Heroines of the French Epic: A Second Selection of Chansons de Geste 1843843617, 9781843843610

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HEROINES OF THE FRENCH EPIC A second selection of chansons de geste T R A N S L AT E D B Y

M IC HA E L N EW T H

Heroines of the French Epic

Heroines of the French Epic A second selection of chansons de geste

translated by Michael A. H. Newth

d.s. brewer

Translation © Michael A. H. Newth 2014 All rights reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner The right of Michael A. H. Newth to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 First published 2014 D.S. Brewer ISBN 978 1 84384 361 0 D.S. Brewer is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk, IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mount Hope Ave, Rochester, NY 14620–2731, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate. Printed on acid-free paper Typeset by The Word Service, 1 Oxford Street, Hungerford, RG17 0ET

For Sue, my heroine

Contents Translator’s Preface

ix

Introduction 1 PART I – Saracen Sirens

7



THE CAPTURE OF ORANGE (c. 1150)

11



THE SONG OF FLOOVANT (c. 1170)

57

PART II – Bartered Brides

125



AYE OF AVIGNON (c. 1180)

129



AYE OF AVIGNON II (c. 1190)

185

PART III – Martyred Minds

231



THE SONG OF BLANCHEFLOR (c. 1240)

238



BERTHA BROAD-FOOT (c. 1270)

333

Glossary

419

Suggestions for Further Reading

421

Translator’s Preface Despite the growing shelves of Old French literature in translation that can be found in many university libraries, the epic tales of medieval France remain largely unknown to most English-speaking readers of the twenty-first century; and yet the genre to which they belong, called ‘chansons de geste’, or ‘songs of deeds’, provided the chief means of cultural and imaginative expression in the French language for over one hundred and fifty years (c.1100–1250), during one of the most significant periods of social change in the history of Western civilisation. The present volume, intended as a companion text to my Heroes of the Old French Epic (Woodbridge, 2005)1, offers full English verse translations of six more of these songs, each chosen this time to illustrate the range of roles gradually accorded to women in these originally militaristic narratives. Four key narrative roles have been selected – woman as helpmeet, woman as lover, woman as victim, and woman as spiritual model – in order to illustrate some major changes in the social status of women that took place during the period of this popular genre’s existence. The chronological presentation of the poems in this selection is not meant, however, to imply the existence of any strict division or development, historically or behaviourally, in the female roles highlighted by each. Apart from their individual literary merits and their historical value as social documents, the poems translated here also show the amazing transformation, in form and content, of an oral-based Epic genre increasingly influenced by the ethos of Romance, as expressed in the contemporary ‘verse novels’ of courtly love and Arthurian adventure. In making each translation I have tried therefore, above all, to preserve most of the formal properties of the original texts. The chansons de geste of whatever period are still oral-based poems and the performance-driven qualities of such verse (the mesmeric effect of formulaic diction, the affective powers of assonance, rhyme and rhythm) need to be recreated in verse and declaimed (at least inwardly!) by the modern ‘reader’ if something of the fine and full effect of this fascinating art-form is to be appreciated today. Of necessity such an approach to translation is taken at the sacrifice of some literal accuracy, but I would ask any specialists in medieval studies who may find these versions too free, to consider whether a prose translation of any piece of verse is, in essence, a ‘strict’ translation at all. This being said, the translations in this volume are as faithful to the spirit and the letter of their originals as I could make them. It would appear that in the main era, c.950–c.1150, of this genre’s oral popularity and performance (an early version of the surviving Song of Roland, for 1

All names and page references relate to authors and works cited in the Suggestions for Further Reading.

ix

Preface

example, is reported to have been sung to William the Conqueror’s troops on the battlefield of Hastings in 1066), all the lines in every stanza of the same song were chanted to the same brief melodic phrase, like a litany. Most of the earlier songs were written in ten-syllable lines, most of the later ones in lines of twelve syllables (called alexandrines). In either case the lines were grouped together in stanzas of irregular length called laisses. The final syllables of all the lines in one Old French epic laisse were originally assonanced together (i.e. matched by vowel-sound only), but in later poems they were fully rhymed. This full rhyme, which is easy to achieve in the French language, is impossible to copy in English, and so I have employed the traditional assonance patterning for all six tales contained in this collection. The occasional rhyme occurs, of course, but it is, usually, fortuitous. The end-assonance changes with each stanza and is commonly masculine but occasionally feminine. A feminine ending is one in which the stressed syllable that carries the assonance was followed in the original poem by an unaccented e (e.g. baronnie, folie); a masculine ending is one in which it was not so followed: (e.g. baron, donjon). Thus, in the translations, not only do words like brave and jail assonate, but so do barons and madness. There is a break in the ten-syllable line after the fourth syllable and after the sixth in the alexandrine. The final syllable before this caesura may once again be either masculine or feminine. While preserving the medieval verse-structure as much as possible, I have also tried to accommodate the needs and expectations of the modern reader. I have maintained a uniform past tense in narration that does not reflect the seemingly indiscriminate mixture of tenses to be found in some of the originals. I have created many more run-on lines than occur in the Old French productions, and have, more radically, but again for the ease of modern reading, divided each text artificially into numbered sections, to indicate narrative episodes which are discernible but not distinguished thus in the extant manuscripts or in any editions thereof. The editions used to make the translations are as follows: Régnier, Claude. La Prise d’Orange. Paris 1977. Andolf, Sven. Floovant. Uppsala 1941. Guessard F. and P. Meyer. Aye d’Avignon. Paris 1861; repr. New York 1989. Macaire. Paris, 1866; repr. New York 1989. Henry, Albert. Adenet le Roi: Berte As Grans Piés. Geneva 1982. These translations are intended for English-speaking general readers or students of Western civilisation in such disciplines as history, comparative literature and gender studies. The accompanying introductions, suggestions for further reading and endglossary will, hopefully, also be of service and interest to these groups. The surviving chansons de geste (there are approximately one hundred) offer a fascinating insight into the matters and manners of their times. The translations in this volume aim to contribute further to an appreciation of the information, artistry, humour and wisdom to be found and still enjoyed within this poetic corpus. x

Preface

My affectionate thanks go to my friend Emeritus Professor Len McGlashan for his unfailingly cheerful and patient support, both moral and practical, in the preparation of this volume.

xi

Introduction ‘In no period of French literature, – neither in the romans d’aventure, nor in the society literature of the grand siècle, nor in the emancipated treatment of the modern novelists, – is woman more attractively and more truthfully, albeit often naïvely, portrayed than in the chansons de geste.’ William Wistar Comfort (p.105)

The chansons de geste, inspired originally by the historical deeds and legendary exploits of the great Frankish king and Western emperor Charlemagne (742–814), began as an orally composed and publicly presented form of entertainment for the pleasure and edification of the Frankish barons, whose delight in combat they reflected. The masterly level of sustained epic diction achieved in the Song of Roland (c. 1100), the earliest complete chanson de geste that has survived in manuscript today, reflects and consummates a long legacy, over one hundred years in fact, of prior oral composition within the genre. Roland is justly considered today as the first masterpiece of French literature, and one of the world’s greatest epic poems. It remains also, unfortunately, the only example of the chanson de geste genre to which modern English-speaking students or general readers are usually exposed – and even then, again most probably, only through specially selected passages. As one critic has aptly said, such modern readers of the Song of Roland ‘must be led to conclude that women are unimportant or even non-existent in the French epic’(Harrison, p.672). Indeed, the only two female characters in this 4,000 line poem (featuring well over one hundred named warriors) are the Saracen king’s wife Bramimond, who is mentioned in four episodes totalling 147 lines, and Roland’s fiancée Aude, who is mentioned in only twenty nine lines, and speaks in only five of them. Both quantitatively and qualitatively Aude and Bramimond in the Song of Roland demonstrate, to the different degrees of their status as maid/fiancée and wife/queen respectively, the subordinate and supportive role to which early medieval society, and hence its imaginative representations, had relegated them. For the aristocratic male audiences who listened to these epic tales in the eleventh century, men ‘for whom national or vassalic duties were of the supreme interest, men who had consecrated themselves above all to national and religious service’ (Hindley & Levy, p.79), it was warfare and its associated moral and physical virtues that were of most importance and interest in life – the pursuit of individual or clan honour, not that of amorous adventure. Thus in the earliest ‘songs of deeds’ women figure very much as minor characters whose honour, like their status in society, is dependent on and reflected from males. Although the physical beauty of these early heroines is assumed, even regularly stated, it is not emphasised, and never the sole 1

