“Sir,” said she, “I pledge my oath and word as a crowned lady that I keep my daughter as strictly as I may.  Think to your own son, and see to it that he cannot set eyes on the maid.  He considers none other thing but how to get clasp and speech of his friend.”

For this reason the King guarded his son about the Court as closely as the Queen held the maiden in her chamber.  So vigilant was the watch that these pitiful lovers might never have word together.  They had no leisure to meet; they never looked one on the other; nor heard tidings of how they did, whether by letter or by sergeant.

They lived this death in life till the same year—­eight days before the Feast of St. John—­the varlet was dubbed knight.  The King spent the day in the chase, and returning, brought with him great store of fowl and venison that he had taken.  After supper, when the tables were removed, the King seated himself for his delight upon a carpet spread before the dais, his son and many a courteous lord with him.  The fair company gave ear to the Lay of Alys, sweetly sung by a minstrel from Ireland, to the music of his rote.  When his story was ended, forthwith he commenced another, and related the Lay of Orpheus; none being so bold as to disturb the singer, or to let his mind wander from the song.  Afterwards the knights spoke together amongst themselves.  They told of adventures which in ancient days had chanced to many, and were noised about Brittany.  Amongst these lords sat a damsel, passing sweet of tongue.  In her turn she told of a certain adventure which awaited the adventurous at the Ford of the Thorn, once every year, on the vigil of St. John, “but much I doubt whether now there be knights so bold as to dare the perils of that passage.”  When the newly made knight heard these words his pride quickened within him.  He considered that although he was belted with the sword, he had as yet done no deed to prove his courage in the eyes of men.  He deemed the time had come to show his hardihood, and to put to silence the malicious lips.  He stood upon his feet, calling upon damsel, King and barons to hearken to his voice, and spake out manfully in the ears of great and small.

“Lords,” cried he, “whatever says the maiden, I boast before you all that on St. John’s Eve I will ride alone to the Ford of the Thorn, and dare this adventure, whether it bring me gain or whether it bring me loss.”

The King was right heavy to hear these words.  He thought them to be the gab and idle speech of a boy.

“Fair son,” said he, “put this folly from your mind.”

But when the King was persuaded that whether it were foolishness or wisdom the lad was determined to go his way, and abide the issue of the adventure,

“Go swiftly,” said he, “in the care of God.  Since risk your life you must, play it boldly like a pawn, and may God grant you heart’s desire and happy hours.”