ay he found himself beside a wide stream, which was crossed by a long
bridge, beyond which rose the battlemented towers of a strong castle.

Lancelot rode upon the bridge, but before he had reached its middle
there started out a foul-faced churl, who smote his horse a hard blow on
the nose, and asked him surlily why he dared cross that bridge without
license.

"Why should I not, if I wish?" asked the knight. "Who has the right to
hinder?"

"I have," cried the churl. "You may choose what you will, but you shall
not ride here," and he struck at him furiously with a great iron-shod
club.

At this affront Lancelot angrily drew his sword, and with one stroke
warded off the blow, and cut the churl's head in twain.

"So much for you, fool," he said.

But when he reached the end of the bridge he found there a village,
whose people cried out to him, "You have done a sorry deed for yourself,
for you have slain the chief porter of our castle."

Lancelot rode on, heedless of their cries, and forcing his great horse
through the throng till he came to the castle walls. The gates of these
stood open, and he rode in, where he saw a fair green court, and beyond
it the stately walls and towers. At the windows were the faces of many
people, who cried to him in dismay,--

"Fair knight, turn and fly. Death awaits you here."

"Fly! I have not learned how," answered Lancelot, as he sprang from his
horse and tied him to a ring in the wall. "This court seems a fair place
for knightly combat, and it fits better with my mood to fight than fly."

Hardly had he spoken when from the castle doors came two strong giants,
armed all but their heads, and bearing as weapons great iron clubs. They
set upon Lancelot together, the foremost making a stroke that would have
slain him had it reached him. But the knight warded it off with his
shield, and agilely returned the blow with his sword, with so vigorous a
stroke that he cleft the giant's head in twain.

When his fellow saw this, he turned and ran in panic fear, but Lancelot
furiously pursued him, and struck him so fierce a blow that the sword
clove his great body asunder from shoulder to waist.

"Is it not better to fight than to fly?" cried Lancelot to the glad
faces which he now saw at the windows, and, leaving the dead giants
crimsoning the green verdure, he strode into the castle hall, where
there came before him threescore ladies, who fell on their knees and
thanked God and him for the