dismayed by his misdeeds, 760

and signs Christ’s cross and says,

‘Be near me in my need.’

No sooner had he signed himself three times

than he became aware, in those woods, of high walls

in a moat, on a mound, bordered by the boughs

of thick-trunked timber which trimmed the water.

The most commanding castle a knight ever kept,

positioned on a site of sweeping parkland

with a palisade of pikes pitched in the earth

in the midst of tall trees for two miles or more. 770

From the corner of his eye this castle became clearer

as it sparkled and shone within shimmering oaks,

and with helmet in hand he offered up thanks

to Jesus and Saint Julian, both gentle and good,

who had courteously heard him and heeded his cry.

‘A lodging at last. So allow it, my Lord.’

Then he girded Gringolet with his gilded spurs,

and purely by chance chose the principal approach

to the building, which brought him to the end of the bridge

with haste. 780

The drawbridge stood withdrawn,

the front gates were shut fast.

Such well-constructed walls

would blunt the storm-wind’s blast.

In the saddle of his steed he halts on the slope

of the delving moat with its double ditch.

Out of water of wondrous depth, the walls

then loomed overhead to a heavenly height,

course after course of crafted stone,

then battlements embellished in the boldest style 790

and turrets arranged around the ramparts

with lockable loopholes set into the lookouts.

The knight had not seen a more stunning structure.

Further in, his eye was drawn to a hall

attended, architecturally, by many tall towers

with a series of spires spiking the air

all crowned by carvings exquisitely cut.

Uncountable chimneys the colour of chalk

sprutted from the roof and sparkled in the sun.

So perfect was that vision of painted pinnacles 800

clustered within the castle’s enclosure

it appeared that the place was cut from paper.

Then a notion occurred to that noble knight:

to inveigle a visit, get invited inside,

to be hosted and housed, and all the holy days

remain.

Responding to his call

a pleasant porter came,

a watchman on the wall,

who welcomed Sir Gawain. 810

‘Good morning,’ said our man. ‘Will you bear a message

to the owner of this hall and ask him for shelter?’

‘By St Peter,’ said the porter, ‘it’ll be my pleasure,

and I’m willing to bet you’ll be welcome to a bed.’

Then he went on his way, but came back at once

with a group who had gathered to greet the stranger;

the drawbridge came down and they crossed the ditch

and knelt in the frost in front of the knight

to welcome this man in a way deemed worthy.

Then they yielded to their guest, yanked open the gate, 820

and bidding them to rise he rode across the bridge.

He was assisted from the saddle by several men

and the strongest amongst them stabled his steed.