Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
JESSIE L. WESTON (1898)
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 drove smartly, and the whistling wind blew from the heights, and made great drifts in the valleys. The knight, lying in his bed, listened, for yet 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 armor 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 yet they were with fair gold that gleamed brightly on the ends, but to save himself from sword and knife, when it benefited 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 thinks on honor; 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 honor in their hands, may He who holds the heaven on high requite them, and also you all. And if I might live anywhere on earth, I would give you 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 said, "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 you here, and now you are not far from the place that you have sought so specially. But I will tell you truthfully, since I know you well, and you are such a knight as I well love, would you follow my counsel you would fare the better. The place where you go is accounted full perilous, for he who lives in that waste is the worst on earth, for he is strong and fierce, and loves 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 shows 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 you, as sooth as you sit in saddle, if you come there and that knight know it, you shall be slain, yet you had twenty lives; believe me that truly! He has dwelt here full long and seen many a combat; you may not defend you against his blows. Therefore, good Sir Gawain, let the man be, and get you away some other road; for God's sake seek you another land, and there may Christ speed you! And I will hurry me home again, and I promise you further that I will swear by God and the saints, or any other oath you please, that I will keep counsel faithfully, and never let any wit the tale that you fled for fear of any man."
"Gramercy," said Gawain, but ill-pleased. "Good fortune be his who wishes me good, and that you wouldst keep faith with me I will believe; but didst you keep it never so truly, an I passed here and fled for fear as you 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 yet he may be in fight, yet God knows well how to save His servants."
"Well," said the other, "now that you have said so much that you will take your own harm on yourself, and you be pleased to lose your life, I will neither let nor keep you. Have here your helm and the spear in your hand, and ride down this same road beside the rock till you come to the bottom of the valley, and there look a little to the left hand, and you shall see in that vale the chapel, and the grim man who keeps it. Now fare you well, noble Gawain; for all the gold on earth I would not go with you nor bear you 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.
Said 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," said Gawain, "can this be the Green Chapel? Here might the devil say his mattins at midnight! Now I know 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 has set me this tryst, to destroy me here! This is a chapel of mischance: ill-luck betide it, 'tis the cursedest church 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," said Gawain, "I believe 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 waits in this place to give me tryst? Now is Gawain come here: if any man will aught of him let him hasten here now or never."
"Stay," said one on the bank above his head, "and you shall speedily have that which I promised you." 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 goose 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 you to keep tryst. You art welcome, Gawain, to my place. You have timed your coming as befits a true man. You know the covenant set between us: at this time twelve months agone you didst take that which fell to you, and I at this New Year will readily requite you. We are in this valley, verily alone, here are no knights to sever us, do what we will. Have off your helm from your head, and have here your pay; make me no more talking than I did then when you didst strike off my head with one blow."
"Nay," said Gawain, "by God that gave me life, I shall make no moan whatever befall me, but make you ready for the blow and I shall stand still and say never a word to you, do as you wilt."
With that he bent his head and showed his neck all bare, and made as if he had no fear, for he would not be thought a-dread.
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