Never did Owain see an assemblage so gorgeous with silk [Footnote:  Before the sixth century all the silk used by Europeans had been brought to them by the Seres, the ancestors of the present Boukharians, whence it derived its Latin name of Serica.  In 551 the silkworm was brought by two monks to Constantinople, but the manufacture of silk was confined to the Greek empire till the year 1130, when Roger, king of Sicily, returning from a crusade, collected some manufacturers from Athens and Corinth, and established them at Palermo, whence the trade was gradually disseminated over Italy.  The varieties of silk stuffs known at this time were velvet, satin (which was called samite), and taffety (called cendal or sendall), all of which were occasionally stitched with gold and silver.] and satin.  And, following the train, he beheld a lady with yellow hair falling over her shoulders, and stained with blood; and about her a dress of yellow satin, which was torn.  Upon her feet were shoes of variegated leather.  And it was a marvel that the ends of her fingers were not bruised from the violence with which she smote her hands together.  Truly she would have been the fairest lady Owain ever saw, had she been in her usual guise.  And her cry was louder than the shout of the men or the clamor of the trumpets.  No sooner had he beheld the lady than he became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire possession of him.

Then he inquired of the maiden who the lady was.  “Heaven knows,” replied the maiden, “she is the fairest and the most chaste, and the most liberal, and the most noble of women.  She is my mistress, and she is called the Countess of the Fountain, the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday.”  “Verily,” said Owain, “she is the woman that I love best.”  “Verily,” said the maiden, “she shall also love thee, not a little.”

Then the maiden prepared a repast for Owain, and truly he thought he had never before so good a meal, nor was he ever so well served.  Then she left him, and went towards the castle.  When she came there, she found nothing but mourning and sorrow; and the Countess in her chamber could not bear the sight of any one through grief.  Luned, for that was the name of the maiden, saluted her, but the Countess answered her not.  And the maiden bent down towards her, and said, “What aileth thee, that thou answereth no one to-day?” “Luned,” said the Countess, “what change hath befallen thee, that thou hast not come to visit me in my grief.  It was wrong in thee, and I so sorely afflicted.”  “Truly,” said Luned, “I thought thy good sense was greater than I find it to be.  Is it well for thee to mourn after that good man, or for anything else that thou canst not have?” “I declare to Heaven,” said the Countess, “that in the whole world there is not a man equal to him.”  “Not so,” said Luned, “for an ugly man would be as good as or better than he.”  “I declare to Heaven,” said the Countess, “that were it not repugnant