Heroines of the French Epic motivation for the taking up of arms. It is rather the mental and moral strengths of a woman – her wit, intelligence, constancy, diligence, practicality, and powers of will and endurance, – attributes that would make her ‘a fitting companion for the epic hero’ (Herman, p.214), that ornament the earliest preserved songs, such as Roland and the Song of William, and remain an admirable feature of several of the later ones too, such as Raoul of Cambrai, Aliscans, The Knights of Narbonne and Aspremont. It is not until the middle of the twelfth century, as the aristocratic male audience for such tales developed rapidly into a more democratised, and female readership, delighting more in the emotionally tangled battlefields of ‘Romance’, that female characters begin to participate much more in the intrigues of the plot, advancing and eventually directing the actions of the hero by their physical, moral and intellectual qualities. In the Song of Roland the maiden Aude dies of a broken heart immediately on hearing of her fiancé Roland’s death. She brusquely rejects Charlemagne’s offer of his own son as a replacement, ‘Which is Prince Louis: what better can I say/ He is my son, the heir to my domains,’ (ll.3715–6) – thus demonstrating her unswerving loyalty to her betrothed, which is clearly the focus of the little episode for the earliest poet. Her self-sacrificing death complements that of her fiancé on the battlefield: ‘She is thus Roland’s equal, and her death adds enormously to his posthumous prestige’ (Hindley & Levy, p.79). However, in the song called Girart of Vienne, written approximately a century later (c.1200), but describing a baronial conflict that is set, historically, twelve months before her betrothed’s famous last stand at the battle of Roncevaux, Aude reappears as an independent, even forward young beauty who is quick to exchange witticisms with any man and to flirt openly with her new admirer, an over-ardent Roland, throughout the seven thousand line narrative. The only other ‘heroine’ in the Song of Roland, the Saracen Queen Bramimond, although bearing the unforgivable stigma (in these early epic poems) of Paganism – a narrative attribute which precludes her immediately from being viewed as a figure of admirable i.e. Christian virtue, – is still portrayed in positive terms as a loyal, supportive wife to King Marsile, and as an articulate deputy who is more than capable of representing her husband’s cause in his own absence or incapacity to do so. Her very first words to the Christian traitor Ganelon are: ‘ I love you much, because my lord and all his men do so’(ll.635–6). The most successfully drawn and the most admirable example of this ‘helpmeet-heroine’ figure in Old French poetry is that of Lady Guibourc, the wife of Duke William of Orange (the principal character in a major sub cycle of the Old French epic songs). Guibourc is indeed ‘a vivacious female personage of high relief who, with the possible exception of Aalais in Raoul de Cambrai, surpasses all other heroines in dignity and in accuracy of human portrayal’ (Herman, p.213). In her we can best see the literary embodiment of the early medieval Christian woman, who ‘was called upon to be her husband’s helpmate in every phase of his life, in his active military pursuits as well as in his pleasures. She was strong in her desires, vigorous in her efforts to satisfy them, and quite as crude in her manner of living 2

Introduction as her husband.’(C.M. Jones, p.220) A Christian convert, Guibourc demonstrates a resilient, indeed energetic fidelity to her new husband and her new faith throughout every trial and tribulation she encounters in the course of her many appearances in the chansons de geste. She displays not only physical courage but a moral strength and a ready wit that cheer and inspire her husband even in his most despondent moods. In the Song of William (c.1120) we find her preparing huge meals for her husband and commending his healthy appetite as an innate proof of his momentarily self-doubted vigour. Assembling an army of thirty thousand men on her own initiative, she lies brazenly to them about William’s achievements in order to enlist their support. She offers them inducements of beautiful maidens, while telling William, however, whom she has advised to seek King Louis’ help in Paris, that if he does not bring back her nephew Guischard alive, she will withhold all her own conjugal favours. William’s ensuing query provokes a response that is equally revealing of this strong helpmeetheroine’s character: “Sweet sister, friend, your counsel I accept; To Louis’ hall at Laon I’ll ride unchecked And ask him there to lend and send us help; But if the Moors observe that I have left, The Saracens with their united strength Will seize this hall and all that it protects; Who will defend its walls and all its wealth?” “My lord,” she said, “the Lord our God Himself, And ladies more than thirty score of them! White hauberk hides will be our battle-dress, While pointed helms of green adorn our head. We all shall stand upon the battlements And hurl down stones and sticks and spears as well! God willing, lord, it soon will have an end, When you arrive with Louis and the French.” (ll. 2437–51)

In the Song of Aliscans (c.1185), a subsequent and much longer remake of the material contained in the second half of the above-quoted tale, the genre’s earlier martial bias is still heavily evident, and Guibourc’s response remains much the same to this same question asked of her by her husband. Significantly, however, I think, the later poet ends the above dialogue with an affective flourish: On hearing this, the Count embraced his queen: With deepest love they held each other near, And wept alike to see each other’s grief. ( ll. 1963–5)

3

Heroines of the French Epic A significant example of the development of the chansons de geste from an oral, performance genre to a consciously written art-form can be witnessed in the form and content of the final exchange between the above couple that closes this later work. It is a dialogue worth quoting in full, being perhaps the finest example in the entire chanson de geste genre of how the female ‘helpmeet’ character of the earlier epic songs was able to develop smoothly into the romantic heroine of the later works, in the hands of a skilful poet: The Count bewails and Guibourc says in comfort: “Sir William, re-fill your heart with courage! For what one day may lose the next recovers, And poor one day may well be rich another, As morning smiles may turn to tears at supper. A healthy man should not bemoan his troubles; The world began a long time ere our coming, And Adam died, whom God made out of nothing. Then all his seed, for greed, was made to suffer Till in the Flood the sinful world was covered, And nothing spared except the breed of Noah; This was God’s will, Who built anew above it The world that still exists, and still will flourish. Though none of us can stop our end from coming, While we’re alive we all should strive and struggle To do our best, both for ourselves and others. Serve God today, and shun tomorrow’s worries! A worthy wife makes any husband lucky, And he, if worthy too, will always love her, And heed the words of her advice and trust her. I’m such a wife, and this is my good judgement: Rebuild Orange with all the wealth and plunder From Aliscans, and let it be a wonder! Call men to work, and such will be their numbers That you can make Orange a joy to govern. With all my heart I’ll help you, my beloved.” “Dear God,” he sighed, “how fine you are, my lovely! In all of time there won’t be such another!” (ll. 8391–8418)

The moving speeches and strong actions of courageous but compassionate helpmeetheroines like Guibourc in the Song of William, Aude and Bramimond in the Song of Roland, Aalais and Héloïse, mother and fiancée of the hero in Raoul de Cambrai, and Princess Hermenjart in Aymeri of Narbonne – all of which may be perused by the interested reader through the translations available in Heroes of the French Epic and 4

Introduction the others books cited in the Suggestions for Further Reading – represent some of finest moments of chanson de geste composition, and ‘satisfactorily explain the survival of the warrior hero’s popularity and the subordination of woman even in poems composed long after the Breton and Provençal influences were supreme in feudal society’ (Comfort, p. 98).

5

PART I

Saracen Sirens “I couldn’t care who knows it now: I’ll tell Each man I meet he’s not to call you hence The ‘proud of arm’ but ‘prince of charm’ instead! You’ve hurried here upon a lover’s quest!” On hearing this, our hero bowed his head. The Capture of Orange (ll.1561–64)

In the impassioned character of Bramimond, the wife of the Saracen King Marsile in the Song of Roland, referred to earlier, we can in fact detect, in embryo, the semiromantic, semi-comic chanson de geste character type of the ‘amorous Saracen princess’, a figure created and much used, if not much developed, by the poets of Northern France in their epic compositions from the middle of the twelfth century onwards. Since the middle of the eleventh century in fact, and certainly following the First Crusade of 1096, increasing military and commercial contact with the splendours and sophisticated manners of the Eastern world and its peoples, had unveiled to those Westerners who had witnessed them a new world of magnificence and ‘civilised behaviour’ far exceeding their own. Actual personal contact with the ‘Infidels’ on the Eastern battlefields had not only led the French chevaliers to greatly respect the bravery, dignity and courtesy of their Arab counterparts, whom reality revealed to be so different from the despicable ‘Saracen other’ portrayed back in the West in their crude ‘crusading’ songs, but also to admire the ‘exotic’ beauty of their ‘Pagan’ wives and daughters. Among the returning Crusaders such experiences had awakened in them the desire to acquire not only the luxurious and lovely objects they had discovered on their travels, but also the intention to imitate and enjoy the more refined personal and inter-personal lifestyles that they had witnessed among the Moslem populations. Thus began and developed in the royal courts of France, such as that of Eleanor of Aquitaine (1122–1204), queen-consort of Louis VII, in the south, and that of her elder daughter Marie of Champagne (1145–1198) in the north, the conscious cultivation of a new relationship between the sexes in Western society, one which emphasised not only savoir faire but savoir aimer, and one, consequently, in which the status of women was considerably enhanced. 7

