“Lady,” answered Gugemar, “in no battle I received this wound.  If it pleases you to hear my tale I will tell you the truth, and in nothing will I lie.  I am a knight of Little Brittany.  Yesterday I chased a wonderful white deer within the forest.  The shaft with which I struck her to my hurt, returned again on me, and caused this wound upon my thigh, which may never be searched, nor made whole.  For this wondrous Beast raised her plaint in a mortal tongue.  She cursed me loudly, with many evil words, swearing that never might this sore be healed, save by one only damsel in the world, and her I know not where to find.  When I heard my luckless fate I left the wood with what speed I might, and coming to a harbour, not far from thence, I lighted on this ship.  For my sins I climbed therein.  Then without oars or helm this boat ravished me from shore; so that I know not where I have come, nor what is the name of this city.  Fair lady, for God’s love, counsel me of your good grace, for I know not where to turn, nor how to govern the ship.”

The lady made answer, “Fair sir, willingly shall I give you such good counsel as I may.  This realm and city are the appanage of my husband.  He is a right rich lord, of high lineage, but old and very full of years.  Also he is jealous beyond all measure; therefore it is that I see you now.  By reason of his jealousy he has shut me fast between high walls, entered by one narrow door, with an ancient priest to keep the key.  May God requite him for his deed.  Night and day I am guarded in this prison, from whence I may never go forth, without the knowledge of my lord.  Here are my chamber and my chapel, and here I live, with this, my maiden, to bear me company.  If it pleases you to dwell here for a little, till you may pass upon your way, right gladly we shall receive you, and with a good heart we will tend your wound, till you are healed.”

When Gugemar heard this speech he rejoiced greatly.  He thanked the lady with many sweet words, and consented to sojourn in her hall awhile.  He raised himself upon his couch, and by the courtesy of the damsels left the ship.  Leaning heavily upon the lady, at the end he won to her maiden’s chamber, where there was a fair bed covered with a rich dossal of broidered silk, edged with fur.  When he was entered in this bed, the damsels came bearing clear water in basins of gold, for the cleansing of his hurt.  They stanched the blood with a towel of fine linen, and bound the wound strictly, to his exceeding comfort.  So after the vesper meal was eaten, the lady departed to her own chamber, leaving the knight in much ease and content.

Now Gugemar set his love so fondly upon the lady that he forgot his father’s house.  He thought no more of the anguish of his hurt, because of another wound that was beneath his breast.  He tossed and sighed in his unrest, and prayed the maiden of his service to depart, so that he might sleep a little.  When the maid was gone, Gugemar considered within himself whether he might seek the dame, to know whether her heart was warmed by any ember of the flame that burned in his.  He turned it this way and that, and knew not what to do.  This only was clear, that if the lady refused to search his wound, death, for him, was sure and speedy.