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diff --git a/5988-0.txt b/5988-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..83176de --- /dev/null +++ b/5988-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3732 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Old French Romances, translated by William +Morris, Edited by Joseph Jacobs + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Old French Romances + done into English + + +Translator: William Morris + +Editor: Joseph Jacobs + +Release Date: August 3, 2014 [eBook #5988] +[This file was first posted on October 8, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD FRENCH ROMANCES*** + + +Transcribed from the 1896 George Allen edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + OLD FRENCH + ROMANCES + + + DONE INTO ENGLISH + + BY + + WILLIAM MORRIS + + WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY + + JOSEPH JACOBS + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + LONDON + GEORGE ALLEN, RUSKIN HOUSE + 1896 + + _All rights reserved_ + + * * * * * + + Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. + At the Ballantyne Press + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +MANY of us have first found our way into the Realm of Romance, properly +so called, through the pages of a little crimson clad volume of the +_Bibliothèque Elzevirienne_. {1} Its last pages contain the charming +Cante-Fable of _Aucassin et Nicolete_, which Mr. Walter Pater’s praises +and Mr. Andrew Lang’s brilliant version have made familiar to all lovers +of letters. But the same volume contains four other tales, equally +charming in their way, which Mr. William Morris has now made part of +English literature by writing them out again for us in English, +reproducing, as his alone can do of living men’s, the tone, the colour, +the charm of the Middle Ages. His versions have appeared in three +successive issues of the Kelmscott Press, which have been eagerly snapped +up by the lovers of good books. It seemed a pity that these cameos of +romance should suffer the same fate as Mr. Lang’s version of _Aucassin et +Nicolete_, which has been swept off the face of the earth by the Charge +of the Six Hundred, who were lucky enough to obtain copies of the only +edition of that little masterpiece of translation. Mr. Morris has, +therefore, consented to allow his versions of the Romances to be combined +into one volume in a form not unworthy of their excellence but more +accessible to those lovers of books whose purses have a habit of varying +in inverse proportion to the amount of their love. He has honoured me by +asking me to introduce them to that wider public to which they now make +their appeal. + + + +I + + +ALMOST all literary roads lead back to Greece. Obscure as still remains +the origin of that _genre_ of romance to which the tales before us +belong, there is little doubt that their models, if not their originals, +were once extant at Constantinople. Though in no single instance has the +Greek original been discovered of any of these romances, the mere name of +their heroes would be in most cases sufficient to prove their Hellenic or +Byzantine origin. Heracles, Athis, Porphirias, Parthenopeus, Hippomedon, +Protesilaus, Cliges, Cleomades, Clarus, Berinus—names such as these can +come but from one quarter of Europe, and it is as easy to guess how and +when they came as whence. The first two crusades brought the flower of +European chivalry to Constantinople and restored that spiritual union +between Eastern and Western Christendom that had been interrupted by the +great schism of the Greek and Roman Churches. The crusaders came mostly +from the Lands of Romance. Permanent bonds of culture began to be formed +between the extreme East and the extreme West of Europe by intermarriage, +by commerce, by the admission of the nobles of Byzantium within the +orders of chivalry. These ties went on increasing throughout the twelfth +century till they culminated at its close with the foundation of the +Latin kingdom of Constantinople. In European literature these historic +events are represented by the class of romances represented in this +volume, which all trace back to versions in verse of the twelfth century, +though they were done into prose somewhere in Picardy during the course +of the next century. Daphnis and Chloe, one might say, had revived after +a sleep of 700 years, and donned the garb and spoke the tongue of +Romance. + + + +II + + +The very first of our tales illustrates admirably the general course of +their history. It is, in effect, a folk etymology of the name of the +great capital of the Eastern Empire. Constantinople, so runs the tale, +received that name instead of Byzantium, because of the remarkable career +of one of its former rulers, Coustans. M. Wesselovsky has published in +_Romania_ (vi. 1. seq.) the _Dit de l’empereur Constant_, the verse +original of the story before us, and in this occur the lines— + + Pour ce que si _nobles_ estoit + Et que nobles œvres faisoit + L’appielloient _Constant le noble_ + Et pour çou ot _Constantinnoble_ + Li cytés de Bissence a non. + +From which it would appear that we are mistaken in thinking of the +capital of Turkey as the “City of Constantine,” whereas it is rather +Constant the Noble, and the name Coustant is further explained as +“costing” too much. Constantinople, therefore, is the city that costs +too much, according to the prophetic etymology of the folk. + +The only historic personage with whom this Coustant can be identified is +Constantius Chlorus, the father of Constantine the Great and the husband +of St. Helena, to whom legend ascribes the discovery of the Holy Rood. +But the Coustans of our story never lived or ruled on land or sea, and +his predecessor, Muselinus, is altogether unknown to Byzantine annals, +while their interlaced history reads more like a page of the _Arabian +Nights_ than of Gibbon. + +But such a legend could scarcely have arisen elsewhere than at +Constantinople. It is one of those fables that the disinherited folk +have at all times invented to solace themselves for their disinherison. +The sudden and fated rise of one of the folk to the heights of power +occurs sufficiently often to afford material for the day dreams of +ambitious youth. There is even a popular tendency to attribute a lowly +origin to all favourites of fortune, as witness the legends that have +grown up about the early careers of Beckett, Whittington, Wolsey, none of +whom was as ill-born as popular tradition asserts. Yet such legends +invariably grow up in the country of their heroes, which is the only one +sufficiently interested in their career, so far as the common people are +concerned. Hence the very nature of our story would cause us to locate +its origin on the banks of the Bosphorus. + +But once originated in this manner, there is no limit to the travels it +may take. Curiously enough, the very legend before us in all its details +has found a home among the English peasantry. The Rev. S. Baring-Gould +collected in Yorkshire a story which he contributed to Henderson’s +_Folklore of the Northern Counties_, and entitled _The Fish and the +Ring_. {2} In this legend a girl comes as the unwelcome sixth of the +family of a very poor man who lived under the shadow of York Minster. A +Knight, riding by on the day of her birth, discovers, by consultation of +the Book of Fate, that she was destined to marry his son. He offers to +adopt her, and throws her into the River Ouse. A fisherman saves her, +and she is again discovered after many years by the Knight, who learns +what Fate has still in store for his son. He sends her to his brother at +Scarborough with a fatal letter, ordering him to put her to death. But +on the way she is seized by a band of robbers, who read the letter and +replace it by one ordering the Baron’s son to be married to her +immediately on her arrival. + +When the Baron discovers that he has not been able to evade the decree of +fate he still persists in his persecution, and taking a ring from his +finger throws it into the sea, saying that the girl shall never live with +his son till she can show him that ring. She wanders about and becomes a +scullery-maid at a great castle, and one day when the Baron is dining at +the castle, while cleaning a great fish she finds his ring, and all ends +happily. + +Now on the east wall of the chancel of Stepney Church there is a monument +erected to Dame Rebecca Berry, wife of Thomas Elton, of Stratford, Bow, +and relict of Sir John Berry, 1696. The arms on the monument are thus +blazoned by heralds . . . . “Paly of six on a bend three mullets (Elton) +impaling a fish, and in the dexter chief point an annulet between two +bends wavy.” The reference in the impalement of the blazon is obvious. +A local tradition confidently identifies Dame Berry as the heroine of the +Yorkshire legend, though of course it is ignorant of her connection with +the etymology of Constantinople. + +Now this tale, or the first half of it, is but a Yorkshire variant of one +spread throughout Europe. The opening of the twenty-ninth story of the +collection of the Brothers Grimm, and entitled _The Devil with the Three +Golden Hairs_, is exactly the same, and in their Notes they give +references to many similar European folk-tales. The story is found in +Modern Greece (Von Hahn, No. XX.), and it is, therefore, possible that +the story of King Coustans is the adaptation of a Greek folk-tale for the +purposes of a Folk Etymology. But the letter, “On delivery, please kill +bearer,” is scarcely likely to have occurred twice to the popular +imagination, and one is almost brought to the conclusion that the romance +before us was itself either directly or indirectly the source of all the +European Folk-tales in which the letter “To kill bearer” occurs. And as +we have before traced the Romance back to Constantinople, one is further +tempted to trace back the Letter itself to a reminiscence of Homer’s +σηματα λυγρά. + +I have said above that no Greek original of any of these Romances has +hitherto been discovered. But in the case of King Coustans we can at any +rate get within appreciable distance of it. As recently as 1895 a +learned Teuton, Dr. Ernst Kuhn, pointed out, appropriately enough in the +_Byzantinische Zeitschrift_, the existence of an Ethiopic and of an +Arabic version of the legend. He found in one of Mr. Quaritch’s +catalogues a description of an illuminated Ethiopic MS., once belonging +to King Theodore of Magdala fame, which from the account given of several +of the illustrations he was enabled to identify as the story of “The Man +born to be King.” His name in the Ethiopic version is Thalassion, or +Ethiopic words to that effect, and the Greek _provenance_ of the story is +thereby established. Dr. Kuhn was also successful in finding an Arabic +version done by a Coptic Christian. In both these versions the story is +told as a miracle due to the interference of the Angel Michael; and it is +a curious coincidence that in Mr. Morris’ poetical version of our story +in the “Earthly Paradise” he calls his hero Michael. Unless some steps +are taken to prevent the misunderstanding, it is probable that some +Teutonic investigator of the next century will, on the strength of this +identity of names, bring Mr. Morris in guilty of a knowledge of Ethiopic. + +But for the name of the hero one might have suspected these Oriental +versions of being derived, not from a Greek, but from an Indian original. +Mr. Tawney has described a variant found in the _Kathākosa_ {3} which +resembles our tale much more closely than any of the European folk-tales +in the interesting point that the predestined bride herself finds the +fatal letter and makes the satisfactory substitution. In the Indian tale +this is done with considerable ingenuity and _vraisemblance_. The girl’s +name is Visha, and the operative clause of the fatal letter is: + + “Before this man has washed his feet, do thou with speed + Give him poison (_visham_), and free my heart from care.” + +The lady thinks (or wishes) that her father is a bad orthographist, and +corrects his spelling by omitting the final _m_, so that the letter reads +“Give him Visha,” with results more satisfactory to the young lady than +to her father. This variant is so very close to our tale, while the +letter incident in it is so much more naturally developed than in the +romance that one might almost suspect it of having been the original. +But we must know more about the _Kathākosa_ and about the communication +between Byzantium and India before we can decisively determine which came +first. + + + +III + + +Amis and Amil were the David and Jonathan, the Orestes and Pylades, of +the mediæval world. Dr. Hofmann, who has edited the earliest French +verse account of the Legend, enumerates nearly thirty other versions of +it in almost all the tongues of Western and Northern Europe, not to +mention various versions which have crept into different collections of +the Lives of the Saints. For their peerless friendship raised them to +the ranks of the martyrs, at any rate, at Mortara and Novara, where, +according to the Legend, they died. The earliest of all these forms is a +set of Latin Hexameters by one Radulfus Tortarius, born at Fleury, 1063, +lived in Normandy, and died some time after 1122. It was, therefore, +possible that the story had come back with the first crusaders, and the +Grimms attribute to it a Greek original. But in its earliest as well as +in its present form, it is definitely located on Romance soil, while the +names of the heroes are clearly Latin (Amicus and Æmilius). It was, +however, only at a later stage that the story was affiliated to the Epic +Cycle of Charlemagne. On the face of it there is clearly stamped the +impress of popular tradition. Heads are not so easily replaced, except +by a freak of the Folk imagination. It is probably for this reason that +M. Gaston Paris attributes an Oriental origin to the latter part of the +tale, and for the same reason the Benedictine Fathers have had serious +doubts about admitting it into the _Acta Sanctorum_. On the other hand, +the editors of the French text, the translation of which we have before +us, go so far as to conjecture that there is a historic germ for the +whole Legend in certain incidents of the War of Charlemagne against +Didier. But as the whole connection of the Legend with the Charlemagne +Cycle is late, we need not attribute much importance to, indeed, we may +at once dismiss their conjecture. + +These disputes of the pundits cannot destroy the charm of the Legend. +Never, even in antiquity, have the claims of friendship been urged with +such a passionate emphasis. The very resemblance of the two heroes is +symbolic of their similarity of character; the very name of one of them +is Friend pure and simple. The world is well lost for friendship’s sake +on the one side, on the other nearest and dearest are willingly and +literally sacrificed on the altar of friendship. One of the most +charming of the _Fioretti_ tells how St. Francis overcame in himself the +mediæval dread at the touch of a leper, and washed and tended one of the +poor unfortunates. He was but following the example of Amil, who was not +deterred by the dreaded sound of the “tartavelle”—the clapper or rattle +which announced the approach of the leper {4}—from tending his friend. + +Here again romance has points of contact with the folk tale. The end of +the Grimms’ tale of _Faithful John_ is clearly the same as that of _Amis +and Amile_. {5} Once more we are led to believe in some dependence of +the Folk-Tale on Romance, or, _vice versa_, since an incident like that +of resuscitation by the sacrifice of a child is not likely to occur +independently to two different tellers of tales. The tale also contains +the curious incident of the unsheathed sword in bed, which, both in +romances and folk-tales, is regarded as a complete bar to any divorce +court proceedings. It is probable that the sword was considered as a +living person, so that the principle _publico_ was applied, and the sword +was regarded as a kind of chaperon. {6} It is noteworthy that the +incident occurs in _Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp_, which is a late +interpolation into the _Arabian Nights_, and may be due there to European +influence. But another incident in the romance suggests that it was +derived from a folk-tale rather than the reverse. The two bowls of wood +given to the heroes at baptism are clearly a modification of that +familiar incident in folk-tales, where one of a pair leaves with the +other a “Lifetoken” {7} which will sympathetically indicate his state of +health. As this has been considerably attenuated in our romance, we are +led to the conclusion that it is itself an adaptation of a folk-tale. + + + +IV + + +The tale of _King Florus_—the gem of the book—recalls the early part of +Shakespeare’s _Cymbeline_ and the bet about a wife’s virtue, which forms +the subject of many romances, not a few folk-tales, and at least one +folk-song. _The Romance of the Violet_, by Gerbert de Montruil, _circa_ +1225, derives its name from the mother’s mark of the heroine, which +causes her husband to lose his bet. This was probably the source of +Boccaccio’s novel (ii. 9), from which Shakespeare’s more immediately +grew. The Gaelic version of this incident, collected by Campbell (_The +Chest_, No. ii.), is clearly not of folk origin, but derived directly or +indirectly from Boccaccio, in whom alone the Chest is found. Yet it is +curious that, practically, the same story as the _Romance of the Violet_ +is found among folk-songs in modern Greece and in Modern Scotland. In +Passow’s collection of Romaic Folk Songs there is one entitled _Maurianos +and the King_, which is in substance our story; and it is probably the +existence of this folk-song which causes M. Gaston Paris to place our +tale among the romances derived from Byzantium. Yet Motherwell in his +_Minstrelsy_ has a ballad entitled _Reedisdale and Wise William_, which +has the bet as its motive. Here again, then, we have a connection +between our romance and the story-store of European folk, and at the same +time some slight link with Byzantium. + + + +V + + +The tale of “Oversea” has immediate connection with the Crusades, since +its heroine is represented to be no other than the great grandmother of +Saladin. But her adventures resemble those of Boccaccio’s Princess of +Babylon (ii. 7), who was herself taken from one of the Greek romances by +Xenophon of Ephesus. Here again, then, we can trace back to Greek +influence reaching Western Europe in the twelfth century through the +medium of the Crusades. But the tale finds no echo among the folk, so +far as I am aware, and is thus purely and simply a romance of adventure. + +This, however, is not the only story connected with the Crusades in which +the Soudan loves a lady of the Franks. Saladin is credited by the chatty +Chronicle of Rheims with having gained the love of Eleanor, wife of Louis +VII., when they were in Palestine on the Second Crusade. As Saladin did +not ascend the throne till twenty years later, chronology is enabled to +clear his memory of this piece of scandal. But its existence chimes in +with such relations between Moslem and Christian as is represented in our +story, which were clearly not regarded at the time with any particular +aversion by the folk; they agree with Cardinal Mazarin on this point. + + + +VI + + +So much for the origin of our tales. Yet who cares for origins nowadays? +We are all democrats now, and a tale, like a man, is welcomed for its +merits and not for its pedigree. Yet even democracy must own, that +pedigree often leaves its trace in style and manner, and certainly the +tales before us owe some of their charm to their lineage. “Out of +Byzantium by Old France” is a good strain by which to produce +thoroughbred romance. + +Certainly we breathe the very air of romance in these stories. There is +none of your modern priggish care for the state of your soul. Men take +rank according to their might, women are valued for their beauty alone. +Adventures are to the adventurous, and the world is full of them. Every +place but that in which one is born is equally strange and wondrous. +Once beyond the bounds of the city walls and none knows what may happen. +We have stepped forth into the Land of Faerie, but at least we are in the +open air. + +Mr. Pater seems to regard our stories as being a premonition of the +freedom and gaiety of the Renaissance rather than as especially +characteristic of the times of Romance. All that one need remark upon +such misconception is that it only proves that Mr. Pater knew less of +Romance Literature than he did of his favourite subject. The freshness, +the gaiety, the direct outlook into life are peculiar neither to Romance +nor Renaissance; their real source was the _esprit Gaulois_. But the +unquestioning, if somewhat external, piety, the immutability of the caste +system, the spirit of adventure, the frankly physical love of woman, the +large childlike wonder, these are of the essence of Romance, and they are +fully represented in the tales before us. Wonder and reverence, are not +these the parents of Romance? Intelligent curiosity and intellectual +doubt—those are what the Renaissance brought. Without indulging in +invidious comparisons between the relative value of these gifts, I would +turn back to our stories with the remark that much of the wonder which +they exhibit is due to the vague localisation which runs through them. +Rome, Paris, Byzantium, form spots of light on the mediæval map, but all +between is in the dim obscure where anything may occur, and the brave man +moves about with his life in his hands. + +We thus obtain that absence or localisation which helps to give the +characteristic tone to mediæval romance. Events happen in a sort of +sublime No Man’s Land. They happen, as it were, at the root of the +mountains, on the glittering plain, and in short, we get news from +Nowhere. It seems, therefore, peculiarly appropriate that they should be +done into English in the same style and by the same hand that has already +written the annals of those countries of romance. Writing here, in front +of Mr. Morris’s versions, I am speaking, as it were, before his face, and +must not say all that I should like in praise of the style in which he +has clothed them, and of its appropriateness for its present purpose. I +should merely like to recall the fact that it was used by him in his +versions of the Sagas as long ago as 1869. Since then it has been +adopted by all who desire to give an appropriate English dress to their +versions of classic or mediæval masterpieces of a romantic character. We +may take it, I think, that this style has established itself as the only +one suitable for a romantic version, and who shall use it with ease and +grace if not its original inventor? + +If their style suits Mr. Morris, there is little doubt that their subject +is equally congenial. I cannot claim to be in his confidence on the +point, but it is not difficult, I fancy, to guess what has attracted him +to them. Nearly all of them, we have seen, are on the borderland between +folk-tale and romance. It is tales such as these that Mr. Morris wishes +to see told in tapestry on the walls of the Moot-Hall of the Hammersmith +of Nowhere. It was by tales such as these that he first won a hearing +from all lovers of English literature. The story of Jason is but a Greek +setting of a folk-tale known among the Gaels as the _Battle of the +Birds_, and in Norse as the _Master Maid_. Many of the tales which the +travellers told one another in the _Earthly Paradise_, such as _The Man +Born to be King_ (itself derived from the first of our stories), _The +Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon_, and _The Ring given to +Venus_, are, on the face of them, folk-tales. Need I give any stronger +recommendation of this book to English readers than to ask them to regard +it as a sort of outhouse to that goodly fabric so appropriately known to +us all as _The Earthly Paradise_? + + JOSEPH JACOBS. + + + + +The Tale of King Coustans the Emperor + + +THIS tale telleth us that there was erewhile an Emperor of Byzance, which +as now is called Constantinople; but anciently it was called Byzance. +There was in the said city an Emperor; pagan he was, and was held for +wise as of his law. He knew well enough of a science that is called +Astronomy, and he knew withal of the course of the stars, and the +planets, and the moon: and he saw well in the stars many marvels, and he +knew much of other things wherein the paynims much study, and in the lots +they trow, and the answers of the Evil One, that is to say, the Enemy. +This Emperor had to name Musselin; he knew much of lore