Heroines of the French Epic Through aristocratic patronisation a new ‘courtly’ literature was soon developed that purposely advocated and reflected this more genteel lifestyle and this more refined rapport between the knight and his lady. In southern France the lyric poetry of the troubadours celebrated a doctrine of refined love, (‘fin’amor’), which championed love as the ennobling feudal service of a knight to his lady that was as pure and faithful as the one that he paid to his liege lord. In northern France the cult of chivalry’s increased emphasis on love and adventure found artistic inspiration in the tales of Celtic legend and subsequent literary expression in the ‘lays of Brittany’, most notably those of Marie de France, and in ‘Arthurian romances’, most notably those of Chrétien de Troyes. It is thus no real surprise that, in order to compete with these burgeoning literary genres, the content and tone of the chansons de geste of this era show evidence of a considerable ideological shift. The central theme of conflict with a Pagan enemy starts to share its importance with that of the pursuit of a romantic goal, and with subsidiary scenes of adventure, fantasy and magic. The early sombre unity of tone and action, consummated in the Song of Roland, yields to a proliferation of secondary episodes and verbal playfulness. The old Christian theme remains, the old theme of territorial conquest remains, but the need for a new, romantic heroine, becomes paramount. It is under these conditions that we can appreciate the literary appearance of what was to prove the genre’s most popular and enduring character-type – that of the ‘amorous Saracen princess’. Smitten with love for a Christian knight and filled with a resolve that stops at nothing to unite with him, the character of this southern siren was created to add new dimensions of sensuality and humour to the old songs of deeds. Sexual titillation was achieved through a frank and meticulous description of her physical appearance, while comedic effect was generated through the bold contrasting of her brazen dialogue and deeds with the traditionally more submissive attitude of the former helpmeetheroines. The aggressive energy that these Pagan princesses are shown to bring to all tasks, some of them traditionally masculine to the Christian audience, the invective they loose and the plots they hatch against the Saracen enemy, their own kith and kin, in pursuit of their romantic goal, become the hallmarks of this extraordinary character type. From an artistic viewpoint, their portrayal in the chansons de geste from the middle of the twelfth century to the end of the thirteenth demonstrates a distortion, intentional or not, of contemporary reality by the poets who authored the works in which they appear. As Comfort says: “The Saracen maid does not differ essentially from her Christian sister. The trouvères were no more able to imagine a Saracen type of female beauty and charm distinct from that of the Christian than they were able to create a Saracen hero who should not be identical with a Christian chevalier” (p.142). Indeed the epic poets’ portrayal of these Moslem women as openly sensual, ruthlessly defiant, white-skinned rebels, is as plainly erroneous or consciously false as are their grotesque misrepresentations of the Moslem religion in this genre. N. Daniel (p.89) suggests that in the former case we are consciously presented with a Western ‘fantasy of revolt against parental authority, in an age where a father or a guardian determined the children’s marriages, and especially an heiress’s’. B. Smith’s excellent synopsis of the medieval Western poets’ portrayal of women in the chansons de geste develops this point: 8

Saracen Sirens ‘They created Saracen heroines who threatened established norms of female behaviour by rejecting their families, mocking men, and committing adultery; and although they speak to male fantasies, they also reflect male anxieties. Most importantly, the stories work to legitimate the profits of military victory’(p.139). The romantic and comedic impact upon the tone and contents of the original ‘song of deeds’ narrative that was effected by the enticing appearance and outrageous antics of these southern sirens is the dominating narrative feature of almost two dozen surviving Old French epic poems, and is well illustrated in the following two chansons de geste. The Capture of Orange (pronounce as in French!), relates one of the most celebrated incidents in the poetic biography of William ‘Strong-Arm’, the historical Count William of Toulouse (d.812), a nephew of Charlemagne himself, and one of the best-known heroes of the medieval French Epic genre. The poem translated here has survived in nine manuscript copies, the earliest of which dates from the middle of the twelfth century. Details of its plot are alluded to in several other Old French epic tales and its popularity in the Middle Ages cannot be doubted. Indeed, the famous count’s purely fictional wooing and winning of a Pagan queen and his appropriation of her southern city appear as established historical facts in church chronicles surviving from as early as 1130. In its original oral form (to which its male orientation, formulaic composition, repetitive style and emphasis on dialogue clearly bear witness) this chanson de geste may well have inspired the creation not only of the Saracen Princess character type itself but also that of the entire William of Orange cycle of Old French epic poems. Baptised in the present poem and christened Guibourc (the actual name of the historical William’s first wife), the Saracen princess Orable of Orange was destined to become the most popular, endearing and enduring female character in the surviving repertoire of the Songs of Deeds. As herself she appears in over a quarter of the surviving Old French epic poems, and then, as a type, in a dozen further narrative reincarnations, most successfully perhaps as Princess Floripas in the chanson de geste called Fierabras (see Suggestions for Further Reading). The Capture of Orange is imbued with a ‘joie de vivre’ that characterises the entire William of Orange cycle of Old French epic poems. Its particular combination of verbal wit, situational comedy and almost parodic tone certainly justify its French editor’s description of it as ‘un chef d’oeuvre d’humour’ (Régnier, p.31.) The song of Floovant embroiders its legendary tale around the two oldest historical French characters mentioned in the surviving corpus of chansons de geste, namely the Merovingian monarch Clovis (c.465–511), the first Christian king of the Franks, and his eldest son, the titular hero. The poem has a Bildungsroman framework. From the naïve commission of a horrendous insult (the prankster prince cuts off his tutor’s beard!), the banished boy must endure and overcome seven years of physical and emotional challenges in order to achieve the redemption and enlightenment that his noble character deserves and that his royal position demands. Historically the poem is probably based on the record of an identical prank and punishment attached to the youth of King Dagobert I, who ruled the Franks from 629–639, and who in that decade founded at Paris the great abbey of Saint-Denis – 9

Heroines of the French Epic acknowledged today as the breeding ground of so much chanson de geste production. Artistically, in addition to the standard but still humorous figure of a Saracen princess, the song of Floovant offers its deft portrayal of a rival Christian lover, a strong and stirring example of a ‘hero’s friend’ in the time-honoured epic tradition, and a tender cameo of a loving and grieving mother. Although virtually unknown today, the story of Floovant not only enjoyed considerable popularity in medieval times, to judge by the many allusions made to it in various contemporary compilations, but was subsequently taken up by Italian, Dutch and English translators and imitators. In Iceland, as Flovents Saga, it is mentioned in a late nineteenth century research report as ‘still being read out to appreciative audiences’. Note to the Translation of The Song of Floovant The italicised section of this translation (pp.70–78) represents my attempt to reconstruct the tone and content of a narrative episode known to be missing from the only edited manuscript of the poem. This reconstruction is based upon the evidence available from a surviving fragment of a second Floovant manuscript and the modern editor’s own suggestions.

10

THE CAPTURE OF ORANGE How Sir William was stirred by the Spring ATTEND, MY LORDS! God bless you all and each, St Mary’s Son, Whose glory is supreme! I’d like to sing a song of gallant deeds – Not high of hand or mad, outlandish feats, The fruit of lies or otherwise unreal, But those of men who conquered southern fiefs. You know the men, if you have ever been To Brioude, as you travel to Saint-Gilles, Where you can see Sir William’s old shield, With young Bertrand’s, his nephew fine and fierce. No learned man, I think, will disagree, Nor any text you’ll ever hear or see. They all recall the famous fall of Nîmes, How William subdued, without a siege, Its lofty walls and marble halls a-gleam, And how he won its palace and its keep. But what about ORANGE, his greatest feat? Not many men can tell you truthfully How that was done and won – except for me, Who learned the facts when I was young indeed: How William, his face aglow with zeal, Expelled the Moors who lived in Aumarie, And those of Susce and those of Pincerny, The Baudas Moors and those of Tabary. And how he won and wed the city’s Queen Orable, who was born of Pagan breed And forced to wed King Teebo an emir, But turned to God, and in her Christian years Built abbey-halls and churches for the Creed. Not many know this gem of history! ATTEND, MY LORDS, you good and gallant knights, And hear a song that’s from the life and times 11

10

20

30

Heroines of the French Epic Of William, who took Orange for Christ, And for himself a clever southern bride Whom King Teebo the Moor had made his wife. What hungry days and heavy, sleepless nights, And painful blows our hero would abide Before he won Orable’s heart and mind! 40

50

60

70

THE MONTH WAS MAY, when summer’s tender gaze Turns meadows green and spurs the woodland-spray. When birds a-wing sing out with sweeter lays And rivers run with gentle streams again. Count William woke up, on such a day, And went to Mass, to listen and to pray. When this was done, he left and made his way To Otran’s hall, that southern Pagan knave Whose city-walls the Count’s prowess had claimed. There, as he leaned against a window-frame, He looked around and down on his domain: He saw the fields, the roses flushed with May, And heard the thrush and blackbird’s lusty lays. At once his mind recalled the happy days He used to spend in France before he came. He called Bertrand: “Come here, good nephew, pray! On leaving France, our plans were poorly laid! We brought along no bard to sing or play, Nor any girls to keep us entertained! We’ve steeds galore and speedy destriers, And golden helms and sturdy coats of mail; We’ve cutting swords and shields of every shape, We’ve racks of spears, their iron strong and straight, And stacks of wine and bread and meat and grain – But, curse the Moors, our stores are all a waste If all we do is sleep and rest and wait For them to come in arms across the waves So each of us can prove his valour’s rate! This waiting here is driving me insane! We’re stuck inside this city and its gates Like prisoners inside a giant jail!” He grumbled – but he shouldn’t have complained: Before the sun had set that very day He’d hear some news and such a sorry tale That all the blood would simmer in his veins!

