The king’s daughter led the knight to his chamber, bound up his wounds, tended him softly, prepared his evening meal, and smoothed his bed with her own hands: a deep sleep soon came over Sir Guido, for he was wearied with the exertions of the combat.
“My sons,” said Plebeus to the seven stout warriors that called him father, “my sons, if to-morrow’s sun sees yonder pilgrim in the lists, I die; never yet did I meet so stout an opponent.”
“Fear not, sir,” replied they all, “we will take care of the pilgrim.”
Sir Guido slept heavily; at midnight his chamber door was carefully opened, and the sons of Plebeus crept into his room.
“He sleeps soundly,” whispered the eldest, “how shall we dispose of him? if we slay him here as he sleeps, what are we but dead men on the morrow?”
“Does not the sea flow beneath the window?” asked one of the sons.
“Yes, but if we touch him he will wake.”
“Nay, let us take him bed and all and throw him into the sea.”
Sir Guido slept on, and knew not what was plotting against him.
It was midnight, and the moon shone brightly on the sea. A fisherman beneath the wall of the Dacian king’s palace was casting his nets, when a sudden splash in the water arrested his attention. “Halloa!” said he to himself, “what villany is this? a bed floating on the sea, and a man on it; ho, friend! ho, I say! awake, or be drowned!”