The gratitude these young gentlemen felt for the Queen was boundless. Nor did she omit to go up to the master of the house and his lady the Burgravine. Raising her cup she said: ‘Let me commend our guest to you, since it is you who have the honour. I beg you, bear this well in mind.’ She took leave of them but sought her guest again. His heart was burdened with the love she inspired; and she too had been brought to the same pass by him, as her heart and eyes averred – they had to make common cause with her.

‘My lord, command me,’ she said with shy restraint. ‘Whatever you ask I will provide, since you deserve it. Now let me take my leave. If you find everything comfortable here we shall all be very happy.’ Four candles led the way in candlesticks of gold, and she was riding to a place where there were plenty !

They did not go on with their supper. The knight was sad, yet happy. He was glad at the great honour that was shown him. But he was molested from another quarter, by imperious Love, humbler of soaring spirits.

The lady of the house withdrew and hurried to her chamber. Gahmuret’s bed was made with care, and host said to guest ‘Sleep sound, and rest yourself tonight, for you will need it.’ Then the host dismissed his retainers.

The beds of the stranger’s pages lay all round him with their heads turned towards him, for such was his custom. Great candles stood there burning brightly. The hero lost his patience with the night for dragging on so. With thoughts of the dusky Moorish Queen he fell from swoon to swoon, he whipped from side to side like an osier, setting all his joints a-cracking. He was on fire for love and battle. Now pray his wish be granted! His heart pounded till it echoed, it was near to bursting with battle-lust, so that it arched the warrior’s breast as the sinew does the crossbow – so keen was his desire!

He lay without sleep till he saw the grey of dawn. It had not begun to glow before he told a chaplain to make ready for Mass, which the latter then sang for God and his master. Straightway they brought Gahmuret’s armour, and off he rode to where jousting was to be had.

He then promptly mounted a war-horse trained to the headlong charge and the swift gallop and that was quick to respond whichever way he wheeled it. You could see his Anchor towering above his helmet as he was led towards the Gate, where men and women alike declared they had never seen so enchanting a warrior – why, their gods must look like him! They carried stout spears along with him. How was he caparisoned? His charger was clad in iron to ward off hack and thrust. Above this lay a second, lighter covering of green samite, which added little to the weight. His tabard and his surcoat were also green, of Achmardi woven in the town of Araby – I lie to none. The thong of his shield – all its gear – was of bright new corded silk adorned with gemstones, its boss was of reddish gold refined in fire. He served for Love’s wages: thoughts of a fierce battle left him unmoved.

The Queen was reclining in a window with a number of her ladies. Now see where his enemy Hiuteger stands, having halted at the spot where honour had come to him before! When he saw this knight gallop up ‘When and how did this Frenchman arrive in the country,’ he mused, ‘if I took him for a Moor I’d be a fool at best.’ Their mounts that were already leaping forward they spurred from the gallop to full tilt. They showed their knightly mettle, their thrusts were well and truly meant, they were not make-believe. Splinters from brave Hiuteger’s lance flew skywards, but his opponent swept him over the cruppers on to the grass, little though Hiuteger was used to it. Gahmuret rode him down and trampled him, but he refused to own himself beaten and made many efforts to recover himself, yet the other’s lance was pinning him down by the arm and he was demanding his surrender. Hiuteger had found his master.

‘Who has defeated me?’ he asked the gallant man.

The victor made swift answer.