His voice tight in his throat, Sir Gervais addressed the hag, saying, "How now, beckoning crone of surpassing laidliness, canst direct me out of this forest? I wit thee rare gifted in the craft of telling directions, for one of thine eyes doth scan to the left whilst t'other scans to the right in such wise that their paths do intersect some few inches before thy hooked nose."

And the crone did cackle with pleasure and turn her face aside modestly. "Nay, good knight, think not to weaken the barriers of my chastity with cozening praise, for I do perceive that thou hast penetrated the mystery of this enchanted forest."

"Sayest what?"

"Nay, feign not, shrewd seducer. Well dost thou know that in this enchanted forest all things appear the very opposite of what they are."

"How's that?"

"Nay, nay, noble knight. Do not pretend ignorance."

Sir Gervais stood stiff in the saddle, his dignity bristling. "Thou dost accuse me false, rank hag! Ignorance is no pretence with me! And woe betide the base defamer who claims it so!"

"Be not wroth, good knight. For know ye that even mysenses are sometimes bemused, though I have long lived here. Forgetting for a moment the other-seeming enchantment of this place, I thought at first that I was addressing a scrawny beggar astride a pig, his knees scrubbing the muddy track, and his feet dangling behind."

The proud knight looked about for the person thus limned.

" 'Tis of thee I speak, fair-if ugly-seeming-knight."

"Art thou plotting to get thy scabby head bashed in, ugly-andugly-seeming-hag, in the hope that a bashing might work improvement on thine appearance?"

"Nay, stay thy wrath and be informed! What I have described is only thine image as it appearsto be, here in a forest where all things do seem the very opposite of what they truly are. Seeing thee ugly, trembling, deformed, puny, and graceless, I know that thou must, in fact, be a brave knight, puissant and fair of visage."

"Crush-m'-cullions if thou hast not limned me to the last jot!"

"And I have no doubt, brave warrior, that my own grace, my delicacy, and my blushing beauty have, in thine enchanted eyes, taken on some other appearance."

"They have, Madam. Oh, indeed they have!"

Upon hearing this, the crone (or seeming crone) drew a great whimpering sigh, and a tear slowly toiled its way down the ravines of her wrinkled face to drip, at last, from the tip of her warty nose. This long and tortuous passage gave Sir Gervais season to ponder what mysterious thing had befallen him in this Forest of Enchantment. He did conclude that there stood before him a deserving target for amorous dalliance, provided, of course, that her seemingly low rank was, in fact, as high as her seemingly ugly aspect was, in fact, beauteous. For know you that Sir Gervais would not-indeed, could not-bring himself to foin a woman, however lush and frick, if she were not of noble birth, for he possessed the overweening pride of his class in such full measure that his member shrank from the debasing task of swiving low wenches, however toothsome, but it ever stood to pert attention in the presence of any woman of high title, however loathly, sere, or harsh-featured.

"But I forget form and duty," the seeming hag said, her tear having completed its lengthy course. "Surely thou art weary from thine adventures and wouldst share the comforts of my castle."

"Thou art most gracious, fair maiden."

"Princess, actually."

"Princess? Princess? Oh, forgive me, desirable Princess! May I offer thee to ride behind me?"

"Gladly would I, though I have never sat astride a pig"

"A pig?"

"Oh, la, what am I saying? Even I do sometimes err and accept the evidence of mine eyes, though I know better."

And with this, the seeming crone scrambled up behind Sir Gervais, hitching her skirts high and wrapping her seemingly scrawny and scabby legs about his.

As they rode along, Sir Gervais did exercise his courtly speech, saying, "Knowing, as now I do, that in this forest all things are the reverse of what they seem, fair Princess, I trow that the enticing bouquet rising from thee-this seeming stench-must, in fact, be the very essence of all spices rare and flowers fragrant."

The maiden blushed and wrapped herself closer to him, and his eyes did smart with the beauty of the moment.

Not far along, they came upon a fetid bog on the verge of which a crude hovel sagged upon rotting beams.

The maiden laughed a seeming cackle and said, "See how my castle's drawbridge is down, as though in anticipation of thine entrance? Oh my, I hope thou dost not take this to be a metaphor for my highly prized and well-defended chastity, you naughty, naughty, naughty man!" And with her bony knuckle she delivered him several coy knocks on the helmet that made his ears to ring.

"Drawbridge?" he said in confusion. "Castle? Ah! Of course! Know ye, Princess, that upon first glance I mistook your drawbridge for a slippery log laid across a sluggish swamp!" And Sir Gervais did laugh heartily at his error.

It became evident that thoroughbred horses, no less than high-born men, were victims of the forest's enchantment, for in attempting to cross the drawbridge, Sir Gervais's noble steed slipped as it might have slipped from a narrow log, and precipitated both riders into the moat, out of which they clawed their sputtering way, and beside which Sir Gervais stood at last, stenchy bog-water draining from his armour.

"I fear thou wilt attrap thy death of cold," the lovely princess said. "Quickly into the castle, and out of that damp armour. A good roasting before my vast hearth will regain thy temper."

Soon the knight stood beneath the soaring vaults of the castle's great hall that the uninitiated might have mistaken for a low, filthy chamber with rush-strewn dirt floor below and rotting thatch above. He shivered, all nude, before the roaring hearth that had the superficial aspect of a feeble twig fire the smoke of which coiled and recoiled beneath the roof in search of chinks and gaps.

Know you that the maiden had, for the good of her health, doff'd her sodden garments and now stood before him clothed as Eve had been when she harkened to the snake's twisted counsel.

"My God!" the knight cried. "How comely thou must, in reality, be! For if each perfection doth appear a blemish, then thou art Beauty itself, from thy balding pate to thy gnarled toes! I can no longer contain my ardour! Have at, then!"

At great length and with much invention did they tangle and roil among the seeming sodden rushes of the great hall's floor in every use and pose of amour. When finally exhausted and empty of essence, Sir Gervais rolled off, panting and clutching at a rag to cover his shivering nudity withal, while the seemingly foul crone crooned and sighed her affection as she strove in many coy and clever ways to reaffirm his lance for the lists of love.

For a year and a day, Sir Gervais languished in this enchanted castle, his body nourished by luscious joints of stag and boar that had the delusive appearance and taste of nettle soup, and his ardour nourished by an inner vision too strong to be extinguished by the evidence of his senses. And in this, he was not unlike the rest of us, each in our own personal enchanted forests-or so the sages would have us believe.

On the morning after the year-and-a-day, the seeming crone challenged Sir Gervais to offer proof of his undying love by going forth against her enemy, a neighbour baron in whose oak patch her swine did envy to snout about. At first Sir Gervais was loath to wreak hurt upon a knight with whom he had not exchanged those introductory insults that usage and breeding require, but when the seeming hag described the evil baron as a frail old man full of years and feeble of body, then did the knight recall her many kindnesses and his chivalrous duty. And thus it was that, after another dampening mishap upon the drawbridge, Sir Gervais rode forth to avenge the insults borne by the princess who clung to his back.