and of sorceries, +as many a pagan doth even yet. + +Now it befell on a time that the Emperor Musselin went his ways a +night-tide, he and a knight of his alone together, amidst of the city +which is now called Constantinople, and the moon shone full clear. + +And so far they went, till they heard a Christian woman who travailed in +child-bed in a certain house whereby they went. There was the husband of +the said woman aloft in a high solar, and was praying to God one while +that she might be delivered, and then again another while that she might +not be delivered. + +When the Emperor had hearkened this a great while, he said to the knight: +“Hast thou heard it of yonder churl how he prayeth that his wife may be +delivered of her child, and another while prayeth that she may not be +delivered? Certes, he is worser than a thief. For every man ought to +have pity of women, more especially of them that be sick of childing. +And now, so help me Mahoume and Termagaunt! if I do not hang him, if he +betake him not to telling me reason wherefore he doeth it! Come we now +unto him.” + +They went within, and said the Emperor: “Now churl, tell me of a sooth +wherefore thou prayedst thy God thus for thy wife, one while that she +might be delivered, and another while that she might be delivered not. +This have I will to wot.” + +“Sir,” said he, “I will tell thee well. Sooth it is that I be a clerk, +and know mickle of a science which men call Astronomy. Withal I wot of +the course of the stars and of the planets; therefore saw I well that if +my wife were delivered at the point and the hour whereas I prayed God +that she might not be delivered, that if she were delivered at that hour, +the child would go the way of perdition, and that needs must he be +burned, or hanged, or drowned. But whenas I saw that it was good hour +and good point, then prayed I to God that she might be delivered. And so +sore have I prayed God, that he hath hearkened my prayer of his mercy, +and that she is delivered in good point. God be heried and thanked!” + +“Well me now,” said the Emperor, “in what good point is the child born?” + +“Sir,” said he, “of a good will; know sir, for sooth, that this child, +which here is born, shall have to wife the daughter of the emperor of +this city, who was born but scarce eight days ago; and he shall be +emperor withal, and lord of this city, and of all the earth.” “Churl,” +said the Emperor, “this which thou sayest can never come to pass.” +“Sir,” said he, “it is all sooth, and thus it behoveth it to be.” +“Certes,” quoth the Emperor, “’tis a mighty matter to trow in.” + +But the Emperor and the Knight departed thence, and the Emperor bade the +Knight go bear off the child in such wise, if he might, that none should +see him therein. The Knight went and found there two women, who were all +busied in arraying the woman who had been brought to bed. The child was +wrapped in linen clothes, and they had laid him on a chair. Thereto came +the Knight, and took the child and laid him on a board, and brought him +to the Emperor, in such wise that none of the women wotted thereof. The +Emperor did do slit the belly of him with a knife from the breast down to +the navel, and said withal to the Knight, that never should the son of +that churl have to wife his daughter, nor be emperor after him. + +Therewithal would the Emperor do the Knight to put forth his hand to the +belly, to seek out the heart; but the Knight said to him: “Ah, sir, +a-God’s mercy, what wouldst thou do? It is nought meet to thee, and if +folk were to wot thereof, great reproach wouldst thou get thee. Let him +be at this present, for he is more than dead. And if it please thee that +that one trouble more about the matter, I will bear him down to the sea +to drown him.” “Yea,” quoth the Emperor, “bear him away thither, for +right sore do I hate him.” + +So the Knight took the child, and wrapped him in a cover-point of silk, +and bore him down toward the sea. But therewith had he pity of the +child, and said that by him should he never be drowned; so he left him, +all wrapped up as he was, on a midden before the gate of a certain abbey +of monks, who at that very nick of time were singing their matins. + +When the monks had done singing their matins, they heard the child +crying, and they bore him before the Lord Abbot. And the Abbot saw that +the child was fair, and said that he would do it to be nourished. +Therewith he did do unwrap it, and saw that it had the belly cloven from +the breast down to the navel. + +The Abbot, so soon as it was day, bade come leeches, and asked of them +for how much they would heal the child and they craved for the healing of +him an hundred of bezants. But he said that it would be more than +enough, for overmuch would the child be costing. And so much did the +Abbot, that he made market with the surgeons for four-score bezants. And +thereafter the Abbot did do baptize the child, and gave him to name +Coustans, because him-seemed that he costed exceeding much for the +healing of him. + +The leeches went so much about with child, that he was made whole and the +Abbot sought him a good nurse, and got the child to suckle, and he was +healed full soon; whereas the flesh of him was soft and tender, and grew +together swiftly one to the other, but ever after showed the mark. + +Much speedily waxed the child in great beauty; when he was seven years +old the Abbot did him to go to the school, and he learned so well, that +he over-passed all his fellows in subtilty and science. When he was of +twelve years, he was a child exceeding goodly; so it might nought avail +to seek a goodlier. And whenas the Abbot saw him to be a child so goodly +and gentle, he did him to ride abroad with him. + +Now so it fell out, that the Abbot had to speak with the Emperor of a +wrong which his bailiffs had done to the abbey. The Abbot made him a +goodly gift, whereas the abbey and convent were subject unto him, for the +Emperor was a Saracen. When the Abbot had given him his goodly gift, the +Emperor gave him day for the third day thence, whenas he should be at a +castle of his, three leagues from the city of Byzance. + +The Abbot abode the day: when he saw the time at point to go to the +Emperor, he mounted a-horseback, and his chaplain, and esquire, and his +folk; and with him was Coustans, who was so well fashioned that all +praised his great beauty, and each one said that he seemed well to be +come of high kindred, and that he would come to great good. + +So when the Abbot was come before the castle whereas the Emperor should +be, he came before him and spake to and greeted him: and the Emperor said +to him that he should come into the castle, and he would speak with him +of his matter: the Abbot made him obeisance, and said to him: “Sir, +a-God’s name!” Then the Abbot called to him Coustans, who was holding of +his hat while he spake unto the Emperor; and the Emperor looked on the +lad, and saw him so fair and gentle as never before had he seen the like +fair person. So he asked of the Abbot what he was; and the Abbot said +him that he wotted not, save that he was of his folk, and that he had +bred him up from a little child. “And if I had leisure with thee, I +would tell thee thereof fine marvels.” “Yea,” said the Emperor; “come ye +into the castle, and therein shalt thou say me the sooth.” + +The Emperor came into the castle, and the Abbot was ever beside him, as +one who had his business to do; and he did it to the best that he might, +as he who was subject unto him. The Emperor forgat in nowise the great +beauty of the lad, and said unto the Abbot that he should cause him come +before him, and the Abbot sent for the lad, who came straightway. + +When the child was before the Emperor, he seemed unto him right fair; and +he said unto the Abbot, that great damage it was that so fair a lad was +Christian. But the Abbot said that it was great joy thereof, whereas he +would render unto God a fair soul. When the Emperor heard that, he fell +a-laughing, and said to the Abbot that the Christian law was of no +account, and that all they were lost who trowed therein. When the Abbot +heard him so say, he was sore grieved; but he durst not make answer as he +would, so he said much humbly: “Sir, if God please, who can all things, +they are not lost; for God will have mercy of his sinners.” + +Then the Emperor asked of him whence that fair child was come; and the +Abbot said that it was fifteen years gone since he had been found before +their gate, on a midden, all of a night-tide. “And our monks heard him +a-crying whenas they had but just said matins; and they went to seek the +child, and brought him to me; and I looked on the babe, and beheld him +much fair, and I said that I would do him to be nourished and baptized. +I unwrapped him, for the babe was wrapped up in a cover-point of vermil +sendel; and when he was unwrapped, I saw that he had the belly slit from +the breast to the navel. Then I sent for leeches and surgeons, and made +market with them to heal him for four-score bezants; and thereafter he +was baptized, and I gave him to name Coustans, because he costed so much +of goods to heal. So was the babe presently made whole: but never +sithence might it be that the mark appeared not on his belly.” + +When the Emperor heard that, he knew that it was the child whose belly he +had slit to draw the heart out of him. So he said to the Abbot that he +should give him the lad. And the Abbot said that he would speak thereof +to his convent, and that he should have him with their good-will. The +Emperor held his peace, and answered never a word. But the Abbot took +leave of him, and came to his abbey, and his monks, and told them that +the Emperor had craved Coustans of him. “But I answered that I would +speak to you if ye will yea-say it. Say, now, what ye would praise of my +doing herein.” + +“What!” said the wisest of the convent; “by our faith, evil hast thou +done, whereas thou gavest him not presently, even as he demanded of thee. +We counsel thee send him straightway, lest the Emperor be wrath against +us, for speedily may we have scathe of him.” + +Thereto was their counsel fast, that Coustans should be sent to the +Emperor. So the Abbot commanded the Prior to lead Coustans thereto; and +the Prior said: “A-God’s name!” + +So he mounted, and led with him Coustans, and came unto the Emperor, and +greeted him on behalf of the Abbot and the convent; and then he took +Coustans by the hand, and, on the said behalf, gave him to the Emperor, +who received him as one who was much wrath that such a runagate and +beggar churl should have his daughter to wife. But he thought in his +heart that he would play him the turn. + +When the Emperor had gotten Coustans, he was in sore imagination how he +should be slain in such wise that none might wot word thereof. And it +fell out so that the Emperor had matters on hand at the outer marches of +his land, much long aloof thence, well a twelve days’ journey. So the +Emperor betook him to going thither, and had Coustans thither with him, +and thought what wise he might to do slay him, till at last he let write +a letter to his Burgreve of Byzance. + +“I Emperor of Byzance and Lord of Greece, do thee to wit who abidest duly +in my place for the warding of my land; and so soon as thou seest this +letter thou shalt slay or let slay him who this letter shall bear to +thee, so soon as he hast delivered the said letter to thee, without +longer tarrying. As thou holdest dear thine own proper body, do +straightway my commandment herein.” + +Even such was the letter which the fair child Coustans bore, and knew not +that he bore his own death. The lad took the letter, which was close, +and betook him to the road, and did so much by his journeys that he came +in less than fifteen days to Byzance, which is nowadays called +Constantinople. + +When the lad entered into the city, it was the hour of dinner; so, as God +would have it, he thought that he would not go his errand at that nick of +time, but would tarry till folk had done dinner: and exceeding hot was +the weather, as is wont about St. John’s-mass. So he entered into the +garden all a-horseback. Great and long was the garden; so the lad took +the bridle from off his horse and unlaced the saddle-girths, and let him +graze; and thereafter he went into the nook of a tree; and full pleasant +was the place, so that presently he fell asleep. + +Now so it fell out, that when the fair daughter of the Emperor had eaten, +she went into the garden with three of her maidens; and they fell to +chasing each other about, as whiles is the wont of maidens to play; until +at the last the fair Emperor’s daughter came under the tree whereas +Coustans lay a-sleeping, and he was all vermil as the rose. And when the +damsel saw him, she beheld him with a right good will, and she said to +herself that never on a day had she seen so fair a fashion of man. Then +she called to her that one of her fellows in whom she had the most +affiance, and the others she made to go forth from out of the garden. + +Then the fair maiden, daughter of the Emperor, took her fellow by the +hand, and led her to look on the lovely lad whereas he lay a-sleeping; +and she spake thus: “Fair fellow, here is a rich treasure. Lo thou! the +most fairest fashion of a man that ever mine eyes have seen on any day of +my life. And he beareth a letter, and well I would see what it sayeth.” + +So the two maidens drew nigh to the lad, and took from him the letter, +and the daughter of the Emperor read the same; and when she had read it, +she fell a-lamenting full sore, and said to her fellow: “Certes here is a +great grief!” “Ha, my Lady!” said the other one, “tell me what it is.” +“Of a surety,” said the Maiden, “might I but trow in thee I would do away +that sorrow!” “Ha, Lady,” said she, “hardily mayest thou trow in me, +whereas for nought would I uncover that thing which thou wouldst have +hid.” + +Then the Maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, took oath of her according +to the paynim law; and thereafter she told her what the letter said; and +the damsel answered her: “Lady, and what wouldest thou do?” “I will tell +thee well,” said the daughter of the Emperor; “I will put in his pouch +another letter, wherein the Emperor, my father, biddeth his Burgreve to +give me to wife to this fair child here, and that he make great feast at +the doing of the wedding unto all the folk of this land; whereas he is to +wot well that the lad is a high man and a loyal.” + +When the damsel had heard that, she said that would be good to do. “But, +Lady, how wilt thou have the seal of thy father?” “Full well,” said the +Maiden, “for my father delivered to me four pair of scrolls, sealed of +his seal thereon; he hath written nought therein; and I will write all +that I will.” “Lady,” said she, “thou hast said full well; but do it +speedily, and haste thee ere he awakeneth.” “So will I,” said the +Maiden. + +Then the fair Maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, went to her coffers, +and drew thereout one of the said scrolls sealed, which her father had +left her, that she might borrow moneys thereby, if so she would. For +ever was the Emperor and his folk in war, whereas he had neighbours right +felon, and exceeding mighty, whose land marched upon his. So the Maiden +wrote the letter in this wise: + +“I King Musselin, Emperor of Greece and of Byzance the city, to my +Burgreve of Byzance greeting. I command thee that the bearer of this +letter ye give to my fair daughter in marriage according to our law; +whereas I have heard and wot soothly that he is a high person, and well +worthy to have my daughter. And thereto make ye great joy and great +feast to all them of my city and of all my land.” + +In such wise wrote and said the letter of the fair daughter of the +Emperor; and when she had written the said letter, she went back to the +garden, she and her fellow together, and found that one yet asleep, and +they put the letter into his pouch. And then they began to sing and make +noise to awaken him. So he awoke anon, and was all astonied at the fair +Maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, and the other one her fellow, who +came before him; and the fair Maiden, daughter of the Emperor, greeted +him; and he greeted her again right debonairly. Then she asked of him +what he was, and whither he went; and he said that he bore a letter to +the Burgreve, which the Emperor sent by him; and the Maiden said that she +would bring him straightway whereas was the Burgreve. Therewith she took +him by the hand, and brought him to the palace, where there was much +folk, who all rose against the Maiden, as to her who was their Lady. + +Now the Maiden demanded the Burgreve, and they told her that he was in a +chamber; so thither she led the lad, and the lad delivered the letter, +and said that the Emperor greeted him. But the Burgreve made great joy +of the lad, and kissed the hand of him. The Maiden opened the pouch, and +fell a-kissing the letter and the seal of her father for joy’s sake, +whereas she had not heard tidings of him a great while. + +Thereafter she said to the Burgreve that she would hearken the letter in +privy council, even as if she wotted nought thereof; and the Burgreve +said that that were good to do. Then went the Burgreve and the Maiden +into a chamber, and the Maiden unfolded the letter and read it to the +Burgreve, and made semblance of wondering exceedingly; and the Burgreve +said to her, “Lady, it behoveth to do the will of my lord thy father, for +otherwise we shall be blamed exceedingly.” The Maiden answered him: “And +how can this be, that I should be wedded without my lord my father? A +strange thing it would be, and I will do it in no manner.” + +“Ha, Lady!” said the Burgreve, “what is that thou sayest? Thy father has +bidden thus by his letter, and it behoveth not to gainsay.” + +“Sir,” said the Maiden, (unto whom it was late till the thing were done) +“thou shalt speak unto the barons and mighty men of this realm, and take +counsel thereof. And if they be of accord thereto, I am she who will not +go against it.” Then the Burgreve said that she spake well and as one +wise. + +Then spake the Burgreve to the barons, I and showed them the letter, and +they accorded all to that that the matter of the letter must be +accomplished, and the will of the Emperor done. Then they wedded the +fair youth Coustans, according to the paynim law, unto the fair daughter +of the Emperor; and the wedding endured for fifteen days: and such great +joy was there at Byzance that it was exceeding, and folk did no work in +the city, save eating and drinking and making merry. + +Long while abode the Emperor in the land whereas he was: and when he had +done his business, he went his ways back towards Byzance; and whenas he +was but anigh two journeys thence, came to him a message of the +messengers who came from Byzance. The Emperor asked of him what they did +in the city; and the varlet said that they were making exceeding good +cheer of eating and drinking and taking their ease, and that no work had +they done therein these fifteen days. + +“And wherefore is that?” said the Emperor. “Wherefore, Sir! Wot ye not +well thereof?” “Nay, forsooth,” said the Emperor, “but tell me +wherefore.” + +“Sir,” said the varlet, “thou sentest a youngling, exceeding fair, to thy +Burgreve, and badest him by thy letter to wed him to thy daughter the +fair, and that he should be emperor after thee, whereas he was a man +right high, and well worthy to have her. But thy daughter would not take +that before that the Burgreve should have spoken to the barons. And he +spake to all them, and showed them thy letter; and they said that it +behoved to do thy commandment. And when thy daughter saw that they were +all of one accord thereon, she durst not go against them, but yea-said +it. Even in such wise hath thy daughter been wedded, and such joy has +been in the city as none might wish it better.” + +The Emperor, when he heard the messenger speak thus, was all astonied, +and thought much of this matter; and he asked of the varlet how long it +was since the lad had wedded his daughter, and whether or no he had lain +by her? + +“Sir,” said the varlet, “yea; and she may well be big by now; because it +is more than three weeks since he hath wedded her.” “Forsooth,” said the +Emperor, “in a good hour be it! for since it is so, it behoveth me to +abide it, since no other it may be.” + +So far rode the Emperor till he came to Byzance, whereas they made him +much fair feast; and his fair daughter came to meet him, and her husband +Coustans, who was so fair a child that none might better be. The +Emperor, who was a wise man, made of them much great joy, and laid his +two hands upon their two heads, and held them there a great while; which +is the manner of benison amongst the paynims. + +That night thought the Emperor much on this marvel, how it could have +come about; and so much he pondered it, that he wotted full well that it +had been because of his daughter. So he had no will to gain-say her, but +he demanded to see the letter which he had sent, and they showed it unto +him, and he saw his seal hanging thereto, and saw the letter which was +written; and by the manner whereby the thing had been done, he said to +himself that he had striven against the things which behoved to be. + +Thereafter, the Emperor made Coustans a knight, even his new son who was +wedded unto his daughter, and he gave and granted to him all the whole +land after his death. And the said Coustans bore him well and wisely, as +a good knight, and a valiant and hardy, and defended him full well +against his enemies. No long time wore ere his lord the Emperor died, +and his service was done much richly, after the paynim law. Then was +Coustans emperor, and he loved and honoured much the Abbot who had +nourished him, and he made him his very master. And the Emperor +Coustans, by the counsel of the Abbot, and the will of God the all +mighty, did do christen his wife, and all they of that land were +converted to the law of Jesus Christ. And the Emperor Coustans begot on +his wife an heir male, who had to name Constantine, who was thereafter a +prudhomme much great. And thereafter was the city called Constantinople, +because of his father, Coustans, who costed so much, but aforetime was it +called Byzance. + +Here withal endeth the Story of King Coustans the Emperor. + +The said story was done out of the ancient French into English by William +Morris. + + + + +The Friendship of Amis and Amile + + +IN the time of Pepin King of France was a child born in the Castle of +Bericain of a noble father of Alemaine who was of great holiness. + +The father and the mother promised to God, and Saint Peter and Saint +Paul, whereas they had none other child, that if God gave it life, they +would bear it to Rome to baptism. At the same time came a vision to a +Count of Alverne, whose wife was big with child, whereby it seemed that +the Apostle of Rome was baptizing many children in his palace and +confirming them with chrism. + +So when the Count was awaken he sought of many wise folk what might +signify that which he had seen in the dream. And when his vision was +uncovered, a wise man and ancient bespake him by the counsel of God: +“Make great joy, Count, for there shall be born to thee a son full of +great prowess and of great holiness; and him thou shalt let bear to Rome +and let baptize him by the Apostle.” + +Thereof great joy made the Count, and he and his folk praised the counsel +of the elder. + +The child was born and dearly fostered, and when he had two years, and +the father after his purpose was bearing him to Rome, he came to the city +of Lucca. And therein he found a noble man of Almaine who was wending +Romeward and bearing his son to baptism. They greeted one the other, and +each asked other who he was and what he sought, and when they found +themselves to be of one purpose they joined company in all friendliness +and entered Rome together. And the two children fell to loving one +another so sorely that one would not eat without the other, they lived of +one victual, and lay in one bed. + +In this wise the fathers brought them before the Apostle at Rome, and +spake to him: “Holy Father, whom we know and believe to be in the place +of Saint Peter the Apostle, the Count of Alverne, and a noble knight of +Bericain the Castle, beseech your Holiness that ye would deign to baptize +their sons which they have brought from far away, and that ye would take +their little offering from their hands.” + +And the Apostle answered them: “I hold your gifts for right acceptable, +but they are not to me of much necessity; give them to the poor, who have +need thereof. The infants will I baptize with a good will, that the +Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost may embrace them in the love of the +Holy Trinity.” + +Forthwith then the Apostle baptized them in the Church of the Holy +Saviour, and laid for name on the son of the Count, Amile, and on the son +of the Knight, Amis; and many a knight of Rome held them at the font with +mickle joy, and raised them aloft even as God would. And the office of +Baptism done, the Apostle bade bring two hanaps of tree dight with gold +and precious stones, side and wide alike, and of like fashion, and gave +them to the bairns and said: “Take these gifts in token that I have +baptized you in the Church of the Holy Saviour.” Which gifts they took +joyfully and thanked him much, and betook them thence home in all +joyance. + +To the child of Bericain did God give so great wisdom, that one might +trow that he were another Solomon; and when he was of the age of thirty +years a fever took his father, and he fell to admonishing his son in such +like words: “Fair son, well beloved, it behoveth me presently to die, and +thou shalt abide and be thine own master. Now firstly, fair son, keep +thou the commandments of God; the chivalry of Jesus Christ do thou. Keep +thou faith to thy lords, and give aid to thy fellows and friends. Defend +the widows and orphans. Uphold the poor and needy: and all days hold thy +last day in memory. Forget not the fellowship and friendship of the son +of the Count of Alverne, whereas the Apostle of Rome on one day baptized +you both, and with one gift honoured you. Ye be alike of beauty, of +fashion, and stature, and whoso should see you, would deem you to be +brethren.” + +So having finished these words, and received his Saviour, he departed in +our Lord, and his son did do bury him, and did do render him his service, +even as one should do for the dead. + +After the death of his father evil folk bore envy against him, and did +him many a scathe, and grieved him sorely; but he loved them all and +suffered whatsoever they did to him. What more may I tell you, save that +they cast him and his folk out of the heritage of his fathers, and chased +him forth out of his castle. So when he bethought him of the commandment +of his father, he said to them who went in his company: “The wicked have +wrongfully cast me forth out of mine heritage: yet have I good hope in +our Lord that he will help me; go we now to the Court of the Count Amile, +who was my friend and my fellow. May-happen he will make us rich with +his goods and his havings. But if it be not so, then shall we go to +Hildegard the Queen, wife of King Charles of France, who is wont to +comfort the disinherited.” + +And they answered that they were ready to follow him and do his bidding. + +Therewith they went their ways to the Court of the Count and found him +not there, because he was gone to Bericain to visit Amis his fellow, and +comfort him of the death of his father. And when he found him not, he +departed sore troubled, and said to himself that he would not betake him +to his own land till he had found Amis his fellow; and he sought him in +France and in Almaine, where soever he heard tell that his kindred were, +and could find no certainty of him. + +Therewithal Amis together with his folk, ceased not to seek his fellow +Amile, until they came to the house of a noble man where they were +guested. Thereat they told by order all their adventure and the noble +man said to them: “Abide with me, Sir Knights, and I will give my +daughter to your lord, because of the wisdom that I have heard of him, +and I will make you all rich of gold and of silver, and of havings.” + +That word pleased them, and they I held the bridal with mickle joy. But +when they had abided there for a year and a half, then said Amis to his +ten fellows “We have done amiss in that we have left seeking of Amile.” +And he left there two of his sergeants and his hanap, and went his ways +toward Paris. + +Now by this time had Amile been a-seeking for Amis two years past without +ceasing. And whenas Amile drew nigh to Paris he found a pilgrim and +asked if he had seen Amis whom men had chased out of his land; and that +one said nay, he had not. But Amile did off his coat and gave it to the +pilgrim and said: “Pray thou to our Lord and his Hallows that they give +me to find Amis my fellow.” + +Then he departed from the pilgrim, and went his ways to Paris, and found +no-whither Amis his fellow. + +But the pilgrim went his ways forthwith, and about vespers happened on +Amis, and they greeted each the other. And Amis said to the pilgrim, had +he seen or heard tidings in any land of Amile, son of the Count of +Alverne. And the pilgrim answered him all marvelling: “Who art thou, +Knight, who thus mockest a pilgrim? Thou seemest to me that Amile who +this day asked of me if I had seen Amis his fellow. I wot not for why +thou hast changed thy garments, thy folk, thine horses, and thine arms. +Thou askest me now what thou didst ask me to-day about tierce; and thou +gavest me this coat.” + +“Trouble not thine heart,” said Amis, “I am not he whom thou deemest; but +I am Amis who seeketh Amile.” And he gave him of his silver, and bade +him pray our Lord to give him to find Amile. And the pilgrim said: “Go +thy ways forthright to Paris, and I trow that thou shalt find him whom +thou seekest so sore longing.” And therewith Aims went his ways full +eagerly. + +Now on the morrow Amile was already departed from Paris, and was sitting +at meat with his knights hard by the water of Seine in a flowery meadow. +And when they saw Amis coming with his fellows all armed, they rose up +and armed them, and so went forth before them; and Amis said to his +fellows: “I see French knights who come against us in arms. Now fight +hardily and defend your lives. If we may escape this peril, then shall +we go with great joy to Paris, and thereto shall we be received with high +favour at the Court of the King.” + +Then were the reins let loose and the spears shaken aloft, and the swords +drawn on either side, in such wise that no semblance was there that any +should escape alive. But God the all mighty who seeth all, and who +setteth an end to the toil of the righteous, did to hold aback them of +one part and of the other when they were now hard on each other, for then +said Amis: “Who are ye knights, who have will to slay Amis the exile and +his fellows?” At that voice Amile knew Amis his fellow and said: “O thou +Amis most well beloved, rest from my travail, I am Amile, son of the +Count of Alverne, who have not ceased to seek thee for two whole years.” + +And therewith they lighted down from their horses, and embraced and +kissed each other, and gave thanks to God of that they were found. And +they swore fealty and friendship and fellowship perpetual, the one to the +other, on the sword of Amile, wherein were relics. Thence went they all +together to the Court of Charles, King of France; there might men behold +them young, well attempered, wise, fair, and of like fashion and visage, +loved of all and honoured. And the King received them much joyously, and +made of Amis his treasurer, and of Amile his server. + +But when they had abided thus three years, Amis said unto Amile: “Fair +sweet fellow, I desire sore to go see my wife whom I have left behind; +and I will return the soonest that I may; and do thou abide at the Court. +But keep thee well from touching the daughter of the King; and above all +things beware of Arderi the felon.” Amile answered him: “I will take +heed of thy commandment; but betake thee back hither so soon as thou +mayest.” + +Thuswise departed Amis. But Amile cast his eyes upon the King’s +daughter, and knew her so soon as he might; and right soon forgat he the +commandment and the teaching of Amis his fellow. Yet is not this +adventure strange, whereas he was no holier than David, nor wiser than +Solomon. + +Amidst these things Arderi the traitor, who bore him envy, came to him +and said: “Thou wottest not, fellow, thou wottest not, how Amis hath +robbed the treasure of the King, and therefore is fled away. Wherefore I +require of thee thou swear me fealty and friendship and fellowship, and I +will swear the same to thee on the holy Gospel.” And so when that was +done Amile doubted not to lay bare his secret to Arderi. + +But whenas Amile was a-giving water to the King to wash his hands withal, +the false Arderi said to the King: “Take thou no water from this evil +man, sir King: for he is more worthy of death than of life, whereas he +hath taken from the Queen’s Daughter the flower of her virginity.” But +when Amile heard this, he fell adown all astonied, and might say never a +word; but the benign King lifted him up again, and said to him: “Rise up, +Amile, and have no fear, and defend thee of this blame.” So he lifted +himself up and said: “Have no will to trow, sire, in the lies of Arderi +the traitor, for I wot that thou art a rightwise judge, and that thou +turnest not from the right way, neither for love nor for hatred. +Wherefore I pray thee that thou give me frist of counsel; and that I may +purge me of this guilt before thee, and do the battle against Arderi the +traitor, and make him convict of his lies before all the Court.” + +So the King gave to one and the other frist of counsel till after nones, +and that then they should come before him for to do their devoir; and +they came before the King at the term which he had given them. Arderi +brought with him the Count Herbert for his part; but Amile found none who +would be for him saving Hildegarde the Queen, who took up the cause for +him, and gat frist of counsel for Amile, on such covenant that if Amile +came not back by the term established, she should be lacking all days of +the bed of the King. + +But when Amile went to seek counsel, he happened on Amis, his fellow, who +was betaking him to the King’s Court; and Amile lighted down from his +horse, and cast himself at the feet of his fellow, and said: “O thou, the +only hope of my salvation, evilly have I kept thy commandment; for I have +run into wyte of the King’s Daughter, and I have taken up battle against +the false Arderi.” + +Then said Amis, sighing: “Leave we here our folk, end enter into this +wood to lay bare our secret.” And Amis fell to blaming Amile, and said: +“Change we our garments and our horses, and get thee to my house, and I +will do the battle for thee against the traitor.” And Amile answered: +“How may I go into thine house, who have no knowledge of thy wife and thy +folk, and have never seen them face to face?” But Amis said to him: “Go +in all safety, and seek wisely to know them: but take good heed that thou +touch not my wife.” + +And thuswise they departed each from his fellow weeping; and Amis went +his ways to the Court of the King in the semblance of Amile, and Amile to +the house of his fellow in the semblance of Amis. But the wife of Amis, +when she saw him betake him thither, ran to embrace him, whom she deemed +was her husband, and would have kissed him. But he said: “Flee thou from +before me, for I have greater need to lament than to play; whereas, since +I departed from thee, I have suffered adversity full sore, and yet have +to suffer.” + +And a night-time whenas they lay in one bed, then Amile laid his sword +betwixt the two of them, and said to the woman: “Take heed that thou +touch me in no manner wise, else diest thou straightway by this sword.” +And in likewise did he the other nights, until Amis betook him in +disguise to his house to wot if Amile kept faith with him of his wife. + +Now was the term of the battle come, and the Queen abode Amile all full +of fear, for the traitor Arderi said, all openly, that the Queen should +nevermore draw nigh the bed of the King, whereas she had suffered and +consented hereto, that Amile should shame her daughter. Amidst these +words Amis entered into the Court of the King clad in the raiment of his +fellow, Amile, at the hour of midday and said to the King: “Right +debonaire and loyal judge, here am I apparelled to do the battle against +the false Arderi, in defence of me, the Queen, and her daughter of the +wyte which they lay upon us.” + +And the King answered benignly and said: “Be thou nought troubled, Count, +for if thou vanquishest the battle, I will give thee to wife Belisant my +daughter.” + +On the morrow’s morn, Arderi and Amis entered armed into the field in the +presence of the King and his folk. And the Queen with much company of +virgins, and widows and wedded wives, went from church to church making +prayers for the Champion of her daughter, and they gave gifts, oblations +and candles. + +But Amis fell to pondering in his heart, that if he should slay Arderi, +he would be guilty of his death before God, and if he were vanquished, it +should be for a reproach to him all his days. Wherefore he spake +thuswise to Arderi: “O thou, Count, foul rede thou hast, in that thou +desirest my death so sorely, and hast foolishly cast thy life into peril +of death. If thou wouldest but take back the wyte which thou layest on +me, and leave this mortal battle, thou mayest have my friendship and my +service.” + +But Arderi, as one out of his wit, answered him: “I will nought of thy +friendship nor thy service; but I shall swear the sooth as it verily is, +and I shall smite the head from off thee.” + +So Arderi swore that he had shamed the King’s Daughter, and Amis swore +that he lied; and straightway they dealt together in strokes, and fought +together from the hour of tierce right on till nones. And Arderi was +vanquished, and Amis smote off his head. + +The King was troubled that he had Arderi; yet was he joyous that his +daughter was purged of her guilt. And he gave to Amis his daughter, and +a great sum of gold and silver, and a city hard by the sea wherein to +dwell. And Amis received the same with great joy. Then he returned at +his speediest to his hostel wherein he had left Amile his fellow; but +whenas Amile saw him coming with much company of horse, he deemed that +Amis was vanquished, and fell to fleeing: but Amis bade him return in all +safety, for that he had vanquished Arderi, and thereby was wedded for him +to the King’s Daughter. Thence then did Amile betake him, and abode in +the aforesaid city with his wife. + +But Amis abode with his wife, and he became mesel by the will of our +Lord, in such wise that he might not move from his bed; for God +chastiseth him that He loveth. + +And his wife, who had to name Obias, had him in sore hate, and many a +time strove to strangle him; and when Amis found that, he called to him +two of his sergeants, Azones and Horatus by name, and said to them: “Take +me out of the hands of this evil woman, and take my hanap privily and +bear me to the Castle of Bericain.” + +So when they drew nigh to the castle, folk came to meet them, and asked +of them who was the feeble sick man whom they bore; and they said it was +Amis, the master of them, who was become mesel, and prayed them that they +would do him some mercy. But nevertheless, they beat the sergeants of +Amis, and cast him down from the cart whereon they were bearing him, and +said: “Flee hence speedily if ye would not lose your lives.” + +Then Amis fell a-weeping, and said: “O Thou, God debonaire and full of +pity, give me death, or give me aid from mine infirmity!” And therewith +he said to his sergeants: “Bring me to the Church of the Father of Rome, +whereas God may peradventure of His great mercy purvey for my poverty.” + +When they came to Rome, Constantin the Apostle, full of pity and of +holiness, and many a knight of Rome of them who had held Amis at the +font, came to meet him, and gave him sustenance enough for him and his +sergeants. + +But in the space of three years thereafter was so great famine in the +city, that the father had will to thrust the son away from his house. +Then spake Azones and Horatus to Amis, and said: “Fair sir, thou wottest +how feally we have served thee sithence the death of thy father unto this +day, and that we have never trespassed against thy commandment. But now +we may no longer abide with thee, whereas we have no will to perish of +hunger: wherefore we pray thee give us leave to escape this mortal +pestilence.” + +Then Amis answered them weeping: “O ye fair sons, and not sergeants, my +only comfort, I pray you for God’s sake that ye leave me not here, but +bear me to the city of the Count Amile my fellow.” + +And they who would well obey his commandments, bore him thither whereas +was Amile; and there they fell to sounding on their tartavelles before +the Court of Amile, even as mesel folk be wont to do. And when Amile +heard the sound thereof he bade a sergeant of his to bear to the sick man +of bread and of flesh, and therewithal his hanap, which was given to him +at Rome, full of good wine: and when the sergeant had done his +commandment he said to him when he came again: “By the faith which I owe +thee, sir, if I held not thine hanap in my hand, I had deemed that it was +even that which the sick man had; for one and the same be they of +greatness and of fashion.” Then said Amile: “Go speedily and lead him +hither to me.” + +But when he was before his fellow he asked of him who he was, and how he +had gotten that hanap. Said he: “I am of Bericain the Castle, and the +hanap was given me by the Apostle of Rome, when he baptized me.” + +And when Amile heard that, he knew that it was Amis his fellow who had +delivered him from death, and given him to wife the King’s Daughter of +France; straightway he cast himself upon him and fell to crying out +strongly, and to weeping and lamenting, and to kissing and embracing him. +And when his wife heard the same, she ran thereto all dishevelled, and +making great dole, whereas she had in memory of how he had slain Arderi. +And straightway they laid him in a very fair bed, and said to him: “Abide +with us, fair sir, until that God shall do his will of thee, for +whatsoever we have is for thee to deal with.” And he abode with them, +and his sergeants with him. + +Now it befel on a night whenas Amis and Amile lay in one chamber without +other company, that God sent to Amis Raphael his angel, who said to him: +“Sleepest thou, Amis?” And he, who deemed that Amile had called to him, +answered: “I sleep not, fair sweet fellow.” Then the angel said to him: +“Thou hast answered well, whereas thou art the fellow of the citizens of +Heaven, and thou hast followed after Job, and Thoby in patience. Now I +am Raphael, an angel of our Lord, and am come to tell thee of a medicine +for thine healing, whereas He hath heard thy prayers. Thou shalt tell to +Amile thy fellow, that he slay his two children and wash thee in their +blood, and thence thou shalt get thee the healing of thy body.” + +Then said Amis: “Never shall it be that my fellow be a manslayer for the +healing of me.” But the Angel said: “Yet even so it behoveth to do.” + +And when he had so said, the Angel departed; and therewith Amile, as if +a-sleeping, heard those words, and awoke, and said: “What is it, fellow? +who hath spoken unto thee?” And Amis answered that none had spoken: “But +I have prayed to our Lord according to my wont.” Then Amile said: “Nay, +it is not so; some one hath spoken to thee.” Therewith he arose and went +to the door of the chamber, and found it shut, and said: “Tell me, fair +brother, who hath spoken to thee these words of the night?” + +Then Amis fell a-weeping sorely, and said to him that it was Raphael the +Angel of our Lord who had said to him: “Amis, our Lord biddeth that thou +tell Amile that he slay his two children, and wash thee with the blood of +them, and that then thou wilt be whole of thy meselry.” + +But Amile was sore moved with these words, and said to him: “Amis, I have +given over to thee man-servant and maid-servant and all my goods, and now +thou feignest in fraud that the Angel hath spoken to thee that I slay my +two children!” But forthwith Amis fell a-weeping, and said: “I wot that +I have spoken to thee things grievous, as one constrained, and now I pray +thee that thou cast me not out of thine house.” And Amile said that he +had promised that he would hold him till the hour of his death: “But I +conjure thee by the faith which is betwixt thee and me, and by our +fellowship, and by the baptism which we took between me and thee at Rome, +that thou tell me if it be man or Angel who hath said this to thee.” + +Then Amis answered: “As true as it was an Angel who spake to me this +night, so may God deliver me from mine infirmity.” + +Then Amile fell to weeping privily, and thinking in his heart: “This man +forsooth was apparelled before the King to die for me, and why should I +not slay my children for him; if he hath kept faith with me to the death, +why keep I not faith? Abraham was saved by faith, and by faith have the +hallows vanquished kingdoms; and God saith in the Gospel: ‘That which ye +would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them.’” + +And Amile without more tarrying, went to the chamber of his wife, and +bade her go hear the service of our Lord; and the Countess gat her to the +church even as she was wont. + +Then the Count took his sword, and went to the bed where lay his +children, and found them sleeping, and he threw himself upon them, and +fell to weeping bitterly and said: “Who hath heard ever of a father who +of his own will hath slain his child? Ah, alas my children! I shall be +no more your father, but your cruel murderer!” And therewith the +children awoke because of the tears which fell on them from their father; +and the children, who looked on the face of their father, fell +a-laughing. And whereas they were of the age of three years or +thereabout, their father said to them: “Your laughter shall be turned +into weeping, for now shall your innocent blood be shed.” + +When he had so said he cut off their heads and then laid them out behind +the bed, and laid the heads to the bodies, and covered them over even as +they slept. And with their blood which he received, he washed his +fellow, and said: “Sire God, Jesus Christ, who commandest men to keep +faith upon the earth, and who cleansest the mesel by thy word, deign thou +to cleanse my fellow, for the love of whom I have shed the blood of my +children.” + +Then was Amis cleansed of his meselry, and they gave thanks to our Lord +with great joy and said: “Blessed be God, the father of our Lord Jesus +Christ, who healeth them that have hope in him.” + +And Amile clad his fellow in his own right goodly raiment; and therewith +they went to the church to give thanks there, and the bells by the grace +of God rang of themselves. And when the people of the city heard that, +they ran all together toward that marvel. + +Now the wife of the Count when she saw them both going together, fell to +asking which of the two was her husband and said: “I know well the +raiment of these twain, but I wot not which is Amile.” + +And the Count said: “I am Amile, and this my fellow is Amis, who is +whole.” Then the Countess wondered, and said: “I see him all whole; but +much I desire to know whereby he is healed.” “Render we thanks to our +Lord,” said the Count, “nor disquiet us as to how it may be.” + +Now was come the hour of tierce, and neither the father nor the mother +was yet entered in to their children; but the father sighed grievously +for the death of his babes. Then the Countess asked for her children to +make her joy, and the Count said: “Dame let be, let the children sleep!” + +Therewith he entered all alone to the children to weep over them, and he +found them playing in the bed; but the scars of their wounds showed about +the necks of each of them even as a red fillet. + +Then he took them in his arms, and bore them to their mother, and said +“Make great joy, dame, whereas thy sons whom I had slain by the +commandment of the Angel are alive again, and by their blood is Amis +cured and healed.” + +And when the Countess heard it she said: “O thou, Count, why didst thou +not lead me with thee to receive the blood of my children, and I would +have washed therewith Amis thy fellow and my Lord?” + +Then said the Count: “Dame, let be these words; and let us be at the +service of our Lord, who hath done such great wonders in our house.” + +Which thing they did even unto their death and held chastity. + +And they made great joy through that same city for ten days. + +But on the selfsame day that Amis was made whole, the devils bore off his +wife; they brake the neck of her, and bore away her soul. + +After these things Amis betook him to the Castle of Bericain and laid +siege before it; and abode there before so long, that they of the castle +rendered themselves to him. He received them benignly, and pardoned them +their evil will; and from thenceforth he dwelt with them peaceably and he +held with him the elder son of Amile, and served our Lord with all his +heart. + +Thereafter Adrian, Apostle of Rome, sent word to Charles, King of France, +that he come help him against Desir, the King of the Lombards, who much +tormented the Church; and Charles was as then in the town of Theodocion. +Thither came Peter, messenger of the Apostle, who said to him that the +Apostle prayed him to come defend Holy Church. Thereupon King Charles +sent to the said Desir messengers to pray him that he give back to the +Holy Father the cities and other things which he had taken from him, and +that he would give him thereto the sum of forty thousand sols of gold in +gold and in silver. But he would give way neither for prayers nor gifts. +Thereon the good King bade come to him all manner folk, Bishops, Abbots, +Dukes, Princes, Marquises and other strong knights. And he sent to +Cluses certain of these for to guard the passage of the ways. Amongst +the which was Albins, Bishop of Angier, a man full of great holiness. + +Then the King Charles together with many warriors, drew nigh to Cluses by +the Mount of Sinense, and sent Bernhart his uncle, and a many with him, +by the Mount of Jove. And the vanward said that Desir, together with all +his force, was already at Cluses, the which he had do dight with bulwarks +of iron and stone. + +But whenas Charles drew nigh to Cluses, he sent his messengers to Desir, +praying him to give back to the Holy Father the cities which he had +taken; but he would nought for the prayer. Again Charles bade him that +he send three of the children of the judges of Lombardy in hostage, until +such time as he had given back the cities of the Church, and that he +would betake him to France with all his host, without battle and without +doing any scathe. But he neither for that, nor for aught else would +blench one whit. + +Now when God the almighty had seen the hard heart and malice of this man; +and that the French were sore desirous to get them aback home, he set so +great fear and so great trembling in the hearts of the Lombards, that +they turned to flight all of them, although none chased them, and left +there behind them their tents and all their gear. When that saw Charles +and his host, they followed them and thrust forth into Lombardy French, +Almaines, English and all other manner of folk. + +Of that host were Amis and Amile, who were the first in the court of the +King, and every way they heeded the works of our Lord, in fasting, in +praying, in alms-doing, in giving aid to widows and orphans, in often +times appeasing the wrath of the King, in suffering the evil, and +consoling the realm of the Romans. + +Now whenas Charles had much folk in Lombardy, King Desir came to meet him +with his little host; for whereas Desir had a priest, Charles had a +bishop; whereas that one had a monk, the other had an abbot; where Desir +had a knight Charles had a prince; the one had a man afoot, the other a +duke or a count. What should I say, where that King had one knight, +Charles had thirty. So the two hosts fell to blows together with great +cries and banners displayed; stones and darts flying here and there, and +knights falling on every part. + +And the Lombards fought so mightily for three days, that they slew of +King Charles a very great infinity. And after the third day’s wearing +Charles called to him the most mighty and the strongest of his host, and +said to them: “Either die ye in battle, or gain ye the victory.” + +So the King Desir and the whole host of the Lombards together fled away +to the place hight Mortara, which in those days was called Fair-wood, +whereas thereabout was the land delectable: there they refreshed them and +took heed to their horses. + +On the morrow morn King Charles and his host came thither, and found the +Lombards all armed, and there they joined battle, and a great multitude +of dead there was on one side and the other, and because of this +slaughter had the place to name Mortara. + +Moreover, there died Amis and Amile, for even as God had joined them +together by good accord in their life-days, so in their death they were +not sundered. Withal many another doughty baron was slain with them. +But Desir, together with his judges, and a great multitude of the +Lombards, fled away and entered into Pavia; and King Charles followed +after them, and besieged the city on all sides. Withal he sent into +France for his wife and his children. But the holy Albins, bishop of +Angier, and many other bishops and abbots gave counsel to the King and +the Queen, that they should bury the dead and make there a church: and +the said counsel pleased much the King, and there were made two churches, +one by the commandment of Charles in honour of St. Eusebius of Verceil, +and the other by the commandment of the Queen in honour of St. Peter. + +And the King did do bear thither two arks of stone, wherein were buried +Amis and Amile; and Amile was borne into the Church of St. Peter, and +Amis into the Church of St. Eusebius; and the other corpses were buried +here and there. But on the morrow’s morn the body of Amile, and his +coffin therewith, was found in the Church of St. Eusebius hard by the +coffin of Amis his fellow. + +Now hear ye of this marvellous fellowship which might not be sundered by +death. This wonder wrought for them God, who had given such might to His +disciples that they had power to move mountains and shift them. But +because of this miracle the King and the Queen abode there thirty days, +and did do the service of them that were slain, and worshipped the said +churches with great gifts. + +Meanwhile the host of Charles wrought for the taking of the city which +they had besieged; and our Lord tormented them that were within in such +wise that they were brought to nought by great feebleness and by +mortalities. And after ten months from the time when the city was +besieged, Charles took Desir, and all them who were with him, and laid +the city and all the realm under his subjection. And King Desir and his +wife they led into France. + +But Saint Albins, who by that time had raised the dead to life, and given +light to many blind folk, ordained clerks, priests, and deacons in the +aforesaid Church of St. Eusebius, and commanded them that they should +without ceasing guard and keep the bodies of those two fellows, AMIS and +AMILE, who suffered death at the hands of Desir, King of Lombardy, on the +fourth of the ides of October. + +Reigning our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth without end with +the Father and the Holy Ghost. AMEN. + + + + +The Tale of King Florus and the Fair Jehane + + +HERE telleth the tale of a king who had to name King Florus of Ausay. A +full good knight was he and a gentleman of high lineage. The said King +Florus of Ausay took to wife the daughter of the Prince of Brabant, who +was a woman very gentle, and of great line: and a right fair maid was she +when he wedded her and dainty of body and fashion; and saith the tale +that she was but of fifteen years when the King Florus took her, and he +but of seventeen. A full good life they lived, as for young folk who +loved together dearly: but King Florus might have no child of her, +whereof he was sore grieving, and she also was exceeding heavy-hearted +thereat. Much fair was this lady, and much she loved God and Holy +Church, and therewith was so good almsgiver and so charitable that she +fed and clad poor people and kissed their feet. And to mesel folk both +carles and queans was she so kind and careful, that the Holy Ghost dwelt +in her. Her Lord King Florus went often to tournays in Alemain and +France, and in many other lands whereas he wotted of them, when he was +without war: much good he expended thereon and much honour he gained +thereby. + +But now leaveth the tale to tell of him and taketh up the word of a +knight who dwelt in the marches of Flanders and Hainault. This said +knight was full valiant and hardy, and right trusty, and had to wife a +full fair dame of whom he had a much fair daughter, who had to name +Jehane and was then of the age of twelve years. Much word there was of +this fair maiden; for in all the land was none so fair. Her mother spake +often to her lord that he should give her in marriage; but he was so +given up to the following of tournays, that he was nowise hot on the +wedding of his daughter, and his wife ever admonished him thereof when he +came home from his tournays. + +Now this knight had a squire who had to name Robin, and was the +valiantest squire to be found in any land, and by his prowess and his +good fame oft he bore away the prize for his lord from the tournay +whereas he wended. Whereon it befel that his lady thus bespake him: +“Robin, my lord is so given up to these tournays that I know not how to +speak with him, whereof I am sore at heart, for I would well that he +should lay pain and care to the wedding of my daughter; wherefore I pray +thee, for the love of me, that whenas thou seest the point thou say to +him that he doth very ill and is sore blamed that he weddeth not his fair +daughter, for there is no knight in the land how rich soever he be who +would not take her with a good will.” “Lady,” said Robin, “ye have said +well; I will say it right well; since forsooth he troweth me of many +things, and so will he hereof meseemeth.” “Robin,” said the lady, “I +pray thee of this business for all guerdon.” “Dame,” said Robin, “I am +well prayed hereof; and wot ye that I will do to my power herein.” “It +is enough,” said the lady. + +No long while after the knight betook him to wending to a tournay afar +from his land, and when he came there he was retained straightway of the +fellowship, he and the knight of whose mesney he was, and his banner was +borne into the hostel of his lord. The tournay began, and the knight did +so well by means of the good deeds of Robin, his squire, that he bore off +the praise and prize of the tournay from one party and the other. On the +second day the knight betook him to wending to his own land, and Robin +put him to reason many times and blamed him much in that he gave not his +fair daughter in marriage, and many times he said it to him, till at the +last his lord said to him: “Robin, thou and thy lady give me no peace +about the marrying of my daughter; but as yet I know and see no man in my +land unto whom I would give her.” “Ah, sir,” said Robin, “there is not a +knight in thy land who would not take her with a good will.” “Fair +friend Robin, they are of no avail, all of them; and to none of them +shall I give her; and forsooth to no one would I give her as now, save to +one man only, and he forsooth is no knight.” “Sir, tell me of him,” said +Robin, “and I shall speak or let speak to him so subtilly that the +marriage shall be made.” “Certes, Robin,” said the knight, “from the +semblance that I see of thee thou willest well that my daughter should be +wedded.” “Sir,” said Robin, “thou sayest sooth, for it is well time.” +“Robin,” said the knight, “whereas thou art so eager that my daughter +should be wedded, she shall be wedded right soon if thou accord to the +said wedding.” “Certes, sir,” said Robin, “of a good will shall I accord +thereto.” “Wilt thou give me thy word herein?” “Yea, sir,” said Robin. +“Robin, thou hast served me exceeding well, and I have found thee a +valiant man, and a loyal, and such as I be thou hast made me, and great +gain have I gotten by thee, to wit, five hundred pounds of land; for it +was but a little while that I had but five hundred, and now have I a +thousand, and I tell thee that I owe much to thee: wherefore will I give +my fair daughter unto thee, if thou wilt take her.” “Ha, sir,” said +Robin, “God’s mercy, what is this thou sayest? I am too poor a person to +have so high a maiden, nor one so fair and so rich as my damsel is; I am +not meet thereto. For there is no knight in this land, be he never so +gentle a man, but would take her with a good will.” “Robin, know that no +knight of this land shall have her, but I shall give her to thee, if thou +will it; and thereto will I give thee four hundred pounds of my land.” +“Ha, sir,” said Robin, “I deem that thou mockest me.” “Robin,” said the +knight, “wot thou surely that I mock thee not.” “Ha, sir, neither my +lady nor her great lineage will accord hereto.” “Robin,” said the +knight, “nought shall be done herein at the will of any of them. Hold! +here is my glove, I invest thee with four hundred pounds of my land, and +I will be thy warrant for all.” “Sir,” said Robin “I will nought naysay +it; fair is the gift since I know that is soothfast.” “Robin,” said the +knight, “now hast thou the rights thereof.” + +Then the knight delivered to him his glove, and invested him with the +land and his fair daughter. + +Then rode the knight so far by his journeys, that he came into his land, +and when he was come thither, his wife, who was a much fair lady, made +him right great joy, and said to him: “Sir, for God’s sake think of thy +fair daughter, that she be wedded.” “Dame,” said the lord, “so much hast +thou spoken hereof that I have wedded her.” “Sir,” said the lady, “unto +whom?” “Forsooth, dame, I have given her to such a man as shall never +lack of valiancy: I have given her to Robin my squire.” “Robin! Alas!” +quoth the lady; “Robin hath nought, and there is no knight so mighty in +all the land, but will take her with a good will; of a surety Robin shall +never have her.” “Yea, but have her he shall, dame,” said the knight, +“and I have invested him with four hundred pounds of my land; and all +that I ought to warrant him, warrant him I will.” When the dame heard +that, she was much sorry, and said to her lord that Robin should have her +never. “Nay, dame,” said the lord, “have her he shall, wilt thou or wilt +thou not; for even so have I made covenant and I will hold to the same.” + +When the lady heard her lord, she entered into her chamber and fell +a-weeping and making great dole; after the dole which she made she sent +to seek her brothers and her nephews and her cousins germain, and showed +them that which her lord would do; and they said to her: “Dame, what will +ye that we do? We have no will to go against thy lord, for he is a +knight valiant and hardy and weighty withal: and on the other hand he may +do with his daughter according to his will, and with his land which he +hath gotten withal. So wot thou well that we will not hang shield on +neck herein.” “Nay? alas, then!” said the dame, “so shall my heart never +have joy if I lose my fair daughter. At least, fair lords, I pray you +that ye show him that if he does thus he will neither do well nor +according to his honour.” “Dame,” say they, “this setting forth will we +do with a good will.” + +So they came unto the knight, and when they had showed him their business +he answered them right courteously: “Fair lords, I will tell you what I +will do for the love of you; if it please you I will put off the wedding +in this wise as I shall tell you; to wit: Amongst you ye be rich and of +great lands; ye are nigh friends of my fair daughter, whom I love much. +If ye will give her four hundred pounds of land I will set aside the +wedding, and she shall be wedded elsewhere according to your counsel.” +“A-God’s name,” quoth they, “we be nought fain to lay down so much.” +“Well, then,” said the knight, “since ye will not do this, then suffer me +to do with my daughter as I list.” “Sir, with a good will,” said they. + +So the knight sent for his chaplain, and brought thither his fair +daughter, and let affiance her to Robin, and set a day for the wedding. +But the third day thereafter, Robin spake to his lord, and prayed him +make him a knight, whereas it was nought meet that he should take to him +so high a wife and so fair before he was a knight. His lord had great +joy thereof, and the next day he was made knight, and the third day +wedded the fair maiden with great feast and joyance. + +But when master Robin was made knight he spake thus to his lord: “Sir, ye +have made me knight; and true it is that against the peril of death I +vowed me to the road unto Saint Jamesward on the morrow of my knighting; +wherefore I pray thee take it not in dudgeon if to-morrow morn I must +needs go my ways so soon as I shall have wedded thy fair daughter; +whereas in nowise will I break mine oath.” “Forsooth, master Robin, if +thou leave thus my fair daughter and thus wise go your ways, ye shall be +much to blame.” “Sir,” said he, “I shall come back right soon if God +will; but this wayfaring I needs must perforce.” Whenas a certain knight +of the court of the lord heard these words he blamed Sir Robin much, +whereas he was leaving his fair wife at such a point, and Sir Robin said +that he needs must do it. “Certes,” said the knight, who had to name +Raoul, “if thou goest thus to Saint James without touching thy fair wife, +I will make thee cuckold before thine home-coming, and when thou comest +home I will give thee good tokens that I have had share of her. Now I +will lay my land thereto against thine, which our lord hath given thee, +for I have well four hundred pounds of land even as thou hast.” +“Forsooth,” said Sir Robin, “my wife is not come of such blood as that +she shall misdo against me, and I may not believe in it nowise: I will +make the wager with thee, if it please thee.” “Yea,” said Sir Raoul, +“wilt thou pledge thee thereto?” “Yea, verily,” said Sir Robin, “and +thou?” “Yea, and I also. Now go we to my lord and make record of our +covenant.” “That will I well,” said Sir Robin. Therewith they go unto +the lord, and the wager was recorded, and they pledged them to hold +thereto. On the morrow betimes Sir Robin wedded the fair maiden, and +straightway after mass was said, he departed from the house and left the +wedding, and took the road for St. Jakem. + +But now leaveth the tale to tell of him and telleth of Sir Raoul, who was +in great imagination how he might win his wager and lie by the fair lady. +And saith the tale that the lady held her much simply while her lord was +on pilgrimage, and was going to the minster with a good will, and prayed +God that he would bring back her lord. But Sir Raoul pained him on the +other hand how he might win his wager, for great doubt he had to lose his +land. He spake with the carline who dwelt with the fair lady, and said +to her, that if she could so bring it about that she might set him in +place and at point that he might speak privily with my lady Jehane, and +have his will of her, he would give her much good, so that there would be +no hour when she should not be rich. “Sir, forsooth,” said the carline, +“thou art so fair a knight, and so wise and courteous that my lady should +well ought to love thee par amours, and I will put myself to the pain +herein to the utmost of my might.” Then the knight drew out straightway +a forty sols, and gave it to her to buy a gown. The carline took them +with a goodwill, and set them away surely, and said that she would speak +with the lady. The knight departed from the carline, and the carline +abode and took her lady to task when she came back from the minster, and +said to her: “In God’s name, lady, tell me true! My lord, when he went +to Saint Jakem, had he ever lain by thee?” “Wherefore dost thou say +this, dame Hersent?” “Lady, because I trow that thou be yet a clean +maid.” “Certes, dame Hersent, so am I verily; for of no woman wot I who +would do such a deed.” “Lady,” said dame Hersent, “great damage it is; +for if ye wotted how great is the joy that women have when they be with a +man who loveth them, ye would say that there is no joy so great; and for +this cause I marvel much that ye love not par amours even as these other +ladies who all love. But if it pleaseth thee the matter is ready to +hand; whereas I wot of a knight, fair and valiant and wise, who will love +thee with a good will; a much rich man is he, and fairer by far than the +coward recreant who hath left thee. And if ye dare love ye may have +whatso ye dare ask; and so much joy shall ye have as never lady had +more.” So much spake the carline by her words that the needle of nature +stirred somewhat. The lady asked who the knight might be. “Who is it, +lady? A-God’s name! I may well name him. It is the lovely, the +valiant, the hardy Sir Raoul, who is one of the mesney of thy father; the +kindest heart men wot of.” “Dame Hersent,” said the lady, “thou wert +best let such words be; for I have no desire to misdo of my body, of no +such blood am I come.” “Dame,” said the carline, “I wot well. But never +shalt thou know the worthy joy when a man wendeth with a woman.” + +Thuswise abode the matter. Sir Raoul came back to the carline, and she +told him how she had talked with the lady, and what she had answered. +“Dame Hersent,” said the knight, “thus wise should a good lady answer; +but ye shall speak with her again, for one doeth not the business at the +first stroke: and hold, here be twenty sols to buy thee a cloth to thy +surcoat.” The carline took the silver, and spake with the lady often, +but nought it availed. + +Wore the time till at last they heard news that Sir Robin was wending +back from Saint Jakem, and that he was already hard on Paris. Soon was +known the tidings, and Sir Raoul, who had fear of the losing of his +lands, returned to the carline, and spake with her; and she said that she +might not bring the business to an end: but that she would do so much for +the love of him, if she should earn her service, that she would so bring +it about as that there should be none in the house save he and this lady: +and then he might do his will on her, will she nill she: and he said that +he asked for nought else. “Then,” said the carline, “ye, my lord, shall +come within eight days, and I will do my lady to bathe her in her +chamber, and I will send all the mesney out of the house and out of the +castle; then can ye come to her bathing in the chamber, and may have your +desire of her, either with her good will or maugre.” “Ye have well +said,” quoth he. + +Abode matters thus till Sir Robin sent word that he was coming to hand, +and would be at the house on the Sunday. Then the carline let bathe the +lady the Thursday before, and the bath was in her chamber, and the fair +lady entered therein. But the carline sent after Sir Raoul, and he came. +Thereafter she sent all the folk of the household out of the house. Sir +Raoul came his ways to the chamber and entered therein, and greeted the +lady, but she greeted him not again, but said thus: + +“Sir Raoul, thou art nowise courteous. Whether wottest thou forsooth +that it is well with me of thy coming? accursed be thou, villain knight!” +But Sir Raoul said: “My lady, mercy, a-God’s name! I am but dying for +grief of thee. For God’s sake have pity of me!” “Sir Raoul,” said she, +“I will have no mercy in such wise that I will ever be thy darling. And +wot thou well that if thou leave me not in peace I will tell my lord, my +father, the honour thou requirest of me: for I am none such as that.” +“Nay, lady, is it so, then?” “Yea, verily,” said she. + +Therewith Sir Raoul drew nigh to her, and embraced her in his arms, which +were strong enow, and drew her all naked out of the bath and bore her +toward her bed; and so soon as he drew her forth of the bath he saw a +black spot which she had on her right groin hard by her natural part; and +he thought therewithal that that were a good token that he had lain by +her. Thus as he bore her off to her bed, his spurs hooked them into the +serge at the bed’s edge toward the foot thereof, and down fell the +knight, he and the lady together, he below and she above; but she rose up +straightway and caught up a billet of wood, and smote Sir Raoul therewith +amidst the face, and made him a wound both deep and wide, so that the +blood fell to earth. So when Sir Raoul felt himself hurt he had no great +desire to play, wherefore he arose and got him gone out of the chamber +straightway: he did so much that he came to his hostel, where he dwelt a +good league thence, and there he had his wound dealt with. But the good +dame entered into her bath again, and called dame Hersent, and told the +adventure of the knight. + +Much great array made the father of the fair lady against the coming of +Sir Robin, and he summoned much folk, and sent and bade Sir Raoul to +come; but he sent word that he might not come, for that he was sick. On +the Sunday camel Sir Robin, and was received right fairly; and the father +of the fair lady went to seek Sir Raoul and found him wounded, and said +that now for nought might he abide behind from the feast. So he dight +his face and his hurt the best wise he might, and went to the feast, +which was great and grand day long of drinking and of eating, and of +dancing and carolling. + +When night was come Sir Robin went to bed with his wife, who received him +much joyously as a good dame ought to her lord; so abode they in joy and +in feast the more part of the night. On the morrow great was the feast, +and the victual was dight and they ate. But when it was after dinner, +Sir Raoul bore on hand Sir Robin, and said that he had won his land, +whereas he had known his wife carnally, by the token, to wit, that she +had a black spot on her right thigh and a pearlet hard by her jewel. +“Thereof I wot not,” said Sir Robin, “for I have not looked on her so +close.” “Well, then, I tell thee,” said Sir Raoul, “by the oath that +thou hast given me that thou take heed thereof, and do me right.” “So +will I, verily,” said Sir Robin. + +When night was, Sir Robin played with his wife, and found and saw on her +right thigh the black spot, and a pearlet hard by her fair jewel: and +when he knew it he was sore grieving. On the morrow he went to Sir +Raoul, and said before his lord that he had lost his wager. Heavy of +heart was he day long, and when it was night he went to the stable, and +set the saddle on his palfrey, and went forth from the house, bearing +with him what he might get him of silver. So came to Paris, and when he +was at Paris he abode there three days. But now leaveth the tale to tell +of him, and taketh up the word concerning his wife. + +Here saith the tale that much sorrowful was the fair lady and heavy of +heart, when she called to mind how she had cast her lord out of his +house. Much she thought of the wherefore thereof and wept and made great +dole; till her father came to her, and said that he were fainer if she +were yet to wed, whereas she had done him shame and all them of his +lineage; and he told her how and wherefore. When she heard that, she was +sore grieved and denied the deed downright; but nought availed. For it +is well known that shame so sore is contrary to all women, that if a +woman were to burn all, she would not be trowed of such a misdoing, once +it were laid on her. + +On the first hour of the night the lady arose, and took all pennies that +she had in her coffer, and took a nag and a harness thereto, and gat her +to the road; and she had let shear her fair tresses, and was otherwise +arrayed like to an esquire. So much she went by her journeys that she +came to Paris, and went after her lord; and she said and declared that +she would never make an end before she had found him. Thus she rode like +to a squire. And on a morning she went forth out of Paris, and wended +the way toward Orleans until she came to the Tomb Isory, and there she +fell in with her lord Sir Robin. Full fain she was when she saw him, and +she drew up to him and greeted him, and he gave her greeting back and +said: “Fair friend, God give thee joy!” “Sir,” said she, “whence art +thou?” “Forsooth, fair friend, I am of old Hainault.” “Sir, whither +wendeth thou?” “Forsooth, fair friend, I wot not right well whither I +go, nor where I shall dwell. Forsooth, needs must I where fortune shall +lead me; and she is contrary enough; for I have lost the thing in the +world that most I ever loved: and she also hath lost me. Withal I have +lost my land, which was great and fair enough. But what hast thou to +name, and whither doth God lead thee?” “Certes, sir,” said Jehane, “I am +minded for Marseilles on the sea, where is war as I hope. There would I +serve some valiant man, about whom I shall learn me arms if God will. +For I am so undone in mine own country that therein for a while of time I +may not have peace. But, sir, meseemeth that thou be a knight, and I +would serve thee with a right good will if it please thee. And of my +company wilt thou be nought worsened.” “Fair friend,” said Sir Robin, “a +knight am I verily. And where I may look to find war, thitherward would +I draw full willingly. But tell me what thou hast to name?” “Sir,” said +she, “I have to name John.” “In a good hour,” quoth the knight. “And +thou, sir, how hight thou?” “John,” said he, “I have to name Robin.” +“Sir Robin, retain me as thine esquire, and I will serve thee to my +power.” “John, so would I with a good will. But so little of money have +I that I must needs sell my horse before three days are worn. Wherefore +I wot not how to do to retain thee.” “Sir,” said John, “be not dismayed +thereof, for God will aid thee if it please him. But tell me where thou +wilt eat thy dinner?” “John, my dinner will soon be made; for not +another penny have I than three sols of Paris.” “Sir,” said John, “be +nought dismayed thereof, for I have hard on ten pounds Tournais, whereof +thou shalt not lack, if thou hast not to spend at thy will.” “Fair +friend John, have thou mickle thanks.” + +Then made they good speed to Montlhery: there John dight meat for his +lord and they ate. When they had eaten, the knight slept in a bed and +John at his feet. When they had slept, John did on the bridles, and they +mounted and gat to the road. They went so far by their journeys that +they came to Marseilles-on-sea; but of war they heard no word there, +whereof were they much sorry. But now leaveth the tale to tell of them +two, and returneth to tell of Sir Raoul, who had by falsehood gained the +land of Sir Robin. + +Here telleth the tale that so long did Sir Raoul hold the land of Sir +Robin without righteous cause, for seven years’ wearing. Then he took a +great sickness and of that sickness was sore beaten down, insomuch that +he was on the point of death. Now he doubted much the transgression +which he had done against the fair lady the daughter of his lord, and +against her husband also, whereby they were undone, both of them by +occasion of his malice. Exceeding ill at ease was he of his wrongdoing, +which was so great that he durst not confess it. + +Came a day when he was sore undone by his sickness, so he sent for his +chaplain whom he loved much, for he had found him a man valiant and +loyal; and he said to him: “Sir, thou who art my father before God, know +that I look to die of this sickness, wherefore I pray thee for God’s sake +that ye aid me with your counsel, for great is my need thereof, for I +have done an ill deed so hideous and dark that scarce shall I have mercy +therefor.” The chaplain bade him tell it out hardily, and that he would +aid him with counsel to his power; till at last Sir Raoul told him all as +ye have heard afore. And he prayed him for God’s sake give him counsel, +so great as was his misdoing. “Sir,” said he, “be nought dismayed, for +if thou wilt do the penance which I enjoin thee, I will take thy +transgression on me and on my soul, so that thou shalt be quit.” “Yea, +tell me then,” said the knight. “Sir,” said he, “thou shalt take the +cross far over sea, and thou shalt get thee thereto within the year +wherein thou art whole, and shalt give pledges to God that thou shalt so +do: and in every place where men ask thee the occasion of thy journey, +thou shalt tell it to all who shall ask it of thee.” “All this will I +well do,” said the knight. “Then, sir, give thou good pledge.” “With a +good will,” said the knight; “thou thyself shalt abide surety for me, and +I swear to thee on my knighthood that I shall quit thee well.” “A-God’s +name, sir!” quoth the chaplain, “I will be thy surety.” Now turned the +knight to amendment, and was all whole; and a year wore wherein he went +not over sea. The chaplain spake to him often thereof, but he held the +covenant as but a jest; till at last the chaplain said that but if he +acquitted him before God of his pledge, he would tell the tale to the +father of the fair damsel, who had been thus undone by him. When the +knight heard that, he said to the chaplain that within half a year he +would set about the crossing of the sea, and so swore to him. But now +leaveth the tale to tell of the knight, and returneth to telling of King +Florus of Ausaye, of whom for a great while it hath been silent. + +Now saith the tale that a much good life led King Florus of Ausay and his +wife, as of young folk who loved each other; but much sorry and +heavy-hearted were they that they might have no child. The lady made +great prayers to God, and let sing masses; but whereas it was not well +pleasing to God, it might not be. But on a day came thither into the +house of King Florus a good man who had his dwelling in the great forest +of Ausaye in a place right wild; and when the queen knew that he was come +she came unto him and made him right great joy. And because he was a +good man she confessed to him and told him all her ailing, and how that +she was exceeding heavy of heart, because she had had no child by her +lord. “Ah, lady,” said the good man, “since it pleaseth not our Lord, +needs must thou abide it; and when it pleaseth him thou shalt have one, +or two.” “Certes, sir,” said the lady, “I were fain thereof; for my lord +holdeth me the less dear, and the high barons of this land also. Withal +it hath been told to me that they have spoken to my lord to leave me and +take another.” “Verily, dame,” said the good man, “he would do ill; it +would be done against God and against Holy Church.” “Ah, sir, I pray +thee to pray to God for me that I may have a child of my lord, for great +fear I have lest he leave me.” “Dame,” said the good man, “my prayer +shall avail but little, but if it please God; nevertheless I will pray +heartily.” + +The good man departed from the lady, and the barons of the land and of +the country came to the King Florus, and bade him send away his wife and +take another, since by this he might have no child. And if he did not +after their counsel, they would go and dwell otherwhere; for in no case +would they that the realm should be without an heir. King Florus feared +his barons and trowed their word, and he said that he would send away his +wife, and that they should seek him another, and they trusted him +therein. When the lady knew it she was exeeeding heavy of heart; but +nought durst she do, for she knew that her lord would leave her. So she +sent for the hermit who had been her confessor, and he came to her. Then +the lady told him all the tale of the matter of the barons, who would +seek for their lord another woman. “And I pray thee, good father, that +thou wouldst aid me, and counsel me what I should do.” “Dame,” said the +good man, “if it be so as thou sayest, ye must needs suffer it; for +against thy lord and against his barons ye may do nought perforce.” +“Sir,” said the good lady, “thou sayest sooth: but if it please God, I +were fain to be a recluse nigh unto thee; whereby I may be at the service +of God all the days of my life, and that I may have comfort of thee.” +“Dame,” said the good man, “that would be over strange a thing, whereas +thou art too young a lady and too fair. But I will tell thee what thou +shalt do. Hard by my hermitage there is an abbey of White Nuns, who are +right good ladies, and I counsel you go thither; and they will have great +joy of thee for thy goodness and thy high dignity.” “Sir,” said she, +“thou hast well said; I will do all that thou counsellest me.” + +On the morrow King Florus spake to his wife, and said thus: “Needs must +thou and I sunder, for that thou mayst have no child by me. Now I say +thee soothly that the sundering lies heavy on me, for never shall I love +woman as I have loved thee.” Therewith fell King Florus to weep sorely, +and the lady also. “Sir,” said she, “a-God’s mercy! And whither shall I +go, and what shall I do?” “Dame, thou shalt do well, if it please God, +for I will send thee back well and richly into thy country to thy +kindred.” “Sir,” said the lady, “it shall not be so: I have purveyed me +an abbey of nuns, where I will be, if it please thee; and there I will +serve God all my life; for since I lose thy company I am she that no man +shall go with any more.” Thereat King Florus wept and the lady also. +But on the third day the queen went to the abbey; and the other queen was +come, and had great feast made her, and great joy of her friends. King +Florus held her for three years, but never might have child of her. But +here the tale holdeth peace of King Florus, and betaketh it again to Sir +Robin, and to John who were at Marseilles. + +Here telleth the tale that much sorry was Sir Robin when he came to +Marseilles, whereas he heard tell of nought toward in the country; so he +said to John: “What do we? Thou hast lent me of thy moneys, whereof I +thank thee: I will give them back to thee, for I will sell my palfrey, +and quit me toward thee.” “Sir,” said John, “if it please thee, believe +me, and I shall tell thee what we shall do. I have yet well an hundred +sols of Tournay, and if it please thee, I will sell our two horses, and +make money thereby: for I am the best of bakers that ye may wot of; and I +will make French bread, and I doubt me not but I shall earn my spending +well and bountifully.” “John,” said Sir Robin, “I grant it thee to do +all as thou wilt.” + +So on the morrow John sold the two horses for ten pounds Tournays, and +bought corn and let grind it, and bought baskets, and fell to making +French bread, so good and so well made that he sold it for more than the +best baker of the town might do; and he did so much within two years that +he had well an hundred pounds of chattels. Then said John to his lord: +“I rede thee well that we buy us a very great house, and that we buy us +wine and take to harbouring good folk.” “John,” said Sir Robin, “do +according to thy will, for I grant it thee, and moreover I praise thee +much.” So John bought a house, great and fair, and harboured good folk, +and earned enough plenteously; and he arrayed his lord well and richly; +and Sir Robin had his palfrey, and went to eat and drink with the most +worthy of the town, and John sent him wine and victual, so that all they +that haunted his company marvelled thereat. So much he gained that in +three years’ time he had gotten him more than three hundred pounds of +garnishment, out-taken his plenishing, which was well worth fifty pounds. +But here leaveth the tale to tell of Sir Robin and of John, and goeth +back to tell of Sir Raoul. + +For, saith the tale, that the chaplain held Sir Raoul right short that he +should go over sea, and quit him of the pledge he had laid down; for +great fear he had lest he yet should leave it; and so much he did that +Sir Raoul saw well that he needs must go. So he dight his journey, and +arrayed him right richly, as he that hath well enough thereto; and so he +betook him to the road with three squires: and went so much by his +journeys that he came into Marseilles-on-sea and took lodging in the +French hostel, whereas dwelt Sir Robin and John. So soon as John saw him +she knew him by the scar of the wound she had made him, and because she +had seen him many times. The knight sojourned in the town fifteen days, +and hired him passage. But the while he sojourned, John drew him in to +privy talk, and asked of him the occasion of his going over sea, and Sir +Raoul told him all the occasion, as one who had little heed thereof, even +as the tale hath told afore. When John heard that, he held his peace. +Sir Raoul set his goods aboard ship, and went upon the sea; but tarried +so much the ship wherein he was that he abode in the town for eight days; +but on the ninth day he betook him to go his ways to the holy sepulchre, +and did his pilgrimage, and confessed him the best he might: and his +confessor charged him in penance that he should give back the land which +he held wrongfully to the knight and his wife. Whereon he said to his +confessor, that when he came into his own country he would do what his +heart bade him. So he departed from Jerusalem and came to Acre, and +dight his passage as one who had great longing to repair to his own +country. He went up on to the sea, and wended so diligently, as well by +night as by day, till in less than three months he came to the port of +Aigues-mort. Then he departed from the port and came straight to +Marseilles, wherein he sojourned eight days in the hostel of Sir Robin +and John, which hight the French house. Never did Sir Robin know him, +for on that matter he thought nothing. At the end of eight days he +departed from Marseilles, he and his squires, and went so long by his +journeys that he came into his own country, where he was received with +great joy, as one who was a knight rich in land and chattels. Thereon +his chaplain took him to task, and asked of him if any had demanded the +occasion of his journey; and he said: “Yea, in three places, to wit: +Marseilles, Acre, and Jerusalem: and he of whom I took counsel bade me to +give back the land to Sir Robin, if I hear tidings of him, or to his wife +else, or to his heir.” “Certes,” said the chaplain; “he bade thee good +counsel.” Thus was Sir Raoul in his own country a great while in rest +and good ease. But here leaveth the tale to tell of him, and returneth +to Sir Robin and John. + +Here saith the tale that when Sir Robin and John had been at Marseilles +for six years that John had gotten to the value of six hundred pounds, +and they were come into the seventh year, and John might gain eke what he +would, and so sweet he was, and so debonaire that he made himself loved +of all the neighbours, and therewithal he was of good hap as he might not +be of more, and maintained his lord so nobly and so richly that it was +wonder to behold. When the end of the seven years drew nigh, John fell +to talk with his lord Sir Robin, and spake thus: “Sir, we have now been a +great while in this country, and so much have we gained, that we have +hard on six hundred pounds of chattels, what of money, what of vessel of +silver.” “Forsooth, John,” said Sir Robin, “they be not mine, but thine; +for it is thou hast earned them.” “Sir,” said John, “saving thy grace, +it is not so, but they are thine: for thou art my rightful lord, and +never, if it please God, will I change.” “Gramercy, John, I hold thee +not for servant, but for companion and friend.” “Sir,” said John, “all +days I have kept thee loyal company, and shall do from henceforth.” “By +my faith,” said Sir Robin, “I will do what so pleaseth thee: but to go +into my country, I wot not to say thereof: for I have lost so much there +that hardly shall my scathe be righted to me.” “Sir,” said John, “be +thou never dismayed of that matter; for when thou art come into thine own +country thou shalt hear good tidings, please God. And doubt thou +nothing, for in all places whereas we shall be, if it please God, I shall +earn enough for thee and for me.” “Certes, John,” said Sir Robin, “I +will do as it pleaseth thee, and where thou wilt that I go, thither will +I.” “Sir,” said John, “I shall sell our chattels, and dight our journey, +and we will go within fifteen days.” “A-God’s name, John,” said Sir +Robin. + +John sold all his plenishing, whereof he had good store and goodly, and +bought three horses, a palfrey for his lord, another for himself, and a +sumpter horse. Then they took leave of the neighbours, and the most +worthy of the town, who were sore grieved of their departure. + +Wore the way Sir Robin and John, insomuch that in three weeks’ space they +came into their country. And Robin made known to his lord, whose +daughter he had had, that he was at hand. The lord was much joyful +thereof, for he was deeming well that his daughter would be with him. +And she indeed it was, but in the guise of an esquire. Sir Robin was +well received of his lord, whose daughter he had erewhile wedded. When +the lord could have no tidings of his daughter, he was right sorrowful; +nevertheless he made good feast to Sir Robin, and bade thereto his +knights and his neighbours; and thither came Sir Raoul, who held the land +of Sir Robin wrongfully. Great was the joy that day and the morrow, and +that while Sir Robin told to John the occasion of the wager, and how Sir +Raoul held his land wrongfully. “Sir,” said John, “do thou appeal him of +treason, and I will do the battle for thee.” “Nay, John,” said Sir +Robin, “thou shalt not do it.” + +So they left it till the morrow, when John came to Sir Robin and did him +to wit that he would speak to the father of his wife; and thus he said to +him: “Sir, thou art lord to my lord Sir Robin after God, and he wedded +thy daughter time was. But there was a wager betwixt him and Sir Raoul, +who said that he would make him cuckold by then he returned from St. +Jakeme; whereof Sir Raoul hath made false report, whereas he hath had nor +part nor lot in thy fair daughter. And he hath done disloyal treason. +All which things I am ready to prove on his body.” Then leapt forth Sir +Robin and said: “John, fair friend, none shall do the battle save I; +nowise shalt thou hang shield on neck herein.” Therewith Sir Robin +reached his pledge to his lord; and Sir Raoul was sore grieving of the +pledging, but needs must he defend him, or cry craven; so he reached for +this pledge right cowardly. So were the pledges given, and day of battle +appointed on that day fifteen days without naysay. + +Now hear ye marvels of John what he did. John who had to name my Lady +Jehane, had in the house of her father a cousin germain of hers, who was +a fair damsel, and of some five and twenty years. Jehane came to her, +and laid all the whole truth bare to her, and told her the whole business +from point to point, and showed her all openly; and prayed her much that +she would hide all the matter until the time and hour came when she +should make herself known to her father. Wherefore her cousin, who knew +her well, said to her that she would keep all well hidden, so that by her +it should never be discovered. Then was the chamber of her cousin dight +for the Lady Jehane; and the said lady, the while of the fortnight before +the battle should be, let bathe her and stove her; and she took her ease +the best she might, as one who well had therewithal. And she let cut and +shape for her duly four pair of gowns, of Scarlet, of Vair, of Perse, and +of cloth of silk; and she took so well her ease that she came back to her +most beauty, and was so fair and dainty as no lady might be more. + +But when it came to the end of the fifteen days, then was Sir Robin sore +grieving of John his esquire, because he had lost him, and knew not where +he was become. But none the more did he leave to apparel him for the +fight as one who had heart enough and hardihood. + +On the morn of the day whenas the battle was appointed, came both the +knights armed. They drew apart one from the other, and then they fell on +each other with the irons of their glaives, and smote on each other with +so great heat that they bore down each other’s horses to the earth +beneath their bodies. Sir Raoul was hurt a little on the left side. Sir +Robin rose up the first, and came a great pace on Sir Raoul, and smote +him a great stroke on the helm in such wise that he beat down the +head-piece and drave in the sword on to the mail-coif, and sheared all +thereto; but the coif was of steel so strong that he wounded him not, +howbeit he made him to stagger, so that he caught hold of the arson of +the saddle; and if he had not, he had fallen to earth. Then Sir Raoul, +who was a good knight, smote Sir Robin so great a stroke upon the helm +that he all to astonied him; and the stroke fell down to the shoulder, +and sheared the mails of the hawberk, but hurt him not. Then Sir Robin +smote him with all his might, but he threw his shield betwixt, and Sir +Robin smote off a quarter thereof. When Sir Raoul felt his strong +strokes, he misdoubted him much, and wished well that he were over sea, +if he were but quit of the battle, and Sir Robin back on the land which +he held. Nevertheless he put forth all his might and drew nigh, and fell +on Sir Robin much hardly, and gave him a great stroke upon his shield so +that he sheared it to the boss thereof. But Sir Robin laid a great +stroke upon his helm, but he threw his shield betwixt and Sir Robin +sheared it amidst, and the sword fell upon the neck of the horse, and +sheared it amidst, and beat down straightway both horse and man. Then +Sir Raoul leapt to his feet, as one who was in a stour exceeding heavy. +Then Sir Robin lighted down, whereas he would not betake him to his horse +while the other was afoot. + +Now were both knights come unto the skirmish and they hewed in pieces +each other’s shields and helms and haw—berks, and drew the blood from +each other’s bodies with their trenchant swords; and had they smitten as +great strokes as at first, soon had they slain each other, for they had +so little of their shields that scarce might they cover their fists +therewith. Yet had neither of them fear of death or shame: nevertheless +the nighness of them to each other called on them to bring the battle to +an end. Sir Robin took his sword in both hands, and smote Sir Raoul with +all his might on the helm, and sheared it amidst, so that one half +thereof fell upon the shoulders, and he sheared the