made him ready, and grasped his grim weapon to smite Gawain. With all his force he bore it aloft with a mighty feint of slaying him: had it fallen as straight as he aimed he who was ever doughty of deed had been slain by the blow. But Gawain swerved aside as the axe came gliding down to slay him as he stood, and shrank a little with the shoulders, for the sharp iron. The other heaved up the blade and rebuked the prince with many proud words:
   "Thou art not Gawain," he said, "who is held so valiant, that never feared he man by hill or vale, but thou shrinkest for fear ere thou feelest hurt. Such cowardice did I never hear of Gawain! Neither did I flinch from thy blow, or make strife in King Arthur's hall. My head fell to my feet, and yet I fled not; but thou didst wax faint of heart ere any harm befell. Wherefore must I be deemed the braver knight."
   Quoth Gawain, "I shrank once, but so will I no more, though an my head fall on the stones I cannot replace it. But haste, Sir Knight, by thy faith, and bring me to the point, deal me my destiny, and do it out of hand, for I will stand thee a stroke and move no more till thine axe have hit me--my troth on it."
   "Have at thee, then," quoth the other, and heaved aloft the axe with fierce mien, as if he were mad. He struck at him fiercely but wounded him not, withholding his hand ere it might strike him.
   Gawain abode the stroke, and flinched in no limb, but stood still as a stone or the stump of a tree that is fast rooted in the rocky ground with a hundred roots.
   Then spake gaily the man in green, "So now thou hast thine heart whole it behoves me to smite. Hold aside thy hood that Arthur gave thee, and keep thy neck thus bent lest it cover it again."
   Then Gawain said angrily, "Why talk on thus? Thou dost threaten too long. I hope thy heart misgives thee."
   "For sooth," quoth the other, "so fiercely thou speakest I will no longer let thine errand wait its reward." Then he braced himself to strike, frowning with lips and brow, 'twas no marvel that it pleased but ill him who hoped for no rescue. He lifted the axe lightly and let it fall with the edge of the blade on the bare neck. Though he struck swiftly it hurt him no more than on the one side where it severed the skin. The sharp blade cut into the flesh so that the blood ran over his shoulder to the ground. And when the knight saw the blood staining the snow, he sprang forth, swift-foot, more than a spear's length, seized his helmet and set it on his head, cast his shield over his shoulder, drew out his bright sword, and spake boldly (never since he was born was he half so blithe), "Stop, Sir Knight, bid me no more blows. I have stood a stroke here without flinching, and if thou give me another, I shall requite thee, and give thee as good again. By the covenant made betwixt us in Arthur's hall but one blow falls to me here. Halt, therefore."
   Then the Green Knight drew off from him and leaned on his axe, setting the shaft on the ground, and looked on Gawain as he stood all armed and faced him fearlessly--at heart it pleased him well. Then he spake merrily in a loud voice, and said to the knight, "Bold sir, be not so fierce, no man here hath done thee wrong, nor will do, save by covenant, as we made at Arthur's court. I promised thee a blow and thou hast it--hold thyself well paid! I release thee of all other claims. If I had been so minded I might perchance have given thee a rougher buffet. First I menaced thee with a feigned one, and hurt thee not for the covenant that we made in the first night, and which thou didst hold truly. All the gain didst thou give me as a true man should. The other feint I proffered thee for the morrow: my fair wife kissed thee, and thou didst give me her kisses--for both those days I gave thee two blows without scathe--true man, true return. But the third time thou didst fail, and therefore hadst thou that blow. For 'tis my weed thou wearest, that same woven girdle, my own wife wrought it, that do I wot for sooth. Now know I well thy kisses, and thy conversation, and the wooing of my wife, for 'twas mine own doing. I sent her to try thee, and in sooth I think thou art the most faultless knight that ever trode earth. As a pearl among white peas is of more worth than they, so is Gawain, i' faith, by other knights. But thou didst lack a little, Sir Knight, and wast wanting in loyalty, yet that was for no evil work, nor for wooing neither, but because thou lovedst thy life--therefore I blame thee the less."
   Then the other stood a great while, still sorely angered and vexed within himself; all the blood flew to his face, and he shrank for shame as the Green Knight spake; and the first words he said were, "Cursed be ye, cowardice and covetousness, for in ye is the destruction of virtue." Then he loosed the girdle, and gave it to the knight. "Lo, take there the falsity, may foul befall it! For fear of thy blow cowardice bade me make friends with covetousness and forsake the customs of largess and loyalty, which befit all knights. Now am I faulty and false and have been afeared: from treachery and untruth come sorrow and care. I avow to thee, Sir Knight, that I have ill done; do then thy will. I shall be more wary hereafter."
   Then the other laughed and said gaily, "I wot I am whole of the hurt I had, and thou hast made such free confession of thy misdeeds, and hast so borne the penance of mine axe edge, that I hold thee absolved from that sin, and purged as clean as if thou hadst never sinned since thou wast born. And this girdle that is wrought with gold and green, like my raiment, do I give thee, Sir Gawain, that thou mayest think upon this chance when thou goest forth among princes of renown, and keep this for a token of the adventure of the Green Chapel, as it chanced between chivalrous knights. And thou shalt come again with me to my dwelling and pass the rest of this feast in gladness." Then the lord laid hold of him, and said, "I wot we shall soon make peace with my wife, who was thy bitter enemy."
   "Nay, forsooth," said Sir Gawain, and seized his helmet and took it off swiftly, and thanked the knight: "I have fared ill, may bliss betide thee, and may He who rules all things reward thee swiftly. Commend me to that courteous lady, thy fair wife, and to the other my honoured ladies, who have beguiled their knight with skilful craft. But 'tis no marvel if one be made a fool and brought to sorrow by women's wiles, for so was Adam beguiled by one, and Solomon by many, and Samson all too soon, for Delilah dealt him his doom; and David thereafter was wedded with Bathsheba, which brought him much sorrow--if one might love a woman and believe her not, 'twere great gain! And since all they were beguiled by women, methinks 'tis the less blame to me that I was misled! But as for thy girdle, that will I take with good will, not for gain of the gold, nor for samite, nor silk, nor the costly pendants, neither for weal nor for worship, but in sign of my frailty. I shall look upon it when I ride in renown and remind myself of the fault and faintness of the flesh; and so when pride uplifts me for prowess of arms, the sight of this lace shall humble my heart. But one thing would I pray, if it displease thee not: since thou art lord of yonder land wherein I have dwelt, tell me what thy rightful name may be, and I will ask no more."
   "That will I truly," quoth the other. "Bernlak de Hautdesert am I called in this land. Morgain le Fay dwelleth in mine house 12, and through knowledge of clerkly craft hath she taken many. For long time was she the mistress of Merlin, who knew well all you knights of the court. Morgain the goddess is she called therefore, and there is none so haughty but she can bring him low. She sent me in this guise to yon fair hall to test the truth of the renown that is spread abroad of the valour of the Round Table. She taught me this marvel to betray your wits, to vex Guinevere and fright her to death by the man who spake with his head in his hand at the high table. That is she who is at home, that ancient lady, she is even thine aunt, Arthur's half-sister, the daughter of the Duchess of Tintagel, who afterward married King Uther. Therefore I bid thee, knight, come to thine aunt, and make merry in thine house; my folk love thee, and I wish thee as well as any man on earth, by my faith, for thy true dealing."
   But Sir Gawain said nay, he would in no wise do so; so they embraced and kissed, and commended each other to the Prince of Paradise, and parted right there, on the cold ground. Gawain on his steed rode swiftly to the king's hall, and the Green Knight got him whithersoever he would.
   Sir Gawain who had thus won grace of his life, rode through wild ways on Gringalet; oft he lodged in a house, and oft without, and many adventures did he have and came off victor full often, as at this time I cannot relate in tale. The hurt that he had in his neck was healed, he bare the shining girdle as a baldric bound by his side, and made fast with a knot 'neath his left arm, in token that he was taken in a fault--and thus he came in safety again to the court.
   Then joy awakened in that dwelling when the king knew that the good Sir Gawain was come, for he deemed it gain. King Arthur kissed the knight, and the queen also, and many valiant knights sought to embrace him. They asked him how he had fared, and he told them all that had chanced to him--the adventure of the chapel, the fashion of the knight, the love of the lady--at last of the lace. He showed them the wound in the neck which he won for his disloyalty at the hand of the knight, the blood flew to his face for shame as he told the tale.
   "Lo, lady," he quoth, and handled the lace, "this is the bond of the blame that I bear in my neck, this is the harm and the loss I have suffered, the cowardice and covetousness in which I was caught, the token of my covenant in which I was taken. And I must needs wear it so long as I live, for none may hide his harm, but undone it may not be, for if it hath clung to thee once, it may never be severed."
   Then the king comforted the knight, and the court laughed loudly at the tale, and all made accord that the lords and the ladies who belonged to the Round Table, each hero among them, should wear bound about him a baldric of bright green for the sake of Sir Gawain.13 And to this was agreed all the honour of the Round Table, and he who ware it was honoured the more thereafter, as it is testified in the best book of romance. That in Arthur's days this adventure befell, the book of Brutus bears witness. For since that bold knight came hither first, and the siege and the assault were ceased at Troy, I wis

   Many a venture herebefore
    Hath fallen such as this:
   May He that bare the crown of thorn
    Bring us unto His bliss.

         Amen.

Part I

                              1

Soon as the siege and assault had ceased at Troy,

the burg broken and burnt to brands and ashes,

the traitor who trammels of treason there wrought

was tried for his treachery, the foulest on earth.

It was Aeneas the noble and his high kin

who then subdued provinces, lords they became,

well-nigh of all the wealth in the Western Isles:

forth rich Romulus to Rome rapidly came,

with great business that burg he builds up first,

and names it with his name, as now it has;

Ticius to Tuscany, and townships begins;

Langobard in Lombardy lifts up homes;

and fared over the French flood Felix Brutus

on many banks all broad Britain he settles

then,

where war and wreck and wonder

betimes have worked within,

and oft both bliss and blunder

have held sway swiftly since.

                              2

And when this Britain was built by this baron rich,

bold men were bred therein, of battle beloved,

in many a troubled time turmoil that wrought.

More flames on this fold have fallen here oft

than any other I know of, since that same time.

But of all that here built, of Britain the kings,

ever was Arthur highest, as I have heard tell.

And so of earnest adventure I aim to show,

that astonishes sight as some men do hold it,

an outstanding action of Arthur’s wonders.

If you will list to this lay but a little while,

I’ll tell it straight, as I in town heard it,

with tongue;

          as it was said and spoken

          in story staunch and strong,

          with linked letters loaded,

          as in this land so long.

                              3

This king lay at Camelot nigh on Christmas

with many lovely lords, of leaders the best,

reckoning of the Round Table all the rich brethren,

with right ripe revel and reckless mirth.

There tourneyed tykes by times full many,

jousted full jollily these gentle knights,

then carried to court, their carols to make.

For there the feast was alike full fifteen days,

with all the meat and mirth men could devise:

such clamour and glee glorious to hear,

dear din in the daylight, dancing of nights;

all was happiness high in halls and chambers

with lords and ladies, as liked them all best.

With all that’s well in the world were they together,

the knights best known under the Christ Himself,

and the loveliest ladies that ever life honoured,

and he the comeliest king that the court rules.

For all were fair folk and in their first age

still,

          the happiest under heaven,

          king noblest in his will;

          that it were hard to reckon

          so hardy a host on hill.

                              4

While New Year was so young it was new come in,

that day double on the dais was the dole served,

for the king was come with knights into the hall,

and chanting in the chapel had chimed to an end.

Loud cry was there cast of clerics and others,

Noel nurtured anew, and named full oft;

and see the rich run forth to render presents,

yelled their gifts on high, yield them to hand,

argued busily about those same gifts.

Ladies laughed out loud, though they had lost,

while he that won was not wrath, that you’ll know.

All this mirth they made at the meal time.

When they had washed well they went to be seated,

the best of the barons above, as it seemed best;

with Guinevere, full gaily, gracing their midst,

dressed on the dais there, adorned all about –

splendid silk by her sides, and sheer above

of true Toulouse, of Tartar tapestries plenty,

that were embroidered, bright with the best gems

that might be price-proved with pennies

any a day.

          the comeliest to descry

          glanced there with eyen grey;

          a seemlier ever to the sight,

          sooth might no man say.

                              5

But Arthur would not eat till all were served,

he was so joyous a youth, and somewhat boyish:

he liked his life lively, he loved the less

either to long lie idle or to long sit,

so busied him his young blood and his brain wild.

And also another matter moved him so,

that he had nobly named he would never eat

on such dear days, before he had been advised,

of some adventurous thing, an unknown tale,

of some mighty marvel, that he might believe,

of ancestors, arms, or other adventures;

or else till someone beseeched for some sure knight

to join with him in jousting, in jeopardy to lay,

lay down life for life, allow each to the other,

as fortune might favour them, a fair advantage.

This was the king’s custom when he in court was,

at each fine feast among his many friends

in hall.

          Therefore with fearless face

          he stands straight and tall;

          full lively at that New Year

          much mirth he makes with all.

                              6

Thus there stands straight and tall the king himself,

talking at the high table of trifles full courtly.

There good Gawain was graced by Guinevere beside,

and Agravain a la dure main on the other side sits,

both the king’s sister-sons and full sure knights;

Bishop Baldwin above, he begins the table,

and Ywain, Urien’s son, ate alongside him.

These sat high on the dais and deftly served,

and many another sat sure at the side-tables.

Then the first course came with crack of trumpets,

with many a banner full bright that thereby hung;

new noise of kettledrums and noble pipes,

wild warbles and wide wakened echoes,

that many a heart full high heaved at their notes.