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The Capture of Orange COUNT WILLIAM was at his open window. Some sixty men from lovely France were with him, Dressed, every one, in spotless ermine trimming, Cordovan leather shoes and silken breeches. Young falcons sat upon the wrists of fifty. Count William was light of heart and spirit As, looking down the sloping ground, he witnessed The luscious grass and roses flushed with springtime, The oriole and blackbird’s lusty singing. He called Bertrand and Guielin, his kinsmen, His nephews dear, to see and hear it with him: “My noble knights and true, just look and listen! Not long ago we left our northern kingdom: If we had brought a thousand maidens with us, From France’s wealth of beautiful young women, What pleasure in our leisure they’d have given The nobles here, and me as well! God willing, I’m not averse to flirting or to kissing! We’ve all we need in horses and equipment – Our helmets glow, our sturdy hauberks shimmer. Our shield s are stout, our lances sharp and limber. We’ve cutting swords with hilts of shining silver, And bread and wine, and salted meat and millet – But, damn you, Moors, what use are our provisions If you refuse to sail your forces hither? My will to wait has over-spilled its limit, And I am bored when honour’s not for winning!” He grumbled on, but showed a lack of wisdom: Before the sun had glowed its final glimmer He’d hear some news of tyranny so wicked It set the blood inside his veins a-simmer! AGAINST THE WALL and windowsill he leaned. One hundred men were with him there, at least, Dressed, every one, in spotless ermine-fleece. He watched the Rhône that flowed below and reached Beside a road approaching from the East, When, suddenly, a figure cleft the stream: One Gilbert of Lenu – an escapee! Three years before this man had tried to keep A bridge from Pagan hands, but had been seized And taken back to rot in Orange keep. But, then, at dawn, one morning bright and clear, 13

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It pleased the Lord to set his servant free: His warden there had loosed him from his leash, To lather him with taunting and with weals. Sir Gilbert, though, had had enough, and seized The Pagan’s hair, then, forcing him to kneel, Had used his fist to strike a blow so fierce It broke the neck and backbone of the fiend, And flung him dead before Sir Gilbert’s feet. Through window-bars he’d made his way beneath And raced away beyond their evil reach. He hadn’t stopped until he’d got to Nîmes. The barons there were talking fun and feasts, When Gilbert told a story that would lead Count William to sighing more with grief Than from delight at night between the sheets! COUNT WILLIAM was at his window high. The wretch below had cleft the Rhône and climbed Across the hills and down the valley-sides, Not stopping once until he had arrived Inside the town, whose gates were open wide. He found the Count beneath a leafy pine, Together with a band of gallant knights. Beneath the tree, for everyone’s delight, A minstrel sang a lay of ancient times, A lovely song the Count had always liked, As up the steps Sir Gilbert came in sight. Count William looked up and met his eye: He saw a man whose tan had lost its shine On wasted flesh, and one whose hair was wild. He thought at first some Pagan had contrived To cross the sea and paid a heavy price For bringing news and seeking some reply. But then the Count was greeted in this wise: “May God the Lord, Who gives us wheat and wine, And from the sky lights up the day and night So man can walk in God’s Eternal Light, Save William Short-Nose, the best of knights, The flower of France; and may He bless alike The men I see assembled here to fight.” “God bless you too, my friend!” the Count replied: “But tell me, sir, without delay or lie, Who tutored you to know my face on sight?” 14

The Capture of Orange “You’ll hear the truth, my lord,” the stranger sighed: “A prisoner I’ve been, too long confined Inside Orange, whose cage I couldn’t fly Until there came a recent day when Christ Provided me with means to end my plight!” “All praise to Him!” said William the wise: “But tell me now, without delay or lie, Your given name and native land, sir knight.” “You’ll hear the truth, my lord,” the stranger sighed, “But I am worn from half a week of flight. I haven’t slept or even shut my eyes, Nor supped at all, nor sipped a drop of wine!” “You surely shall!” Count William replied, And called at once his steward to his side: “Supply this man with all that he desires To eat and drink of bread and ale and wine, Of heron, crane and peppered peacock-pie!” The steward did as William advised, And when the man had drunk his fill and dined, He sat before the Count in better mind To tell the tale of how he had survived. COUNT WILLIAM observed the stranger’s face, And asked him first, before he told his tale: “Where were you born, my friend? Which land or place In France? And what, I pray you, is your name?” Sir Gilbert said, whose visage shone again: “My father is Duke Guy of the Ardennes. He holds Artois and Vermandois the same. When I was bound for Burgundy one day From Germany along the Lausanne Lake, A wind blew up that grew into a gale And drove me on to Port Geneva’s bay. Then on the Rhône a crew of Pagans came From Port Orange and hauled me to its jail. The fortress there is past compare I’d say: Its walls are high, its towers widely spaced. Its hall is huge and all its wards ornate. A thousand score of Pagans it contains With seven score of Turks well armed and trained To guard Orange each moment of the day. They live in fear of Louis and the raids That you, my lord, and more may undertake. 15

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Prince Arragon, the city’s magistrate, Is Teebo’s son, the great emir of Spain, Whose wife, the Queen Orable, I vouchsafe, Is fairer far than any Northern maid! She’s beautiful! Such slender hips and waist! Such tender skin, as white as meadow-may! Alas for youth and beauty gone to waste In ignorance of God and Christian grace!” “In truth, Orange is an imposing place,” Said William, “and, by the Lord I praise, I’ll never lift a shield or lance again Until I’ve seen this treasure it contains!” COUNT WILLIAM was sitting by the Northman Upon a marble step, to hear his story. Before he did, he asked the fellow, warmly: “My gallant friend, you speak with the assurance Of noble birth: they didn’t jail you, surely?” “They did indeed, for three years and a fortnight. I couldn’t find or fight my way from thraldom Until at dawn, one bright and sunny morning, God sent the haughty Moor whose one employment Was flogging me each day for his enjoyment! But on that day I seized him by the forelock And rabbit-punched the villain so adroitly I broke his neck, his collarbone and jawbone! I clambered through a window of the fortress And made away before the others saw me! I fled towards Beaucaire, where on the water I saw a band of Turk and Persian forces With Arragon, the eldest son and Warden Of all Orange for King Teebo the warlord. He’s big and strong, his limbs are long and brawny, His brow is wide and wears a frowning forehead. His hands are huge, his nails are long and pointed. Beneath the sky no lord’s so high and haughty: With every breath some Christian death he orders. If any man could take his town and fortress And put to death this haughty villain also, The booty gained would well be worth the toiling!” SAID WILLIAM the brave: “Good brother, friend! Is fierce Orange as fine as you have said?” 16

The Capture of Orange “It’s finer far, in truth,” Sir Gilbert said: “If you could see the fortress for yourself, How tall it is, with walls so highly set That looking up’s enough to break your neck! If you were there when summer comes again, You’d hear the sounds of fledglings in the nest, Of hawks in mew and falcons overhead, Of neighing steeds and braying mules, as well As countless Moors enjoying joust and jest! You’d sniff the sweet and aromatic smells Of cinnamon and spice laid end to end! And you could see Orable in the flesh, King Teebo’s wife, so fair of hair and head: You’ll never find her peer for loveliness In Christendom or any Pagan realm! Such tenderness! Such slender hips and legs, And falcon’s eyes, so bright and so intense! Alas for youth and beauty so misled In ignorance of God and His largesse! How fine a place she’d make a Christian bed For somebody who’d save her soul from hell!” “I swear by good St Omer,” William said, “You praise her so, good brother, gallant friend, That by the Lord, Who saves us all, I pledge I’ll never lift a shield or lance again Unless I win Orange and its Princess!” “IS FORT ORANGE and what it guards so peerless?” The captive said: “My lord, so help me Jesus, If you could see the hall and all its reaches, Its jousting-grounds and every vaulted ceiling That Griffon built, a Moor from Almeria, A Saracen of building-skills unequalled! With golden paint its decoration features Each flower grown from here to old Pavia. And yet the bloom of this or any season, Is still the one that’s grafted to King Teebo! In southern lands Orable has no equal: Her neck is such a slender and a sweet one, Her face as fair as meadow-may, believe me, With laughing eyes that dazzle all that meet them. Alas for youth and beauty lost to evil, In ignorance of God and our Lord Jesus!” 17

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Said William: “Your praises shall redeem her! I swear, by every lover’s bounden fealty, I’ll eat no salted meat or bread that’s sweetened, Nor drink of wine except the vine in season, Until I’ve seen Orange as you have seen it, Its fortress and the treasure that it’s keeping – The noble Queen, Orable. For, believe me, So fierce a love is urging me to seek her I can’t begin to tell or quell the feeling! I’ll wilt away unless I win this creature!” The captive said: “My lord, you’ve lost your reason! If you could breach the city’s fort and reach her, You’d still confront a mighty guard of heathens! What makes you think that you could ever leave there Alive with her? You’d both be dead by evening. The thought is mad! Forget it, I beseech you.” COUNT WILLIAM, when he could hear the terror That filled the voice of Gilbert till it trembled, Called all his men and said to the assembly: “My worthy knights, advise me at you pleasure! This man has praised Orange and made me jealous! I’ve never been to see this southern centre, But know the Rhône between is full of perils – Or else I would have seized the place already!” The captive cried: “The thought is mad! Forget it! “You have the Rhône and everything against you! And even with a hundred thousand Frenchmen Equipped with gilded shields and shining weapons, As soon as you appear on the offensive You’ll lose a thousand swords to their defences, With saddle-girths and bucklers just as many. Before you reach the city gates, I tell you, Your vanguard troops already will have perished! The thought is mad! I wish I’d never said it!” SAID WILLIAM: “Your logic drives me mad! You tell me first no king or baron has So fine a town, but blame me out of hand For wanting then to see a place so grand! By St Maurice, who rests at Amiens, I order you to guide me there and back! But we’ll forgo the use of horse or hack, 18

