'I fear not, my daughter, that they will take thy life,' she said, 'but I dread this—that they will destroy thy soul!'
And Angharad laughed and said:
'What matter, so it be that I live richly while I live!'
'Nay, nay,' said Perceval, and in his voice was a great scorn, 'it is evil to speak thus, and it belies your beauty, fair maiden. Rather a life of poverty than one of shamefulness and dishonour. Thus is it with all good knights and noble dames, and thus was it with our dear Lord.'
Then turning to the lady, he said:
'Lady, I think these evil witches will not hurt thee. For the little help that I may give to thee, I will stay this night with thee.'
After he had prayed at the altar in the ruined chapel of the castle, they led him to a bed in the hall, where he slept.
And just before the break of day there came a dreadful outcry, with groans and shrieks and terrible screams and moanings, as if all the evil that could be done was being done upon poor wretches out in the dark.
Perceval leapt from his couch, and with naught upon him but his vest and doublet, he went with his sword in hand to the gate, and there he saw two poor serving-men struggling with a hag dressed all in armour. Behind her came eight others. And their eyes, from between the bars of their helms, shone with a horrible red fire, and from each point of their armour sparks flashed, and the swords in their grisly hands gleamed with a blue flame, so fierce and so terrible that it scorched the eyes to look upon them.
But Perceval dashed upon the foremost witch, and with his sword beat her with so great a stroke that she fell to the ground, and the helm on her head was flattened to the likeness of a dish.