Dainties drawn in therewith of full dear meats,

foods of the freshest, and in such files of dishes

they find no room to place them people before

and to set the silver that holds such servings

on cloth.

          Each his load as he liked himself,

          there ladled and nothing loath;

          Every two had dishes twelve,

          good beer and bright wine both.

                              7

Now will I of their service say you no more,

for each man may well know no want was there

another noise full new neared with speed,

that would give the lord leave to take meat.

For scarce was the noise not a while ceased,

and the first course in the court duly served,

there hales in at the hall door a dreadful man,

the most in the world’s mould of measure high,

from the nape to the waist so swart and so thick,

and his loins and his limbs so long and so great

half giant on earth I think now that he was;

but the most of man anyway I mean him to be,

and that the finest in his greatness that might ride,

for of back and breast though his body was strong,

both his belly and waist were worthily small,

and his features all followed his form made

and clean.

          Wonder at his hue men displayed,

          set in his semblance seen;

          he fared as a giant were made,

          and over all deepest green.

                              8

And all garbed in green this giant and his gear:

a straight coat full tight that stuck to his sides,

a magnificent mantle above, masked within

with pelts pared pertly, the garment agleam

with blithe ermine full bright, and his hood both,

that was left from his locks and laid on his shoulders;

neat, well-hauled hose of that same green

that clung to his calves and sharp spurs under

of bright gold, on silk stockings rich-barred,

and no shoes under sole where the same rides.

And all his vesture verily was bright verdure,

both the bars of his belt and other bright stones,

that were richly rayed in his bright array

about himself and his saddle, on silk work,

it were tortuous to tell of these trifles the half,

embroidered above with birds and butterflies,

with gay gaudy of green, the gold ever inmost.

The pendants of his harness, the proud crupper,

his bridle and all the metal enamelled was then;

the stirrups he stood on stained with the same,

and his saddle bows after, and saddle skirts,

ever glimmered and glinted all with green stones.

The horse he rode on was also of that hue,

certain:

          A green horse great and thick,

          a steed full strong to restrain,

          in broidered bridle quick –

          to the giant he brought gain.

                              9

Well garbed was this giant geared in green,

and the hair of his head like his horse’s mane.

Fair fanned-out flax enfolds his shoulders;

A beard big as a bush over his breast hangs,

that with the haul of hair that from his head reaches

was clipped all round about above his elbows,

that half his hands thereunder were hid in the wise

of a king’s broad cape that’s clasped at his neck.

The mane of that mighty horse was much alike,

well crisped and combed, with knots full many

plaited in thread of gold about the fair green,

here a thread of the hair, and there of gold.

The tail and his forelock twinned, of a suit,

and bound both with a band of a bright green,

dressed with precious stones, as its length lasted;

then twined with a thong, a tight knot aloft,

where many bells bright of burnished gold ring.

Such a man on a mount, such a giant that rides,

was never before that time in hall in sight of human

eye.

          He looked as lightning bright,

          said all that him descried;

          it seemed that no man might

          his mighty blows survive.

                              10

And yet he had no helm nor hauberk, neither,

nor protection, nor no plate pertinent to arms,

nor no shaft, nor no shield, to strike and smite,

but in his one hand he held a holly branch,

that is greatest in green when groves are bare,

and an axe in his other, one huge, monstrous,

a perilous spar to expound in speech, who might.

The head of an ell-rod its large length had,

the spike all of green steel and of gold hewn,

the blade bright burnished with a broad edge

as well shaped to sheer as are sharp razors.

The shaft of a strong staff the stern man gripped,

that was wound with iron to the wand’s end,

and all engraved with green in gracious workings;

a cord lapped it about, that linked at the head,

and so around the handle looped full oft,

with tried tassels thereto attached enough

on buttons of the bright green broidered full rich.

This stranger rides in and the hall enters,

driving to the high dais, danger un-fearing.

Hailed he never a one, but high he overlooked.

The first word that he spoke: ‘Where is,’ he said,

‘the governor of this throng? Gladly I would

see that soul in sight and with himself speak

reason.’

          On knights he cast his eyes,

          And rolled them up and down.

          He stopped and studied ay

          who was of most renown.

                              11

There was a looking at length the man to behold,

for each man marvelled what it might mean

for a rider and his horse to own such a hue

as grew green as the grass and greener it seemed,

than green enamel on gold glowing the brighter.

All studied that steed, and stalked him near,

with all the wonder of the world at what he might do.

for marvels had they seen but such never before;

and so of phantom and fairie the folk there it deemed.

Therefore to answer was many a knight afraid,

and all stunned at his shout and sat stock-still

in a sudden silence through the rich hall;

as all had slipped into sleep so ceased their noise

                    and cry.

          I think it not all in fear,

          but some from courtesy;

          to let him all should revere

          speak to him firstly.

                              12

Then Arthur before the high dais that adventure beholds,

and, gracious, him reverenced, a-feared was he never,

and said: ‘Sir, welcome indeed to this place,

the head of this house, I, Arthur am named.

Alight swiftly adown and rest, I thee pray,

and what thy will is we shall wait after.’

‘Nay, so help me,’ quoth the man, ‘He that on high sits:

to wait any while in this way, it was not my errand.

But as the light of thee, lord, is lifted so high,

and thy burg and thy barons the best, men hold,

strongest under steel gear on steeds to ride,

the wisest and worthiest of the world’s kind,

proof to play against in other pure sports,

and here is shown courtesy, as I have heard said,

so then I wandered hither, indeed, at this time.

You may be sure by this branch that I bear here

that I pass by in peace and no plight seek.

For were I found here, fierce, and in fighting wise,

I had a hauberk at home and a helm both,

a shield and a sharp spear, shining bright,

and other weapons to wield, I well will, too;

but as I wish no war, I wear the softer.

But if you be as bold as all bairns tell,

you will grant me goodly the gift that I ask

                    by right.’

          Arthur answered there,

          and said: ‘Sir courteous knight,

          if you crave battle bare,

          here fails you not the fight.’

                              13

‘Nay, follow I no fight, in faith I thee tell.

About on these benches are but beardless children;

if I were clasped in armour on a high steed,

here is no man to match me, his might so weak.

From thee I crave in this court a Christmas gift,

for it is Yule and New Year, and here many young men.

If any so hardy in this house holds himself,

is so bold of blood, hot-brained in his head,

that dare staunchly strike a stroke for another,

I shall give him as gift this weapon so rich,

this blade, that is heavy enough to handle as he likes,

and I will bear the first blow, as bare as I sit.

If any friend be so fell as to fare as I say,

Leap lightly to me; latch on to this weapon –

I quit claim for ever, he keeps it, his own.

And I will stand his stroke straight, on this floor,

if you will grant me the gift to give him another,

                    again;

          and yet give him respite

          a twelvemonth and a day.

          Now hurry, let’s see aright

          dare any herein aught say.’

                              14

If he had stunned them at first, stiller were then

all the host in the hall, the high and the low.

The man on his mount he turned in his saddle,

and roundly his red eyes he rolled about,

bent his bristling brows, burning green,

waving his beard about waiting who would rise.

When none would come to his call he coughed full high,

and cleared his throat full richly, ready to speak:

‘What, is this Arthur’s house,’ quoth the horseman then,

‘that all the rumour runs of, through realms so many?

Where now your superiority and your conquests,

your grinding down and your anger, your great words?

Now is the revel and the renown of the Round Table

overthrown with the word of a wanderer’s speech,

for all duck down in dread without dint of a blow!’

With this he laughed so loud that the lord grieved;

the blood shot for shame into his fair face

                    and there,

          he waxed as wrath as wind;

          so did all that there were.

          The king, so keen by kind,

          then stood that strong man near.

                              15

And said: ‘Horseman, by heaven you ask as a fool,

and as a folly you fain, to find it me behoves.

I know no guest that’s aghast at your great words.

Give me now your weapon, upon God’s name,

and I shall bear you the boon you’d be having.’

lightly he leaped to him and caught at his hand;

then fiercely the other fellow on foot alighted.

Now has Arthur his axe, and the helm grips,

and strongly stirs it about, to strike with a thought.

The man before him drew himself to full height,

higher than any in the house by a head and more.

With stern face where he stood he stroked his beard,

and with fixed countenance tugged at his coat,

no more moved or dismayed by mighty blows

than if any man to the bench had brought him a drink

                    of wine.

          Gawain, that sat by the queen,

          to the king he did incline:

          ‘I beseech in plain speech

          that this mêlée be mine’

                              16

‘Would you, worthiest lord,’ quoth Gawain to the king,

‘bid me bow from this bench and stand by you there,

that I without villainy might void this table,

and if my liege lady liked it not ill,

I would come counsel you before your court rich.

For I think it not seemly, as it is true known,

that such an asking is heaved so high in your hall,

that you yourself are tempted, to take it to yourself,

while so many bold men about you on benches sit,

that under heaven, I hope, are none higher of will,

nor better of body on fields where battle is raised.

I am the weakest, I know, and of wit feeblest.

least worth the loss of my life, who’d learn the truth.

Only inasmuch as you are my uncle, am I praised:

No bounty but your blood in my body I know.

And since this thing is folly and naught to you falls,

and I have asked it of you first, grant it to me;

and if my cry be not comely, let this court be free

of blame.’

          Nobles whispered around,

          and after counselled the same,

          to free the king and crown,

          and give Gawain the game.

                              17

Then commanded the king the knight for to rise,

and he readily up-rose and prepared him fair,

knelt down before the king, and caught the weapon;

and he lightly left it him, and lifted up his hand

and gave him God’s blessing, and gladly him bade

that his heart and his hand should hardy be, both.

‘Take care, cousin,’ quoth the king, ‘how you set on,

and if you read him aright, readily I trow,

that you shall abide the blow he shall bring after.’

Gawain goes to the giant, with weapon in hand,

and boldly abides him, never bothered the less.

Then to Sir Gawain says the knight in the green:

‘Re-affirm we our oaths before we go further.

First I entreat you, man, how are you named,

that tell me truly, then, so trust it I may.’

‘In God’s faith,’ quoth the good knight, ‘Gawain am I,

that bear you this buffet, whatever befalls after,

and at this time twelvemonth take from thee another

with what weapon you wilt, and no help from any

                    alive.’

          The other replies again:

          ‘Sir Gawain, may I so thrive,

          if I am not wondrous fain

          for you this blow to drive.’

                              18

‘By God,’ quoth the green knight, ‘Sir Gawain, I like

That I’ll face first from your fist what I found here.

And you have readily rehearsed, with reason full true,

clearly all the covenant that I the king asked,

save that you shall secure me, say, by your troth,

that you shall seek me yourself, where so you think

I may be found upon field, and fetch you such wages

as you deal me today before this dear company.’

‘Where should I seek,’ quoth Gawain, ‘where is your place?

I know nothing of where you walk, by Him that wrought me,

nor do I know you, knight, your court or your name.

But teach me truly the track, tell me how you are named,

and I shall wind all my wit to win me thither;

and that I swear you in truth, and by my sure honour.’

‘That is enough this New Year, it needs no more,’

quoth the giant in the green to courteous Gawain:

‘if I shall tell you truly, when you have tapped me

and you me smoothly have smitten, I swiftly you teach,

of my house and my home and my own name.

Then may you find how I fare, and hold to your word;

and if I spend no speech, then it speeds you the better,

for you may linger in your land and seek no further –

                    but oh!

          Take now your grim steel to thee,

          and see how you fell oaks.’

          ‘Gladly, sir, indeed,’

          quoth Gawain; his axe he strokes.

                              19

The green knight on his ground graciously stands:

with a little lean of the head, flesh he uncovers;

his long lovely locks he laid over his crown,

and let the naked neck to the stroke show.

Gawain gripped his axe and glanced it on high,

his left foot on the field before him he set,

letting it down lightly light on the naked,

that the sharp of the steel sundered the bones,

and sank through the soft flesh, sliced it in two,

that the blade of the bright steel bit in the ground.

The fair head from the frame fell to the earth,

that folk flailed it with their feet, where it forth rolled;

the blood burst from the body, the bright on the green.

Yet nevertheless neither falters nor falls the fellow,

but stoutly he started forth on strong shanks,

and roughly he reached out, where the ranks stood,

latched onto his lovely head, and lifted it so;

and then strode to his steed, the bridle he catches,

steps into stirrup and strides him aloft,

and his head by the hair in his hand holds.

and as steady and staunch him in his saddle sat

as if no mishap had him ailed, though headless now

                    instead.

          He twined his trunk about,

          that ugly body that bled;

          many of him had doubt,

          ere ever his speech was said.

                              20

For the head in his hand he holds up even,

towards the dearest on dais addresses the face;

and it lifted its eyelids, and looked full wide,

and made this much with its mouth, as you may now hear;

‘Look, Gawain, be you geared to go as you promised,

and look out loyally till you me, lord, find,

as you swore oath in this hall, these knights hearing.

To the green chapel you go, I charge you, to find

such a dint as you dealt – deserved you have –

to be readily yielded on New Year’s morn.

The knight of the green chapel, men know me as, many;

therefore to find me, if you fain it, you’ll fail never.

Come then, or be called recreant it behoves you.’

With a rough rasping the reins he twists,

hurled out the hall door, his head in his hand,

that the fire of the flint flew from fleet hooves.

to what land he came no man there knew,

no more than they knew where he had come from

                    what then?

          The king and Gawain there

          at that green man laugh and grin;

          yet broadcast it was abroad

          as a marvel among those men.

                              21

Though Arthur the high king at heart had wonder,

he let no semblance be seen, but said aloud

to the comely queen, with courteous speech:

‘Dear dame, today dismay you never;

well become us these crafts at Christmas,

larking at interludes, to laugh and to sing

among the courtly carols of lords and ladies.

