ered into this covenant together, they went forth to the
harbour, and there discovered the barge, even as Gugemar had said. So
they set him thereon, and prayed him to return unto his own realm.

Without sail or oar the ship parted from that coast, with no further
tarrying. The knight wept and wrung his hands, complaining of his
lady's loss, and of her cherishing. He prayed the mighty God to grant
him speedy death, and never to bring him home, save to meet again
with her who was more desirable than life. Whilst he was yet at his
orisons, the ship drew again to that port, from whence she had first
come. Gugemar made haste to get him from the vessel, so that he might
the more swiftly return to his own land. He had gone but a little way
when he was aware of a squire of his household, riding in the company
of a certain knight. This squire held the bridle of a destrier in his
hand, though no man rode thereon. Gugemar called to him by name, so
that the varlet looking upon him, knew again his lord. He got him to
his feet, and bringing the destrier to his master, set the knight
thereon. Great was the joy, and merry was the feast, when Gugemar
returned to his own realm. But though his friends did all that they
were able, neither song nor game could cheer the knight, nor turn him
from dwelling in his unhappy thoughts. For peace of mind they urged
that he took to himself a wife, but Gugemar would have none of their
counsel. Never would he wed a wife, on any day, either for love or for
wealth, save only that she might first unloose the knot within his
shirt. When this news was noised about the country, there was neither
dame nor damsel in the realm of Brittany, but essayed to unfasten the
knot. But there was no lady who could gain to her wish, whether by
force or guile.

Now will I show of that lady, whom Gugemar so fondly loved. By the
counsel of a certain baron the ancient King set his wife in prison.
She was shut fast in a tower of grey marble, where her days were bad,
and her nights worse. No man could make clear to you the great pain,
the anguish and the dolour, that she suffered in this tower, wherein,
I protest, she died daily. Two years and more she lay bound in prison,
where warders came, but never joy or delight. Often she thought upon
her friend.

"Gugemar, dear lord, in an evil hour I saw you with my eyes. Better
for me that I die quickly, than endure longer my evil lot. Fair
friend, if I could but win to that coast w