Lancelot rode upon the bridge, but before he had reached its middle there started out a foul-faced churl, who smote his horse a hard blow on the nose, and asked him surlily why he dared cross that bridge without license.
"Why should I not, if I wish?" asked the knight. "Who has the right to hinder?"
"I have," cried the churl. "You may choose what you will, but you shall not ride here," and he struck at him furiously with a great iron-shod club.
At this affront Lancelot angrily drew his sword, and with one stroke warded off the blow, and cut the churl's head in twain.
"So much for you, fool," he said.
But when he reached the end of the bridge he found there a village, whose people cried out to him, "You have done a sorry deed for yourself, for you have slain the chief porter of our castle."
Lancelot rode on, heedless of their cries, and forcing his great horse through the throng till he came to the castle walls. The gates of these stood open, and he rode in, where he saw a fair green court, and beyond it the stately walls and towers. At the windows were the faces of many people, who cried to him in dismay,—
"Fair knight, turn and fly. Death awaits you here."
"Fly! I have not learned how," answered Lancelot, as he sprang from his horse and tied him to a ring in the wall. "This court seems a fair place for knightly combat, and it fits better with my mood to fight than fly."
Hardly had he spoken when from the castle doors came two strong giants, armed all but their heads, and bearing as weapons great iron clubs. They set upon Lancelot together, the foremost making a stroke that would have slain him had it reached him. But the knight warded it off with his shield, and agilely returned the blow with his sword, with so vigorous a stroke that he cleft the giant's head in twain.