Then he cast down his club and seizes the king—on the top of the crag he caught him in his arms and enfolds him securely to crush his ribs: so tightly holds he him that his heart is near to bursting. Then the doleful damsels fall down on the earth, kneeling and crying and wringing their hands, "Christ deliver yonder knight and keep him from grief, and never let that fiend take his life."
Yet the warlock is so mighty that he crushes him under; fiercely they wrung and wrestled together, they weltered and wallowed on those rushes, they tumble
and turn about and tear their clothes—roughly from the top they tumble down together, Arthur sometimes on top and sometimes beneath—from the crest of the hill right down to the hard rock—they cease not until they reach the brink of the sea. But Arthur with his dagger smites the giant until it sinks right up to the hilt in him. The thief in his death-struggle grasped him so fiercely that three ribs in the king's side were thrust asunder.
Then Sir Cayous the Keen, moved in sorrow for the king, said, "Alas, we are undone, my lord is overthrown—fallen down with a fiend—it is all over! We must be forfeit and banished for ever." They lift up his hauberk and feel beneath—his stern and his haunches, too, right up to his shoulders, his flanks and his loins and his fair sides, both his back and his breast and his bright arms. They were glad when they found no flesh wounds, and for that they were joyed, these gentle knights.
"Now certes," says Sir Bedivere, "it seemeth by my Lord! He seeketh saints but seldom, wherefore he grips the tighter that thus seizes this saint's body out of these high cliffs, to carry forth such a man to clothe him in silver. By Michael, of such a fellow I have great wonder than ever our Sovereign Lord should suffer him in Heaven: if all saints be such who serve our Lord, I shall no saint be ever, by my father's soul!"
Then laughs the bold king at Bedivere's words—"This saint have I sought, so help me our Lord!
Wherefore draw out thy sword and pierce him to the heart; make certain of this fellow, he hath angered me sorely. I have not fought with such a wight these fifteen winters, but in the mountains in Wales I met such another. He was the strongest by far that I ever met, and had not my fortune been favourable, dead would I be now."
The other whom the king had in mind was Ryence (or Riton) a Welsh giant who in his day made war on divers kings. Of these some were slain in battle, and others remained captive in his hand. Alive or dead, Ryence used them despitefully; for it was his wont to shave the beards of these kings, and purfle therewith a cloak of furs that he wore, very rich. Vainglorious beyond measure was Ryence of his embroidered cloak. Now by reason of folly and lightness, Ryence sent messages to Arthur, bidding him shave his beard, and send it forthwith to the giant, in all good will. Since Arthur was a mightier lord and a more virtuous prince than his fellows, Ryence made covenant to prefer his beard before theirs, and hold it in honour as the most silken fringe of his mantle. Should Arthur refuse to grant Ryence the trophy, then nought was there to do, but that body to body they must fight out their quarrel, in single combat, alone. He who might slay his adversary, or force him to own himself vanquished, should have the beard for his guerdon, together with the mantle of furs, fringes and garniture and all. An
old ballad describes the scene at Camelot when this impudent message arrived: