The day of their departure was that next after Christmas, the same
being the Feast of Saint Stephen the Martyr. And as they rode
through a thick wood, it came into Sir Dinar's mind that upon this
day it was right to kill any bird that flew, in remembrance that when
Saint Stephen had all but escaped from the soldiers who guarded him,
a small bird had sung in their ears and awakened them. By this, the
sky was growing white with the morning, but nothing yet clear to the
sight: and while they pressed forward under the naked boughs, their
horses' hoofs crackling the frosted undergrowth, Sir Dinar was aware
of a bird's wing ruffling ahead, and let fly a bolt without warning
his companions; who had forgotten what morning it was, and drew rein
for a moment. But pressing forward again, they came upon a gerfalcon
lying, with long lunes tangled about his feet and through his breast
the hole that Sir Dinar's bolt had made. While they stooped over
this bird the sun rose and shone between the tree-trunks, and lifting
their heads they saw a green glade before them, and in the midst of
the glade three pavilions set, each of red sendal, that shone in the
morning. In the first pavilion slept seven knights, and in the
second a score of damsels, but by the door of the third stood a lady,
fair and tall, in a robe of samite, who, as they drew near to accost
her, inquired of them--

"Which of you has slain my gerfalcon?"

And when Sir Dinar confessed and began to make his excuse, "Silly
knight!" said she, "who couldst not guess that my falcon, too, was
abroad to avenge the blessed Stephen. Or dost think that it was a
hawk, of all birds, that sang a melody in the ears of his guards?"

With that she laughed, as if pacified, and asked of their affairs;