.

For about a month or five weeks was the good knight ill of his wound, without leaving his couch.

One day he was minded to get up, and he walked across his chamber, not being sure whether he could keep his legs; somewhat weak he found himself; but the great heart he had gave him not leisure to think long thereon.

He sent to fetch the surgeon who had the healing of him, and said to him, 'My friend, tell me, I pray you, if there be any danger in setting me on the march; me-seems that I am well, or all but so; and I give you my faith that, in my judgment, the biding will henceforth harm me more than mend me, for I do marvellously fret.' The good knight's servitors had already told the surgeon the great desire he had to be at the battle, for every day he had news from the camp of the French, how that they were getting nigh the Spaniards, and there were hopes from day to day of the battle, which would, to his great sorrow, have been delivered without him.

Having knowledge whereof, and also knowing his complexion, the surgeon said, in his own language, 'My lord, your wound is not yet closed up; howbeit, inside it is quite healed.
Your barber shall see to dressing you this once more; and provided that every day, morning and evening, he put on a little piece of lint and a plaister for which I will deliver to him the ointment, it will not increase your hurt; and there is no danger, for the worst of the wound is a-top, and will not touch the saddle of your horse.' Whoso had given him ten thousand crowns, the good knight had not been so glad.