“Would to God,” cried the brave man, “that you were safe within my castle walls, my faithful little page! We are lost, my lad, but we must sell our lives as dearly as possible. Let us die like heroes. Do you get behind me, my page, and, if possible, I bid you flee.”
“My dear master,” replied the little page, “follow me. I will show you a way to escape. Follow me.”
The page put spurs to his horse and galloped along the river bank. Suddenly he turned the unwilling steed directly into the rushing stream.
“Rash boy, come back!” called the knight, dashing forward with the hope of overtaking the daring page. “Better die fighting bravely than perish miserably in the river. Come back, my page, come back!”
“Have no fear, my dear master, but follow me,” still cried the little page.
The sound of his voice rose so confidently above the noise of the wind and waves that the knight obeyed, hardly knowing what he was doing. A few minutes later the horses had found a firm footing in the river. Guided by the faithful little page, the knight safely forded the stream. He reached the farther shore just as his enemies came down to the water’s edge.
The angry robbers urged their steeds into the deep water, but no trace of ford could be found and they were forced to give up the pursuit.
The knight’s love for the little page was greatly increased after this, and the little page, too, seemed to love his master more and more. He was only happy when in his master’s presence or when doing some errand for him.
A short time after this happy escape from death the knight’s beautiful wife became suddenly ill. The knight loved her as he loved his own life, and was in great sorrow for fear that she might die.
Many wise doctors were called to her bedside, but they could do nothing. They declared that there was only one thing that would cure her—the milk of a lioness. That could not be obtained because there were no lions in the country.