The Capture of Orange Of hauberks bright or helms from Amiens, Of Poitou spear, of buckler-shield or brand, And dress ourselves in beggars’ hairy rags! You speak the tongues we need, and understand These southerners, these Bedouins and Basques!” Imagine how the captive felt at that! He wished he’d fled to Chartres or to Blois, Or Paris to the North, in Louis’ land, Or anywhere, except to where he had! COUNT WILLIAM was full of anger’s heat. His nephew Bertrand rose and made to speak: “Good uncle, let this mad obsession be! For even if you managed first to reach The Pagan hall and blend with all convened, They’d recognise your laughter and your speech, And know you’d come to spy upon their deeds! They’d haul you back to Persia then, and eat No sweetened bread but you instead, my liege! They won’t delay, they’ll add you to their feast Or throw you in some stony cell and leave Your bones to rot forever, or at least Till the return of Teebo their emir, And Desramed and Golias of Beel, Who’ll deal with you as cruelly as they please! If woman’s love brings William to grief, Then all your land will curse the day and year You ever laid your eyes on such a queen!” Said William: “I care not in the least, For, by the saint that’s honoured in Galice, I’d rather die than break my word to eat No sweetened bread nor any salted meat, Or drink of wine except the season’s least, Until I’ve seen Orange the same as he, And Gloriette, the marble tower that keeps So marvellous and fine a queen from me! Desire for her has gripped me like a leech, And lovers’ blood’s as hot as hot can be!” COUNT WILLIAM grew restless with desire. His nephew Bertrand rose to check his stride: “Good uncle, do you want to shame your life And perish hacked to pieces and reviled?” 19

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“I’m not afraid of that!” the Count replied: “A lover’s blood is like a raging fire! No man alive will ever change my mind, No fear of death or fate that might arise! I want to see Orange with my own eyes, And her whose face and grace are so admired! Desire for her has gripped me like a vice: I cannot rest by day or sleep at night, I cannot eat or drink, I cannot ride, I cannot arm for any other fight, Or go to church, when I am held so tight!” On saying this, he had some ink combined With other herbs he knew would do to dye His body black, and used it left and right Upon himself, then asked the northern knight To do the same – who warily obliged. They really looked like sooty Satanites!­ “By good St Richier,” Guielin cried, “I have to say you’ve altered out of sight! You really could go anywhere you liked Without a fear of being recognised! But, by the Pope, I swear I’d rather die Or have my body racked or hacked awry Than fail to vie or venture at your side!” He dyed his skin as well, and so disguised, All three of them had done the best they might. They took their leave and left their town behind: Young Bertrand cried: “Dear God of all that’s right, How easily we mortals are beguiled! How rapidly and madly we decide Upon a course that could destroy our lives, Without Your grace to guard us and to guide!” 2. How William met Arragon the Warden

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SIR WILLIAM, his gallant face aglow, Could hardly wait, and started down the road With Gilbert of Lenu and Gui the bold. Young Bertrand stayed and sadly watched them go. Beneath Beaucaire the trio saw the Rhône And cautiously set forth upon the flow. They rowed across with deft but doughty strokes, 20

The Capture of Orange Then crossed the Sorgue, without a barque or boat. Through Avignon, with firm intent and bold, They reached Orange, its mighty walls, its moats, Its lofty hall and citadel aglow With shining domes and eagles cast in gold. Within they heard the city’s din, composed Of nesting-birds and hunting-birds in moult, Of neighing steeds and braying mules, and folk Inside the fort cavorting high and low. And everywhere the heavy fragrance rose Of cinnamon and spice in many bowls. Said William: “I swear upon my soul, This city is as fine as I was told! Its ruler is a wealthy man, I know!” On saying this, the three of them approached The porter’s lodge, where Gilbert called and spoke The local tongue in very courtly tones: “Please let us in, good porter, nothing loath, For we are three interpreters who go To many lands in service of Teebo.” “I’ve never heard of you!” replied the rogue: “And how should I interpret cocks that crow Before my lord has risen or has robed? Until he has, this gate is staying closed, For we’re afraid of William Short-Nose, Who captured Nîmes by such a cunning stroke! Stay there until I let the Warden know! I dare not let you in here on my own.” “Then go at once,” said William the bold, “With every haste! The Devil take the slow!” So off he went, the porter, and bestrode The marble steps to Arragon’s abode. He found the prince beneath an arch of stone, His Saracens around him in repose. The porter said, in most respectful tones: “My lord, I think there’s something you should know: Three blackamoors are at my gate below, Who say they serve your father King Teebo.” “Then let them in, good brother, nothing loath! I’ll ask them how my father’s journey goes, And what it is that still delays him so.” So back he went, the porter, to unbolt His heavy gate, at which our heroes strolled 21

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Heroines of the French Epic Inside Orange as freely as they chose! Escaping there would take a greater toll: Before they did they’d pay a wealth of woe! 450

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SIR WILLIAM strolled right inside the city, With Guielin and gallant-hearted Gilbert. They’d dyed themselves so well with inky pigments They looked just like those southern heathen villains! Along the street a couple even whispered In native tongue, as they observed the trio: “These men have come from Africa to give us Good tidings of our monarch and his mission!” Count William kept walking and continued Until he reached the palace of King Teebo. Its walls were made of marble, and its windows And pillars too were finely grained with silver. A hawk of gold spread massive wings, forbidding The gusty wind or lusty sun within it. Said William: “As Jesus is my witness, I’ve never seen so fine a fort as this one! Its lord must be the richest ruler living! I wish to God, Who made all men and women, Good Bertrand now, my paladin, were bringing Ten thousand French behind us, strong and willing. The Moors would know their happy days had finished: Upon my own I’d slay a hundred swiftly!” On saying this, he reached the very pillar Where Arragon and all his lords were sitting: They’ll slaughter him, unless he can outwit them! I’ll tell you now just how he tried to trick them: He said: “My lord and Warden of the kingdom, We greet you in the name of our religion!” The Prince replied: “Come forward, and deliver Your journey’s gift, but tell me first the giver!” “Your father – deep in Africa!” said William: “When yesterday, as soon as dawn had risen, We entered Nîmes, that strong and worthy city, We thought to see King Otran with his kinsmen King Synagon and Harpin – but we didn’t! Count William had led a French contingent Inside the town and slaughtered all within it! When we arrived, he tossed us into prison! But he’s become so popular a figure 22

The Capture of Orange His guard is down, and we escaped the villain, I don’t know how, Mahomet curse the Christian!” Said Arragon: “This man is my affliction! I tell you all, as Mahom is my witness, If he were here, and I had him in prison, I’d torture him and turn him into cinders For every wind to scatter willy-nilly!” When this was said, our hero dropped his visage And wished himself in Sens or Paris, swiftly! He prayed to God with all the fervour in him: “Almighty God, the Lord of all the living, Who in the flesh was born as Mary’s Infant In Bethlehem; Who knew the Magi’s visit, But grew to bear the cruel Crucifixion And wear the pain of blighted human vision: When Longinus the Roman’s spear had pricked You, You shed Your blood, like water, on his fingers To flood his eyes and clear them in an instant! As this is true, I beg You to have pity Upon us too and guard us with Your spirit From agony among these blighted sinners!” INSIDE THE HALL Count William had come. In whispered tones, because of where he was, He thus addressed his two companions: “We’re trapped in here, with nowhere else to run, Unless we’re shown by God enthroned above!” Said Guielin: “Good uncle William, My noble lord, you came in search of love: Well, there’s the tower of Gloriette – so come: Ask where the ladies are, and if they’re up! Such gallant talk rolls glibly off your tongue!” The Count replied: “My lad, that’s true enough!” But then they heard the voice of Arragon: “How long ago were you in Africa?” “Most honoured lord, no longer than two months.” “And did you see Teebo of Aragon?” “Indeed, my lord, inside the town Valdun. Embracing us, he cautioned you, his son, To hold Orange and everything he’s won. Where is his wife? May we behold her, once?” “Indeed you may, my lords,” said Arragon. “No fairer queen lives underneath the sun! 23

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But now I need my father twice as much: Our southern forts are being overrun By William and nephews in his trust. I swear by good Mahom and Tervagant, If ever I can catch and lock him up, I’ll roast his hide and have his ashes flung Upon the winds to scatter into dust!” On hearing this, our hero winced at once And wished himself in Rheims or royal Laon! He prayed again to God our Lord above: “Dear Jesus, born of Mary’s flesh and blood, Who saved from death itself St Lazarus, Deliver us from such imprisonment And agony as this man plans for us!” COUNT WILLIAM had entered at his peril! The Pagans called for water, then assembled And sat at tables laid by their attendants. Sir William and Guielin his nephew, With lowered heads, spoke warily together, In mighty fear of capture in their presence. Prince Arragon received them well, however, And saw them served with bread and wine a-plenty, With crane and goose and peacock plump and tender, And other foods too numerous to mention, In quantities enough to surfeit any! When everyone had wined and dined at leisure, The tablecloths were cleared away directly By cup-bearers, who brought the Pagans chess-sets. Our hero heard the palace ring with pleasure, And as its walls of coloured marble echoed He saw its wealth of bird and lion frescoes: “Sweet Lord,” he said, “Who bore the Cross’s penance! Whoever saw a feasting-hall so splendid? I wish to God, Whose Love is never-ending, That young Bertrand, my paladin, were present With armoured ranks of twenty thousand Frenchmen! This very day we’d end the Pagan menace! By my own hand some eighty Moors would perish!” PRINCE ARRAGON called suddenly on William To come and sit beside him by a pillar, Where to his ear he drew him near and whispered: 24

