Then said the other pagan, Cymochles: “Old man, you dote. And, indeed, what know you of knighthood and valour? All is not gold that glitters; nor are all good knights that know how to set spear in rest and use the sword. Let a man be judged by his end. There he lies dead on the field, and the dead are nothing worth.”
Pyrochles spoke again: “Ay, he is dead and I must forego the vengeance that I vowed to have upon him. Nevertheless, what I can that will I have. I will despoil him of his arms. Why should a dead body be arrayed in so noble a fashion?”
“Nay, Sir Knight,” cried the pilgrim, “I pray you not to do so foul a deed. ’Tis a vile thing to rob the dead. Surely it would better befit a noble knight to leave these things to be the ornament of his tomb.”
“What tomb?” cried Pyrochles, in his rage; “the raven and the kite are tomb enough for such as he.”
Thus speaking, he laid a rude hand upon Sir Guyon’s shield, and Cymochles began to unlace his helmet. But while they were so busied, they chanced to spy a knight of gallant mien and bravely accoutred, riding towards them, with a squire behind him, who carried a spear of ebony and a covered shield. And Archimage, so cunning was he, knew him from afar, and he cried to the two brothers: “Rise, prepare yourselves for battle. Here comes the sturdiest knight in all the world, Prince Arthur. Many a pagan has he laid low in battle. You must use all your skill to hold your own against him.”
So the two made themselves ready for battle. And now the strange knight rode up, and with all courtesy made his salute to the company, to which greeting the two brothers made but a churlish return. He said to the pilgrim: “Tell me, reverend sir, what misfortune has befallen this knight. Did he die in course of nature, or by treason, or in fair fight?”
Said the pilgrim: “He is not dead, but in a swoon that has the likeness of death.”
Then Prince Arthur, turning to the two brothers, said with all courtesy: “Valiant sirs, who, I doubt not, have just complaint against this knight, who lies here dead, or seeming dead upon the ground, will you not abate your wrath awhile? I would not challenge your right, but would rather entreat your pardon for this helpless body.”
“But who are you?” said Cymochles, “that make yourself his daysman? Who are you that would hinder me from wreaking on his vile carcase the vengeance which I should have required had he lived? The man is dead, but his offence still lives.”
“It is but true,” said the Prince, “that evil lives after death, and that the curse goes down even to the third and fourth generation, so stern is the judgment of God. But yet the knight who raises his hand against the dead, sins against his honour.”