was Flumen, for he dwelt in the caves of the stream, and was the master of it before the Mill was built.
“And now,” wept the Maid, “he must have had his will with me and with the Mill, but for God’s mercy, thanked be our Lord Jesus!”
“Thank me too,” said Mlartimor.
“So I do,” said Lirette, and she kissed him. “Yet am I heavy at heart and fearful, for my father is sorely mishandled and his arm is broken, so that he cannot tend the Mill nor guard it. And Flumen is escaped; surely he will harm us again. Now I know not, where I shall look for help.”
“Why not here?” said Martimor.
Then Lirette looked him in the face, smiling a little sorrily. “But thou ridest in a quest,” quoth she, “thou mayst not stay from thy adventures.”
“A month,” said he.
“Till my father be well?” said she.
“A month,” said he.
“Till thou hast put Flumen to the worse?” said she.
“Right willingly would I have to do with that base, slippery knave again,” said he, “but more than a month I may not stay, for my quest calls me and I must win worship of men or ever I become a knight.”
So they bound up the miller’s wounds and set the Mill in order. But Martimor had much to do to learn the working of the Mill; and they were busied with the grinding of wheat and rye and barley and divers kinds of grain; and the millers hurts were mended every day; and at night there was merry rest and good cheer; and Martimor talked with the Maid of the great adventure that he must find; and thus the delay endured in pleasant wise.
THE MILL V
Yet More of the Mill, and of the Same Delay, also of the Maid
Now at the end of the third month, which was November, Martimor made Lirette to understand that it was high time he should ride farther to follow his quest. For the miller was now recovered, and it was long that they had heard and seen naught of Flumen, and doubtless that black knave was well routed and dismayed that he would not come again. Lirette prayed him and desired him that he would tarry yet one week. But Martimor said, No! for his adventures were before him, and that he could not be happy save in the doing of great deeds and the winning of knightly fame. Then he showed her the Blue Flower in his shield that was nameless, and told her how Sir Lancelot had said that he must find it, then should he name it and have both crest and motto.
“Does it grow in my garden?” said Lirette.
“I have not seen it,” said he, “and now the flowers are all faded.”
“Perhaps in the month of May?” said she.
“In that month I will come again,” said he, “for by that time it may fortune that I shall achieve my quest, but now forth must I fare.”
So there was sad cheer in the Mill that day, and at night there came a fierce storm with howling wind and plumping rain, and Martimor slept ill. About the break of day he was wakened by a great roaring and pounding; then he looked out of window, and saw the river in flood, with black waves spuming and raving, like wood beasts, and driving before them great logs and broken trees. Thus the river hurled and hammered at the mill-dam so that it trembled, and the logs leaped as they would spring over it, and the voice of Flumen shouted hoarsely and hungrily, “Yet will I mar the Mill and have the Maid!”
Then Martimor ran with the miller out upon the dam, and they laboured at the gates that held the river back, and thrust away the logs that were heaped over them, and cut with axes, and fought with the river. So at last two of the gates were lifted and one was broken, and the flood ran down ramping and roaring in great raundon, and as it ran the black face of Flumen sprang above it, crying, “Yet will I mar both Mill and Maid.”
“That shalt thou never do,” cried Martimor, “by foul or fair, while the life beats in my body.”
So he came back with the miller into the Mill, and there was meat ready for them and they ate strongly and with good heart. “Now,” said the miller, “must I mend the gate. But how it may be done, I know not, for surely this will be great travail for a man alone.”
“Why alone?” said Martimor.
“Thou wilt stay, then?” said Lirette.
“Yea,” said he.
“For another month?” said she.
“Till the gate be mended,” said he.
But when the gate was mended there came another flood and brake the second gate. And when that was mended there came another flood and brake the third gate. So when all three were mended firm and fast, being bound with iron, still the grimly river hurled over the dam, and the voice of Flumen muttered in the dark of winter nights, “Yet will I mar—mar—mar—yet will I mar Mill and Maid.”
“Oho!” said Martimor, “this is a durable and dogged knave. Art thou feared of him Lirette?”
“Not so,” said she, “for thou art stronger. But fear have I of the day when thou ridest forth in thy quest.”
“Well, as to that,” said he, “when I have overcome this false devil Flumen, then will we consider and appoint that day.”
So the delay continued, and Martimor was both busy and happy at the Mill, for he liked and loved this damsel well, and was fain of her company. Moreover the strife with Flumen was great joy to him.
VI
How the Month of May came to the Mill, and the Delay was Made Longer
Now when the month of May came to the Mill it brought a plenty of sweet flowers, and Lirette wrought in the garden. With her, when the day was spent and the sun rested upon the edge of the hill, went Martimor, and she showed him all her flowers that were blue. But none of them was like the flower on his shield.
“Is it this?” she cried, giving him a violet. “Too dark,” said he.
“Then here it is,” she said, plucking a posy of forget-me-not.
“Too light,” said he.
“Surely this is it,” and she brought him a spray of blue-bells.
“Too slender,” said he, “and well I ween that I may not find that flower, till I ride farther in my quest and achieve great adventure.”
Then was the Maid cast down, and Martimor was fain to comfort her.
So while they walked thus in the garden, the days were fair and still, and the river ran lowly and slowly, as it were full of gentleness, and Flumen had amended him of his evil ways. But full of craft and guile was that false foe. For now that the gates were firm and strong, he found a way down through the corner of the dam, where a water-rat had burrowed, and there the water went seeping and creeping, gnawing ever at the hidden breach. Presently in the night came a mizzling rain, and far among the hills a cloud brake open, and the mill-pond flowed over and under, and the dam crumbled away, and the Mill shook, and the whole river ran roaring through the garden.
Then