The Capture of Orange “Speak truthfully and tell me, noble kinsman, What sort of man is William the Christian, Who captured Nîmes by trickery and killing King Harpin and his brother in their city? Did he indeed detain you in his prison?” Said William: “The truth should not be hidden: His wealth is such, in power and in riches, He doesn’t care for shining gold or silver: He set us free, with nothing asked or given, Except our word, declared on our religion, To tell you straight what he himself insisted: That you must flee across the ocean swiftly! The month of May, he says, will not have finished, Before he’ll bring some twenty thousand with him To hunt you down: no soaring fort or pillars Will save you then, no mighty walls or ditches. With iron rods he’ll hammer them and split them: If you are caught, he’ll torture you and kill you, Then hang you high for every wind to whip you!” Cried Arragon: “Your words are mad and wicked! I’ll send a man to Africa this minute: My father there will come with all his princes – King Desramed, and mighty King Golias, King Corsolt and his brother King Aciris, King Clarios and mighty King Atriblis, Great Sorgalis, the Monarch of Egistra, King Codruez and Mirman the Egyptian! King Amiblez will breach the lofty billows Of Sorgremont, with Salubris and Mirman, And King Borrel, my uncle, and his children: Some thirty kings of Spain will bring assistance, A thousand score in every king’s contingent. When all assault the Frenchman’s walls and ditches, We’ll see the end of William the brigand: His nephews too shall perish on the gibbet!” On hearing this, the Count was truly livid! Between his teeth he muttered, deep and grimly: “By Jesus Christ, I swear you lie, you villain! A thousand Moors shall lose their lily livers Before you own the throne of Nîmes, my city!” If William had been in arms that instant, He would have struck the hall and all within it – For naught at all could stall that hero’s spirit! 25

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SIR WILLIAM was in the marbled keep: “Prince Arragon,” he said, for all to hear: “Allow me, lord, to see the noble queen Who’s so adored by Teebo the emir.” Said Arragon: “My father’s mad indeed, For he is old, his whiskers white with years, While she is young and beautiful – indeed The fairest flower to spring from Pagan seed – With lovers whom in Gloriette she meets. She much prefers the Venice count Seguin, A youthful knight whose beard is new and neat, Who takes delight in fun and daring feats, To King Teebo her husband and her liege. How blind a mind that loves a maid can be! She cuckolds him, and all but he can see!” Our hero laughed, on hearing this revealed, And said: “My lord, you love her not, it seems?” “Indeed I don’t! I curse the air she breathes! I wish she were a thousand miles from here At Baudas in the realm of Aumarie!” 3. How William met Orable the Queen

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SIR WILLIAM was in the Pagan fold, Sir Gilbert too and Guielin the bold! They crossed the hall and passed the Pagan rows, Led forward by a Moor called ‘Ill-disposed’, To meet the queen King Teebo cherished so. They should have turned, instead, towards the Rhône And back to Nîmes, as fast as they could go! Unless the Lord, from His eternal throne, Can light the way, they’ll curse their chosen road Of dark dismay before the day has closed! To Gloriette they came, the queen’s abode: Its marble walls and pillars gleamed and glowed. Its windows shone with silver, and the gold An eagle shed, whose sculpted wings controlled The flow of wind and glare of sun below. Her room, in truth, was lovely to behold. Upon one side, a single pine alone, Of Pagan kind, with cunning care had grown So wondrously it was itself a grove! 26

The Capture of Orange Its branches - which were many - overflowed With blossoms ever flowering in shows Of red and white and blue of indigo. The queen’s affairs took place in there, I’m told, Where fragrant air filled everywhere, composed Of every spice and every perfume known. And there she sat, Orable, on her throne, In flowing silk, embroidered top to toe, And every fold drawn artfully to show The lovely form that lay beneath the folds. A silver fan was cooling her, controlled By Rosiane, a niece of Rubion. Orable’s face was whiter than the snow, With blushing cheeks like flushes on the rose. On seeing her, the Count’s expression froze. Then, greeting her, he said, in gracious tones: “God bless you, queen, in Whom we set our hopes!” “Come forward, lords,” she answered, nothing loath, “In Mahom’s name, the lord of all below!” She bade them sit upon a seat of stone Set end to end with silver and with gold. They couldn’t hide the wonder in their souls: “It’s Paradise!” sighed William Bent-Nose: “I never saw its peer,” his nephew owned: “I’d gladly spend my life in here, you know! I’d never want to leave if this were home!” IN GLORIETTE, the palace of the queen, Sat William, with Gilbert and Sir Gui, Beside her maids, beneath their shady tree. The queen herself, so fair of face to see, Sat, lounging in an ermine-trimmed pelisse That framed a silk drawn tightly to reveal The lovely form that nestled underneath. Count William was smitten then indeed! He sighed and said: “It’s Paradise in here!” “So help me God,” the gallant lad agreed, “If this were home, I’d never want to leave. I wouldn’t want to eat or fall asleep!” The lovely queen turned straightaway to speak: “My noble lords, what brings you here to me?” Said William: “We’ve sailed across the sea From Teebo’s land, your husband and your liege. 27

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As, yesterday, the light of dawn appeared, We three approached the lovely town of Nîmes. We’d planned to see King Harpin and to greet Both Synagon and Otran, kinsmen dear – But William has slaughtered them, all three! Then at the city’s gate we three were seized And hauled before his presence in the keep! But he’s so rich, in company and means, He doesn’t care for ransom in the least And let us go, with nothing sought in fee, Except a pledge we swore upon our Creed, To tell you straight what he himself decreed: That you must flee with speed across the sea! The April days, he says, will not have ceased Before he’ll come with twenty thousand spears To hunt you down. No soaring hall or keep Will save you then, no wall or ditch between: He’ll break them down with iron rods and steel. If he should catch Prince Arragon the thief, Your stepson, whom you cherish and esteem, He’ll punish him with shameful death indeed: He’ll roast his flesh or hang him in the breeze!” On hearing this, Orable sighed with grief. ON HEARING THIS, she sighed, in great alarm, But then, at once, she looked at them and asked: “My noble lords, I know the shade he casts! What kind of man is William of France, Who’s torn the walls and halls of Nîmes apart, Who’s killed my men and threatens me with harm?” The Count replied: “In truth, he’s very hard, With mighty fists and arms to make you gasp! No giant lives in all Arabia Whose armour, let alone his bones, can last A moment when the Frenchman’s blade is sharp! His graven blade splits gravel, ground and grass!” The queen replied: “How strong must be his arm! By good Mahom, he’s worthy of his task! How happy she on whom he’s set his heart!” As this was said, a Pagan guard went past That very soon would cause him more alarm Than any he’d encountered in the past! May God above defend him from afar! 28

The Capture of Orange IN GLORIETTE sat William that day, With Gilbert too, and Guielin the brave, Beneath a pine, beside Orable’s maids. He talked at ease, till suddenly there came A Pagan crowd, to gather round and gaze Upon the guests and see them face to face! God help him now, Who bore the Cross’s bane, Or one of them will seal our hero’s fate! Behold the knave! His name was Salatrez: God rack his bones and crack his evil brain! Count William had held him once in jail At Nîmes itself, till one night he’d escaped Along a shaft that hid and held him safe From all pursuit until he’d got away. He’d sworn revenge on William that day – And took it now, without the least delay. He bustled up to Arragon and laid His lips against his ear and spoke in haste: “In Mahom’s name, now here’s your chance for fame And sweet revenge for all the bitter pain I would have borne at Nîmes if I’d remained! That haughty Moor, the one with most to say, Is William Bent-Nose himself, the knave! And by him sits his nephew young and brave! The one behind, who holds the envoys’ mace, Is he who fled our jail the other day! They’ve come disguised to fool you and to take This noble town for France’s King and Faith!” “You’re sure of this?” Prince Arragon exclaimed: “Don’t doubt me, sire!” replied the Moor, “I say That’s William, who flung me into jail! He would, I’m sure, have hung me, had the aid Of strong Mahom not helped me to escape! Today’s the day for William to pay!” My worthy lords, for love of Him who lay Upon the Cross, attend as I relate How William was foiled by Salatrez! The Pagan seized a cup of wine, inlaid With finest gold, and threw it in his face. The contents flew across his brow and bathed The stain away to showed its proper shade: A skin as white as summer flowers in May! The Frenchman reeled, his senses in a daze. 29

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His blood arose, then froze inside his veins! He called, in thought, upon our Saviour’ name: “Almighty Lord, immortal King of Grace: In Mary’s womb You took on human shape To save the souls of mortal men of Faith, And bore, for us, a life of strife and strain, Then, on the Cross, a death of pain and shame: As this is true, forget me not, I pray, And let me not be beaten down or slain By such a band of heathen hands as they!” 4. How William fought in Gloriette