Nevertheless my meat I may now me address,

for I have seen my marvel, I may not deny.’

He glanced at Sir Gawain and graciously said:

‘Now sir, hang up your axe that has hewn enough.’

And it adorned the dais, hung on display,

where all men might marvel and on it look,

and by true title thereof to tell the wonder.

Then they went to the board these two together,

the king and the godly knight, and keen men them served

of all dainties double, as dearest might fall,

with all manner of meat and minstrelsy both.

Full well they whiled that day till it worked its end

                    on land

          Now think well, Sir Gawain,

          lest by peril unmanned,

          this adventure to sustain,

          you have taken in hand.

                         Part II

                              22

This gift of adventure has Arthur thus on the first

of the young year, for he yearned exploits to hear.

Though words were wanting when they went to sit,

now are they stoked with stern work, fullness to hand.

Gawain was glad to begin those games in hall,

yet if the end be heavy, have you no wonder;

though men be merry in mind when they have strong ale,

a year turns full turn, and yields never a like;

the form of its finish foretold full seldom.

For this Yuletide passed by, and the year after,

and each season slips by pursuing another:

after Christmas comes crabbed Lenten time,

that forces on flesh fish and food more simple.

But then the weather of the world with winter it fights,

cold shrinks down, clouds are uplifted,

shining sheds the rain in showers full warm,

falls upon fair flats, flowers there showing.

Both ground and groves green is their dress,

birds begin to build and brightly sing they

the solace of the soft summer ensuing after

                    on bank;

          and blossoms bloom to blow

          by hedges rich and rank,

          while noble notes do flow

          in woodland free and frank.

                              23

After, in season of summer with the soft winds,

when Zephyrus sighs himself on seeds and herbs;

well-away is the wort that waxes out there,

when the dunking dew drops from the leaves,

biding a blissful blush of the bright sun.

But then hies Harvest and hardens it soon,

warns it before the winter to wax full ripe;

then drives with drought the dust for to rise,

from the face of the field to fly full high;

wild wind from the welkin wrestles the sun,

the leaves lance then from linden, light on the ground,

and all grey is the grass, that green was ere;

then all ripens and rots, that rose up at first.

And thus wears the year into yesterdays many,

and winter walks again, as the world’s way is,

                    I gauge,

          till Michaelmas moon

          threatens a wintry age.

          Then thinks Gawain full soon,

          of his wearisome voyage.

                              24

Yet till All-Hallows with Arthur he lingers,

and he made a feast on that day for the knight’s sake,

with much revel and rich of the Round Table.

Knights full courteous and comely ladies,

all for love of that lad in longing they were;

but nevertheless they named nothing but mirth,

many joyless for that gentle soul jokes made there.

For, after meat, with mourning he makes to his uncle,

and speaks his departure, and openly says:

‘Now, liege lord of my life, I ask you leave.

You know the cost in this case, care I no more

to tell you the trial thereof, naught but a trifle;

but I am bound to bear it, be gone, and tomorrow,

to seek the giant in the green, as God will me guide.’

Then the best of the burg were brought together,

Ywain and Eric and others full many,

Sir Dodinal le Sauvage, the Duke of Clarence,

Lancelot and Lionel and Lucan the Good,

Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, big men both,

and many other men, with Mador de la Porte.

All this courtly company came the king near,

for to counsel the knight, with care in their hearts.

There was much dark dolefulness deep in the hall,

that so worthy as Gawain should wend on that errand,

to endure a dreadful dint, and no more with sword

                    wander.

          The knight made yet good cheer,

          and said: ‘Why should I falter?

          Such destinies foul or fair

          what can men do but suffer?’

                              25

He dwelt there all that day, and dressed on the morn,

asks early for his arms, and all were they brought.

First a crimson carpet, cast over the floor,

and much was the gilded gear that gleamed thereon.

The strong man steps there, and handles the steel,

dressed in a doublet of silk of Turkestan,

and then a well-crafted cape, clasped at the top,

that with a white ermine was trimmed within.

Then set they the plate shoes on his strong feet,

his legs lapped in steel with lovely greaves,

with knee-pieces pinned thereto, polished full clean,

about his knees fastened with knots of gold;

then the cuisses, that cunningly enclosed

his thick-thewed thighs, attached with thongs;

and then the hauberk linked with bright steel rings

over rich wear, wrapped round the warrior;

and well-burnished bracelets over both arms,

elbow-pieces good and gay, and gloves of plate,

and all the goodly gear that should bring him gain

                    that tide;

          with rich coat armour,

          his gold spurs set with pride,

          girt with a blade full sure

          with silk sword-belt at his side.

                              26

When he was hasped in armour, his harness was rich;

the least laces or loops gleamed with gold.

So harnessed as he was he hears the Mass,

offered and honoured at the high altar,

then he comes to the king and his companions,

takes his courteous leave of lords and ladies;

and they him kiss and convey, commend him to Christ.

By then Gringolet was game, girt with a saddle

that gleamed full gaily with many gold fringes,

everywhere nailed full new, for that noted day;

the bridle barred about, with bright gold bound;

the apparel of the breast-guard and proud skirts,

crupper, caparison, in accord with the saddle-bows;

and all was arrayed with rich red gold nails,

that all glittered and glinted as gleam of the sun.

Then hefts he the helm, and hastily it kisses,

that was strongly stapled and stuffed within.

It was high on his head, clasped behind,

with a light covering over the face-guard,

embroidered and bound with the best gems

on broad silken border, and birds on the seams,

such as parrots painted preening between,

turtle-doves, true-love knots, so thick entailed

as many burdened with it had been seven winters

                    in town.

          The circlet of greater price

          that embellished his crown,

          of diamonds all devised

          that were both bright and brown.

                              27

Then they showed him the shield that was of shining gules,

with the pentangle painted there in pure gold hues.

He brandishes it by the baldric, casts it about his neck,

that suited the wearer seemly and fair.

And why the pentangle applies to that prince noble,

I intend to tell, though I tarry more than I should.

It is a sign Solomon settled on some while back,

in token of truth, by the title that it has,

for it is a figure that has five points,

and each line overlaps and locks with another,

and everywhere it is endless, and English call it

over all the land, as I here, the Endless Knot.

For so it accords with this knight and his bright arms,

forever faithful in five ways, and five times so,

Gawain was for good known, and, as purified gold,

void of every villainy, with virtues adorned

                    all, so.

          And thus the pentangle new

          he bore on shield and coat,

          as title of trust most true

          and gentlest knight of note.

                              28

First he was found faultless in his five senses,

and then failed never the knight in his five fingers,

and all his trust in the field was in the five wounds

that Christ caught on the cross, as the creed tells.

And wheresoever this man in mêlée was stood,

his first thought was that, over all other things,

all his force in fight he found in the five joys

that holy Heaven’s Queen had of her child;

for this cause the knight fittingly had

on the inner half of his shield her image painted,

that when he beheld her his boldness never failed.

The fifth five that I find the knight used

was Free-handedness and Friendship above all things;

his Continence and Courtesy corrupted were never,

and Piety, that surpasses all points – these pure five

were firmer founded in his form than another.

Now all these five-folds, forsooth, were fused in this knight,

and each one joined to another that none end had,

and fixed upon five points that failed never,

never confused on one side, nor sundered neither,

without end at any angle anywhere, I find,

wherever its guise begins or glides to an end.

Therefore on his shining shield shaped was the knot

royally with red gold upon red gules,

thus is the pure pentangle called by the people

of lore.

          Now geared was Gawain gay,

          lifted his lance right there,

          and gave them all good day –

          as he thought, for evermore.

                              29

He struck the steed with the spurs, and sprang on his way

so strongly the stone-fire sparked out thereafter.

All that saw the seemly sight sighed in their hearts,

and said softly the same thing all to each other,

in care of that comely knight: ‘By Christ, ‘tis pity,

that you, lord, shall be lost, who art of life noble!

To find his fellow in field, in faith, is not easy.

Warily to have wrought would wiser have been,

to have dealt yon dear man a dukedom of worth.

A loyal leader of this land’s lances in him well seems,

and so had better have been than brought to naught,

beheaded by an elvish man, out of arrogant pride.

Who knew any king ever such counsel to take

as knights in altercations in Christmas games?’

Well was the water warm much wept from eyen,

when that seemly sire spurred from the court

                    that day.

          He made no delay,

          but swiftly went his way;

          Many a wild path he strayed,

          so the books do say.

                              30

Now rides this knight through the realm of Logres,

Sir Gawain, in God’s name, yet no game it thought.

Oft friendless alone he lay long a-nights,

where he found no fare that he liked before him.

He had no friend but his steed by furze and down,

and no one but God to speak with on the way,

till that he neared full nigh to northern Wales.

All the Isle of Anglesey on the left hand he held,

and fared over the fords by the forelands,

over at Holyhead, till he reached the bank

in the wilderness of Wirral – few thereabouts

that either God or other with good heart loved.

And ever he asked as he fared, of fellows he met,

if they had heard any word of a knight in green,

on any ground thereabout, of the green chapel;

and all met him with nay, that never in their lives

saw they ever a sign of such a one, hued

in green.

          The knight took pathways strange

          by many a bank un-green;

          his cheerfulness would change,

          ere might that chapel be seen.

                              31

Many cliffs he over-clambered in countries strange,

far flying from his friends forsaken he rides.

at every twist of the water where the way passed

he found a foe before him, or freakish it were,

and so foul and fell he was beholden to fight.

So many marvels by mountain there the man finds,

it would be tortuous to tell a tenth of the tale.

Sometimes with dragons he wars, and wolves also,

sometimes with wild woodsmen haunting the crags,

with bulls and bears both, and boar other times,

and giants that chased after him on the high fells.

had he not been doughty, enduring, and Duty served,

doubtless he had been dropped and left for dead,

for war worried him not so much but winter was worse,

when the cold clear water from the clouds shed,

and froze ere it fall might to the fallow earth.

Near slain by the sleet he slept in his steel

more nights than enough in the naked rocks,

where clattering from the crest the cold burn runs,

and hung high over his head in hard icicles.

Thus in peril and pain, and plights full hard

covers the country this knight till Christmas Eve

                    alone.

          The knight that eventide

          to Mary made his moan,

          to show him where to ride,

          and guide him to some home.

                              32

By a mount in the morn merrily he rides

into a forest full deep, wonderfully wide,

high hills on either hand, and woodlands under

of hoar oaks full huge a hundred together.

The hazel and the hawthorn were tangled and twined,

with rough ragged moss ravelled everywhere,

with many birds un-blithe upon bare twigs,

that piteously they piped for pinch of the cold.

The gallant on Gringolet glides them under

through many a marsh and mire, a man alone,

full of care lest to his cost he never should

see the service of that Sire, that on that self night,

of a bright maid was born, our burden to quell.

And therefore sighing he said; ‘I beseech thee, Lord,

and Mary, that is mildest mother so dear,

of some harbour where highly I might hear Mass,

and thy Matins tomorrow, meekly I ask,

and thereto promptly I pray my Pater and Ave

                    and Creed.’

          He rode as he prayed,

          And cried for his misdeeds;

          He crossed himself always,

          And said: ‘Christ’s Cross me speed!’

                              33

Now he had signed himself times but three,

when he was aware in the wood of a wall in a moat,

above a level, on high land locked under boughs

of many broad set boles about by the ditches:

a castle the comeliest that ever knight owned,

perched on a plain, a park all about,

with a pointed palisade, planted full thick,

encircling many trees in more than two miles.

The hold on the one side the knight assessed,

as it shimmered and shone through the shining oaks.

Then humbly has off with his helm, highly he thanks

Jesus and Saint Julian, that gentle are both,

that courtesy had him shown, and his cry hearkened.

‘Now hospitality,’ he said, ‘I beseech you grant!’

Then goads he on Gringolet, with his gilded heels,

and he by chance there has chosen the chief way,

that brought the man bravely to the bridge’s end

                    in haste.

          The drawbridge was upraised,

          the gates were firm and fast,

          the walls were well arrayed –

          it trembled at no wind’s blast.

                              34

The knight stuck to his steed, that hugged the bank,

of the deep double ditch driven round the place.

The wall washed in the water wonderfully deep,

and then a full huge height it haled up aloft,

of hard hewn stone to the entablature,

embedded under the battlements in best style;

and there were turrets full tall towering between,

with many lovely loopholes clean interlocked:

a better barbican that knight never beheld.

And innermost he beheld a hall full high,

towers trim between, crenellated full thick,

fair finials that fused, and fancifully long,

with carven copes, cunningly worked.

Chalk white chimneys he descried enough,

on tower rooftops that gleamed full white.

So many painted pinnacles powdered there

among castle crenellations, clustered so thick,

that pared out of paper purely it seemed.

the fair knight on the horse it fine enough thought,

if he might contrive to come the cloister within,

to harbour in that hostel while Holy Day lasted,

                    all content. 

          He called and soon there came

          a porter pure pleasant.

          From the wall his errand he craved,

          and hailed the knight errant.

                              35

‘Good sir,’ quoth Gawain, ‘will you do my errand

to the high lord of this house, harbour to crave?’

‘Yes, by Saint Peter,’ quoth the porter, ‘for I believe

That you’ll be welcome to dwell as long as you like.’

Then the welcomer on the wall went down swiftly,

and folk freely him with, to welcome the knight.

They let down the great drawbridge and dignified

knelt down on their knees upon the cold earth

to welcome this knight as they thought the worthiest way.

They yielded him the broad gate, opened wide,

and he them raised rightly and rode over the bridge.

Several then seized his saddle, while he alighted,

and then strong men enough stabled his steed.

