“My faith!” says the other, “ye have had much bliss! I have hunted all day and have gotten nothing but the skin of this foul fox, a poor reward for three such kisses.” He then tells him how the fox was slain; and with much mirth and minstrelsy they made merry until the time came for them to part. Gawayne takes leave of his host, and thanks him for his happy sojourn. He asks for a man to teach him the way to the Green Chapel. A servant is assigned him, and then he takes leave of the ladies, kissing them sorrowfully. They commend him to Christ. He then departs, thanking each one he meets for his service and solace; he retires to rest, but sleeps little, for much has he to think of on the morrow. Let him lie there, and be still awhile, and I will tell what next befell him.

IV

Now New Year’s Day has drawn nigh, and the weather is stormy. Snow falls and the dale is full of deep drift. Gawayne in his bed hears each cock that crows; he calls for the chamberlain, and bids him bring his armour. Men knock off the rust from his rich habergeon, and the knight then calls for his steed. While he clothed himself in his rich garments, he forgot not the girdle, the lady’s gift, but with it doubly girded his loins; he wore it not for its rich ornaments, “but to save himself when it behoved him to suffer.” All the people of the castle he thanked full oft, and then was his steed Gringolet arrayed, full ready to prick on. Sir Gawayne returns thanks for the honour and kindness shown to him by all, and then he steps into the saddle from the mounting-stone, and says: “This castle to Christ I commend; may He give it ever good chance!”

Therewith the castle gates are opened, and the knight rides forth, and goes on his way accompanied by his guide. They ride by rocky ways and cliffs, where each hill wore a hat of cloud and a mist-cloak, and when it is full daylight, they find themselves “on a hill full high.” Then his guide bade Sir Gawayne abide, saying:

“I have brought you hither, and ye are not now far from the appointed place. Full perilous is it esteemed, its lord is fierce and stern, his body is bigger than the best four in King Arthur’s house; none passes by the Green Chapel that he does not ding to death with dint of his hand, for be it churl or chaplain, monk, mass-priest or any man else, he kills them all. He has lived there long, and against his sore dints ye may not defend you; wherefore, good Sir Gawayne, let this man alone, and go by some other region, and I swear faithfully that I will never say that ever ye attempted to flee from any man.”

Gawayne replies that to shun this danger would mark him as a coward knight; to the chapel, therefore, he will go, though the lord thereof were the cruellest and strongest of men.

“Full well,” says he, “can God devise how to save His true servants!”

“Marry,” quoth the other, “since it pleases thee to lose thy life, take thy helmet on thy head, and thy spear in thy hand, and ride down this path by you rock-side, till thou come to the bottom of the valley. Look a little to the left, and thou shalt see the chapel itself and the man that guards it.”

Having thus spoken, the guide takes leave of the knight. “By God’s grace,” says Sir Gawayne, “I will neither weep nor groan. To God’s will I am full ready to bow!” So on he rides, through the dale, and eagerly looks about him. He sees, however, no sign of a resting-place, but only high and steep banks, no chapel can he discern anywhere. At last he sees a hill by the side of a stream; thither he goes, alights, and fastens his horse to the branch of a tree. He walks round the hill, looking for the chapel, and debating with himself what it might be, and at last he comes upon an old cave in the crag. “Truly,” he reflects, “a wild place is here—a fitting place for the Green Knight to make his devotions in evil fashion; if this be the chapel it is the most cursed kirk that ever I saw.”

But with that, he hears a loud noise, from beyond the brook. It clattered like the grinding of a scythe on a grindstone, and whirred like a mill-stream.