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WHEN ARRAGON could see his man had told The truth of their identity, he rose Upon his feet and, facing them, he spoke: “ Count William! Your name is too well known! You’ll rue the hour you came across the Rhône! I’ll see you die in agony, you rogue! A fort of gold won’t save your brazen bones: I’ll see you burn! I’ll turn you into smoke And ashes whipped by every wind that blows!” On hearing this, the fiery Frenchman glowed And wished he’d gone to Rheims or Louis’ Laon! Young Guielin could see their chance had flown, And wrung his hands and tore his hair in woe. Said William: “Dear God, the Lord of Hope And Majesty, Who took on mortal mould In Mary, and Who rescued from the throes Of death itself St Lazarus, and old Sir Daniel and Jonah long ago: Who freed from sin the Magdalen and sowed St Peter’s bones in Nero’s Field at Rome, And brought St Paul inside the Christian fold, Who up to then had been its cruellest foe, But saw the Light upon Damascus road And followed it henceforward ever bold. As this is true, as truly we uphold, Defend us, Lord, from being slain or slowed By such a swathe of heathen knaves as those!” He held a staff, a long and solid pole, And, in a trice, he swung it high and smote 30

The Capture of Orange Old Salatrez, the villain who’d exposed His trickery to haughty Arragon. Count William delivered such a blow It split his brains and splattered them below: “Mountjoy!” he cried, “Come on, my gallant souls!” COUNT WILLIAM set every Pagan roaring, Except the corpse by Arragon the Warden! On looking round, our hero saw before him A mighty log brought in to heat the hallway. With sweating brow, he swept his way towards it And snatched it up; then swinging it and roaring, Struck Batamez, who should have been more cautious! The blow he gave that stupid knave was awesome: It halved his head and half-a-brain to quarters! Before his Prince the villain slumped in slaughter! Then Gilbert swung the heavy mace he sported At Quarré’s paunch and drove it in so staunchly That like a spear from front to rear it launched him And laid him dead against a marble door-post. “Mountjoy!” he cried, “You gallant pair, go forward! If we must sell our lives inside this fortress, While yet we may, let’s make them pay a fortune!” On hearing this, the Prince’s rage was awful: “Arrest them all!” with ringing voice he ordered: “By good Mahom, it’s you who’ll be the poorer! I’ll cast you all beneath our deepest waters, Or burn your bones and send your ashes soaring!” “Keep clear of me!” young Guielin retorted, “For by the saint they seek in Rome I warn you: A flood of blood will flow before I’m cornered!” He swung a club, his face a mask of warning, As William, his log in hand, and also Sir Gilbert with his metal mace, came forward. What lusty blows those trusty arms afforded: A dozen Moors were crushed at once to corpses, And all the rest were so afraid and awe-struck They fled instead through every door and portal! Our gallant men locked every gate and doorway, Then raised the chains upon the tower’s drawbridge. God help them all, Who bore the Cross’s torment – Sir William, his nephew and the Northman! All three of them were trapped inside as surely 31

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THE SARACENS were very proud and fierce: In hundreds and in thousands they besieged Rich Gloriette with sharpened darts and spears, While those inside fought gallantly to heave Them from the walls to ditches underneath! Fourteen or more were pitched that way, and he Was luckiest whose neck was broken clean! On seeing this, the Prince’s temper seethed And overflowed in anger through his teeth : With ringing voice his shout became a scream! “Are you within, Count William, you fiend?” The Count replied: “My lord, I am indeed! So help me God, Who bore the Cross’s grief, By my prowess I’ve found good shelter here!” SIR WILLIAM, inside of Gloriette, Looked down upon the Saracens and said: “A curse on me if I’ll conceal my quest! I journeyed here to spy on you, and yet My trickery has met with such success My sheep are in the fold of Gloriette! If you’re to be our shepherd, tend us well And you shall get what you deserve, I pledge!” On hearing this, the Warden almost wept. In angered pride he cried to all his men: “My gallant knights, to arms! We’ll strike again! Assault the walls with all your passion’s strength! The man that takes Count William in check Shall bear the flag of all my kingdom hence, And fill his hands from my great treasure-chest!” On hearing this, his men rejoiced and went At once in search of arms that pleased them best To smite the walls and William himself. On seeing this, the Count forgot his jests And prayed to God, the Magistrate of men. SIR WILLIAM lost all his jesting spirit In Gloriette, where now he was imprisoned With Guielin and noble-hearted Gilbert, 32

The Capture of Orange As Pagan rage attacked and racked the building With thudding spears and shiny, whining wyverns! On hearing them, his anger almost tripled: “What now?” he growled at Guielin, grim-visaged: “We’ll never be in France again, our kingdom, Nor see again our cousins and our kinsmen, Unless the Lord is willing to assist us!” Young Guielin the fair retorted swiftly: “But surely you don’t care, good uncle William? You journeyed here for love of lovely women – And there’s the queen of Africa, more willing And beautiful than any lady living! So, go and sit beside her, at her pillow, And place your arms around her lovely figure: And don’t be shy of hugging her or kissing – For by the saints besought of pilgrim-sinners, They’re won’t be one embrace or kiss you give her That doesn’t cost us twenty mines of silver And doom our peers to years of fierce affliction!” Said William: “By God, if you continue To scorn me thus, I swear you’ll drive me witless!” SIR WILLIAM lost all his jesting ways In Gloriette, where now he was detained With Gilbert and young Guielin the brave. As Pagan might, below, attacked the gates, Like gallant knights they kept their foe at bay With any logs or tinder they could aim. The Pagan queen, who watched the scene, exclaimed: “My northern lords, surrender or be slain! Their heathen hearts are burning with a hate That won’t be stopped from rising all this way And turning you to cinders in its flames!” On hearing this, our hero roared with rage, And, running up beneath her bower’s shade, Addressed the queen with this request for aid: “For love of God, Who bore the Cross’s bane, Good Lady, give me armour and a blade! If I survive, I swear by all the saints That any loan will more than be repaid.” The Lady wept at this, for pity’s sake, Then, with a start, swept forward straightaway Towards a chest she opened up in haste. 33

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She seized at once a coat of burnished mail And helm of green inlaid with golden plates. With these in hand, she hurried back and gave Them to the Count, whose gratitude was great. He donned the coat and laced the helm in place, While she herself laid swiftly round his waist King Teebo’s sword, her Pagan husband’s blade That all before had asked her for in vain – Like Arragon, her step-son, who had claimed And clamoured for the weapon every day. Around his neck a sturdy shield she draped, That bore in gold a crown and lion’s face. Then in his hand she laid a spear that trailed A gonfalon attached by golden nails: “By God,” he cried, “I’m nobly armed again! For Jesu’s sake, equip my friends the same!” WHEN GUIELIN saw William so nobly Equipped and armed, then he alike ran over To hail the queen and tenderly invoke her: “My Lady fair, by St Peter the Roman, Equip me too to face this mortal moment!” “How young you are!” the lovely Queen bemoaned him: “If you survive, how bold you’ll be when older! But you are loathed to death by all our soldiers!” On saying this, she ran to fetch a hauberk That Isaac made, a smith from Barcelona. No blade as yet had ever laid it open. To William’s joy she placed it on his shoulders, Then laced a helm, engraved at Escalona To grace the head of Babylon’s first Mogul. No blade as yet had ever scathed its coating, Or struck away the smallest gem it boasted. The sword she girt was Torment of Valsona’s, Before a thief in Valadonna stole it And sold it on to Teebo at Vercona. He paid the rogue a wealth of gold to own it And win a land for Arragon, his oldest. She girt it on, its fringes overflowing. Around his neck she laid a shield, and loaned him A lance whose name was ‘Lady of Valronna’: Its head was fine, its body firm and golden! So Gui was armed – and Gilbert followed closely. In Gloriette the fight was far from over! 34

The Capture of Orange SIR WILLIAM, his nephew and the Northman Were clad in arms and felt much gladder for it! Sir Gilbert had a sturdy double hauberk And helm of green with panelled reinforcements. Around his waist they’d laced a cutting sword-blade And placed a shield, the face of which was quartered. But just before they found a lance-head for him The Pagans charged so noisily towards them They heard them there upon the stairs before them! Count William attacked their leader Horbee, While Gilbert ran at Maratan the porter, And Guielin struck Turfier the warlord. Not one of them was spared from instant slaughter: Nielloed spears, on piercing Pagan paunches, Were split to bits and flew to every corner – So then our men were forced to draw their sword-blades And show the world how well they could employ them! Count William unleashed his own and launched it So lustily against a Turkish torso It split him like an olive branch and sprawled him In splintered bits upon the floral flooring! Sir Gilbert met one Gaifier as warmly – He stroked his head and gaily sent it soaring! And Gui, he just as dauntlessly came forward: He thrust his shield and rushed his blade towards them: And every wound his valour made was mortal! On seeing this the craven Pagans faltered, Then turned in fright and took to flight before them! So then our men chased after them and slaughtered Some fourteen more, then drove the rest, in torment, From Gloriette through every Pagan portal! Our heroes ran to block or lock each doorway, Then turned a winch inside the royal fortress Which drew some chains attached and latched securely On Gloriette to raise its mighty drawbridge. Prince Arragon was livid when he saw it. God help them now, Who is the Judge of all men! COUNT WILLIAM, Sir Gilbert and Sir Gui The gallant lad, were angry and aggrieved To see themselves so bitterly besieged. The Saracens hurled javelins and spears And smote the walls with mallets made of steel. 35

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Count William’s hot temper burned his cheeks: “What now,” he cried, “my gallant nephew Gui? We never shall return to France the sweet, Or greet again the brothers of our breed!” But Gui replied: “Don’t waste your breath on me! By all the saints they seek in Nero’s Field, I’ll spend my own more meanly ere I’ll yield!” On saying this, they leapt the steps that reached The Moors below and struck their helms of green. They split their chins, they hit their chests and cheeks Till on the sand they’d landed seventeen – The luckiest with windpipes severed clean! A shiver shook the bodies of their peers, As they arraigned Prince Arragon, their liege: “Arrange a truce! We’ll never break in here!” On hearing this, the Warden raged indeed: “They’ll pay for this!” he swore upon his creed. THE WARDEN SAW his Pagans hanging back. With ringing voice he hollered this harangue: “You sons of whores! You craven, shameful pack, You’ll never rule my fiefs or borderlands! Attack again with fiercer will than that!” And so they did, those wretches; to a man They hurled their spears and wyverns and they smashed The walls again with iron rods and rams. Count William’s hot temper spat like fat! “What now,” he cried, “young Gui, my gallant lad? We’re doomed to die in pain and shame, alas!” But Gui replied: “Don’t waste what breath you have! By all the saints in Rome’s Basilica, I’ll spend my own more meanly while I can!” By now their spears were blunted, crushed or cracked, So each of them seized eagerly the axe Held out to him by Queen Orable’s hand, And, thus, endowed, ran forward to attack: Their axes fell on crimson shields and hacked Away at chests, at faces, chins and chaps, Till fourteen Moors, then more, were lying flat Upon the floor in death or from collapse. No three before had made so fierce a stand! The Warden watched, till watching drove him mad!