Knights and their squires came down then

for to bring this bold man blithely to hall,

When he lifted his helmet, they hastened forward

to heft it from his hand, the guest to serve;

his blade and his blazon both they took.

then hailed he full handily the host each one,

and many proud men pressed close, that prince to honour.

All clasped in his noble armour to hall they him brought,

where a fair fire on a hearth fiercely flamed.

Then the lord of that land left his chamber

for to meet with manners the man on the floor.

He said: ‘You are welcome to dwell as you like.

What is here, is all your own, to have at your will

                    and wield you.

          ‘Graunt merci,’ quoth Gawain,

          ‘May Christ reward it you.’

          As friends that meet again

          Each clasped the other true.

                              36

Gawain gazed on the gallant that goodly him greet,

and thought him a brave baron that the burg owned,

a huge man in truth, and mature in his years;

broad, bright was his beard and all beaver-hued,

stern, striding strongly on stalwart shanks,

face fell as the fire, and free of his speech;

and well he seemed to suit, as the knight thought,

the leading a lordship, along of lords full good.

The chief him led to a chamber, expressly commands

a lord be delivered to him, him humbly to serve;

and there were brave for his bidding a band of men,

that brought him to a bright bower, the bedding was noble,

of curtains of clear silk with clean gold hems,

and coverlets full curious with comely panels,

of bright ermine above embroidered sides,

curtains running on cords, red gold rings,

tapestries tied to the wall, of Toulouse, Turkestan,

and underfoot, on the floor, that followed suit.

There he was disrobed, with speeches of mirth,

the burden of his mail and his bright clothes.

Rich robes full readily retainers brought him,

to check and to change and choose of the best.

Soon as he held one, and hastened therein,

that sat on him seemly, with spreading skirts,

verdant in his visage Spring verily seemed

to well nigh everyone, in all its hues,

glowing and lovely, all his limbs under,

that a comelier knight never Christ made,

                    they thought.

          However he came here,

          it seemed that he ought

          to be prince without peer

          on fields where fell men fought.

                              37

A chair before the chimney, where charcoal burned,

graciously set for Gawain, was gracefully adorned,

coverings on quilted cushions, cunningly crafted both.

And then a mighty mantle was on that man cast

of a brown silk, embroidered full rich,

and fair furred within with pelts of the best –

the finest ermine on earth – his hood of the same.

And he sat on that settle seemly and rich,

and chafed himself closely, and then his cheer mended.

Straightway a table on trestles was set up full fair,

clad with a clean cloth that clear white showed,

the salt-cellars, napkins and silvered spoons.

The knight washed at his will, and went to his meat.

Servants him served seemly enough

with several soups, seasoned of the best,

double bowlfuls, as fitting, and all kinds of fish,

some baked in bread, some browned on the coals,

some seethed, some in stews savoured with spices,

and sauces ever so subtle that the knight liked.

While he called it a feast full freely and oft

most politely, at which all spurred him on politely

                    again:

          ‘This penance now you take,

          after it shall amend.’

          That man much mirth did make,

          for the wine to his head did tend.

                              38

Then they sparred and parried in precious style

with private points put to the prince himself,

so he conceded courteously of that court he came,

where noble Arthur is headman himself alone,

that is the right royal king of the Round Table;

and that it is Gawain himself that in that house sits,

come there at Christmas, as chance has him driven.

When the lord learned what prince that he there had,

loud laughed he thereat, so delightful he thought it,

and all the men in that manse made it a joy

to appear in his presence promptly that time,

who all prize and prowess and purest ways

appends to his person, and praised is ever;

above all men upon earth his honour is most.

Each man full softly said to his neighbour:

‘Now shall we see show of seemliest manners

and the faultless phrases of noble speaking.

What superior speech is, unasked we shall learn,

since we have found this fine master of breeding.

God has given us of his goodly grace forsooth,

that such a guest as Gawain grants us to have,

when barons blithe at His birth shall sit

                    and sing.

          The meaning of manners here

          this knight now shall us bring.

          I hope whoever may hear

          Shall learn of love-making.’

                              39

When the dinner was done and the diners risen,

it was nigh on the night that the time was near.

Chaplains to the chapel took their course,

ringing all men, richly, as they rightly should,

to the holy evensong of that high eventide.

The lord goes thereto and the lady as well;

into a comely enclosure quietly she enters.

Gawain gaily goes forth and thither goes soon;

the lord grasps him by the gown and leads him to sit,

acknowledges him with grace, calls him by name,

and said he was the most welcome man in the world;

and he thanked him thoroughly, they clasped each other,

and sat with sober seeming the service through.

Then liked the lady to look on the knight;

and came from the close with many fine women.

She was the fairest in feature, in flesh and complexion,

and in compass and colour and ways, of all others,

and fairer than Guinevere, as the knight thought.

He strode through the chancel to squire the dame.

Another lady her led by the left hand,

who was older than her, and aged it seemed,

and highly honoured with her men about her.

Not alike though to look on those ladies were,

for if the one was fresh, the other was withered:

rich red in this one distinguished her,

rough wrinkled cheeks on that other, in rolls.

Kerchiefs on this one, with many clear pearls,

her breast and her bright throat bare displayed

shone sweeter than snow that’s shed on the hills;

that other swathed with a wimple wound at the throat,

clothed to her swarthy chin with chalk-white veils,

her forehead folded in silk, enveloped everywhere,

ringed and trellised with trefoils about,

that naught was bare of the lady but the black brows,

the two eyen and nose, the naked lips,

and those were sorry to see, and somewhat bleary –

a great lady on earth a man might her call,

                    by God!

          Her body was short and thick,

          her buttocks big and broad;

          Much sweeter a sweet to lick

          the one at her side for sure.

                              40

When Gawain gazed on that gracious-looking girl,

with leave asked of the lord he went to meet them.

The elder he hails, bowing to her full low;

the lovely-looking he laps a little in his arms,

he kisses her courteously and nobly he speaks.

They crave his acquaintance, and he quickly asks

to be their sworn servant, if they themselves wished.

They take him between them, and talking they lead him

to a chamber, to the chimney, and firstly they ask for

spices, which men unstintingly hastened to bring,

and the winning wine with them, every time.

The lord laughing aloft leaps full oft,

minding that mirth be made and many a time,

nobly lifted his hood, and on a spear hung it,

and wished him to win the worth and honour thereof

who most mirth might move at that Christmastide.

‘And I shall swear, by my faith, to strive with the best

before I lose the hood, with the help of my friends.’

Thus with laughing words the lord makes all merry,

for to gladden Sir Gawain with games in the hall

                    that night.

          Till, when it was time,

          the lord demanded light.

          Gawain his way did find

          To bed as best he might.

                              41

On the morn, when each man minds that time

the dear Lord for our destiny to die was born,

joy waxes in each house in the world for His sake.

So did it there on that day with dainties many:

both when major and minor meals were eaten

deft men on the dais served of the best.

The old ancient wife highest she sits;

the lord, so I believe, politely beside her.

Gawain and the sweet lady together they sat

in the midst, as the masses came together;

and then throughout the hall, as seemed right,

each man in his degree was graciously served.

There was meat, there was mirth, there was much joy,

that it would be a trouble for me to tell all,

and however perchance I pined to make my point.

But yet I know Gawain and the sweet lady

such comfort of their company caught together

through their dear dalliance of courtly words,

with clean courteous chat, closed from filth,

their play surpassed every princely game with which it

                    compares.

          Kettledrums and trumpets,

          much piping there of airs;

          Each man minded his,

          and those two minded theirs.

                              42

Much mirth was there driven that day and another,

and a third as thickly thronged came in thereafter;

The joy of St John’s Day was gentle to hear,

and was the last of the larking, the lords thought.

There were guests set to go on the grey morn,

so they stayed wonderfully waking and wine drank,

dancing the day in with noble carols.

At the last, when it was time, they took their leave,

each one to wend on his way into strange parts.

Gawain gave them good day, the good man grasps him,

and leads him to his own chamber, the chimney beside,

and there he grips him tight, heartily thanks him

for the fine favour that he had shown him,

so to honour his house on that Christmastide,

and embellish his burg with his bright cheer.

‘Indeed, sir, while I live, I am the better

for Gawain being my guest at God’s own feast.’

‘Graunt merci, sir,’ quoth Gawain, ‘in good faith it’s yours,

all the honour is your own – the High King requite you!

And I am here, at your will, to work your behest,

as I am beholden to do, in high things and low,

                    by right.’

          The lord was at great pains

          To keep longer the knight;

          To him answers Gawain

          That by no means he might.

                              43

Then the lord aimed full fair at him, asking

what daring deed had him driven at that dear time

so keenly from the king’s court to stray all alone,

before the holy holiday was haled out of town.

‘Forsooth, sir,’ quoth the knight, ‘you say but the truth,

a high errand and a hasty had me from those halls,

for I am summoned myself to seek for a place,

with no thought in the world where to go find it.

I would not dare fail find it by New Year’s morning

for all the land in Logres, so me our Lord help!

So, sir, this request I make of you here,

that you tell me true if ever you tale heard

of the green chapel, on what ground it stands,

and of the knight that keeps it, the colour of green.

There was established by statute a pact us between

both to meet at that mark, if I should live;

and of that same New Year but little is wanting,

and I would look on that lord, if God would let me,

more gladly, by God’s Son, than any goods gain.

So, indeed, by your leave, it behoves me to go.

Now to work this business I’ve barely three days,

and it’s fitter I fall dead than fail of my errand.’

Then, laughing, quoth the lord: ‘Now stay, it behoves you,

for I’ll teach you the trysting place ere the term’s end.

The green chapel upon ground grieve for no more;

but you shall be in your bed, sir, at your ease,

while day unfolds, and go forth on the first of the year,

and come to that mark at mid-morn, to act as you wish

                    and when.

          Dwell until New Year’s Day,

          and rise and ride on then.

          You shall be shown the way;

          it is not two miles hence.’

                              44

Then was Gawain full glad, and gleefully he laughed:

‘Now I thank you thoroughly beyond all things;

now achieved is my goal, I shall at your will

dwell here, and do what else you deem fit.’

Then the lord seized him and set him beside,

and the ladies had fetched, to please him the better.

There was seemly solace by themselves still.

The lord lofted for love notes so merry,

as one that wanted his wits, nor knew what he did.

Then he cried to the knight, calling aloud:

‘You have deemed to do the deed that I bid.

Will you hold to this promise here and now?’

‘Yes, sire, indeed,’ said the knight and true,

‘While I bide in your burg, I’m at your behest.’

‘As you have travelled,’ quoth the lord, ‘from afar,

and since then waked with me, you are not well served

neither of sustenance nor of sleep, surely I know.

You shall linger in your room and lie there at ease

tomorrow till Mass, and then to meat wend

when you will, with my wife, that with you shall sit

and comfort you with company, till I come to court:

                    time spend,

          And I shall early rise;

          a-hunting will I wend.’

          Gawain thinks it wise,

          as is fitting to him bends.

                              45

‘And further,’ quoth the lord, ‘a bargain we’ll make:

whatsoever I win in the wood is worthily yours;

and whatever here you achieve, exchange me for it.

Sweet sir, swap we so – swear it in truth –

whether, lord, that way lies worse or better.’

‘By God,’ quoth Gawain the good, ‘I grant it you,

and that you lust for to play, like it methinks.’

‘Who’ll bring us a beverage, this bargain to make?’

so said the lord of that land. They laughed each one,

they drank and dallied and dealt in trifles,

these lords and ladies, as long as they liked;

and then with Frankish faring, full of fair words,

they stopped and stood and softly spoke,

kissing full comely and taking their leave.

By many lively servants with flaming torches,

each brave man was brought to his bed at last

                    full soft.

          To bed yet ere they sped,

          repeating the contract oft;

          the old lord of that spread

          could keep a game aloft.

                         Part III
 

                              46

Full early before the day the folk were risen;

Guests who would go their grooms they called on,

and they busied them briskly the beasts to saddle,

tightening their tackle, trussing their baggage.

The richest ready themselves to ride all arrayed,

leaping up lightly, latched onto their bridles,

each rode out by the way that he most liked.

The beloved lord of the land was not the last

arrayed for the riding, with ranks full many;

ate a sop hastily, when he had heard Mass,

with horns to the hunting field he hastens away.

By the time that daylight gleamed upon earth,

he with his knights on high horses were.

Then the cunning hunters coupled their hounds,

unclosed the kennel door and called them out,

blew briskly on their bugles three bare notes;

braches bayed therefore, and bold noise made,

and men chastised and turned those that chasing went,

a hundred of hunters, as I have heard tell,

                    of the best.

          To station, keepers strode,

          huntsmen leashes off-cast;

          great rumpus in that wood

          there rose with their good blasts.

                              47

At the first call of the quest quaked the wild;

deer drove for the dales, darting for dread,

hied to the high ground, but swiftly they were

stayed by the beaters, with their stout cries.

They let the harts with high branched heads have way,

the brave bucks also with their broad antlers;

for the noble lord had bidden that in close season

no man there should meddle with those male deer.

The hinds were held back with a ‘Hey’ and a ‘Ware!’

The does driven with great din to the deep coves.

There might men see, as they loosed, the slanting of arrows;

at each winding of the wood whistled a flight,

that bit into brown flanks, with broad blade-heads.

What screaming and bleeding, by banks they lay dying,

and ever the hounds in a rush hard on them followed,

hunters with high horn-calls hastened them after,

with such a crack and cry as cliffs were bursting.

What wild beasts so escaped the men shooting

were all dragged down and rent by the new reserves,

when hunted from high ground, and harried to water.

