Gerraint felt reluctant to go home. He kept thinking how beautiful Enid was, and how much he loved her, but he feared that maybe she turned from him when he went away. She certainly had the young men interested wherever she went, and Gerraint feared that one of those men might have turned her head during his long absence. It ate at him, and at times he became enraged, even at simple things.
Enid spent most of her lonely days at Caerleon in the company of Gwynyvar, but that summer she received word that Marcus Adronicus became ill. He sent word searching for Gerraint, because Gerraint would need to be chieftain for Cornwall as Marcus became convinced he was dying. Gerraint’s mother, who had grown close to Enid and her children, pleaded for her to return home, saying Cornwall would be her home as Queen for the people. Enid came, but they still heard no word from Gerraint.
That fall, Gerraint returned to Caerleon and took his anger out on the practice fields. By then, he felt sure Enid did not return his love and only coveted his position. He felt certain she had a secret lover, and maybe more than one. And as he knocked man after man from their horses in the practice field, he began to wonder if even his sons where his.
Enid found him in Caerleon, and she sent for him, but he did not come. Word came from Gwynyvar that said Gerraint was fighting some kind of madness and neither Arthur, nor Percival, nor Uwaine, nor any of the others were able to reach him in is fevered state. She suggested that maybe Enid could reach him and bring him back to sanity, not knowing Enid as the source of his madness. Enid needed no other invitation. She left her boys in their grandmother’s good hands and crossed the channel to Caerleon.
When she arrived, Gerraint took her to his home in town and locked her in. He stayed in the home, often sitting alone in the front kitchen, and fretted and stewed in his anger. She cried every day, not knowing how to reach him. Every night they lay there, side by side, but he would not so much as touch her or let her touch him.
Gerraint hired an old woman to cook and clean. At first, he let Gwynyvar and some of the ladies visit, but he soon got the notion that they were carrying messages from Enid’s secret lover, so he ended those days. Arthur came once with Gwynyvar to try and reason with him, but he would not let them in the front door. He almost said something about Arthur’s infidelity with Gwenhwyfach, but by some internal grace, he managed to close his mouth as he closed the door.
He sat for months, until he finally got the notion that even the old cook might be acting as a go between for Enid’s lover, and he let her go.
Word came in the late spring that his step-father was indeed dying and Gerraint would be expected to take on the responsibilities of Cornwall. He said nothing. He saddled two horses, made Enid ride on one while he followed behind.
“Ride out front, far enough away from me where I don’t have to hear your weeping. Those tears aren’t going to work on me. And don’t talk to me unless I talk to you first.”
Enid rode, but slowly, and all she could think was this was not her husband and she wanted her husband back.
From the beginning, Gerraint turned them off the main road and on to some back trails and farm paths that hardly qualified for roads. He did not want to be followed out of Caerleon, and in the back of his mind he thought he might run into some thieves who might kill him and then Enid would get what she wanted.
When he got to the top of a hill, he saw Enid talking to a hunter on horseback who had just come out from the woods ahead. Enid made the hunter wait there while she rode back to tell Gerraint.
“The kind gentleman has invited us to sup with him,” Enid reported.
Gerraint’s anger flared and he lowered his lance and charged. The hunter turned and rode quickly back into the woods where he would not be caught, and Gerraint stopped and turned back. “I told you not to talk to me,” he yelled at her. “Ride out front.” Enid turned, did as asked, and wept some more.
They were still among the trees when it got dark. Gerraint pulled them off the road and told Enid to watch the horses. He went to lie down, and slept. At dawn, Enid still dutifully watched the horses.
Around noon, they came out of the woods and into some fields where people were working, tending the crops. A fine-looking village lay nestled on the hillside far in the distance, and a young woman with a large basket came up the road. Enid passed pleasantries until Gerraint caught up. She turned and told him this young woman was bringing supper to the men in the fields and would be glad to share what she had.
Gerraint acted gracious to the young woman and gladly received what she offered in the way of bread and meat. He asked about the village, still some distance ahead, and learned that there was indeed an inn, though there were not many travelers on this road. Gerraint said thank you, and as the young woman walked toward the field and the workers, he said to Enid, “You just can’t shut-up, can you?”
Enid wanted to say something more, but held her tongue when he said, “Ride.” She continued out front but felt for the moment devoid of tears.
Gerraint got a room at the inn. There were a few other guests despite the word to the contrary. He saw the horses taken care of, and entered the downstairs room in time to see Enid sitting quietly by the fire and a big, ugly man walk away from her to sit with two other men. He almost hit her for entertaining the man, but instead they ate and went to the room where he knocked her to the floor.
“You sleep on the floor and tend the fire,” he growled and took himself to the bed to sleep. Enid fretted for a time. She dared not speak to him. She felt afraid, but in the end, she became more afraid for him than of him. If need be, she would die for him, but she was not prepared to watch him die. She woke him and spoke.
“That man by the fire said if I would not go with him, he would come in the night and take me by force.” Gerraint made no answer, but rose and dressed. He dragged Enid down to the horses which he saddled. He gathered his equipment and told her only one thing
She rode out front, far enough to not be able to speak to him. She prayed as she rode, a bit faster than before, and she kept looking back to be sure he kept up. Fortunately, the moon came up and the stars were bright, and they rode between the fields so there were no long shadows to interfere with her sight.
Gerraint heard the horses long before they became visible. He knew it was his elf ears. Then he saw the three riders long before they could see him. That was his dark elf eyes. He put on his helmet and pulled his lance to be ready before they were on him. He charged, and that took the riders by surprise. He ran the big old man straight through the middle, and the man made a sound of death, but he grabbed the lance as he fell from the horse so Gerraint had to let it go and pull his sword, Wyrd.
The man who ended up beside Gerraint had his sword out as well, but looked confused. He swung wildly in the dark and struck Gerraint’s side below his arm, but Gerraint’s chain armor stopped the weapon, making only a bruise. Gerraint’s swing was more accurate. He sliced above the man’s chain, easily slicing through the man’s neck.
The third man kept trying to get around the big man’s horse, and cursing, but when he saw his comrade fall, he looked ready to bolt. Gerraint got his horse in the way. They traded sword swipes several times before the seasoned soldier in Gerraint took over and he cut the man’s arm before he cut his neck as well. This man fell to the ground. The other still pranced around, a dead body on horseback.
Gerraint got down, cleaned his sword and returned it to his back. He pulled out his lance, noted that it had not cracked or broken and strapped it again to his saddle. Enid came running up. She threw her arms around him and cried.
“Gerraint. I was so worried about you.”
Gerraint stepped back. “You are not to speak to me unless I speak to you first. Your job is to ride.” He shoved her toward her horse and got up on his own. He had wondered why Enid did not offer herself to those men at the inn, since she could not keep her hands off other men. He decided it had been a ploy to entice the men to kill him. Her life would be easier without a husband.
They left the dead where they lay and rode well into the night. Enid began to weave in the saddle. This had now been two nights when she had not slept, and Gerraint had not become completely heartless. Indeed, that seemed the trouble. He loved her, and he could not be a monster. He would never hit her or harm her, or see her harmed no matter how much he might feel like it. He caught up to her and took the reins of her horse. He lifted her sleeping body out of the saddle and laid her in a field. He watched over her and the horses, and sat to contemplate just how cruelly his life had turned.
By dawn, he imagined she had slept four hours. The sky threatened a late spring rain, and he felt anxious to get going. He woke her and made her get back in the saddle while he spoke one word to her.
This time she said nothing. She merely lifted her chin and rode out front, alone.