“Friend,” said he, “hearken to me.  Tell me now the name of thy sire.  How art thou called; who is thy mother?  I have seen much, and gone to and fro about the world.  All my life I have journeyed from realm to realm, by reason of tourneys and quarrels and princes’ wars, yet never once by any knight have I been borne from my horse.  This day I am overthrown by a boy, and yet I cannot help but love thee.”

The varlet answered, “I know little of my father.  I understand that his name is Milon, and that he was a knight of Wales.  He loved the daughter of a rich man, and was loved again.  My mother bore me in secret, and caused me to be carried to Northumberland, where I was taught and tended.  An old aunt was at the costs of my nourishing.  She kept me at her side, till of all her gifts she gave me horse and arms, and sent me here, where I have remained.  In hope and wish I purpose to cross the sea, and return to my own realm.  There I would seek out my father, and learn how it stands between him and my mother.  I will show him my golden ring, and I will tell him of such privy matters that he may not deny our kinship, but must love me as a son, and ever hold me dear.”

When Milon heard these words he could endure them no further.  He got him swiftly from his horse, and taking the lad by the fringe of his hauberk, he cried, “Praise be to God, for now am I healed.  Fair friend, by my faith thou art my very son, for whom I came forth from my own land, and have sought through all this realm.”

The varlet climbed from the saddle, and stood upon his feet.  Father and son kissed each other tenderly, with many comfortable words.  Their love was fair to see, and those who looked upon their meeting, wept for joy and pity.

Milon and his son departed from the tournament so soon as it came to an end, for the knight desired greatly to speak to the varlet at leisure, and to open before him all his mind.  They rode to their hostel, and with the knights of their fellowship, passed the hours in mirth and revelry.  Milon spoke to the lad of his mother.  He told him of their long love, and how she was given by her father in marriage to a baron of his realm.  He rehearsed the years of separation, accepted by both with a good heart, and of the messenger who carried letters between them, when there was none they dared to trust in, save only the swan.

The son made answer,

“In faith, fair father, let us return to our own land.  There I will slay this husband, and you shall yet be my mother’s lord.”

This being accorded between them, on the morrow they made them ready for the journey, and bidding farewell to their friends, set forth for Wales.  They embarked in a propitious hour, for a fair wind carried the ship right swiftly to its haven.  They had not ridden far upon their road, when they met a certain squire of the lady’s household on his way to Brittany, bearing letters to Milon.  His task was