steel coif, and made +him a great wound on the head; and Sir Raoul was so astonied of the +stroke that he bent him to the earth on one knee; but he rose up +straightway and was in great misease when he thus saw his head naked, and +great fear of death he had. But he came up to Sir Robin and fetched a +stroke with all his might on what he had of shield and he sheared it +asunder and the stroke came on the helm and cut into it well three +fingers, so that the sword came on the iron coif, which was right good, +so that the sword brake a-twain. When Sir Raoul saw his sword broken and +his head naked, he doubted much the death. Nevertheless he stooped down +to the earth, and took up a great stone in his two hands, and cast it +after Sir Robin with all his might; but Sir Robin turned aside when he +saw the stone coming, and ran on Sir Raoul, who took to flight all over +the field; and Sir Robin said to him that he would slay him but if he +cried craven. Whereon Sir Raoul thus bespake him: mercy on me, gentle +knight, and ere my sword, so much as I have thereof, and I render it to +thee, and all of me therewith unto thy mercy; and I pray thee have pity +of me, and beg of thy lord and mine to have mercy on me and that thou and +he save my life, and I render and give both thy land and mine. For I +have held it against right and against reason. And I have wrongfully +defamed the fair lady and good. + +When Sir Robin heard this, he said that he had done enough, and he prayed +his lord so much that he pardoned Sir Raoul of his misdeed, in such wise +that he was quit thereof on the condition that he should go over seas and +abide there lifelong. + +Thuswise conquered Sir Robin his land and the land of Sir Raoul to boot +for all his days. But he was so sore grieving and sad at heart of his +good dame and fair, whom he had thus lost, that he could have no solace; +and on the other hand, he was so sore grieving for John his esquire whom +he had so lost, that marvel it was. And his lord was no less sad at +heart for his fair daughter whom he had thus lost, and of whom he might +have no tidings. + +But dame Jehane, who was in the chamber of her cousin germain for fifteen +days in good ease, when she wotted that her lord had vanquished the +battle, was exceeding much at ease. Now she had done make four pair of +gowns, as is aforesaid, and she clad her with the richest of them which +was of silk bended of fine gold of Araby. Moreover she was so fair of +body and of visage, and so dainty withal, that nought in the world might +be found fairer, so that her cousin germain all marvelled at her great +beauty. And she had been bathed, and attired and had ease at all points +for the fifteen days, so that she was come into so great beauty as wonder +was. Much fair was the Lady Jehane in her gown of silk bended of gold. +So she called her cousin to her and said: “How deemest thou of me?” +“What, dame!” said her cousin, “thou art the fairest lady of the world.” +“I shall tell thee, then, fair cousin, what thou shalt do: go thou tell +so much before my father as that he shall make dole no more, but be glad +and joyful, and that thou bearest him good news of his daughter who is +whole and well; and that he come with thee and thou wilt show him. Then +bring him hither, and meseemeth he will see me with a good will.” The +damsel said that she would well do that errand and she came to the father +of the Lady Jehane, and said him what his daughter had said. When her +sire heard thereof great wonder he wist it, and went with the damsel, and +found his daughter in her chamber, and knew her straightway, and put his +arms about her neck, and wept over her for joy and pity, and had so great +joy that scarce might he speak to her. Then he asked her where she had +been so long a while. “Fair father,” said she, “thou shalt know it well +anon. But a-God’s sake do my lady mother to come to me, for I have great +longing to see her.” The lord sent for his wife, and when she came into +the chamber where was her daughter, and saw her and knew her, she swooned +for joy, and might not speak a great while, and when she came out of her +swooning none might believe the great joy that she made of her daughter. + +But whiles they were in this joy, the father of the fair lady went to +seek Sir Robin and bespake him thus: “Sir Robin, fair sweet son, tidings +can I say thee exceeding joyous us between.” “Certes,” said Sir Robin, +“of joy have I great need, for none save God can set rede to it whereby I +may have joy. For I have lost thy fair daughter, whereof have I sore +grief at heart. And thereto have I lost the swain and the squire, who of +all in the world hath done me most good; to wit, John the good, my +squire.” “Sir Robin,” said the lord, “be ye nought dismayed thereof, for +of squires thou shalt find enough. But of my fair daughter I could tell +thee good tidings; for I have seen her e’en now; and, wot ye well, she is +the fairest lady that may be in the world.” When Sir Robin heard that, +he trembled all with joy and said to his lord: “Ah, sir, for God’s sake +bring me where I may see if this be true!” “With a good will,” said the +lord; “come along now.” + +The lord went before and he after, till I they were come to the chamber, +where the mother was yet making great feast of her daughter, and they +were weeping with joy one over the other. But when they saw their +rightful lords a-coming, they rose up; and so soon as Sir Robin knew his +wife, he ran to her with his arms spread abroad, and they clipped and +kissed together dearly, and wept of joy and pity; and they were thus +embracing together for the space of the running of ten acres, or ever +they might sunder. Then the lord commanded the tables to be laid for +supper, and they supped and made great joy. + +After supper, when the feast had been right great, they went to bed, and +Sir Robin lay that night with the Lady Jehane his wife, who made him +great joy, and he her in likewise; and they spake together of many +things, and so much that Sir Robin asked of her where she had been; and +she said: “Sir, long were it to tell, but thou shalt know it well in +time. Now tell to me what thou couldest to do, and where thou hast been +so long a while.” “Lady,” said Sir Robin, “that will I well tell thee.” + +So he fell to telling her all that she well knew, and of John his +esquire, who had done him so much good, and said that he was so troubled +whereas he had thus lost him, that he would make never an end of +wandering till he had found him, and that he would bestir himself thereto +the morrow’s morn. “Sir,” said the lady, “that were folly; and how +should it be then; wouldst thou leave me, then?” “Forsooth, dame,” said +he, “e’en so it behoveth me. For none did ever so much for another as he +did for me.” “Sir,” said the dame, “wherein he did for thee, he did but +duly. Even so he was bound to do.” “Dame,” said Sir Robin, “by what +thou sayest thou shouldst know him.” “Forsooth,” said the lady, “I +should ought to know him well, for never did he anything whereof I wotted +not.” “Lady,” said Sir Robin, “thou makest me to marvel at thy words.” +“Sir,” said the lady, “never marvel thou hereof! If I tell thee a word +for sooth and for certain, wilt thou not believe me?” “Dame,” said he, +“yea, verily.” + +“Well, then, believe me in this,” said she; “for wot of a verity that I +am the very same John whom thou wouldest go seek, and I will tell thee +how. For I knew that thou wert gone for the great sorrow thou hadst for +my misdoing against thee, and for thy land which thou deemedst thou hadst +lost for ever. Whereas I had heard tell of the occasion of the wager, +and of the treason Sir Raoul had done, whereof I was so wroth as never +woman was more wroth. Straightway I let shear my hair, and took the +money in my coffer, about ten pounds of Tournais, and arrayed me like an +esquire, and followed thee away to Paris, and found thee at the tomb of +Ysore; and there I fell into company with thee, and we went together into +Marseilles, and were there together seven years long, where I served thee +unto my power as my rightful lord, and I hold for well spent all the +service that I did thee. And know of a truth that I am innocent and just +of that which the evil knight laid upon me; as well appeareth whereas he +hath been shamed in the field, and hath acknowledged the treason.” + +Therewith my lady Jehane embraced Sir Robin, her lord, and kissed him on +the mouth right sweetly; for Sir Robin understood well that it was she +that had so well served him; and so great joy he had, that none could say +it or think it; and much he wondered in his heart how she could think to +do that which so turned to her great goodness. Wherefore he loved her +the more all the days of his life. + +Thus were these two good persons together; and they went to dwell upon +their land, which they had both wide and fair. Good life they led as for +young folk who loved dearly together. Sir Robin went often to tournays +with his lord, of whose mesney he was, and much worship he won, and great +prize he conquered and great wealth, and did so much that he gat him as +much land again as he had had. And when the lord and his lady were dead, +then had he all the land. And he did so well by his prowess that he was +made a double banneret, and he had well four thousand pounds of land. +But never might he have child by his wife, whereof he was much grieved. +Thus was he with his wife for ten years after he had conquered the battle +with Sir Raoul. + +After the term of ten years, by the will of God, to whom we be all +subject, the pain of death took hold of him, and he died like a valiant +man, and had all his rights, and was laid in earth with great worship. +His wife the fair lady made so great sorrow over him, that all they that +saw her had pity of her; but in the end needs must she forget her +mourning and take comfort, for as little as it were. Much abode the lady +in her widowhood as a good dame and a holy, for she loved much God and +Holy Church. She held her much humbly and much she loved the poor, and +did them much good, and was so good a lady that none knew how to blame +her or to say of her aught save great good. Therewithal was she so fair, +that each one said who saw her, that she was the mirror of all ladies in +the world for beauty and goodness. But here leaveth the tale a little to +speak of her, and returneth to tell of the King Florus, of whom it hath +been silent a great while. + +For saith the tale, that King Florus of Ausay was in his own country sore +grieving, and ill at ease for the departure of his first wife. +Notwithstanding the other was brought unto him, and was both fair and +dainty, but he could not hold her in his heart like as he did the first +one. Four years was he with her, but never child might he have of her; +and when the said time was ended the pains of death took the a lady, and +she was buried, whereof her friends were sore grieving. But service was +done unto her, as was meet to a queen. + +Then abode King Florus in widowhood more than two years, and he was still +a young man, whereas he was not of more than five-and-forty winters, +wherefore the barons said to him that he behoved to marry again. +“Forsooth,” said King Florus, “so to do have I no great longing, for two +wives have I had, and never child might I have by either. And on the +other hand, the first that I had was so good and so fair, and so much I +loved her in my heart for the great beauty that was in her, that I may +not forget her. And I tell you well that never woman will I wed but may +have her as fair and as good as was she. Now may God have mercy on her +soul, for she hath passed away in the abbey where she was, as folk have +done me to wit.” “Ha, sir,” said a knight, who was of his privy counsel, +“there be many good dames up and down the country side, of whom ye know +not all; and I know one who hath not for goodness and beauty her peer in +the world. And if thou knew her goodness, and saw but her beauty, thou +wouldst say well that happy were the king who held the danger of such a +lady. And wot well that she is a gentle lady, and valiant, and rich, and +of great lands. And I will tell thee a part of her goodness so please +thee.” + +So the king said that he would well he should tell him. Wherefore the +knight fell to telling how she had bestirred her to go seek her lord, and +how she found him and brought him to Marseilles, and the great goodness +and great services which she did him, even as the tale hath told afore, +so that King Florus wondered much thereat; and he said to the knight +privily that such a woman he would take with a good will. + +“Sir,” said the knight, who was of the country of the lady, “I will go to +her, if it please thee, and I will so speak to her, if I may, that the +marriage of you two shall be made.” “Yea,” said King Florus, “I will +well that thou go, and I pray thee to give good heed to the business.” + +So the knight bestirred him, and went so much by his journeys that he +came to the country where dwelt the fair dame, whom the tale calleth my +Lady Jehane, and found her abiding at a castle of hers, and she made him +great joy, as one whom she knew. The knight drew her to privy talk, and +told her of King Florus of Ausay, how he bade her come unto him that he +might take her to wife. When the lady heard the knight so speak, she +began to smile, which beseemed her right well, and she said to the +knight: “Thy king is neither so well learned, nor so courteous as I had +deemed, whereas he biddeth me come to him and he will take me to wife: +forsooth, I am no wageling of him to go at his command. But say to thy +king, that, so please him, he come to me, if he prize me so much and +loveth me, and it seem good to him that I take him to husband and spouse, +for the lords ought to beseech the ladies, and not ladies the lords.” +“Lady,” said the knight, “all that thou hast said to me, I will tell him +straight; but I doubt that he hold not with pride.” “Sir knight,” said +the lady, “he shall take what heed thereof may please him but in the +matter whereof I have spoken to thee, he hath neither courtesy nor +reason.” “Lady,” said the knight, “so be it, a-God’s name! And I will +get me gone, with thy leave, to my lord the king, and will tell him what +thou hast told me. And if thou wilt give me any word more, now tell it +me.” “Yea,” said the lady, “tell him that I send him greeting, and that +I can him much good will for the honour he biddeth me.” + +So the knight departed therewith from the lady, and came the fourth day +thereafter to King Florus of Ausay, and found him in his chamber, whereas +he was speaking with his privy counsel. The knight greeted the king, who +returned the greeting, and made him sit by his side, and asked tidings of +the fair lady, and he told all her message how she would not come to him, +whereas she was not his wageling to come at his command: for that lords +are bound to beseech ladies how she had given him word that she sent him +greeting, and could him goodwill for the honour he bade her. When the +King Florus had heard these words, he fell a-pondering, and spake no word +for a great while. + +“Sir,” said a knight who was of his most privity, “what ponderest thou so +much? Forsooth, all these words well befit a good lady and wise to say; +and so, may help me God, she is both wise and valiant. Wherefore I +counsel thee in good faith that thou look to a day when thou canst be +there; that thou send greeting to her that thou wilt be there on such day +to do her honour, and take her to wife.” “Forsooth,” said King Florus, +“I will send word that I will be there in the month of Paske, and that +she apparel her to receive such a man as I be.” Then said King Florus to +the knight who had been to the lady, that within three days he should go +his ways to tell the lady these tidings. So on the third day the knight +departed, and went so much that he came to the lady, and said that the +king sent word that he would be with her in the month of Paske; and she +answered that it was so by God’s will, and that she would speak with her +friends, and that she would be arrayed to do his will as the honour of a +good lady called on her. After these words departed the knight, and came +to his lord King Florus, and told him the answer of the fair lady, as ye +have heard it. So King Florus of Ausay dight his departure, and went his +ways with a right great folk to come to the country of the fair lady; and +when he was come thither, he took her and wedded her, and had great joy +and great feast thereof. Then he led her into his country where folk +made exceeding great joy of her. But King Florus loved her much for her +great beauty, and for the great wit and great valiancy that was in her. + +And within the year that he had taken her to wife, she was big with +child, and she bore the fruit of her belly so long as right was, and was +delivered of a daughter first, and of a son thereafter, who had to name +Florence and the daughter had to name Floria. And the child Florence was +exceeding fair, and when he was a knight he was the best that knew arms +in his time, so that he was chosen to be Emperor of Constantinople. A +much valiant man was he, and wrought much wrack and dole on the Saracens. +But the daughter became queen of the land of her father, and the son of +the King of Hungary took her to wife, and lady she was of two realms. + +This great honour gave God to the fair lady for the goodness of her and +her loyalty. A great while abode King Florus with that fair lady; and +when it pleased God that his time came, he had such goodly knowledge that +God had in him a fair soul. Thereafter the lady lived but a half year, +and passed away from the world as one good and loyal, and had fair end +and good knowledge. + +Here endeth the tale of King Florus and the Fair Jehane. + + + + +The History of Over Sea + + +IN years bygone was a Count of Ponthieu, who loved much chivalry and the +world, and was a much valiant man and a good knight. + +In the same times was a Count of St. Pol, who held all the country, and +was lord thereof, and a man much valiant. He had no heir of his flesh, +whereof he was sore grieving; but a sister he had, a much good dame, and +a valiant woman of much avail, who was Dame of Dontmart in Ponthieu. The +said dame had a son, Thibault by name, who was heir of the country of St. +Pol, but a poor man so long as his uncle lived; he was a brave knight and +a valiant, and good at arms: noble he was, and goodly, and was much +honoured and loved of good folk; for a high man he was, and gentle of +blood. + +Now the Count of Ponthieu, with whom beginneth this tale, had a wife, a +much good dame: of the said dame he had a daughter, much good and of much +avail, the which waxed in great beauty and multiplied in much good; and +she was of well sixteen years of age. But within the third year of her +birth, her mother died, whereof sore troubled she was and much sorrowful. + +The Count, her father, wedded him right speedily thereafter, and took a +high lady and a gentle; and in a little while the Count had of the said +lady a son, whom he loved much. The said son waxed in great worth and in +great goodness, and multiplied in great good. + +The Count of Ponthieu, who was a valiant man, saw my lord Thibault of +Dontmart, and summoned him, and retained him of his meney; and when he +had him of his meney he was much joyous thereat, for the Count multiplied +in great good and in great avail by means of him. + +As they returned from a tournament, the Count called to him Messire +Thibault, and asked of him and said: “Thibault, as God may help thee, +tell me what jewel of my land thou lovest the best?” “Sir,” said Messire +Thibault, “I am but a poor man, but, as God may help me, of all the +jewels of thy land I love none so much as my damosel, thy daughter.” The +Count, when he heard that, was much merry and joyful in his heart, and +said: “Thibault, I will give her to thee if she will.” “Sir,” said he, +“much great thank have thou; God reward thee.” + +Then went the Count to his daughter, and said to her: “Fair daughter, I +have married thee, save by thee be any hindrance.” “Sir,” said she, +“unto whom?” “A-God’s name,” said he, “to a much valiant man, of much +avail: to a knight of mine, who hath to name Thibault of Dontmart.” +“Ha,” sir, said she, “if thy country were a kingdom, and should come to +me all wholly, forsooth I should hold me right well wedded in him.” +“Daughter,” said the Count, “blessed be thine heart, and the hour wherein +thou wert born.” + +So the wedding was done; the Count of Ponthieu and the Count of St. Pol +were thereat, and many another good valiant man. With great joy were +they assembled, in great lordship and in great mirth: and in great joy +dwelt those together for five years. But it pleased not our Lord Jesus +Christ that they should have an heir of their flesh, which was a heavy +matter to both of them. + +On a night lay Messire Thibault in his bed and pondered sore, and said: +“God! of whom it cometh that I love so much this dame, and she me, and +forsooth no heir of our flesh may we have, whereby God might be served, +and good be done to the world.” Therewith he thought on my lord St. +Jakeme, the apostle of Galicia, who would give to such as crave aright +that which by right they crave, and he behight him the road thither in +his heart. + +The dame was a-sleeping yet, and whenas she awoke he held her betwixt his +arms, and prayed her that she would give him a gift. “Sir,” said the +dame, “and what gift?” “Dame,” said he, “thou shalt wot that when I have +it.” “Sir,” she said, “if I may give it, I will give it, whatso it may +be.” “Dame,” he said, “I crave leave of thee to go to my lord St. Jacque +the Apostle, that he may pray our Lord Jesus Christ to give us an heir of +our flesh, whereby God may be served in this world, and the Holy Church +refreshed.” “Sir,” said the dame, “the gift is full courteous, and much +debonairly will I grant it thee.” + +In much great joy were they for long while: wore one day, and another, +and a third; and it befell that they lay together in bed on a night, and +then said the dame: “Sir, I pray and require of thee a gift.” “Dame,” +said he, “ask, and I will give it, if give it I may.” “Sir,” she said, +“I crave leave of thee to go with thee on thy journey.” + +When Messire Thibault heard that, he was much sorrowful, and said: “Dame, +grievous thing would it be to thine heart, for the way is much longsome, +and the land is much strange and much diverse.” She said: “Sir, doubt +thou nought of me, for of such littlest squire that thou hast, shalt thou +be more hindered than of me.” “Dame,” said he, “a-God’s name, I grant it +thee.” + +Day came, and the tidings ran so far till the Count of Ponthieu knew it, +and sent for Messire Thibault, and said: “Thibault, thou art vowed a +pilgrim, as they tell me, and my daughter also?” “Sir,” said he, “that +is sooth.” “Thibault,” said the Count, “concerning thee it is well, but +concerning my daughter it is heavy on me.” “Sir,” said Messire Thibault, +“I might not naysay her.” “Thibault,” said the Count, “bestir ye when ye +will; so hasten ye your palfreys, your nags, and your sumpter-beasts; and +I will give you pennies and havings enow.” “Sir,” said Messire Thibault, +“great thank I give thee.” + +So then they arrayed them, and departed with great joy; and they went so +far by their journeys, that they drew nigh to St. Jacque by less than two +days. + +On a night they came to a good town, and in the evening Messire Thibault +called his host, and asked him concerning the road for the morrow, what +road they should find, and what like it might be; and he said to him: +“Fair sir, at the going forth from this town ye shall find somewhat of a +forest to pass through, and all the day after a good road.” Therewith +they held their peace, and the bed was apparelled, and they went to rest. + +The morrow was much fair, and the pilgrims rose up at daybreak and made +noise. Messire Thibault arose, and found him somewhat heavy, wherefore +he called his chamberlain, and said: “Arise now, and do our meyney to +truss and go their ways, and thou shalt abide with me and truss our +harness: for I am somewhat heavy and ill at ease.” So that one commanded +the sergeants the pleasure of their lord, and they went their ways. + +But a little while was ere Messire Thibault and his wife arose and +arrayed them, and got to the road. The chamberlain trussed their bed, +and it was not full day, but much fair weather. They issued out of the +town, they three, without more company but only God, and drew nigh to the +forest; and whenas they came thither, they found two ways, one good, and +the other bad. Then Messire Thibault said to his chamberlain: “Prick +spur now, and come up