The lads were so skilled at the lower stations,

and the greyhounds so great, that gripped so quickly

and dragged them down, as swift I swear,

                    as sight.

          In bliss without alloy

          the lord does spur or alight,

          and passes that day with joy

          and so to the dark night.

                              48

Thus larks the lord by linden-wood eaves,

while Gawain the good man gaily abed lies,

lurks till the daylight gleams on the walls,

under canopy full clear, curtained about.

And as in slumber he lay, softly he heard

a little sound at his door, and it slid open;

and he heaves up his head out of the clothes,

a corner of the curtain he caught up a little,

and watches warily to make out what it might be.

It was the lady, the loveliest to behold,

that drew the door after her full silent and still,

and bent her way to the bed; and the knight ashamed,

laid him down again lightly and feigned to sleep.

And she stepped silently and stole to his bed,

caught up the curtain and crept within,

and sat her full softly on the bedside

and lingered there long, to look when he wakened.

The lord lay low, lurked a full long while,

compassing in his conscience what this case might

mean or amount to, marvelling in thought.

But yet he said to himself: ‘More seemly it were

to descry with speech, in a space, what she wishes.’

Then he wakened and wriggled and to her he turned,

and lifted his eyelids and let on he was startled,

and signed himself with his hand, as with prayer, to be

                    safer.

          With chin and cheek full sweet,

          both white and red together,

          full graciously did she greet,

          lips light with laughter.

                              49

‘Good morning, Sir Gawain,’ said that sweet lady,

‘You are a sleeper unsafe, that one may slip hither.

Now are you taken in a trice, lest a truce we shape,

I shall bind you in your bed, that you may trust.’

All laughing the lady made her light jests.

‘Good morrow, sweet,’ quoth Gawain the blithe,

‘I shall work your will, and that I well like,

for I yield me swiftly and sue for grace;

and that is the best, to my mind, since behoves I must.’

And thus he jested again with much blithe laughter.

‘But would you, lovely lady, but grant me leave

and release your prisoner and pray him to rise,

I would bound from this bed and dress me better,

I should discover more comfort in speaking with you.’

‘Nay, forsooth, beau sire,’ said that sweet,

‘You shall not rise from your bed. I charge you better:

I shall wrap you up here on this other side,

and then chat with my knight whom I have caught;

for I know well, indeed, Sir Gawain you are,

that all the world worships, wherever you ride.

Your honour, your courtesy, is nobly praised

among lords, among ladies, all who life bear.

And now you are here, indeed, and we on our own;

my lord and his lords are far off faring,

other knights are abed, and my ladies also,

the door drawn and shut with a strong hasp.

And since I have in this house him who all like,

I shall work my time well, while it lasts,

                    with a tale.

          Your are welcome to my body,

          Your pleasure to take all;

          I must by necessity

          your servant be, and shall.’

                              50

‘In good faith,’ quoth Gawain, ‘a gain’s that me thinks,

though I be not now him of whom you are speaking;

to reach to such reverence as you rehearse here,

I am all ways unworthy, I know well myself.

By God, I’d be glad though if you thought it fit

in speech or service that I might set myself

to the pleasing of your worth – that were a pure joy.’

‘In good faith, Sir Gawain,’ quoth the sweet lady,

‘The worth and the prowess that pleases all others,

if I slighted or thought light of it, that were little grace;

but there are ladies enough that would far rather

have you, dear man, to hold, as I have you here,

to dally dearly in your delightful words,

comfort themselves and ease their cares,

than make much of the treasure and gold they have.

But as I love that same Lord that the heavens rules,

I have wholly in my hand what all desire

                    through grace.’

          She made him thus sweet cheer,

          who was so fair of face;

          the knight with speeches clear

          answered her every case.

                              51

‘Madam,’ quoth the merry man, ‘Mary give you grace,

for I have found, in good faith, your friendship is noble.

Others gain full much of other folks praise for their deeds,

but the deference they deal me is undeserved in my case.

It is honour to you that naught but good you perceive.’

‘By Mary,’ quoth the lady, ‘methinks it otherwise;

for were I worth all the wonder of women alive,

and all the wealth of the world were in my hand,

and I should bargain to win myself a brave lord,

with the qualities that I know of you, knight, here,

of beauty and debonair and blithe seeming,

that I hearkened to ere now and have here found true,

then should no errant on earth before you be chosen.’

‘Indeed, lady,’ quoth the knight, ‘you have done much better;

but I am proud of the value you place on me,

and, solemnly your servant, my sovereign I hold you,

and your knight I become, and Christ reward you!’

Thus they mulled many matters till mid-morn passed,

and ever the lady let fall that she loved him much;

yet the knight held to his guard, and acted full fair.

‘Though I were loveliest lady,’ so her mind had it,

‘the less is there love in his load’ – for his fate he sought

                    that one,

          the stroke that should him cleave,

          and it must needs be done.

          The lady then sought to leave,

          he granting her that boon.

                              52

Then she gave him good day, with a laughing glance,

and stunned him as she stood there, with cutting words:

‘May He who speeds each speech reward you this sport!

But that you should be Gawain, it baffles the mind.’

‘Wherefore?’ quoth the knight, and urgently asked,

fearful lest he had failed in forms of politeness.

But the lady blessed him and spoke as follows:

‘One gracious as Gawain is rightly held to be,

with courtesy contained so clear in himself,

could not lightly have lingered so long with a lady,

but he had craved a kiss out of courtesy,

with some trifling touch at some tale’s end.’

Then quoth Gawain: ‘Indeed, let it be as you like;

I shall kiss at your command, as befits a knight,

and further, lest I displease you, so plead no more.’

She comes nearer at that, and catches him in her arms,

leans lovingly down, and the lord kisses.

They graciously commend to Christ one another;

and she goes out at the door with not a word more;

And he readies himself to rise and hurries anon,

calls to his chamberlain, chooses his clothes,

going forth, when he is ready, blithely to Mass.

And then he went to the noble meal that awaited,

and made merry all day till the moonrise,

                    at games.

          Was never knight fairer sung

          between two such noble dames,

          the elder and the young;

          much joy had they of the same.

                              53

And ever the lord of the land intent on his games,

hunted, in holts and heath, for barren hinds,

Such a sum he there slew by the set of sun,

of does and other deer, it were deemed a wonder.

Then fiercely they flocked in, folk at the last,

and quickly of the quenched deer a heap they made.

The noblest sped there with servants enough,

gathered the quarry greatest in flesh that were there,

and had them deftly undone as custom demands.

Some that were there searched them in assay,

and two fingers of fat they found on the feeblest.

Then they slit the slot, and seized the first stomach,

shaved it with sharp knives, and knotted the sheared.

Then lopped off the four limbs and rent off the hide,

next broke they the belly, the bowels out-taking,

deftly, lest they undid and destroyed the knot.

They gripped the gullet, and swiftly severed

the weasand from the windpipe and whipped out the guts.

Then sheared out the shoulders with their sharp knives,

hauled them through a little hole, left the sides whole.

Then they slit up the breast and broke it in twain.

And again at the gullet one then began

rending all readily right to the fork,

voiding the entrails, and verily thereafter

all the membranes by the ribs readily loosened.

So too they cleared to the backbone, rightly,

even down to the haunch that hangs from the same,

and heaved it all up whole and hewed it off there.

and that they properly call the numbles, I deem,

                    by kind.

          At the fork then of the thighs

          they loose the lappets behind;

          to hew it in two they hie,

          by the backbone it to unbind.

                              54

Both the head and the neck they hewed off then,

and after sundered the sides swift from the chine,

and the ravens’ fee they cast into a grove.

Then they skewered each thick flank by the ribs,

and hung each up by the hocks of the haunches,

every fellow taking his fee as it fell to him.

On a skin of the fair beast fed they their hounds

with the liver and lights, and the stomach lining,

and bread bathed in blood blent there among.

Boldly they blew the kill their hounds a-baying;

then rode home with the flesh tightly packed,

stalwartly sounding out many stout notes.

As the daylight was done, the company came

to the comely castle, where our knight bides

                    all still,

          in bliss by bright fire set.

          The lord is come from the hill;

          when Gawain with him is met,

          there they but joy as they will.

                              55

Then the lord commanded all be summoned to the hall,

both the ladies, aloft, to descend with their maids.

Before all the folk on the floor, he bid men

verily his venison to bring there before him;

and all gaily in courtesy Gawain he called,

and tells over the tally of full fat beasts,

shows him the fine flesh shorn from the ribs.

‘How does this sport please you? Have I won praise?

Have I won thanks, thoroughly served by my craft?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ quoth the other, ‘here spoils are fairest

of all I have seen this seven-year in season of winter.’

‘And I give all this to you, Gawain,’ quoth the man then,

‘for according to covenant you may call it your own.’

‘That is so,’ quoth the knight, ‘I say you the same:

what I have worthily won this house within,

shall with as good a will be worthily yours.’

And he clasps his fair neck his arms within,

and kisses him in as comely a way as he can:

‘Take you there my prize, I received no more;

I would grant it all, though it were greater.’

‘That is good,’ quoth the lord, ‘many thanks therefore.

This may be the better gift, if you would tell me

where you won this same prize by your own wits.’

‘That was not pledged,’ quoth he, ‘ask me no more;

for you have taken what’s due, none other to you

I owe.’

          They laughed and made blithe

          with words worth praise, and so

          to supper then side by side,

          with dainties in plenty go.

                              56

And then by the chimney in chamber sitting,

servants brought to them choice wines oft,

and in their banter they agreed in that morn

to fulfil the same bond they had made before:

what chance might betide, their prize to exchange,

each new thing they named, at night when they met.

They made accord of this covenant before all the court;

and beverage was brought forth in banter at this time.

Then they lovingly took their leave at the last,

each man at his leaving going brisk to his bed.

When the cock had crowed and cackled but thrice,

the lord leapt from his bed, the liegemen each one,

so that meat and a Mass were swiftly delivered,

the company off to the wood, ere daylight sprang,

                    to the chase.

          Proudly with huntsmen and horns

          through wilds they passed apace,

          uncoupled among the thorns,

          the hounds ran headlong race.

                              57

Soon they called for a search by the marsh-side,

the huntsman urged on the first hounds up,

wild cries he uttered with wondrous noise.

The hounds that heard him hastened there swiftly,

and fell as fast to the trail, forty at once.

Then such a baying and clamour of gathered hounds

rose that the rocks rang out all about.

Huntsmen harried them with horn and by mouth;

then all in a pack they swung together

between a pool in that place and a cruel crag.

On a knoll by a cliff, at the marsh side,

where the rough rock had ruggedly fallen,

they sped to the finding, the huntsmen after.

They surrounded the crag and the knoll both,

while they made sure they had well within

the beast that was bayed at, there, by their bloodhounds.

Then they beat at the bushes and bade him rise up,

and he savagely swung athwart the huntsmen –

a most splendid boar it was, rushed out there,

solitary through age, long split from the herd,

but he was still mighty, the greatest of boars,

full grim when he grunted. Then grieved many

for three hounds at first thrust he felled to the earth,

and sped him forth at great speed all unscathed.

The hunt hallooed ‘Hi!’ full loud, and cried ‘Hey! Hey!

and horns to mouths, hastily recalled them.

Many were the merry cries of men and of hounds

that brisk chased the boar, with barking and clamour,

                    to quell,

          Full oft he bides at bay

          and downs the dogs pell-mell;

          he harries the hounds, and they

          full piteously yowl and yell.

                              58

Shaping to shoot him some shoved through then,

hurling their arrows at him, hitting him often;

but their points were parried by bristling flanks,

and their barbs would not bite there in his brow,

though the smooth shaft were shattered in pieces,

the head skipped away wherever it hit.

but when by dint of dire strokes they damaged him,

then, maddened by baiting, he rushes the men,

hurts them full heavily as forth he hies,

and many were awed at that and drew backwards.

But the lord on a lithe horse lunges after him,

as knight bold in the battle his bugle he blows,

rallied the hounds as he rode through rank thicket,

pursuing this wild swine till the sun had set.

The day with these same deeds they passed in this wise,

while our courteous knight lay in his bed,

Gawain gladly at home, in gear full rich

                    of hue.

          The lady did not forget,

          to come to greet him too;

          full early she him beset

          to seek a change of mood.

                              59

She came to the curtain and peeped at the knight.

Sir Gawain welcomed her courteously first,

and she answered him again eager her words,

sits herself soft by his side, and sweetly she laughs,

and with a loving look she led with these words:

‘Sir, if you be Gawain, it’s a wonder methinks,

why one so well disposed always to good,

knows not how to manage his manners in company,

and if any teach you to know them, you cast them from mind.

You have swiftly forgot what but yesterday I taught

with all the truest tokens of talk that I could.’

‘What is that?’ quoth the knight, ‘Indeed I know not.

If it be truth that you breathe, the blame is mine own.’

‘Yet I taught you of kissing.’ quoth the fair dame,

‘where countenance is fair, quick make your claim;

that becomes every knight that courtesy uses.’

‘Unsay,’ quoth that brave man, ‘my dear, that speech,

for that I dare not do, lest I were denied;

if I were spurned, I’d be wrong, indeed, to have proffered.’

‘By my faith,’ quoth the lady, ‘you cannot be spurned;

you are strong enough to constrain by strength, if you like,

if any were so villainous as to deny you.’

‘Yes, by God,’ quoth Gawain, ‘true is your speech,

but threats do never thrive in the land where I live,

nor any gift that is given without a good will.

I am at your command, to kiss when you like;

you may lip when you will, and leave when you wish

                    in a space.’

          The lady bends her adown

          and sweetly she kisses his face;

          much speech they there expound

          of love, its grief and grace.

                              60

‘I would know of you, knight,’ that lady then said,

‘if you are not angered by this, what is the reason

that so young and lively a one as you at this time,

so courteous, so knightly, as widely you’re known

(and from all chivalry to choose, the chief things praised

are the laws of loyal love, and the lore of arms;

for in telling those tales of the truest of knights,

all the title and text of their works is taken

from how lords hazard their lives for loyal love,

endured for that duty’s sake dreadful trials,

and after with valour avenged, and void their cares,

brought bliss to the bower by bounties their own)

and you, the knight, the noblest child of your age,

your high fame and honour told everywhere,

why I have sat by yourself here separately twice,

yet heard I never that your head held even a word

that ever belonged to love, the less nor the more.

And you, that are so courteous and coy of your vows,

ought, to a young thing, to yearn to show

and teach some tokens of true love’s craft

What! Are you ignorant, who garner all praise,

or else do you deem me too dull to heed your dalliance?

                    For shame!

          I come hither single and sit

          to learn of you some game;

          do teach me of your wit,

          while my lord is away.’

                              61

‘In good faith,’ quoth Gawain, ‘may God reward you!

Great is the gladness, and pleasure to me,

that so worthy as you should wind her way hither,

at pains with so poor a man as to sport with your knight

with any show of favour – it sets me at ease.

But to take on the travail myself of expounding true love,

and touch on the themes of the texts and tales of arms

to you who, I know well, wield more skill

in that art, by half, than a hundred of such

as I am or ever shall be, on this earth where I live –

that were a manifold folly, my dear, by my troth.

I would your wishes work if ever I might,

as I am highly beholden, and evermore will

be servant to yourself, so save me God!’

Thus that lady framed her questions and tempted him oft,

for to win him to woe, whatever else she thought of;

but he defended himself so fairly no fault it seemed,

no evil on either hand, nor did they know aught

                    but bliss.

          They laughed and larked full long;

          at the last she did him kiss,

          farewell was on her tongue,

          and went her way, with this.

                              62

Then bestirs him the knight and rises for Mass,

and then the dinner was done and duly served.

The knight with the ladies larked all day,

but the lord of the land gallops full oft,

hunts the ill-fated swine, that surges by banks

and bites the best of his hounds’ backs asunder

biding at bay, till bowmen bettered him,

made him head for the open, for all he could do,

so fast flew the arrows where those folk gathered.

But yet at times the bravest he made to start,

till at the last so weary he was he could not run,

but, with best haste he might, to a hole he wins

in the bank, by a rock where runs the burn.

He got the bank at his back, began to scrape,

the froth foamed from his mouth foul at the corners,

and he whet his white tusks. It was irksome then

to the all the beaters so bold that by him stood

to harass him from afar, but nigh him no man

                    dared go.

          He had hurt so many before

          that all were then full loath

          to be torn by his tusks once more,

          that was fierce and frenzied both.

                              63

Till the lord came himself, urged on his horse,

saw the boar bide at bay, his men beside.

He alights lively adown, leaves his courser,

brings out a bright blade and boldly strides forth,

fast through the ford, where the fell foe bides.

The wild beast was wary of one with a weapon in hand,

his bristles rose high, so fiercely he snorts

that folk feared for the lord, lest worst him befell.

The swine straight away set on the man,

that the baron and boar were both in a heap,

in the white water. The worst had the creature,

For the man marked him well, as they first met,

set the sharp point firm in its chest-hollow,

hit him up to the hilt, so the heart burst asunder,

and he yielded him snarling, downstream was swept

outright.

          A hundred hounds him rent,

          that bravely could him bite;

          beaters brought him to bank

          and the dogs to death, in fight.

                              64

There was blowing the kill on many brave horns,

hallooing on high as loud as men might;

Hounds bayed at the beast, as bid by their masters,

who of that hard chase were the chief huntsmen.

Then a man who was wisest in woodcraft

with loving care to undo the beast begins:

first he hews off his head and sets it on high,

then rends him roughly along the ridge of his back,

brings out the bowels, and broils them on coals,

with bread blent therewith his hounds rewards.

Then he breaks out the brawn in broad bright slabs,

and has out the entrails, as is seemly and right;

attaches the two halves wholly together,

and then on a strong stake stoutly them hangs.

Now with this same swine they set off for home;

the boar’s head was borne before the baron himself,

who felled him down by the ford through force of his hand

                    so strong.

          Till he saw Sir Gawain

          in the hall it seemed full long;

          he calls, and he comes again

          for the dues that to him belong.

                              65

The lord, full loud he cried, laughed merrily

when he saw Sir Gawain; and with joy he speaks.

The good ladies were summoned, the household gathered;

he shows him the boar’s sides, and shapes him the tale

of the largeness and length, the malignity also,

of the war on the wild swine in woods where he fled.

So the other knight full nobly commended his deeds,

and praised it, the great merit that he had proved;

for such brawn from a beast, the brave knight said,

nor such flanks on a swine he’d not seen before.

Then they handled the huge head, the knight gave praise,

and showed horror at it, for the lord to hear.

‘Now Gawain,’ quoth the good man, ‘this game is your own,

by a firm and fast promise, as in faith you know.’

‘That is true,’ quoth the knight, ‘and as surely true

is that all I got I shall give you again, by my troth.’

He clasped the lord at the neck and gently kissed him,

and after that of the same he again served him there.

‘Now are we even quit,’ quoth the knight, ‘this eventide,

of all the covenants made here, since I came hither,

                    by law.’

          The lord said: ‘By Saint Giles,

          you are the best that I know;

          you’ll be rich in a while,

          if your trade continues so.’

                              66

Then they set up tables on trestles aloft,

casting cloths on them. Clear light then

wakened the walls, waxen torches

servants set, and served food all about.

Much gladness and glee gushed out therein

round the fire on the floor, and in fulsome wise

at the supper and after, many noble songs,

such as Christmas carols and dances new,

with all manner of mirth that man may tell of,

and ever our courteous knight the lady beside.

Such sweetness to that man she showed all seemly,

with secret stolen glances, that stalwart knight to please,

that all wondering was the man, and wrath with himself;

but he could not out of breeding spurn her advances,

but dealt with her daintily, howsoever the deed might

                    be cast.

          When they had dallied in hall

          as long as their will might last,

          to chamber the lord him called,

          and to the hearth they passed.

                              67

And there they drank and debated and decided anew

to act on the same terms on New Year’s Eve;

but the knight craved leave to go forth on the morn,

for it was nearing the time when he must go.

The lord persuaded him not to, pressed him to linger,

and said: ‘As I am true, I pledge you my troth

you shall gain the Green Chapel, and render your dues,

sir, by New Year’s light, long before prime.

And so go lie in your room and take your ease,

and I shall hunt in the holt and hold to the covenant,

exchanging what has chanced, when I spur hither;

for I have tested you twice, and faithful I find you.

Now:  “third time pays all,” think on that tomorrow;

Make we merry while we may, and mind only joy,

for a man may find sorrow whenever he likes.’

This was graciously granted and Gawain lingered;

Blithely they brought him drink, and bed-wards they went

                    with light.

          Sir Gawain lies down and sleeps

          full still and soft all night;

          the lord who to woodcraft keeps,

          rises early and bright.

                              68

After Mass a morsel he and his men took;

merry was the morning, his mount he summoned.

All the men that a-horse were followed him after,

ready set on their steeds before the hall gates.

Fairest of fair was the field, for the frost clung.

In red ruddiness on wrack rises the sun,

and, full clear, casts the clouds from the welkin.

Huntsmen unleashed the hounds by a holt side;

rocks in woods rang out with the cry of the horns.

some hounds fell to the track where the fox lurked,

oft traversing the trail by dint of their wiles.

A little one cried scent, the huntsman to him called;

his fellows fell to, panting full thick,

running forth in a rabble on the right track.

And fox frisked before them; they found him soon,

and when they had him in sight pursued him fast,

marking him clearly with wrathful noise;

and he twists and turns through many a tangled grove,

doubles back and hearkens by hedges full often.

At the last by a little ditch he leaps over a thicket,

steals out full silent by the side of a valley,

thinks to slip from the wood by guile, from the hounds.

Then he came, ere he knew it, to a fine hunt-station,

where three hounds in a cleft threaten him together,

                    all grey.

          There he started aside

          and boldly he did stray;

          with all the woe in life,

          to the wood he went away.

                              69

Then was it lively delight to list to the hounds,

when all the meet had met him, mingled together.

Such curses at that sight rained down on his head

as if all the clinging cliffs clattered down in a heap.

Here was he hallooed when huntsmen met him,

loud was he greeted with snarling speech;

there he was threatened and called thief often,

and ever the hounds at his tail, that he might not tarry.

Oft he was rushed at when he made for the open,

and often swerved back again, so wily was Reynard.

and so he led them astray, the lord and his liegemen,

in this manner by mountains till after mid-morning,

while the honoured knight at home happily slept

within the comely curtains, on that cold morn.

But the lady for love could get no sleep,

nor could the purpose impair pitched in her heart,

but rose up swiftly, and took herself thither

in a merry mantle, that reached the earth,

that was furred full fine with purest pelts;

without coif on her head, but the noblest gems

traced about her hair-net by twenties in clusters;

her fair face and her throat shown all naked,

her breast bare before, and her back the same.

She came in by the chamber door and closed it after,

threw open a window and to the knight called,

and roundly thus rebuked him with her rich words

                    with cheer:

          ‘Ah! Man, how can you sleep?

          This morning is so clear.’

          He was in slumber deep,

          and yet he could her hear.

                              70

In heavy depths of dreaming murmured that noble,

as one that was troubled with thronging thoughts,

of how destiny would that day deal him his fate

at the Green Chapel, where he must meet his man,

bound there to bear his buffet without more debate.

But when he had fully recovered his wits,

he started from dreaming and answered in haste.

The lovely lady with laughter so sweet,

bent over his fair face and fully him kissed.

He welcomed her worthily with noble cheer;

he saw her so glorious and gaily attired,

so faultless of feature and of such fine hue,

bright welling joy warmed all his heart.

With sweet smiling softly they slip into mirth,

that to all bliss and beauty, that breaks between them,

                    they win.

          They spoke in words full good,

          much pleasure was therein;

          in great peril would have stood,

          kept not Mary her knight from sin.

                              71

For that peerless princess pressed him so closely,

urged him so near the edge, he felt it behoved him

either to bow to her love, or with loathing refuse her.

He cared for his courtesy, lest he were churlish,

and more for the mischief if he should work sin

and be traitor to that lord who held the dwelling.

‘God shield us!’ quoth the knight, ‘that must not befall!’

With loving laughter a little he put aside

all the special pleading that sprang from her mouth.

Quoth beauty to the brave: ‘Blame you deserve,

if you love not that live lady that you lie next,

who above all of the world is wounded in heart,

unless you have a leman, a lover, that you like better,

and firm of faith to that fair one, fastened so hard

that you list not to loose it – and that I believe.

If that you tell me that truly, I pray you;

by all the lovers alive, hide not the truth

                    with guile.’

          The knight said: ‘By Saint John,’

          and gentle was his smile

          ‘In faith I love no one,

          nor none will love the while.’

                              72

‘These words,’ said the lady, ‘are the worst words of all;

but I am answered forsooth, so that it grieves me.

Kiss me now gently, and I shall go hence;

I may but mourn upon earth, a maid that loves much.’

Sighing she stooped down, and sweetly him kissed,

and then she severs from him, and says as she stands:

‘Now, dear, at this our parting set me at ease:

give me something, a gift, if only your glove,

that I may think of you, man, my mourning to lessen.’

‘Now indeed,’ quoth the knight, ‘I would I had here

the dearest thing, for your sake, I own in the world,

for you have deserved, forsooth, and in excess,

a richer reward, by rights, than I might reckon;

but as a love-token, this would profit you little.

It is not to your honour to have at this time

a glove of Gawain’s giving to treasure;

and I am here on an errand in lands unknown,

and have no servants with sacks of precious things.

I dislike this, my lady, for your sake, at this time;

but each man must do as he must, take it not ill

                    nor pine.’

           ‘Nay, knight of high honours,’

          quoth that love-some lady fine,

          ‘though I shall have naught of yours,

          yet shall you have of mine.’

                              73

She proffered him a rich ring of red gold work,

with a sparkling stone glittering aloft,

that blazed brilliant beams like the bright sun;

know you well that it’s worth was full huge.

But the knight refused it and he readily said:

‘I’ll no gifts, before God, my dear, at this time;

I have none to give you, nor naught will I take.’

She offered it him eagerly, yet he her gift spurned,

and swore swiftly his oath that he would not seize it;

and she grieved he refused her, and said thereafter:

‘Since you reject my ring, too rich it may seem,

for you would not be so high beholden to me,

I shall give you my girdle: that profits you less.’

She loosed a belt lightly that lay round her sides,

looped over her kirtle beneath her bright mantle.

Gear it was of green silk and with gold trimmed,

at the edges embroidered, with finger-stitching;

and that she offered the knight, and blithely besought

that he would take it though it were unworthy.

but he said he might have nigh him in no wise

neither gold nor treasure, ere God sent him grace,

to achieve the errand he had chosen there.

‘And therefore, I pray you, be not displeased,

and let your gift go, for I swear it I can never

you grant.

          To you I am deeply beholden,

          your kindness is so pleasant,

          and ever in heat and cold, then

          I’ll be your true servant.’

                              74

‘Now do you shun this silk,’ said the lady,

‘because it is simple in itself? And so it may seem.

Lo! It is slight indeed, and so is less worthy.

But whoso knew the worth woven therein

he would hold it in higher praise, perchance;

for whatever man is girt with this green lace,

while he has it closely fastened about him,

there is no man under heaven might hew him,

for he may not be slain by any sleight upon earth.’

