Quoth Sir Gawain: "Then were I but afoot Sir Knight! Natheless I counsel ye, an ye be wise, that ye spare the maiden. Ye will find me not so craven this day as to let ye harm her; I shall defend her and avenge her wrong if my life be risked upon it. But, Sir Knight, hearken to my prayer, for God and for your honour, and the sake of knighthood!"
But that evil knight answered and said he would in no wise do this: "An ye get not hence, and fly, by heaven it shall be your doomsday! I have no need of your sermons."
Quoth Sir Gawain: "An ye be so bold, lay but your hand again upon her, and I shall take so stern a pledge as, wist ye, shall dismay your heart, an it cost me my life. Let the maiden go in peace, or be on your guard against my spear, for I defy ye!"
The other was high and scornful that Sir Gawain so threatened him. He thought to quell his pride, and rode against him straightway, and Sir Gawain, on his side, did even the same. They came together so keenly that both spears brake, and the crash might be heard afar; they came together so swiftly that the knight was thrust from his saddle, and fell to the ground, and he fell so heavily that he felt the smart in every limb, and lay in anguish from the fall—so stayed he prone upon the ground.
Sir Gawain took the horse whereon the knight had ridden. He forgat not his courtesy, but gave it into the hand of the maiden, and drew forth his good sword. Therewith was the knight come to himself, and had taken his sword, and stood up as best he might. Evil was his thought, and he cried: "Vassal, how were ye so bold as to do me this hurt and this shame? My father is lord of this land, and after him shall it be mine. Think not to escape, 'tis folly that which ye do. Even to day shall ye be repaid by those who follow me, and chastised in such wise as ye would not have for all the riches King Arthur holds or ne'er may hold! My men will be here anon and ye shall not escape, for in this land hath no man power or might to withstand me."
Sir Gawain spake: "That may I well believe, and therefore are ye so cruel and so outrageous. That one who is noble of birth, and rich withal, should be false of heart, by my troth, 'tis great pity and bringeth many to shame. Now ye are not yet at such a pass but that I may teach ye moderation ere ye part from me. Methinks that to-day ye shall rue the evil ye have done. I counsel ye, an ye be wise, that ye make known to me wherein this lady hath wronged ye. Hath she indeed deserved that ye be thus cruel, then 'tis a matter 'twixt ye twain, I meddle no further. But hath the maiden not deserved this, then hold your hand, and make peace with me, otherwise is your life forfeit were ye never so highly born. I take the maiden with me when I ride hence." The knight would not hearken, and the maiden spake: "Noble knight I will tell ye wherefore he doeth me this wrong. He would have me for his love, why should I deny the truth? 'Tis many a day since he first spake to me, but I would not hearken to him, other sorrows vexed me; poverty grieveth me sore; thereto have I griefs that I may not lightly tell. My father was a knight, and a good man, and of high birth in this land. Dear Sir Knight, I will tell thee openly, though it be shame. My father hath lain sick, seven year long, and hath lost his goods, and now lieth in sore straits; he may neither ride nor walk nor stand upon his feet, he suffereth much. Now have I nursed and tended and otherwise served my father—friends hath he few save myself, and I had fain stayed by him and kept him all my life, doing for him all that within me lay. To-day came this knight within our hold, which is sore broken down and ruined, and hath done me sore wrong. He took me thence by force, ere I was well aware, nor stayed his hand for God or man. Thus did he carry me away, and now he doeth me this shame. He hath left his folk behind that they may hinder my friends, lest they follow him to his hurt. I fear lest they be here anon. And should they find ye here ye may scarce escape. Would ye save your life, then, Sir Knight, make a swift end of this combat. I fear it dureth over long an ye will aid me, by our Lord's grace. So bethink ye, Sir Knight, what ye may do."
Quoth Sir Gawain: "An ye be wise, Sir Knight, ye will now speak; here will I tarry no longer. Will ye right this maiden of the wrong ye have done her, or fight with me? The one or the other must ye do. An ye will, I will alight and meet ye afoot, or ye may mount your steed again, by covenant that ye flee not, nor escape, but abide your fortune."
The knight made answer: "Now do ye hold me over feeble, an ye think I shall thus yield. Ye will do well to dismount straightway, an ye have lust to fight." He covered himself with his shield, and drew forth his sword from the scabbard. Sir Gawain dismounted, whether he liked it well or ill, and let his horse that men call the Gringalet, stand beside him; never a foot would that steed stir till its lord came, and once more laid hand on it. Forthwith they betook them to fight, and dealt each other fierce thrusts, with mighty and strong strokes, so that one saw their blood stream out through the mails of their hauberk, and the sparks sprang out when the helmets were smitten till they seemed to glow even as doth hot iron when it be thrust into the furnace, and waxeth red from the fire; so fierce were the blows which each dealt to the other. That which most sorely vexed Sir Gawain was that his sword scarce seemed worth a groat, the knight's armour was so good that Sir Gawain's weapon was stayed upon it. Though one saw the blood well through, yet had the hauberk never a score. This Sir Gawain deemed a great marvel. He fetched a mighty blow upward and smote the knight above the hauberk, in the neck, to the very middle of the throat. Therewith was the matter ended for him; his head fell forward upon his breast, and he fell dead beneath the blow.
His friends and kinsmen had beheld from afar and came therewith, sore distressed and very wrath when they saw their lord thus lying dead upon the field. Sir Gawain, the good and the valiant, was once more mounted upon Gringalet. There might he fear no foe; the steed was so strong and so great, and even as his lord had need would the horse watch and follow every sign that he might give.
Those who had come thither, and had, as it were, found Sir Gawain in the very act of slaying, were of one mind that they should beset him, behind and afore, on horse and afoot, and if it might be take his life. And Sir Gawain who saw that he was sore bestead, commended himself to the grace of God with a good heart and received his foes with drawn sword. With each blow that he smote he wounded one, or two, and wrought them much harm. None might withstand him, and he that wrought the most valiantly he abode there dead, or went hence so sorely wounded that he might never more find healing. Thus Gawain, the Father of Adventure, so daunted them with the blows that he smote that many drew aside and turned from the strife with deep wounds and wide. 'Twas a good cause for which Sir Gawain fought, and for which he desired vengeance, and for that did it fall to his profit. He brought many of them in sore stress, some of life, some of limb. With that there came riding a company of the maiden's folk, who were fain to avenge her shame. So soon as she beheld them, and they drew nigh, was she glad and blithe and drew aside from the strife where Sir Gawain did right manfully. The maiden turned to her own folk, and betook her with that company again to her father. They were right joyful that she was once more in their power, and they left Sir Gawain on the field where he was sore bestead—they durst not take part with him against their overlord, so greatly did they fear his kin.