“And there that day, so soon to shine,
This knight, your felon foe and mine,
Shall show, full-flushed with bloodred wine,
The fierce false face whereon we pine
To wreak the wrong he hath wrought us, bare
As shame should see and brand it.” “Then,”
Said Balen, “shall he give again
His blood to heal your son, and men
Shall see death blind him there.”
“Forth will we fare to-morrow,” said
His host: and forth, as sunrise led,
They rode; and fifteen days were fled
Ere toward their goal their steeds had sped.
And there alighting might they find
For Balen’s host no place to rest,
Who came without a gentler guest
Beside him: and that household’s hest
Bade leave his sword behind.
“Nay,” Balen said, “that do I not:
My country’s custom stands, God wot,
That none whose lot is knighthood’s lot,
To ride where chance as fire is hot
With hope or promise given of fight,
Shall fail to keep, for knighthood’s part,
His weapon with him as his heart;
And as I came will I depart,
Or hold herein my right.”
Then gat he leave to wear his sword
Beside the strange king’s festal board
Where feasted many a knight and lord
In seemliness of fair accord:
And Balen asked of one beside,
“Is there not in this court, if fame
Keep faith, a knight that hath to name
Garlon?” and saying that word of shame,
He scanned that place of pride.
“Yonder he goeth against the light,
He with the face as swart as night,”
Quoth the other: “but he rides to fight
Hid round by charms from all men’s sight,
And many a noble knight he hath slain,
Being wrapt in darkness deep as hell
And silence dark as shame.” “Ah, well,”
Said Balen, “is that he? the spell
May be the sorcerer’s bane.”
Then Balen gazed upon him long,
And thought, “If here I wreak my wrong,
Alive I may not scape, so strong
The felon’s friends about him throng;
And if I leave him here alive,
This chance perchance may life not give
Again: much evil, if he live,
He needs must do, should fear forgive
When wrongs bid strike and strive.”
And Garlon, seeing how Balen’s eye
Dwelt on him as his heart waxed high
With joy in wrath to see him nigh,
Rose wolf-like with a wolfish cry
And crossed and smote him on the face,
Saying, “Knight, what wouldst thou with me? Eat,
For shame, and gaze not: eat thy meat
Do that thou art come for: stands thy seat
Next ours of royal race?”
“Well hast thou said: thy rede rings true;
That which I came for will I do,”
Quoth Balen: forth his fleet sword flew,
And clove the head of Garlon through
Clean to the shoulders. Then he cried
Loud to his lady, “Give me here
The truncheon of the shameful spear
Wherewith he slew your knight, when fear
Bade hate in darkness ride.”
And gladly, bright with grief made glad,
She gave the truncheon as he bade,
For still she bare it with her, sad
And strong in hopeless hope she had,
Through all dark days of thwarting fear,
To see if doom should fall aright
And as God’s fire-fraught thunder smite
That head, clothed round with hell-faced night,
Bare now before her here.
And Balen smote therewith the dead
Dark felon’s body through, and said
Aloud, “With even this truncheon, red
With baser blood than brave men bled
Whom in thy shameful hand it slew,
Thou hast slain a nobler knight, and now
It clings and cleaves thy body: thou
Shall cleave again no brave man’s brow,
Though hell would aid anew.”