Then the knight thought, and it came to his heart,

it was a jewel for the jeopardy judged upon him,

when he gained the Green Chapel, his fate to find;

if he might slip past un-slain, the sleight were noble.

Then he indulged her suit, and told her to speak.

And she pressed the belt on him urging it eagerly;

and he granted it, and she gave it him with goodwill,

and besought him, for her sake, never to reveal it,

but loyally conceal it from her lord. The knight agrees

that no one should know of it, indeed, but they two,

                    betimes.

          He thanked her as he might,

          with all his heart and mind.

          By then the gallant knight,

          she had kissed three times.

                              75

Then took she her leave and left him there,

for more of that man she might not get.

When she is gone, Sir Gawain attires himself,

rises and dresses himself in noble array,

lays aside the love-lace the lady gave him,

hides it full handily where he might find it.

Then swiftly to the chapel took he his way,

privately approached a priest, and there prayed him

that he would enlighten his life and teach him better

how his soul might be saved when he went hence.

Then he shrove himself fully, eschewed his misdeeds

the major and minor, and mercy beseeches,

and calls on the priest for absolution;

and he absolved him surely and left him so pure

that Doomsday yet might be declared on the morn.

And then he made himself merry among the fair ladies,

with comely carols and all manner of joy,

more than ever before that day, till the dark night,

                    in bliss.

          Each one had courtesy there

          of him, and said: ‘He is

          the merriest he was ever

          since he came hither, ere this.’

                              76

Now long in that leisure there let him abide!

Yet is the lord on his land, pursuing his sport.

He has done for the fox that he followed so long.

As he spurred through a spinney to spy the shrew,

there where he heard the hounds harry him on,

Reynard came rushing through the rough grove,

and all the rabble in a race, right at his heels.

The lord, aware of the wild thing, warily waits,

and brandishes his bright blade, drives at the beast.

And it shunned the sharp edge and sought to retreat;

but a hound rushed at him, before ere he might,

and right before the horse’s feet they fell on him all

and worried the wily one with a wrathful noise.

The lord swiftly alighted then and latched on,

raised him full suddenly out of the ravening mouths,

holds him high over his head, halloos full loud,

while there bayed at him many brave hounds.

Huntsmen hied them thither with horns full many,

sounding the rally aright till they saw their lord.

When his noble company had all come in,

all that ever bore bugle blew at once,

and all the others hallooed who had no horn.

It was the merriest meet that ever men heard,

the ripe roar raised there for Reynard’s soul from every

                    man’s throat.

          Their hounds they then reward,

          Their heads they fondle and stroke;

          and then they take Reynard

          and strip him of his coat.

                              77

And then they hurry for home, for it was nigh night,

striking up strongly on their stout horns.

The lord alights at last at his much-loved home,

finds fire upon hearth, the knight there beside,

Sir Gawain the good who glad was withal –

for among the ladies he was joyfully beloved.

He wore a gown of blue that reached to the ground.

His surcoat suited him well, all soft with fur,

and his hood of the same hung from his shoulder,

trimmed all with ermine were both all about.

He met with the lord in the midst of the floor,

and all with joy did him greet, and gladly he said:

‘I shall fulfil the first our contract now,

that we settled so speedily sparing no drink.’

Then he clasped the lord and kissed him thrice,

as strongly and steadily as he well could.

‘By Christ,’ quoth the other, ‘you’ve found much luck

in transacting this trade, if your profit was good.’

‘You need not care about profit,’ quick quoth the other,

‘as I’ve promptly paid over the profit I took.’

‘Marry,’ quoth the other, ‘my own falls behind,

for I have hunted all this day, and naught have I got

but this foul fox fell – the fiend take such goods! –

and that’s a poor price to pay for such precious things

as you so have given me here, three such kisses

                    so good.’

          ‘Enough,’ quoth Sir Gawain,

          ‘I thank you, by the Rood.’

          And how the fox was slain

          the lord told as they stood.

                              78

With mirth and minstrelsy, with meals at will,

they made as merry as any men might,

with laughter of ladies, and jesting with words.

Gawain and the good man so glad are they both:

must be, lest the diners are drunkards or dotards.

Both master and men played many jokes,

till the time it was come that they must sever;

his men at the last must go to their beds.

Then humbly his leave of the lord at first

takes the noble knight, and fairly him thanks:

‘For such a splendid sojourn as I have had here,

your honour at this high feast, the High King reward you!

I would give myself as one of your men, if you so like;

but I must needs, as you know, move on tomorrow,

if you’ll grant me a guide to show, as you promised,

the way to the Green Chapel, as God wills for me

to be dealt on New Year’s day the doom my fate brings.’

‘In good faith,’ quoth the good man, ‘by my goodwill

all that ever I promised you, I shall hold ready.’

Then he assigned him a servant to show him the way

and conduct him through the hills, so he’d not delay,

and faring through forest and thickset the shortest way

                    he’d weave.

          The lord Gawain did thank,

          such honour he did receive.

          Then of the ladies of rank

          the knight must take his leave.

                              79

With sad care and kissing he spoke to them still,

and full heartfelt thanks he pressed on them:

and they yielded him again replies the same,

commending him to Christ then with frozen sighs.

So from the company he courteously parts;

each man that he met, he gave him his thanks

for his service and for the solicitous care

that they had shown busied about him in serving;

and all were as sorry to sever from him there

as if they had dwelt nobly with that knight ever.

Then the lads with lights led him to his chamber,

and blithely brought him to bed to be at his rest.

If he did not sleep soundly, I dare say nothing,

for he had much on the morrow to mind, if he would,

                    in thought.

          Let him lie there quite still,

          he is near what he sought;

          and quiet you a while until

          I tell you of all that they wrought.

                         Part IV
 

                              80

Now nears the New Year and the night passes,

the day drives away dark, as the Deity bids.

But wild weather awoke in the world outside,

clouds cast cold keenly down to the earth,

with wind enough from the north, to flail the flesh.

The snow sleeted down sharp, and nipped the wild;

the whistling wind wailed from the heights

and drove each dale full of drifts full great.

The knight listened full well, as he lay in his bed.

Though he closes his lids, full little he sleeps;

with each cock that crew he well knew his tryst.

Deftly he dressed himself, ere the day sprang,

for there was a lighted lamp gleamed in his chamber.

He called to his servant who promptly replied,

and bade him bring coat of mail and saddle his mount;

the man rises up and fetches him his clothes,

and attires Sir Gawain in splendid style.

First he clad him in clothes to ward off the cold,

and then in his harness, that burnished was kept,

both his belly-armour and plate, polished full bright,

the rings of his rich mail-coat rubbed free of rust;

and all was as fresh as at first, and he to give thanks

                    was glad.

          He had put on each piece

          and in bright armour clad ;

          fairest from here to Greece,

          his steed to be brought he bade.

                              81

While he wound himself in the most splendid weeds –

his coat-armour with its badge of clear deeds,

set out upon velvet, with virtuous stones

embellished and bound about it, embroidered seams,

and fair lined within with fine furs –

yet he forgot not the lace, the lady’s gift;

that Gawain did not fail of, for his own good.

when he had bound the blade on his smooth haunches,

then he wound the love-token twice him about,

swiftly swathed it about his waist sweetly that knight.

The girdle of green silk that gallant well suited,

upon that royal red cloth that rich was to show.

But it was not for its richness he wore this girdle,

nor for pride in the pendants, though polished they were,

and though the glittering gold gleamed at the ends,

but to save himself when it behoved him to suffer,

to abide baneful stroke without battling with blade

                    or knife.

          With that the knight all sound,

          goes swift to risk his life;

          all the men of renown

          he thanks, prepares for strife.

                              82

Then was Gringolet readied, that was huge and great,

and had been stabled snugly and in secure wise;

he was eager to gallop, that proud horse then.

The knight went to him and gazed at his coat,

and said soberly to himself, and swore by the truth:

‘Here are many, in this motte, that of honour think.

The man who maintains it, joy may he have!

The fair lady through life may love her befall!

Thus if they for charity cherish a guest,

and hold honour in their hand, the Lord them reward

who upholds the heavens on high, and also you all!

And if I should live for any while upon earth,

I would grant you some reward readily, if I might.’

Then steps he into the stirrup and strides aloft.

His man showed him his shield; on shoulder he slung it,

gives spur to Gringolet with his gilded heels,

and he starts forth on the stones – pausing no longer

                    to prance.

          His servant to horse got then,

          who bore his spear and lance.

          ‘This castle to Christ I commend:

          May he grant it good chance!’

                              83

The drawbridge was let down, and the broad gates

unbarred and flung open upon both sides.

The knight blessed himself swiftly, and passed the boards;

praised the porter kneeling before the prince,

who gives him God and good-day, that Gawain He save;

and goes on his way with his one man,

who shall teach him the path to that perilous place

where the grievous blow he shall receive.

They brushed by banks where boughs were bare,

they climbed by cliffs where clung the cold.

the heavens were up high, but ugly there-under

mist moved on the moors, melted on mountains,

each hill had a hat, a mist-mantle huge.

Brooks boiled and broke their banks about,

sheer shattering on shores where they down-flowed.

Well wild was the way where they by woods rode,

till it was soon time that the sun in that season

                    does rise.

          They were on a hill full high,

          the white snow lay beside;

          the man that rode him by

          bade his master abide.

                              84

‘For I have brought you hither, sir, at this time,

and now you are not far from that noted place

that you have sought and spurred so specially after.

But I must say, forsooth, that since I know you,

and you are a lord full of life whom I well love,

if you would hark to my wit, you might do better.

The place that you pace to full perilous is held;

there lives a man in that waste, the worst upon earth,

for he is strong and stern and loves to strike,

and more man he is than any upon middle-earth,

and his body bigger than the best four

that are in Arthur’s house, Hector, or others.

He makes it so to chance at the Green Chapel,

that none passes by that place so proud in arms

that he but does him to death by dint of his hand;

for he is a mighty man, and shows no mercy,

for be it churl or chaplain that rides by the chapel,

monk or priest of the Mass, or any man else,

he is as quick to kill him, as to live himself.

Therefore I say, as true as you sit in the saddle,

come there, and you will be killed, if he has his way,

trust me truly in that, though you had twenty lives

                    to spend.

          He has lived here of yore,

          and battled to great extent.

          Against his blows full sore,

          you may not yourself defend.’

                              85

‘Therefore, good Sir Gawain, let him alone,

and go by some other way, for God’s own sake!

Course some other country where Christ might you speed.

And I shall hie me home again, and undertake

that I shall swear by God and all his good saints –

so help me God and the Holy things, and oaths enough –

that I shall loyally keep your secret, and loose no tale

that ever you fled from any man that I know of.’

‘Grant merci,’ quoth Gawain, and galled he said:

‘It is worthy of you, man, to wish for my good,

and loyally keep my secret I know that you would.

But, keep it ever so quiet, if I passed here,

and fled away in fear, in the form that you tell of,

I were a cowardly knight, I might not be excused.

For I will go to the chapel, whatever chance may befall,

and talk with that same fellow in whatever way I wish,

whether it’s weal or woe, as fate may to me

                    behave.

          Though he be a stern fellow

          to manage, armed with a stave,

          full well does the Lord know

          His servants how to save.’

                              86

‘Marry!’ quoth the other man, ‘now you spell it out

that you will take all your own trouble on yourself,

if you will lose your life, I’ll not you delay.

Have your helm here on your head, your spear in your hand,

and ride down this same track by yon rock side,

till you’re brought to the bottom of the wild valley,

then look a little on the level, to your left hand,

and you shall see in that vale that selfsame chapel

and the burly giant on guard that it keeps.

Now farewell, in God’s name, Gawain the noble!

For all the gold in the ground I’d not go with you,

nor bear fellowship through this forest one foot further.’

With that the man in the wood tugs at his bridle,

hits his horse with his heels as hard as he might,

leaps away over the land, and leaves the knight there

                    alone.

          ‘By God’s self,’ quoth Gawain,

          ‘I will neither weep nor groan;

          to God’s will I bend again

          and I am sworn as His own.’

                              87

So he gives spur to Gringolet and picks up the path,

pushing on through, by a bank, at the side of a wood,

rode down the rough slope right to the dale.

And then he gazed all about, and wild it seemed,

and saw no sign of shelter anywhere near,

but high banks and steep upon either side,

and rough rugged crags with gnarled stones;

so the sky seemed to be grazed by their barbs.

Then he halted and reined in his horse awhile,

and scanned all about this chapel to find.

He saw no such thing either side, and thought it quite strange,

save a little mound, as it were, off in a field,

a bald barrow by a bank beside the burn,

by a force of the flood that flowed down there;

the burn bubbled therein as if it were boiling.

The knight urges on his mount and comes to the mound,

alights there lightly, and ties to a lime-tree

the reins of his horse round a rough branch.

Then he goes to the barrow, and about it he walked,

debating with himself what it might be.

It had a hole at each end and on either side,

and was overgrown with grass in great knots;

and all was hollow within, naught but an old cave,

or a crevice of an old crag – he could not distinguish

                    it well.

          ‘Who knows, Lord,’ quoth the gentle knight

          ‘whether this be the Green Chapel?

          Here might about midnight

          the Devil his Matins tell!’

                              88

‘Now indeed,’ quoth Gawain, ‘desolation is here;

this oratory is ugly, with weeds overgrown;

well is it seemly for the man clad in green

to deal his devotion here in the devil’s wise.

Now I feel it’s the Fiend, in my five senses,

who set me this meeting to strike at me here.

This is a chapel of mischance – bad luck it betide!

It is the most cursed church that ever I came to.’

