Quoth the maid, 'Thou hast lain, and thou liest, as one who the prize doth hold, 385 In sooth thou art here the victor and in joy shall thy life wax old, To-day is thy day of triumph! But comfort us now I pray, Is it so with thy wounds that, naught fearing, we may joy in thy joy to-day?' Then he quoth, 'Would ye see me living, then help shall ye bring to me.' And he prayed of those gracious maidens that a leech to his wounds should see, 390 Or one who was skilled in healing, 'But if yet I must face the strife, Go ye hence, give me here my helmet, and gladly I'll guard my life!' But they spake, 'Nay, the strife is over, Sir Knight, send us not away, Yet one shall go, and the guerdon of messenger win straightway. To the four queens shall she betake her, and shall say that thou livest still, 395 And a chamber shall they prepare thee, and leechcraft with right goodwill, And with salves shall thy wounds be tended, and so mild shall their working be That thy pain shall be swiftly lessened, and healing be brought to thee!' Then one of the maids sprang swiftly, and she ran with no halting tread, With the news that the knight was living straightway to the court she sped. 400 'In sooth shall he be so living, if ever it be God's will, Rich in joy may we be henceforward and glad without fear of ill, For naught but good help he needeth,' 'Dieu Merci!' then quoth they all. Then the old queen wise her maidens did straightway around her call, And she bade them a bed prepare him, and a carpet she spread before, 405 And a fire on the hearth burnt brightly, and precious the salves they bore. And the queen with wisdom mixed them for the healing of cut or bruise. In that hour from among her women four maids did Arnivé choose, And she bade them disarm the hero, and his harness bear soft away, And with wisdom should they deal with him lest he feel himself shamed alway. 410 'A silk shall ye bear about ye, in its shadow the knight disarm, If yet he can walk he may do so, if else, bear him in your arms To where I by the bed await him, for his couch will I rightly care, If the strife in such wise hath fallen that no deadly wound he bear, Then I think me I soon may heal him, but if wounded he be to death 415 Then cloven our joy--with the hero are we slain tho' we yet draw breath!'