Meanwhile Sir Gawain had been Journeying on and one morning, between nine o’clock and noon, he came riding up a hill and saw a massive oak tree, thick with leaves, giving plenty of shade. He could see a shield hung on the oak, and beside it a good, straight lance. He hurried on towards the tree until he noticed a small, dark palfrey beside it; he was astonished by this, for it did not seem right to him: arms and a palfrey – usually a lady’s mount – did not go together. Had it been a charger he would have supposed that some knight, roaming the country in search of honour and glory, had climbed the hill. But then he looked beneath the oak and saw a girl sitting there, who would have seemed most beautiful to him if only she had been happy; but her fingers were thrust into her tresses and tearing out her hair: she was going wild with grief. She was grieving for a knight, and was kissing him over and over on the eyes and lips and forehead. Sir Gawain came closer and saw that the knight was wounded, with his face cut all over and a terrible sword-wound in his head, and down both his sides blood flowed in great streams. The knight had fainted many times from his pain and now was lying motionless, and when Sir Gawain arrived he could not tell whether he was alive or dead.

‘How does he seem, dear girl?’ he said.

And she replied: ‘You can see his wounds are dangerous: he’d die of the very smallest.’

‘Good friend,’ said Gawain, ‘try to wake him, please; I want to ask him about the affairs of this land.’

‘I’d sooner be flayed alive!’ said the girl. ‘I’ve never loved a man so much, and never will as long as I live. Now that he’s sleeping and at rest I’d be a wretched fool to disturb him.’

‘Then truly, I’ll wake him if I can!’ said Sir Gawain, and turning his lance around he nudged him on the ankle with the butt.