with our folk, and bid them abide us, for ugly +thing it is for a dame and a knight to wend the wild-wood with little +company.” + +So the chamberlain went his ways speedily; and Messire Thibault came into +the forest, and came on the sundering ways, and knew not by which to +wend. So he said: “Dame, by which way go we?” “Sir,” said she, “by the +good way, so please God.” + +But in this forest were certain strong-thieves, who wasted the good way, +and made the false way wide and side, and like unto the other, for to +make pilgrims go astray. So Messire Thibault lighted down, and looked on +the way, and found the false way bigger and wider than the good; so he +said: “Come dame, a-God’s name, this is it.” So they entered therein, +and went a good quarter of a league, and then began the way to wax +strait, and the boughs to hang alow; so he said: “Dame, meseemeth that we +go not well.” + +When he had so said, he looked before him, and saw four strong-thieves +armed, upon four big horses, and each one held spear in hand. And when +he beheld them, he looked behind him, and saw other four in other fashion +armed and arrayed; and he said: “Dame, be not abashed at anything thou +mayst see now from henceforward.” Then Messire Thibault greeted those +first come, but they held them all aloof from his greeting. So +thereafter he asked them what was their will toward him; and one thereof +said: “That same shall we tell thee anon.” + +Therewith the strong thief came against Messire Thibault with glaive in +rest, and thought to smite him amidst of the body; and Messire Thibault +saw the stroke a-coming, and if he doubted thereof, no marvel was it; but +he swerved from the stroke as best he might, and that one missed him; and +as he passed by him Messire Thibault threw himself under the glaive, and +took it from the strong thief, and bestirred him against those three +whence that one was come, and smote one of them amidst the body, and slew +him; and thereafter turned about, and went back, and smote him who had +first come on him amidst of the body, and slew him. + +Now it pleased God that of the eight strong-thieves he slew three, and +the other five encompassed him, and slew his palfrey, so that he fell +adown on his back without any wound to grieve him: he had neither sword +nor any other armour to help him. So the strong-thieves took his raiment +from him, all to his shirt, and his spurs and shoon; and then they took a +sword-belt, and bound his hands and his feet, and cast him into a +bramble-bush much sharp and much rough. + +And when they had thus done, they came to the Lady, and took from her her +palfrey and all her raiment, right to her smock; and she was much fair, +and she was weeping tenderly, and much and of great manner was she +sorrowful. + +Then one of the strong-thieves beheld her, and said thus to his fellows: +“Masters, I have lost my brother in this stour, therefore will I have +this Lady in atonement thereof.” Another said: “But I also, I have lost +my cousin-german; therefore I claim as much as thou herein: yea, and +another such right have I.” And even in such wise said the third and the +fourth and the fifth; but at last said one: “In the holding of this Lady +ye have no great getting nor gain; so let us lead her into the forest +here, and do our will on her, and then set her on the road again and let +her go.” So did they even as they had devised, and set her on the road +again. + +Messire Thibault saw it well, and much sorrowful he was, but nought might +he do against it; nor none ill will had he against the Lady for that +which had befallen her; for he wotted well that it had been perforce and +against the will of her. The Lady was much sorrowful, and all ashamed. +So Messire Thibault called to her and said: “Dame, for God’s sake come +hither and unbind me, and deliver me from the grief wherein I am; for +these brambles grieve me sore and anguish me.” + +So the Lady went whereas lay Messire Thibault, and espied a sword lying +behind there of one of the strong-thieves who had been slain. So she +took it, and went toward her lord, full of great ire and evil will of +that which was befallen. For she doubted much that he would have her in +despite for that he had seen her thus, and that he would reprove her one +while and lay before her what had her betid. She said: “Sir, I will +deliver thee anon.” + +Therewith she hove up the sword and came to her lord, and thought to +smite him amidst of the body; and when he saw the stroke coming he +doubted it much, for he was all naked to his shirt and breeches, and no +more. Therefore so hardly he quaked, that the hands and the fingers of +him; were sundered; and in such wise she smote him that she but hurt him +a little, and sheared the thongs wherewith he was bound; and when he felt +the bonds slacken, he drew to him and brake the thongs, and leapt to his +feet, and said: “Dame, so please God, no more to-day shalt thou slay me.” +But she said: “Of a surety, sir, I am heavy thereof.” + +He took the sword of her, and put it back into the scabbard, and +thereafter laid his hand on her shoulder, and brought her back on the +road whereby they had come. And when he came to the entry of the wood, +there found he a great part of his company, which was come to meet him +and when they saw them thus naked, they asked of him: “Sir, who hath thus +arrayed you?” But he told them that they had fallen in with +strong-thieves, who had thus ensnared them. Much great dole they made +thereof; but speedily were they clad and arrayed, for they had well +enough thereto so they gat to horse and went their ways. + +That day they rode, and for nought that had befallen Messire Thibault +made no worser semblance unto the Lady. That night they came unto a good +town, and there they harboured. Messire Thibault asked of his host if +there were any house of religion anigh thereto, where one might leave a +lady, and the host said: “Sir, it befalleth well to thee; hard by without +is a house much religious and of much good dames.” + +Wore the night, and Messire Thibault went on the morrow into that house +and heard mass, and thereafter spake to the abbess, and the convent, and +prayed them that they would guard that Lady there till his coming back; +and they granted it to him much willingly. Messire Thibault left of his +meney there to serve the Lady, and went his ways, and did his pilgrimage +the best he might. And when he had done his pilgrimage fair and well, he +returned, and came to the Lady. He did good to the house, and gave +thereto of his havings, and took the Lady unto him again, and led her +into his country with as much great honour as he had led her away, save +the lying a-bed with her. + +When he was gotten aback into his land, much great joy did they make of +him, and of the Lady. At his homecoming was the Count of Ponthieu, the +father of the Lady, and there also was the Count of St. Pol, who was +uncle unto my lord Thibault. A many was there of good folk and valiant +at their coming. The Lady was much honoured of dames and of damsels. + +That day the Count of Ponthieu sat, he and Messire Thibault, they two +together, at one dish, and so it fell out that the Count said to him: +“Thibault, fair son, he who long way wendeth heareth much, and seeth of +adventures, whereof nought they know who stir not; tell me tale, then, if +it please thee, of some matter which thou hast seen, or heard tell of, +since ye departed hence.” + +Messire Thibault answered him that he knew of no adventure to tell of; +but the Count prayed him again, and tormented him thereto, and held him +sore to tell of some adventure, insomuch that Messire Thibault answered +him: “Sir, since tell I needs must, I will tell thee; but so please thee, +let it not be within earshot of so much folk.” The Count answered and +said that it so pleased him well. So after dinner, whenas they had +eaten, the Count arose and took Messire Thibault by the hand, and said to +him: “Now would I that thou say thy pleasure, for here is not a many of +folk.” + +And Messire Thibault fell to telling how that it had betid to a knight +and a lady, even as ye have heard in the tale told; but he told not the +persons unto whom it had befallen: and the Count, who was much sage and +right thoughtful, asked what the knight had done with the Lady; and he +answered that the knight had brought and led the Lady back to her own +country, with as much great joy and as much great honour as he had led +her thence, save lying in the bed whereas lay the Lady. + +“Thibault,” said the Count, “otherwise deemed the knight than I had +deemed; for by the faith which I owe unto God, and unto thee, whom much I +love, I would have hung the Lady by the tresses to a tree or to a bush, +or by the very girdle, if none other cord I might find.” “Sir,” said +Messire Thibault, “nought so certain is the thing as it will be if the +Lady shall bear witness thereto with her very body.” “Thibault,” said +the Count, “knowest thou who was the knight?” “Sir,” said Messire +Thibault, “yet again I pray thee that thou acquit me of naming the knight +to whom this adventure betid: know of a verity that in naming him lieth +no great gain.” “Thibault,” said the Count, “know that it is not my +pleasure that thou hide it.” “Sir,” said Thibault, “then will I tell the +same, since I may not be acquitted thereof, as willingly I would be if it +were your pleasure; for in telling thereof lieth not great avail, nor +great honour.” “Thibault,” said the Count, “since the word has gone so +far, know that I would wot straightway who was the knight unto whom this +adventure betid; and I conjure thee, by the faith which thou owest to God +and to me, that thou tell me who was the knight, since thou knowest +thereof.” + +“Sir,” said Messire Thibault, “by that wherewith thou hast conjured me +withal, I will tell thee. And I would well that thou shalt know of a +verity that I am the knight unto whom this adventure betid. And wot thou +that I was sore grieving and abashed in my heart; and wot thou well that +never erst have I spoken thereof to any man alive; and, moreover, with a +good will had I put aside the telling of it, if it had but pleased thee.” + +But when the Count had heard tell this adventure, much grieving was he, +and abashed, and held his peace a great while, and spake no word; and +when he spoke, he said: “Thibault, then to my daughter it was that this +adventure betid?” “Sir,” said he, “of a verity.” “Thibault,” said the +Count, “well shalt thou be avenged, since thou hast brought her back to +me.” + +And because of the great ire which the Count had, he called for his +daughter, and asked of her if that were true which Messire Thibault had +said; and she asked, “What?” and he answered: “This, that thou wouldest +have slain him, even as he hath told it?” “Sir,” she said, “yea.” “And +wherefore,” said the Count, “wouldst thou have done it?” “Sir,” said +she, “hereto, for that yet it grieveth me that I did it not, and that I +slew him not.” + +So the Count let all that be, and abode till the Court was departed. +Thereafter was he at Rue-on-Sea, and Messire Thibault with him, and the +son of the Count; and the Count let lead with him the Lady. Then the +Count let array a strong craft and a trim, and did do the Lady enter +therein; and withal let lay therein a tun, all new, strong, and great, +and thick. Then they entered into the said ship, all three, without +fellowship of other folk, save the mariners who rowed the ship. Then did +the Count cause them to row a full two leagues out to sea; and much +marvelled each one of what he thought to do, but none durst ask him. + +But when they were so far forth in the sea as ye have heard, the Count +let smite out one head of the tun, and took the Lady, who was his +daughter, and who was much fair and well attired, and made her to enter +in the tun, would she, would she not; and then let head up the tun again +straightway, and dight it well, and let redo the staves, and stop it +well, that the water might not enter in no manner. Then the Count let +put it overboard the ship, and he laid hand thereto with his very own +body, and thrust the tun into the sea, and said: “I commend thee unto the +winds and the waves.” + +Much grieving was Messire Thibault thereat, and the brother of the Lady +withal; yea, and all they that saw the same; and they fell all at the +feet of the Count, and prayed him mercy, that from out of that tun they +might take her and deliver her. But the Count, who was much wroth and +full of ire, would not grant it them for any thing that they might do or +pray. So they let it be, and prayed to Jesus Christ, the Sovereign +Father, that he, of his exceeding great goodness, would have pity of her +soul, and do her pardon of her sins. + +Thus have they left the Lady in great mischief and great peril, even as +ye have heard the tale tell afore, and thus they returned thence. But +our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the Sovereign Father of us all, and who +willeth not the death of sinners, be they he or she, but that they may +turn them from their sins and live (every day he showeth it unto us +openly by works, by examples, and by miracles), sent succour unto the +Lady, even as ye may hear further on. + +For the history testifieth us, and telleth of a verity, that a merchant +ship which came from the parts of Flanders, before the Count and his +fellows were well come aland, saw the tun floating even as the winds and +waves led it. So said one of the merchants to his fellows: “Masters, lo +there a tun, and it shall come our way, meseemeth; and if we draw it +aboard, well shall we have some avail of it in any case.” + +Now know ye that this ship was wont to go to the Land of the Saracens for +cheaping. So the mariners drew thither where was the tun, and did so +much, what by wile, what by force, that they gat the tun on to their +ship. And when the tun was laid on their ship, they looked much thereon, +and much marvelled what it might be; and so much, that they beheld how +one of the heads of the said tun was newly arrayed. Wherefore they +unheaded it, and found the Lady therein, in such case as though her hour +were waning, for air failed her. Her body was big, her visage all +swollen, and her eyes ugly and troubled. But when she saw the air, and +felt the wind, she sighed a little, and the merchants stood about her and +called unto her, but she had no might to speak. But at last the heart +came aback to her, and speech withal, and she spoke to the merchants and +other folk whom she saw around her; and much she marvelled when she found +herself in such wise amidst of the merchants; but when she saw of them +that they were Christians and merchants, the more at ease she was, and +much she praised Jesus Christ therefor in her heart, and thanked him of +his goodness, whereas he had so done by her that she yet had a space of +life. For she had much great devotion in her heart, and much great +desire to amend her life toward God, and toward others, of the misdeeds +she had done, whereof she doubted mightily. + +The merchants asked her of whence she was, and she hid the matter from +them, and said that a wretched thing she was, and a poor sinner, even as +they might behold; and that by much cruel adventure was she thither come; +and for God’s sake let them have mercy upon her: and they answered that +even so would they. And she ate and drank, and became much fair. + +Now so far went the ship of the merchants, that they came to the Land of +the Saracens, and took haven by Aumarie. Galleys of the Saracens came to +meet them, and they answered that they were merchants who led divers +merchandise by many lands; and that they had the safe-conduct of princes +and high barons, and that they might go into all lands surely, to seek +chaffer and lead their goods. + +So they brought the Lady aland, and were with her. And one asked the +other what they should do with her; and one said that they should sell +her; and another said: “If I may be trowed, we shall give her as a gift +to the rich Soudan of Aumarie, and then will our matter be mightily +amended.” + +Thereto they accorded all, and they took the Lady and brought her to the +Soudan, who was a young man: but first they did do attire and array the +Lady much richly, and so gave her to the Soudan, who received the Lady +much joyously and with much good-will, for right fair was she. The +Soudan asked of them what she was, and they said: “Sir, we wot not; but +by marvellous adventure did we find her.” + +Much good-will had the Soudan to them of this gift, and much good he did +to them therefor. Much he loved the Lady withal, and he let serve her +honourably. Well was she heeded, and the colour came again unto her, and +she became marvellous fair. + +The Soudan fell to coveting the Lady and to loving of her; and he let ask +her by Latiners of what folk she was, but no sooth thereof would she tell +him or let him know. Thereof was he heavy, whereas he saw of her that +she was a high woman, and of gentle lineage. He let ask of her if she +were Christian, and that if she would leave her law he would take her to +wife, for no wife had he as yet. She saw well that better it were to +come thereto by love than by force, so she answered that so would she do +of a good will; and when she had renied her, and had left her law, the +Soudan took her to wife according to the manner and wont of the Land of +the Saracens. He held her right dear, and honoured her much, and waxed +of great love towards her. + +But a little while was she with the Soudan ere she was big of a son, and +lay in at her time; the Soudan was right glad, and made much great joy. +And the dame was ever of good fellowship with the folk, and much +courteous and of good will toward them, and learnt so much that she knew +the Saracen tongue. + +But a little while wore in the years whereas she had the son, ere she +conceived and had a daughter, who anon became much fair and much wise, +and in all lordliness she let nourish her. Thus was the Lady abiding a +two years in much joy and mirth. + +But now the story leaves telling of the Lady and the Soudan till after, +as ye shall come to hear, and returneth to the Count of Ponthieu, and to +the son of the Count, and to Messire Thibault of Dontmart, who were sore +grieving for the Lady who had been thuswise cast into the sea, even as ye +have heard, and knew no tidings of her, what was become of her, and +trowed more that she were dead than alive. + +Now saith the history, and the sooth beareth witness thereto, that the +Count was in Ponthieu, and his son, and Messire Thibault. The Count was +in sore great sadness, and heavy thought of his daughter, and much he +doubted him of the sin which he had done. Messire Thibault durst not to +wed him; nor did the son of the Count either, because of the dolour +wherein he saw his friends abiding. Neither would the son of the Count +become knight, though he were well of an age thereto, had he the will. + +On a day the Count forthought him much of the sin which he had done to +his daughter, and he betook him to the Archbishop of Rheims and confessed +to him, and said to him all the deed, as he had done it. He took the +cross of Over Sea, and crossed him. And whenas Messire Thibault saw his +lord the Count crossed, he confessed him and crossed him withal. +Likewise, when the son of the Count saw his father crossed, and Messire +Thibault also, whom he loved much, he also crossed himself. And when the +Count saw his son crossed, he was much grieved, and said: “Fair son, +wherefore art thou crossed? Now shall the land abide void of lord.” But +the son answered and said: “Father, I am crossed for God’s sake first +before all things, and for the saving of my soul, and to serve God and +honour him to my power, so long as I shall have the life in my body.” + +So the Count arrayed him speedily and bestirred him, and went and took +leave; but withal he looked to it who should ward his land. And Messire +Thibault and the son of the Count dight their matters, and they took to +the way with much great safe-conduct. They came in the Land of Over Sea +safe of body and havings, and there they did their pilgrimage much holily +in all the places whereas they wotted that it ought to be done, and God +to be served. + +And when the Count had so done, he bethought him that he would well to do +yet more: so he gave himself to the service of the Temple for one year, +him and his company; and then when it came to the end of the year, deemed +that he would go visit his land and his country. Wherefore he sent unto +Acre and let array his journey, and he took leave of them of the Temple, +and of the land, and much they thanked him for the honour which he had +brought them. He came to Acre with his fellows, and they went aboard +ship, and departed from the haven with right good wind at will; but it +endured but for a little; for when they were on the high sea, then did a +wind mighty and horrible fall upon them unawares; and the mariners knew +not whitherward they went, and every hour they looked to be drowned; and +so great was their distress that they bound themselves together, the son +to the father, the nephew to the uncle, yea, one to the other, even as +they were intermingled. The Count and his son and Messire Thibault bound +themselves together so that they might not sunder. + +But a little way had they gone in this wise ere they saw land; and they +asked the mariners what land it was, and they answered that it was the +Land of the Saracens; and they called it the Land of Aumarie, and said +unto the Count: “Sir, what is thy pleasure that we do? for if we go +yonder, we shall be all taken and fall into the hands of the Saracens.” +The Count said to them: “Let go according to the will of Jesus Christ, +who shall take heed to our bodies and our lives; for of an eviller or +uglier death we may not die than to die in this sea.” + +So they let run along Aumarie, and galleys and craft of the Saracens came +against them. Wot ye well that this was an evil meeting; for they took +them and brought them before the Soudan, who was lord of that land and +country. So they made him a present of the Christians and of all their +havings: the Soudan departed them, and sent them to divers places of his +prisons. The Count of Ponthieu and his son and Messire Thibault were so +strongly bound together that they might not be sundered. The Soudan +commanded that they should be laid in a prison by themselves, where they +should have but little to eat and little to drink; and it was done even +as he commanded. There were they a while of time in great misease, and +so long that the son of the Count was much sick, insomuch that the Count +and Messire Thibault had fear of his dying. + +Thereafter it fell out that the Soudan held court much mightily, and made +great joy for his birthday; and this was after the custom of the +Saracens. + +After dinner came the Saracens unto the Soudan, and said to him: “Sir, we +require of thee our right.” He asked them what it was, and they said: +“Sir, a captive Christian to set up at the butts.” So he granted it to +them whereas it was a matter of nought, and he said to them: “Go ye to +the gaol, and take him who has the least of life in him.” + +To the gaol they went, and drew out the Count, all bedone with a thick +beard; and when the Soudan saw him in so poor estate, he said to them: +“This one hath little might to live; go ye, lead him hence, and do ye +your will on him.” + +The wife of the Soudan, of whom ye have heard, who was daughter of the +Count, was in the place whereas the Count who was her father was being +led to the death, and so soon as she saw him, the blood and the heart was +stirred within her, not so much for that she knew him, but rather that +nature constrained her. Then said the Lady to the Soudan: “Sir, I am +French, wherefore I would willingly speak to yonder poor man before he +dieth, if it please thee.” “Yea, dame,” said the Soudan, “it pleaseth me +well.” + +So the Lady came to the Count, and drew him apart, and caused the +Saracens to draw aback, and asked him of whence he was, and he said: +“Lady, I am of the kingdom of France, of a land which is called +Ponthieu.” + +When the Lady heard that, all the blood of her stirred within her, and +straightway she asked of what kindred he was. “Certes, dame,” said he, +“it may not import to me of what kin I be, for I have suffered so many +pains and griefs since I departed, that I love better to die than to +live; but so much can I tell thee of a sooth, that I was the Count of +Ponthieu.” + +When the Lady heard that, she made no semblance, but forthwith departed +from the Count and came to the Soudan, and said: “Sir, give me this +captive, if it please thee, for he knoweth the chess and the tables, and +fair tales withal, which shall