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the Mill and have the Maid!”

      Then Martimor ran with the miller out upon the dam, and they laboured at the gates that held the river back, and thrust away the logs that were heaped over them, and cut with axes, and fought with the river. So at last two of the gates were lifted and one was broken, and the flood ran down ramping and roaring in great raundon, and as it ran the black face of Flumen sprang above it, crying, “Yet will I mar both Mill and Maid.”

      “That shalt thou never do,” cried Martimor, “by foul or fair, while the life beats in my body.”

      So he came back with the miller into the Mill, and there was meat ready for them and they ate strongly and with good heart. “Now,” said the miller, “must I mend the gate. But how it may be done, I know not, for surely this will be great travail for a man alone.”

      “Why alone?” said Martimor.

      “Thou wilt stay, then?” said Lirette.

      “Yea,” said he.

      “For another month?” said she.

      “Till the gate be mended,” said he.

      But when the gate was mended there came another flood and brake the second gate. And when that was mended there came another flood and brake the third gate. So when all three were mended firm and fast, being bound with iron, still the grimly river hurled over the dam, and the voice of Flumen muttered in the dark of winter nights, “Yet will I mar—mar—mar—yet will I mar Mill and Maid.”

      “Oho!” said Martimor, “this is a durable and dogged knave. Art thou feared of him Lirette?”

      “Not so,” said she, “for thou art stronger. But fear have I of the day when thou ridest forth in thy quest.”

      “Well, as to that,” said he, “when I have overcome this false devil Flumen, then will we consider and appoint that day.”

      So the delay continued, and Martimor was both busy and happy at the Mill, for he liked and loved this damsel well, and was fain of her company. Moreover the strife with Flumen was great joy to him.

      VI

      How the Month of May came to the Mill, and the Delay was Made Longer

      Now when the month of May came to the Mill it brought a plenty of sweet flowers, and Lirette wrought in the garden. With her, when the day was spent and the sun rested upon the edge of the hill, went Martimor, and she showed him all her flowers that were blue. But none of them was like the flower on his shield.

      “Is it this?” she cried, giving him a violet. “Too dark,” said he.

      “Then here it is,” she said, plucking a posy of forget-me-not.

      “Too light,” said he.

      “Surely this is it,” and she brought him a spray of blue-bells.

      “Too slender,” said he, “and well I ween that I may not find that flower, till I ride farther in my quest and achieve great adventure.”

      Then was the Maid cast down, and Martimor was fain to comfort her.

      So while they walked thus in the garden, the days were fair and still, and the river ran lowly and slowly, as it were full of gentleness, and Flumen had amended him of his evil ways. But full of craft and guile was that false foe. For now that the gates were firm and strong, he found a way down through the corner of the dam, where a water-rat had burrowed, and there the water went seeping and creeping, gnawing ever at the hidden breach. Presently in the night came a mizzling rain, and far among the hills a cloud brake open, and the mill-pond flowed over and under, and the dam crumbled away, and the Mill shook, and the whole river ran roaring through the garden.

      Then was Martimor wonderly wroth, because the river had blotted out the Maid’s flowers. “And one day,” she cried, holding fast to him and trembling, “one day Flumen will have me, when thou art gone.”

      “Not so,” said he, “by the faith of my body that foul fiend shall never have thee. I will bind him, I will compel him, or die in the deed.”

      So he went forth, upward along the river, till he came to a strait Place among the hills. There was a great rock full of caves and hollows, and there the water whirled and burbled in furious wise. “Here,” thought he, “is the hold of the knave Flumen, and if I may cut through above this rock and make a dyke with a gate in it, to let down the water another way when the floods come, so shall I spoil him of his craft and put him to the worse.”

      Then he toiled day and night to make the dyke, and ever by night Flumen came and strove with him, and did his power to cast him down and strangle him. But Martimor stood fast and drave him back.

      And at last, as they wrestled and whapped together, they fell headlong in the stream.

      “Ho-o!” shouted Flumen, “now will I drown thee, and mar the Mill and the Maid.”

      But Martimor gripped him by the neck and thrust his head betwixt the leaves of the gate and shut them fast, so that his eyes stood out like gobbets of foam, and his black tongue hung from his mouth like a water-weed.

      “Now shalt thou swear never to mar Mill nor Maid, but meekly to serve them,” cried Martimor. Then Flumen sware by wind and wave, by storm and stream, by rain and river, by pond and pool, by flood and fountain, by dyke and dam.

      “These be changeable things,” said Martimor, “swear by the Name of God.”

      So he sware, and even as the Name passed his teeth, the gobbets of foam floated forth from the gate, and the water-weed writhed away with the stream, and the river flowed fair and softly, with a sound like singing.

      Then Martimor came back to the Mill, and told how Flumen was overcome and made to swear a pact. Thus their hearts waxed light and jolly, and they kept that day as it were a love-day.

      VII

      How Martimor Bled for a Lady and Lived for a Maid, and how His Great Adventure Ended and Began at the Mill

      Now leave we of the Mill and Martimor and the Maid, and let us speak of a certain Lady, passing tall and fair and young. This was the Lady Beauvivante, that was daughter to King Pellinore. And three false knights took her by craft from her father’s court and led her away to work their will on her. But she escaped from them as they slept by a well, and came riding on a white palfrey, over hill and dale, as fast as ever she could drive.

      Thus she came to the Mill, and her palfrey was spent, and there she took refuge, beseeching Martimor that he would hide her, and defend her from those caitiff knights that must soon follow.

      “Of hiding,” said he, “will I hear naught, but of defending am I full fain. For this have I waited.”

      Then he made ready his horse and his armour, and took both spear and sword, and stood forth in the bridge. Now this bridge was strait, so that none could pass there but singly, and that not till Martimor yielded or was beaten down.

      Then came the three knights that followed the Lady, riding fiercely down the hill. And when they came about ten spear-lengths from the bridge, they halted, and stood still as it had been a plump of wood. One rode in black, and one rode in yellow, and the third rode in black and yellow. So they cried Martimor that he should give them passage, for they followed a quest.

      “Passage takes, who passage makes!” cried Martimor. “Right well I know your quest, and it is a foul one.”

      Then the knight in black rode at him lightly, but Martimor encountered him with the spear and smote him backward from his horse, that his head struck the coping of the bridge and brake his neck. Then came the knight in yellow, walloping heavily, and him the spear pierced through the midst of the body and burst in three pieces: so he fell on his back and the life went out of him, but the spear stuck fast and stood up from his breast as a stake.

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