hard to sit, for
the evening was fair and calm. He maketh disarm him, and thereupon the
damsel bringeth him a surcoat of right rich silk furred of ermine. And
Messire Gawain looketh at the child that rode upon the lion right
fainly.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "None durst guard him or be master over him
save this child only, and yet the lad is not more than six years of
age. Sir, he is of right noble lineage, albeit he is the son of the
most cruel man and most felon that is. Marin the Jealous is his
father, that slew his wife on account of Messire Gawain. Never
sithence that his mother was dead would not the lad be with his father,
for well knoweth he that he slew her of wrong. And I am his uncle, so
I make him be tended here of these damsels and these two squires, but
no one thing is there that he so much desireth to see as Messire
Gawain. For after his father's death ought he of right to be Messire
Gawain's man. Sir, if any tidings you know of him, tell us them."

"By my faith, Sir," saith he, "Tidings true can I give you. Lo, there
is his shield and his spear, and himself shall you have this night for
guest."

"Fair sir, are you he?" saith the hermit.

"So men call me," saith Messire Gawain, "And the lady saw I slain in
the forest, whereof was I sore an-angered."

II.

"Fair nephew," saith the hermit, "See here your desire. Come to him
and make him cheer."

The lad alighteth of the lion and smiteth him with a whip and leadeth
him to the den and maketh the door so that he may not issue forth, and
cometh to Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain receiveth him between his
arms. "Sir," saith the child, "Welcome may you be!"

"God give you growth of honour!" saith Messire Gawain. He kisseth him
and maketh cheer with him right sweetly.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "He will be of right your man, wherefore ought
you to counsel him and help him, for through you came his mother by her
death, and right sore need will he have of your succour." The child
kneeleth before him and holdeth up his joined hands.

"Look, Sir," saith the hermit, "Is he not right pitiful? He offereth
you his homage."

And Messire Gawain setteth his hands within his own: "Certes," saith
Messire Gawain, "Both your honour and your homage receive I gladly, and
my succour and my counsel shall you have so often as you shall have
need thereof. But fain would I know your name?"

"Sir, I am called Meliot of Logres."

"Sir," saith the hermit