There they climbed up on a little knoll and stood listening for the hounds, but instead of the barking of the king's dogs they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs trampling behind them. It was Prince Geraint's charger as he flashed over the shallow ford of the river, then galloped up the banks of the knoll to her side. He carried not a single weapon except his golden-hilted sword and wore, not his hunting-dress, but gay holiday silks with a purple scarf about him swinging an apple of gold at either end and glancing like a dragon-fly. He bowed low to the sweet, stately queen.
"You're late, very late, Sir Prince," said she, "later even than we."
"Yes, noble queen," replied Geraint, "I'm so late that I'm not going to the hunt; I've come like you just to watch it."
"Then stay with me," the queen said, "for here on this little knoll, if anywhere, you will have a good chance to see the hounds, often they dash by at its very feet."
So Geraint stood by the queen, thinking he would catch particularly the baying of Cavall, Arthur's loudest dog, which would tell him that the hunters were coming. As they waited however, along the base of the knoll, came a knight, a lady and a dwarf riding slowly by on their horses. The knight wore his visor up showing his imperious and very haughty young face. The dwarf lagged behind.
"That knight doesn't belong to the Round Table, does he?" asked the queen. "I don't know him."
"No, nor I," replied Geraint.
So the queen sent her maid over to the dwarf to find out the name of his master. But the dwarf was old and crotchety and would not tell her.
"Then I'll ask your master himself," cried the maid.