“It is as nothing, so that I am with him,” said Enid.  “Nay, but,” said the Earl, “see how much happier a life might be yours.  Leave this churl, who values you not, and all that I have, land and riches, and my love and service for ever shall be yours.”  “Ye cannot tempt me, with aught that ye can offer, to be false to him to whom I vowed my faith,” said she.  “Ye are a fool!” said the Earl in a fierce whisper.  “One word to these my knights, and yonder is a dead man.  Then who shall hinder me that I take you by force?  Nay, now, be better advised, and I vow you my whole devotion for all time.”  Then was Enid filled with dread of the man and his might, and seeking but to gain time, she said:  “Suffer me to be for this present, my lord, and to-morrow ye shall come and take me as by force.  Then shall my name not suffer loss.”  “So be it,” said he; “I will not fail you.”  With that he left her, and taking his leave of Geraint, departed with his followers.

Never a word of what the Earl had said did Enid tell her husband that night; and on the departure of his guests, the Prince, unheedful of her, flung him on the couch, and soon slept, despite his grief and wrath.  But Enid watched again that night, and, before cock-crow, arose, set all his armour ready in one place, and then, though fearful of his wrath, stepped to his side and touching him gently, said:  “Awake, my lord, and arm you, and save me and yourself.”  Then she told him of all the Earl had said and of the device she had used to save them both.  Then wrathfully he rose and armed himself, bidding her rouse the host to saddle and bring forth the horses.  When all was ready, Prince Geraint asked the man his reckoning.  “Ye owe but little,” said the host.  “Take then the seven horses and the suits of armour,” said Geraint.  “Why, noble sir,” cried the host, “I scarce have spent the value of one.”  “The richer thou,” answered Geraint.  “Now show me the road from the town.”

So the man guided them from the town, and scarce was he returned when Earl Durm—­for so was the Earl named—­hammered at the door, with forty followers at his back.  “Where is the knight who was here erewhile?” “He is gone hence, my lord,” answered the host.  “Fool and villain!” cried the Earl, “why didst thou suffer him to escape?  Which way went he?” And the man, fearful and trembling, directed the Earl the road Geraint had gone.

So it came to pass, as they rode on their way, Enid in front, the Prince behind, that it seemed to Enid she heard the beat of many horse-hoofs.  And, as before, she broke Geraint’s command, caring little for aught that might befall her in comparison of loss to him.  “My lord,” said she, “seest thou yonder knight pursuing thee and many another with him?” “Yea, in good truth, I see him,” said Geraint, “and I see, too, that never wilt thou obey me.”  Then he turned him about and, laying lance in rest, bore straight down upon Earl Durm, who foremost rushed upon him; and such was the shock of their encounter, that Earl Durm was borne from his saddle and lay without motion as one dead.  And Geraint charged fiercely upon the Earl’s men, unhorsing some and wounding others; and the rest, having little heart for the fight after their master’s overthrow, turned and fled.