With high helm on his head, his lance in his hand,

he roamed up to the roof of that rough dwelling.

Then he heard from that high hill, from a hard rock

beyond the brook, on the bank, a wondrous brave noise.

What! It clanged through the cliff as if it would cleave it,

as if on a grindstone one ground a great scythe.

What! It whirred and whetted, as water in a mill.

What! It rushed and rang, revolting to hear.

Then ‘By God,’ quoth Gawain, ‘this here I believe

is arranged to reverence me, to greet rank

                    by rote.

          ‘Let God’s will work! “Alas” –

          will help me not a mote.

          My life though it be lost

          I dread no wondrous note.’

                              89

Then the knight called out loud on high;

‘Who stands in this stead, my tryst to uphold?

For now is good Gawain grounded right here.

If any man wills aught, wind hither fast,

either now or never his needs to further.’

‘Abide,’ quoth one on the bank above his head,

‘and you shall have all in haste I promised you once.’

Yet he then turned to his tumult swiftly a while,

and at whetting he worked, ere he would alight.

And then he thrust by a crag and came out by a hole,

whirling out of the rocks with a fell weapon,

a Danish axe new honed, for dealing the blow,

with a biting blade bow-bent to the haft,

ground on a grindstone, four feet broad –

no less, by that love-lace gleaming full bright.

And the giant in green was garbed as at first,

both the looks and the legs, the locks and the beard,

save that firm on his feet he finds his ground,

sets the haft to the stones and stalks beside it.

When he came to the water, he would not wade,

he hopped over on his axe and boldly he strides,

blazing with wrath, on a bit of field broad about

                    in snow.

          Sir Gawain the man did greet,

          he bowed to him, nothing low;

          the other said: ‘Now, Sir Sweet,

          men may trust your word, I owe.’

                              90

‘Gawain,’ quoth the green man, ‘God may you guard!

Indeed you are welcome, knight, to my place,

and you have timed your travel as true man should.

And you know the covenant pledged between us:

at this time twelvemonth gone you took what befell,

that I should at this New Year promptly requite.

And we are in this valley verily alone;

here are no ranks to sever us, serve as you will.

Heft your helm off your head, and have here your pay.

Ask no more debate than I did of you then

when you whipped off my head at a single blow.’

‘Nay, by God,’ quoth Gawain, ‘who lent me a soul,

I shall bear you no grudge for the grief that befalls.

Strike but the one stroke, and I shall stand still

and offer no hindrance, come work as you like,

                    I swear.’

          He leant down his neck, and bowed,

          and showed the white flesh all bare,

          as if he were no way cowed;

          for to shrink he would not dare.

                              91

Then the man in green readies him swiftly,

girds up his grim blade, to smite Gawain;

with all the strength in his body he bears it aloft,

manages it mightily as if he would mar him.

Had he driven it down as direly as he aimed,

one had been dead of the deed who was dauntless ever.

But Gawain glanced at the grim blade sideways,

as it came gliding down on him to destroy him,

and his shoulders shrank a little from the sharp edge.

The other man with a shrug the slice withholds,

and then reproves the prince with many proud words:

‘You are not Gawain,’ quoth the man, ‘held so great,

that was never afraid of the host by hill or by vale,

for now you flinch for fear ere you feel harm.

Such cowardice of that knight have I never heard.

I neither flinched nor fled, friend, when you let fly,

nor cast forth any quibble in King Arthur’s house.

My head flew off, at my feet, yet fled I never;

yet you, ere any harm haps, are fearful at heart.

And I ought to be branded the better man, I say,

                    therefore.’

          Quoth Gawain: ‘I flinched once,

          Yet so will I no more;

          Though if my head fall on the stones,

          I cannot it restore.’

                              92

‘Be brisk, man, by your faith, and bring me to the point.

Deal me my destiny and do it out of hand,

for I shall stand your stroke, and start no more

till your axe has hit me – have here my troth.’

‘Have at you, then,’ quoth the other, and heaves it aloft

and glares as angrily as if he were mad.

He menaces him mightily, but touches him not,

swiftly withholding his hand ere it might hurt.

Gawain gravely it bides and moves not a muscle,

but stands still as a stone or the stump of a tree

that is riven in rocky ground with roots a hundred.

Then merrily again he spoke, the man in green:

‘So now you have your heart whole, it me behoves.

Hold you safe now the knighthood Arthur gave you,

and keep your neck from this cut, if ever it may!’

Gawain full fiercely with anger then said:

‘Why, thrash on, you wild man, threaten no longer;

it seems your heart is warring with your own self.’

‘Forsooth,’ quoth the other, ‘so fiercely you speak,

I’ll not a moment longer delay your errand

                    I vow.’

          Then he takes up his stance to strike

          pouts lips and puckers his brow;

          Nothing there for him to like

          who hopes for no rescue now.

                              93

Up the weapon lifts lightly, is let down fair,

and the blade’s border beside the bare neck.

Though heaved heavily it hurt him not more,

but nicked him on the one side, and severed the skin.

The sharp edge sank in the flesh through the fair fat,

so that bright blood over his shoulders shot to the earth.

And when the knight saw his blood blotting the snow,

he spurted up, feet first, more than a spear-length,

seized swiftly his helm and on his head cast it,

shrugged with his shoulders his fine shield under,

broke out his bright sword, and bravely he spoke –

never since he was a babe born of his mother

had he ever in this world a heart half so blithe –

‘Back man, with your blade, and brandish no more!

I have received a stroke in this place without strife,

and if you offer another I’ll readily requite you

and yield it you swiftly again – of that be you sure –

                    as foe.

          But one stroke to me here falls;

          the covenant stated so,

          arranged in Arthur’s halls,

          so lay your weapon, now, low!’

                              94

The other then turned away and on his axe rested,

set the haft to the earth and leant on the head,

and looked at the lord who held to his ground,

how doughty, and dread-less, enduring he stands

armed, without awe; in his heart he him liked.

Then he spoke merrily in a mighty voice,

and with a ringing roar to the knight he said:

‘Bold man be not so fierce in this field.

No man here has mistreated you, been unmannerly,

nor behaved but by covenant at King’s court made.

I hit with a stroke, and you have it, and are well paid;

I release you from the rest of all other rights.

If I had been livelier, a buffet perchance

I could have worked more wilfully, to bring you anger.

First I menaced you merrily with a single feint,

and rent you with no riving cut, rightly offered

for the pledge that we made on the very first night;

for you truthfully kept troth and dealt with me true,

all the gain you gave me, as good men should.

The next blow for the morn, man, I proffered;

you kissed my fair wife, the kisses were mine.

For both these days I brought you but two bare feints,

                    without scathe.

          Truth for the truth restore,

          then man need dread no wraith.

          On the third you failed for sure,

          and so took that blow, in faith.’

                              95

‘For it is mine that you wear, that same woven girdle;

my own wife gave it you, I know it well forsooth.

Now, know I well your kisses and conduct too,

and the wooing of my wife; I wrought it myself.

I sent her to test you, and truly I think you

the most faultless man that was ever afoot.

As a pearl beside whitened pea is more precious,

so is Gawain, in good faith, beside other good knights.

But here sir you lacked a little, wanting in loyalty;

but that was for no wily work, nor wooing neither,

but for love of your life – so I blame you the less.’

The other strong man in study stood a great while,

so aggrieved that for grief he grimaced within.

All the blood of his breast burnt in his face,

that he shrank for shame at all the man said.

The first words the knight could frame on that field:

‘Curse upon cowardice and covetousness both!

In you are villainy and vice that virtue distress.’

Then he caught at the knot and pulled it loose,

and fair flung the belt at the man himself:

‘Lo! There’s the falseness, foul may it fall!

For fear of your knock cowardice me taught

to accord with covetousness, forsake my kind,

the largesse and loyalty that belongs to knights.

Now am I faulted and false, and ever a-feared;

from both treachery and untruth come sorrow

                    and care!

          I confess to you knight, here, still,

          my fault in this affair;

          let me understand your will,

          and henceforth I shall beware.’

                              96

Then laughed that other lord and lightly said:

‘I hold it happily made whole, the harm that I had;

You are confessed so clean, cleared of your faults,

and have done penance plain at the point of my blade,

I hold you absolved of that sin, as pure and as clean,

as though you were never at fault since first you were born.

And I give you, sir, the girdle that is gold-hemmed.

As it is green as my gown, Sir Gawain, you may

think upon this same trial when you throng forth

among princes of price, and this the pure token

of the test at the Green Chapel to chivalrous knights.

And you shall this New Year come back to my castle,

and we shall revel away the remnant of this rich feast

                    I mean’

          Thus urged him hard the lord,

          and said: ‘With my wife, I ween,

          we shall bring you in accord,

          who was your enemy keen.’

                              97

‘Nay, forsooth,’ quoth the knight, and seized his helm

doffed it deliberately, and dealt his thanks:

‘I have sojourned enough. May luck you betide,

and may He yield you reward that rewards all men!

And commend me to the courteous, your comely wife,

both the one and the other, my honoured ladies,

that thus their knight with a trick have cunningly beguiled.

But it is no wonder for a fool to run mad

and through wiles of woman be won to sorrow.

For so was Adam on earth with one beguiled,

and Solomon with many such, Samson too –

Delilah dealt him his doom – and David thereafter

was blinded by Bathsheba, and suffered much ill.

Since these were wounded with wiles, it were wise

to love them well and believe them not, if a lord could.

For these were the finest formerly, favoured by fate

excellently of all those under heaven’s rule

                    ill used;

          And all these were beguiled

          with women that they used.

          If I am now beguiled

          I think I should be excused.’

                              98

‘For your girdle,’ quoth Gawain, ‘God reward you!

That I will wear with good will, not for the white gold,

nor the stuff, the silk, nor the slender pendants,

its worth, nor richness, nor for the fine working;

but as a sign of my sin I shall see it often

when I ride in renown, remorseful, remembering

the fault and the frailty of perverse flesh,

how it tends to entice to the tarnish of sin.

And thus when pride shall stir me in prowess of arms,

one look at this love-lace shall lower my heart.

But one thing I would you pray, displease you never:

Since you are lord of yonder land where I lingered

Say you by your knighthood – may He reward you

that upholds the heavens and on high sits –

how you tell your true name, and then no more?’

‘That shall I tell you truly,’ quoth the other then,

‘Bertilak de Hautdesert I am in this land,

through might of Morgan la Faye, that dwells in my house,

and is mistress of magic, by crafts well learned

the mysteries of Merlin, many has she taken,

for she has dealt in depths full dearly sometime

with that excellent sage, and that know all your knights

                    at home.

          Morgan the Goddess

          therefore is now her name;

          none has such high haughtiness

          that she cannot make full tame.’

                              99

‘She sent me in this same wise to your wide hall

for to assay its pride, test if all that were truth

that runs on the great renown of the Round Table.

She worked all this wonder your wits to ravel,

to grieve Guinevere and to bring her to die

aghast at that same ghoul with his ghostly speech

with his head in his hand before the high table.

That is she that is at home, the ancient lady;

she is even your aunt, Arthur’s half-sister,

daughter of Tintagel’s Duchess that dear Uther after

had Arthur upon, who now is your king.

Therefore, sir, I entreat you, come to your aunt,

make merry in my house. My men do love you,

and I wish you as well, man, by my faith,

as any man under God, for your great truth.’

Yet Gawain denied him, nay, he would in no way.

They clasped and kissed, commending each other

to the Prince of Paradise, parted in the cold where

                    they stood.

          Gawain on steed I ween

          to the King goes fast as he could,

          and the man in the emerald green

          whithersoever he would.

                              100

Wild ways in the world Gawain now rides,

on Gringolet, he whom grace had gifted with life.

Often he harboured in houses, and often outside,

had adventures much in the vales, often vanquisher,

that I do not at this time intend to recall.

The hurt was all whole that he had in his neck,

and the bright belt he bore all thereabout,

obliquely, as a baldric, bound at his side,

tied under his left arm, the lace, with a knot,

as token he was tainted with guilt of his fault.

And so he comes to the court, all safe and sound.

Delight dawned in that dwelling when the great knew

that good Gawain was come; and thought it gain.

The King kisses the knight, and the queen also,

and then many staunch knights sought to salute him,

to know how he had fared; and faithfully he tells

confessing all the cost of the cares he had suffered –

what chanced at the chapel, the cast of its lord,

the love of the lady, the lace at the last.

The nick in the neck he naked them showed,

that he had for his lie, from the lord’s hands,

                    in blame.

          He was pained he must tell,

          he groaned for grief at the same;

          blood ran to his face pell-mell,

          when he showed the mark, for shame.

                              101

‘Lo, Lord!’ quoth the knight, and handled the lace,

‘This is the belt of blame I bear at my neck,

this is the hurt and the harm that I have learned

through the cowardice and covetousness I caught there.

This is the token of the untruth I am taken in,

and I must needs it wear while I may last.

For none may hide harm done, and go unscathed,

for where it is once attached depart will it never.’

The King comforts the knight, and all the court also,

laughing loudly thereat, and lovingly agreeing,

those lords and ladies that belonged to the Table,

that each born to the brotherhood, a baldric should have,

a belt, oblique him about, of a bright green,

and that for the sake of the knight, the same hue.

For it was accorded to the renown of the Round Table,

and he that had it was honoured, evermore after,

as is borne out by the best book of romance.

Thus in Arthur’s day this adventure was tried,

the books of Brutus thereof bear witness.

Since Brutus, the bold baron, first bent hither,

after the siege and assault had ceased at Troy,

                    there is,

          many an adventure born

          befallen such, ere this.

          Now who bears the crown of thorn,

          May He bring us to his bliss! AMEN.

Translated by A. S. Kline © 2007 All Rights Reserved