'Nay, dear wife,' said Geraint, 'I would not have thee slain. Revenge my death if they slay me.'
So, with many lingering kisses, he set her down upon the road, and saw her hide in the thickets.
By now the gloom of evening had settled upon them, and the sound of trampling horses had rapidly approached. And painfully, by reason of his stiff wounds, Geraint dressed his armour as best he could, and laid spear in rest, and drew his shield before him, and so waited in the dark road.
He heard a single knight riding before the others, and soon saw his figure issue from the gloom with couched lance. And Sir Geraint made him ready also, resolved to sell his life dearly at the last.
But as they began to spur their horses, there came the voice of Enid from the hedgerow beside them. And she cried out piteously in the dark:
'O chieftain, whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?'
The stranger stopped his horse, and called out:
'O Heaven, is it my lord, Sir Geraint?'
'Yes, in truth,' said Enid, 'and who art thou?'
'I am the little king!' said the other, and rode swiftly towards Sir Geraint. Then he leaped from his horse and came to the stirrup of his chief.