please thee much; and he shall play before +thee and learn thee.” “Dame,” said the Soudan, “by my law, wot that with +a good will I will give him thee; do with him as thou wilt.” + +Then the Lady took him and sent him into her chamber, and the jailers +went to seek another, and led out Messire Thibault, who was the husband +of the Lady; and in sorry raiment was he, for he was dight with long +hair, and had a great beard; he was lean and fleshless, as one who had +suffered pain and dolour enough. When the Lady saw him, she said unto +the Soudan: “Sir, again with this one would I willingly speak, if it +please thee.” “Dame,” said the Soudan, “it pleaseth me well.” So the +Lady came to Messire Thibault, and asked him of whence he was, and he +said: “I am of the land of the old warrior whom they led before thee e’en +now: and I had his daughter to wife; and I am a knight.” + +The Lady knew well her lord, so she went back unto the Soudan, and said +to him: “Sir, great goodness wilt thou do unto me if thou wilt give me +this one also.” “Dame,” said he, “with a good will I will give him to +thee.” So she thanked him, and sent him into her chamber with the other. + +But the archers hastened and came to the Soudan, and said: “Sir, thou +doest us wrong, and the day is a-waning.” And therewith they went to the +gaol and brought out the son of the Count, who was all covered with his +hair and dishevelled, as one who had not been washen a while. Young man +he was, so that he had not yet a beard; but so lean he was, and so sick +and feeble, that scarce might he hold him up. And when the Lady saw him, +she had of him much great pity. She came to him and asked of him whose +son, and whence he was, and he said he was the son of the first worthy. +Then she wotted well that he was her brother, but no semblance she made +thereof. + +“Sir, certes,” said she to the Soudan, “thou wilt now do me great +goodness if thou wilt give me this one also; for he knows the chess and +the tables, and all other games, which much shall please thee to see and +to hear.” But the Soudan said: “Dame, by my law, were there an hundred +of them I would give them unto thee willingly.” + +The Lady thanked him much, and took her brother, and sent him straightway +into her chamber. But the folk betook them anew to the gaol, and brought +forth another; and the Lady departed thence, whereas she knew him not. +So was he led to his martyrdom, and our Lord Jesus Christ received his +soul. But the Lady went her ways forthwith; for it pleased her not, the +martyrdoms which the Saracens did on the Christians. + +She came to her chamber wherein were the prisoners, and when they saw her +coming, they made as they would rise up, but she made sign to them to +hold them still. Then she went close up to them, and made them sign of +friendship. And the Count, who was right sage, asked thereon: “Dame, +when shall they slay us?” And she answered that it would not be yet. +“Dame,” said they, “thereof are we heavy; for we have so great hunger, +that it lacketh but a little of our hearts departing from us.” + +Thereat she went forth and let array meat; and then she brought it, and +gave to each one a little, and a little of drink. And when they had +taken it, then had they yet greater hunger than afore. Thuswise she gave +them to eat, ten times the day, by little and little; for she doubted +that if they ate all freely, that they would take so much as would grieve +them. Wherefore she did them to eat thus attemperly. + +Thuswise did the good dame give them might again; and they were before +her all the first seven days, and the night-tide she did them to lie at +their ease; and she did them do off their evil raiment and let give them +good and new. After the eighth day, she had strengthened them little by +little and more and more; and then she let bring them victuals and drink +to their contentment, and in such wise that they were so strong that she +abandoned to them the victual and the drink withal. They had chequers +and tables, and played thereon, and were in all content. The Soudan was +ofttimes with them, and good will he had to see them play, and much it +pleased him. But the dame refrained her sagely toward them, so that +never was one of them that knew her, neither by word nor deed of hers. + +But a little while wore after this matter, as telleth the tale, ere the +Soudan had to do, for a rich soudan, who marched on him, laid waste his +land, and fell to harrying him. And he, to avenge his trouble, summoned +folk from every part, and assembled a great host. When the Lady knew +thereof she came into the chamber whereas were the prisoners, and she sat +down before them, and spoke to them, and said: “Lords, ye have told me of +your matters a deal; now would I wot whether that which ye have told me +be true or not: for ye told me that thou wert Count of Ponthieu on the +day that thou departedst therefrom, and that that man had had thy +daughter to wife, and that the other one was thy son. Now, I am Saracen, +and know the art of astronomy: wherefore I tell you well, that never were +ye so nigh to a shameful death as now ye be, if ye tell me not the truth. +Thy daughter, whom this knight had, what became of her?” + +“Lady,” said the Count, “I trow that she be dead.” “What wise died she?” +quoth she. “Certes, Lady,” said the Count, “by an occasion which she had +deserved.” “And what was the occasion?” said the Lady. + +Then the Count fell to tell, sore weeping, how she was wedded, and of the +tarrying, whereby she might not have a child; and how the good knight +promised his ways to St. Jakeme in Galicia, and how the Lady besought him +that she might go along with him, and he granted it willingly. And how +they bestirred them with great joy, and went their ways, and so far that +they came unto a place where they were without company. Then met they in +a forest robbers well armed, who fell upon them. The good knight might +do nothing against all them, for he was lacking of arms; but amidst all +that he slew three, and five were left, who fell upon him and slew his +palfrey, and took the knight and stripped him to the shirt, and bound him +hand and foot, and cast him into a briar-bush: and the Lady they +stripped, and took from her her palfrey. They beheld the Lady, and saw +that she was full fair, and each one would have her. At the last, they +accorded betwixt them hereto, that they should lie with her, and they had +their will of her in her despite; and when they had so done they went +their ways, and she abode, much grieving and much sad. The good knight +beheld it, and said much sweetly: “Dame, now unbind me my hands, and let +us be going.” Now she saw a sword, which was of one of the slain +strong-thieves; she took it, and went towards her lord, who lay as +aforesaid; she came in great ire by seeming, and said: “Yea, unbind thee +I will.” Then she held the sword all bare, and hove it up, and thought +to smite him amidst the body, but by the good mercy of Jesus Christ, and +by the valiancy of the knight, he turned upso down, and she smote the +bonds he was bound withal, and sundered them, and he leapt up, for as +bound and hurt as he was, and said: “Dame, if God will, thou shalt slay +me not to-day.” + +At this word spake the Lady, the wife of the Soudan: “Ha, sir! thou +sayest the sooth; and well I know wherefore she would to do it.” “Dame,” +said the Count, “and wherefore?” “Certes,” quoth she, “for the great +shame which had befallen her.” + +When Messire Thibault heard that, he fell a-weeping much tenderly, and +said: “Ha, alas! what fault had she therein then, Lady? So may God give +me deliverance from this prison wherein I am, never should I have made +worse semblance to her therefor, whereas it was maugre her will.” + +“Sir,” said the Lady, “that she deemed nought. Now tell me,” she said, +“which deem ye the rather, that she be quick or dead?” “Dame,” said he, +“we wot not.” “Well wot I,” said the Count, “of the great pain we have +suffered, which God hath sent us for the sin which I did against her.” +“But if it pleased God,” said the Lady, “that she were alive, and that ye +might have of her true tidings, what would ye say thereto?” “Lady,” said +the Count, “then were I gladder than I should be to be delivered out of +this prison, or to have so much riches as never had I in my life.” +“Dame,” said Messire Thibault, “may God give me no joy of that which I +most desire, but I were not the gladder than to be king of France.” +“Dame,” said the varlet who was her brother, “certes none could give me +or promise me thing whereof I should be so glad as of the life of my +sister, who was so fair a dame, and so good.” + +But when the Lady heard these words, then was the heart of her softened +and she praised God, and gave him thanks therefor, and said to them: +“Take heed, now, that there be no feigning in your words.” And they +answered and said that none there was. Then fell the Lady a-weeping +tenderly, and said to them: “Sir, now mayest thou well say that thou art +my father, and I thy daughter, even her on whom thou didest such cruel +justice. And thou, Messire Thibault, thou art my lord and my baron. And +thou, sir varlet, art my brother.” + +Therewith she told them how the merchants had found her, and how they +gave her as a gift to the Soudan. And when they heard that, they were +much glad, and made much great joy, and humbled them before her; but she +forbade them that they should make any semblance, and said: “I am +Saracen, and renied, for otherwise I might never endure, but were +presently dead. Wherefore I pray you and bid you, for as dear as ye hold +your lives and honours, and your havings the greater, that ye never once, +whatso ye may hear or see, make any more fair semblance unto me, but hold +you simply. So leave me to deal therewith. Now shall I tell you +wherefore I have uncovered me to you. The Soudan, who is now my lord, +goeth presently a-riding; and I know thee well” (said she to Messire +Thibault), “that thou art a valiant man and a good knight: therefore I +will pray the Soudan to take thee with him; and then if ever thou wert +valiant, now do thou show it, and serve the Soudan so well that he may +have no evil to tell of thee.” + +Therewith departed the Lady, and came unto the Soudan, and said: “Sir, +one of my prisoners will go with thee, if it please thee.” “Dame,” said +he, “I would not dare trust me to him, lest he do me some treason.” +“Sir,” she said, “in surety mayest thou lead him along; for I will hold +the others.” “Dame,” said he, “I will lead him with me, since thou +counsellest me so, and I will give him a horse much good, and arms, and +all that is meet for him.” + +So then the Lady went back, and said to Messire Thibault: “I have done so +much with the Soudan, that thou shalt go with him. Now bethink thee to +do well.” But her brother kneeled before her, and prayed her that she +would do so much with the Soudan that he also should go. But said she: +“I will not do it, the matter be over open thereby.” + +The Soudan arrayed his matters and went his ways, and Messire Thibault +with him, and they went against the enemy. The Soudan delivered to +Messire Thibault arms and horse. By the will of Jesus Christ, who never +forgetteth them who have in him trust and good faith, Messire Thibault +did so much in arms, that in a little while the enemy of the Soudan was +brought under, whereof much was the Soudan rejoiced; he had the victory, +and led away much folk with him. And so soon as he was come back, he +went to the Lady, and said: “Dame, by my law, I much praise thy prisoner, +for much well hath he served me; and if he will cast aside his law and +take ours, I will give him wide lands, and richly will I marry him.” +“Sir,” she said, “I wot not, but I trow not that he will do it.” +Therewith they were silent, so that they spake not more. But the Lady +dighted in her business straightway after these things the best she +might, and she came to her prisoners, and said: + +“Lords, now do ye hold ye wisely, that the Soudan perceive not our +counsel; for, if God please, we shall yet be in France and the land of +Ponthieu.” + +Now came a day when the Lady moaned much, and complained her, and came +before the Soudan, and said: “Sir, I go with child, well I wot it, and am +fallen into great infirmity, nor ever since thy departure have I eaten +aught wherein was any savour to me.” “Dame,” said he, “I am heavy of thy +sickness, but much joyous that thou art with child. But now command and +devise all things that thou deemest might be good for thee, and I will +let seek and array them, whatsoever they may cost me.” + +When the Lady heard that, she had much great joy in her heart; but never +did she show any semblance thereof, save that so much she said: “Sir, my +old prisoner hath said to me, that but I be presently upon earth of a +right nature, I am but dead and that I may not live long.” “Dame,” said +the Soudan, “nought will I thy death: look to it, then, on what land thou +wouldest be, and I will let lead thee thereto.” “Sir,” she said, “it is +of no matter to me, so that I be out of this city.” + +Then the Soudan let array a ship fair and stout, and let garnish her well +with wine and victual. “Sir,” said the Lady to the Soudan, “I will have +with me my old prisoner and my young one, and they shall play at the +chess and the tables; and my son will I take to pleasure me.” “Dame,” +said he, “it pleaseth me well that thou do thy will herein. But what hap +with the third prisoner?” “Sir,” said she, “thou shalt do thy will +herein.” “Dame,” said he, “I will that thou take him with thee; for he +is a valiant man, and will heed thee well on land and sea, if need thou +have thereto.” + +Therewith she prayed leave of the Soudan, and he granted it, and much he +prayed her to come back speedily. The ship was apparelled, and they were +alboun; and they went aboard, and departed from the haven. + +Good wind they had, and ran much hard: and the mariners called to the +Lady, and said to her: “Dame, this wind is bringing straight to Brandis; +now command us thy pleasure to go thither or elsewhere.” And she said to +them: “Let run hardily, for I know well how to speak French and other +tongues, and I will lead you through all.” + +Now so much they ran by day and by night, through the will of Jesus +Christ, that they are come to Brandis there they took harbour in all +safety, and lighted down on the shore, and were received with much great +joy. The Lady, who was much wise, drew towards the prisoners, and said +to them: “Lords, I would that ye call to mind the words and agreements +which ye said to me, and I would be now all sure of you, and have good +surety of your oaths, and that ye say to me on all that ye hold to be of +God if ye will to hold to your behests, which ye have behight me, or not; +for yet have I good might to return.” + +They answered: “Lady, know without doubt that we have covenanted nought +with you which shall not be held toward you by us loyally; and know by +our Christendom and our Baptism, and by whatsoever we hold of God, that +we will hold to it; be thou in no doubt thereof.” + +“And I will trow in you henceforth,” said the Lady. “Now, lords,” said +she, “lo here my son, whom I had of the Soudan; what shall we do with +him?” “Dame, let him come to great honour and great gladness.” “Lords,” +said the Lady, “much have I misdone against the Soudan, for I have taken +from him my body, and his son whom he loved much.” + +Then she went back to the mariners, and called and said to them: +“Masters, get ye back and tell to the Soudan that I have taken from him +my body, and his son whom he loved much, and that I have cast forth from +prison my father, my husband, and my brother.” And when the mariners +heard that, they were much grieving; but more they might not do; and they +returned, sad and sorrowful for the Lady, and for the youngling, whom +they loved much, and for the prisoners, who were thus lost without +recoverance. + +But the Count apparelled himself, whereto he had well enough, by means of +merchants and by Templars, who lent him of their good full willingly. +And when the Count and his company had sojourned in the town so long as +their pleasure was, they arrayed them and went their ways thence, and +came to Rome. The Count went before the Apostle, and his fellowship with +him. Each one confessed him the best that he could; and when the Apostle +heard it, he was much glad, and much great cheer he made of them. He +baptized the child, and he was called William. He reconciled the Lady, +and set her again in right Christendom, and confirmed the Lady and +Messire Thibault, her baron, in right marriage, and joined them together +again, and gave penitence to each of them, and absolved them of their +sins. + +After that, they abode no long while ere they departed from Rome and took +their leave of the Apostle, who much had honoured them; and he gave them +his blessing, and commended them to God. So went they in great joy and +in great pleasance, and praised God and his mother and the hallows, both +carl and quean, and gave thanks for the goods which they had done them. + +And so far they journeyed, that they came into the land where they were +born, and were received in great procession by the bishops and the +abbots, and the people of religion and the other clerks, who much had +desired them. + +But above all other joys made they joy the Lady who was thus recovered, +and who had thus delivered her father, her husband, and her brother from +the hands of the Saracens, even as ye have heard. But now leave we of +them in this place, and tell we of the mariners who had brought them, and +of the Saracens who had come with them. + +The mariners and the Saracens who had brought them to Brandis returned at +their speediest; they had good wind, and ran till they came off Aumarie. + +They lighted down on shore sad and sorrowful, and went to tell the +tidings to the Soudan, who was much sorrowful thereof, and in great dole +abode; and for this adventure the less he loved his daughter, who had +abided there, and honoured her the less. Notwithstanding, the damsel +became much sage, and waxed in great wit, so that all honoured her and +loved her, and prized her for the good deeds which they told of her. + +But now the history holds its peace of the Soudan, who made great dole +for his wife and his prisoners who thus had escaped, and it returneth to +the Count of Ponthieu, who was received into his land with great +procession, and much honoured as the lord that he was. + +No long while wore ere his son was made knight, and great cheer folk made +of him. He was a knight much worthy and valiant, and much he loved the +worthies, and fair gifts he gave to poor knights and poor gentle dames of +the country, and much was prized and loved of poor and of rich. For a +worthy he was, and a good knight, and courteous, and openhanded, and +kind, and nowise proud. Yet but a little while he lived, which was great +damage, and much was he bemoaned of all. + +After this adventure it befell that the Count held a great court and a +great feast, and had a many of knights and other folk with him; and +therewithal came a very noble man and knight, who was a much high man in +Normandy, who was called my lord Raoul de Preaux. This Raoul had a +daughter much fair and much wise. The Count spake so much to my lord +Raoul and to his friends, that he made the wedding betwixt William his +nephew, son to the Soudan of Aumarie, and the daughter of my lord Raoul, +for no heir had he save that daughter. William wedded the damsel, and +the wedding was done much richly, and thereafter was the said William +lord of Preaux. + +Long time thence was the land in peace and without war: and Messire +Thibault was with the Lady, and had of her sithence two man-children, who +thereafter were worthies and of great lordship. The son of the Count of +Ponthieu, of whom we have told so much good, died but a little +thereafter, whereof was made great dole throughout all the land. The +Count of St. Pol lived yet, and now were the two sons of my lord Thibault +heirs of those two countries, and thereto they attained at the last. The +good dame their mother lived in great penitence, and much she did of good +deeds and alms; and Messire Thibault lived as the worthy which he was, +and much did he of good whiles he was in life. + +Now it befell that the daughter of the Lady, who had abided with the +Soudan her father, waxed in great beauty and became much wise, and was +called the Fair Caitif, because her mother had left her thus as ye have +heard: but a Turk, much valiant, who served the Soudan (Malakin of Baudas +was he called), this Malakin saw the damsel to be courteous and sage, and +much good had heard tell of her; wherefore he coveted her in his heart, +and came to the Soudan and said to him: “Sir, for the service which I +have done thee, give me a gift.” “Malakin,” said the Soudan, “what +gift?” “Sir,” said he, “might I dare to say it, because of her highness, +whereof I have nought so much as she, say it I would.” + +The Soudan, who wise was and clear-seeing, said to him: “Speak in all +surety that which thou willest to speak; for much I love thee and prize +thee; and if the thing be a thing which I may give thee, saving my +honour, know verily that thou shalt have it.” “Sir,” said he, “well I +will that thine honour shall be safe, and against it nought would I ask +of thee: but if it please thee, give me thy daughter, for I pray her of +thee, and right willingly would I take her.” + +The Soudan held his peace and thought awhile; and he saw well that +Malakin was a worthy, and wise, and might well come to great honour and +great good, and that well he might be worthied; so he said: “Malakin, by +my law, thou hast craved me a great thing, for I love much my daughter, +and no heir else have I, as thou wottest well, and as sooth is. She is +born and come from the most highest kindred and the most valiant of +France; for her mother is daughter of the Count of Ponthieu; but whereas +thou art valiant, and much well hast served me, I will give her to thee +with a good will, if she will grant it.” “Sir,” said Malakin, “against +her will would I do nothing.” + +Then the Soudan let call the damsel, and she came, and he said to her: +“My fair daughter, I have married thee, if so it please thee.” “Sir,” +she said, “well is my pleasure therein, if thou will it.” Then the +Soudan took her by the hand, and said: “Hold, Malakin! I give her to +thee.” He received her gladly, and in great joy and in great honour of +all his friends; and he wedded her according to the Saracen law; and he +led her into his land in great joy and in great honour. The Soudan +brought him on his road a great way, with much company of folk, so far as +him pleased; then returned, and took leave of his daughter and her lord. +But a great part of his folk he sent with her to serve them. + +Malakin came into his country, and much was he served and honoured, and +was received with great joy by all his friends; and they twain lived +together long and joyously, and had children together, as the history +beareth witness. + +Of this dame, who was called the Fair Caitif, was born the mother of the +courteous Turk Salahadin, who was so worthy and wise and conquering. + +Here ends the Story of Over Sea, done out of ancient French into English +by William Morris. + + * * * * * + + Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. + London & Edinburgh + + * * * * * + + + + +Footnotes + + +{1} _Nouvelles françaises en prose du xiii ième siecle_, par MM. L. +Moland et C. D’Hericault. (Paris: Janet, 1856.) + +{2} I have given a version of it in my _English Fairy Tales_, and there +is a ballad on the subject entitled _The Cruel Knight_. + +{3} See Clouston, _Book of Sindibad_, p. 279. + +{4} Figured in M. Ulysse Robert, _Signes d’infamie au moyen âge_, Paris, +1891. Lovers of Stevenson will remember the effective use made of this +in _The Black Arrow_. + +{5} It has been suggested that the names of our heroes have given rise +to the proverbial saying: “A miss (Amis) is as good as a mile (Amile),” +but notwithstanding the high authority from which the suggestion +emanates, it is little more than a pun. + +{6} For occurrences of this incident in sagas, etc., see Grimm, +_Deutsche Rechtsalterthümer_, 168–70; in folk-tales, Dasent, _Tales from +the Norse_, cxxxiv.–v., _n._ xviii + +{7} Mr. Hartland has studied the “Lifetoken” in the eighth chapter of +his elaborate treatise on the Legend of Perseus. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD FRENCH ROMANCES*** + + +******* This file should be named 5988-0.txt or 5988-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/9/8/5988 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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