“Courage, courage, Tyrius; weep not, for I will do battle with your enemy; with this sword will I beat down thy foes; do you go to your own home, and leave me to deal with your traducers.”
The friends embraced and parted. Tyrius went to his home with his treasure, and Guido repaired to the Dacian king’s palace.
“Who art thou, and from whence?” asked the porter, as Sir Guido knocked at the king’s gate.
“A humble pilgrim from the holy sepulchre.”
“Enter, father, I crave thy blessing,” said the porter, as he knelt before Sir Guido.
“Thou hast it, my son; peace be on thee and this house; I seek the king.”
The king sat at meat, and all his nobles were round him.
“Is the Holy Land at peace?” inquired the king, as the pilgrim entered.
“At peace, my lord; the holy sepulchre is delivered from the infidel.”
“Ho, give place; sit, father; bring wine and bread. Father, hast thou heard of a Christian knight named Guido?”