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The Capture of Orange WHEN ARRAGON saw all his soldiers die, He almost burst with sorrow at the sight! With ringing voice, he raised his head and cried: “Count William, where are you, wicked sprite Of Aymeri, who rules Narbonne in pride? Before you lose your blood and limbs alike, Obey my will and you may save your life! Leave Gloriette and all it has behind, And go from here in safety and alive. For, if you stay and won’t obey me, I Shall raise a blaze around the walls so high That all of you will perish in its fire! By great Mahom, I swear I do not lie!” “Your words are wind!” Count William replied: “There’s wine in here and bread and corn in piles, And salted meat and clear and spicy wines. We’ve helms of green and hauberks shiny bright, And sturdy swords with silver hilts incised, Good, heavy shields and lances – and besides, We’ve ladies here just made for our delight! I’ll gladly stay until the day I die! King Louis’ ears will hear of us in time, My brothers’ too – Bernart, whose beard is white, And fierce Garin, who rules Anseune in pride, And strong Beuvon of Commarchis alike, And young Bertrand, my nephew strong and wise, Who’s still at Nîmes, in charge of all that’s mine. Each one of these, as soon as he desires, Can raise a force of twenty thousand knights. And when they know the nature of our plight – Just where we are and how we are and why – Their noble hearts will drive them to our side With all the men their mustering can find! No marble walls will save you from their might, No splendid halls, however much they shine – They’ll split them all, one thousand pieces wide! And how you’ll pay if you should stay behind: They’ll wring your neck by stringing it on high!” The Warden heard till hearing drove him wild! King Pharaon, beside him, spoke his mind: “My noble lord, you’re wasting precious time: By great Mahom, what are we, men or mice? Your father dear, both valorous and wise, 37

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Heroines of the French Epic Has left you here to guard his town and wife, The Pagan fort and Gloriette the fine. And yet you’ve let three Christian rogues defy Your regency and kill our kith and kind! I swear to you, your name will be reviled If you are slow to drive them out with fire!” 1120

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THE REGENT CRIED: “Advise me, by Mahom, How that can be achieved, King Pharaon! The tower here’s as solid as a rock, And Gloriette is stone from base to top! Though every man alive from here to Laon Should smite its bricks, they’d never break its bond! And where could coal burn any hole, or lodge? There are no beams or wooden seams to rot! Bravado turned the key that freed its locks! We’ll never oust these outlaws, by the gods!” “KING PHARAON, my lord,” the Regent cried, “For Mahom’s sake, on whom we both rely, Advise me now with counsel that is wise, For Gloriette’s impossible to strike: It’s set in rock and built of rock alike! Though every man from here to Valois heights Should hit its bricks, they’d never split it wide. And where on it could fiery coal ignite? There are no beams or wooden seams to fire! Bravado turned the key that flung it wide! We’ll never oust these outlaws from inside!” At this, a Moor called Orkanor arrived, Whose beard was black, although his hair was white! In Pagan need his acumen was prized. With ringing tones he hailed the Regent thrice: “Prince Arragon, attend to my advice! But tell me first you’ll make it worth my while, Should I reveal how William the knight May, without fail, be held in jail tonight!” “I will indeed!” Prince Arragon replied: “I’ll give to you ten sumpters loaded high With Spanish gold if what you say is right!” Said Orkanor: “Then swear without a lie To keep your word, and I shall give you mine To see it done, whatever it requires!” 38

The Capture of Orange “I give my word, and give it with delight. You’ll have in full, whenever you desire, The promised gold!” Prince Arragon replied. Said Orkanor: “I give my word alike.” SAID ORKANOR: “Fine lord, by good Mahomet, There is a way to capture him, I promise! This glowing hall, I know, is more than solid, With marble raised upon a granite bottom. But Griffany of Aumarie, who plotted Its grand design, planned cunningly to stock it With passages beyond the common knowledge! Beneath the ground I’ve found a tunnel crossing Between the towers, whose entrance is a drop-stone. So take yourself and fifty score along it! While fifty more distract the French with volleys From front and rear, your force can set upon them. Show William the wage of mortal folly!” Said Arragon: “I will, by good Apollo! And you, I swear, shall earn immortal profit!” WHEN ARRAGON was told the ancient secret About the way that lay there underneath him, It thrilled his heart and set his pulses beating! In helmets laced, he placed a thousand heathens, While, front and rear, a thousand more repeated Their fierce assault upon the French between them. His party left with hasty steps and eager, Not stopping till they’d reached the vault and breached it. With lanterns lit and candlelight to lead them, The hidden Moors crept up upon our heroes, Who never knew that they were even near them Until they sensed that somebody had reached them. Count William himself was first to see them: “By Jesus Christ,” he cried, “our great Redeemer! They’ll slay us now or pay us every evil!” Said Guielin: “So help me, blessed Jesus, I swear to you the lovely queen’s deceived us! A curse, I say, on heathens, male and female!” COUNT WILLIAM heard Gloriette invaded By haughty Moors, their voices wrought with raging, And then he saw their helms and hauberks blazing: 39

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“By God above,” he cried, “the Ever Faithful, They’ll slay us now or evilly repay us!” Said Guielin: “So help me, blessed Saviour, I swear to you the lovely queen’s betrayed us! A curse, I say, on heathen lords and ladies! Today it seems, we three shall meet our Maker – We have no peers or clansmen here to save us – But while we may, let’s show what we are made of!” When this was said, our hero held his blade up. With hate in heart, he dealt his first assailant A backhand stroke that cleft him to his navel. On seeing this, the Pagans, in amazement, Held back at first, then stormed ahead to take him. In self-defence, and honour’s cause, how bravely Our gallant knights swung mighty blows against them! The charge was great, but their response was greater – They never fell till force of numbers made them. No fight before was finished half as bravely – In self-defence they slaughtered thirty Pagans! What use was that? They couldn’t have escaped them – The Saracens, made up of many nations From Africa, Arabia and Asia, Stampeded them, arrested them and chained them. The villains swore that vengeance would be taken That very day for their humiliation. 5. How Orable saved William from death

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SO WILLIAM was captured by deception, Sir Gilbert too, and Guielin his nephew. In heavy hands the wicked Pagans held them And swore an oath that promised speedy vengeance: Within the town they ordered twenty tenants To dig a trench both deep and wide for spreading With tinder-wood and poles of timber, ready To set ablaze and burn to death the Frenchmen. But when the queen could see what they intended She called at once on Arragon her stepson: “My friend,” she said, “give me these foreign felons! In Gloriette I have a sombre cellar Where loathsome toads will feed on them, together With slimy snakes, their gorges filled with venom.” 40

The Capture of Orange “My Lady Queen,” Prince Arragon protested, “Our present woe was started by your error, Or madness, when you armed the French against us! Mahomet curse the fool who’d let you meddle!” On hearing this, Orable welled with temper: “You harlot’s son,” she yelled, “you Prince of devils! By good Mahom, whose chosen faith I cherish, I truly wish no other lords were present: I’d punch your nose for daring to offend me! I order you: be gone from here directly! If you delay, I swear you will regret it!” With rising gall, she cursed him, as he left her: “Go, pestilence! Arrest the Frenchmen, pending My lord’s return from Valdun town, attended By Desramed and Golias his henchmen! Let him and them enjoy revenge at leisure!” “To that, agreed!” said Arragon her stepson, And took all three to throw them in his cellar, Sir William, and Gilbert and his nephew. Let’s leave them there, till time and I are ready – For I have more about the Moors to tell you – But never fret! I won’t forget the Frenchmen! PRINCE ARRAGON was not prepared to wait. He summoned forth his envoys straightaway And sent them off without the least delay. They reached the Rhône without a stop or stay Then boarded ship, a galleon of state That Maldun of Nubia owned and sailed. From fore to aft the craft bore silken drapes That sheltered all on board from wind or rain. With anchors weighed and rudder set they braved The open sea and rowed while under sail, To leave the town and reach the coast in haste. They made the most of roving winds that day That drove them straight to Almeria’s bay. When sails were furled and anchors dropped again, They mounted horse and galloped off in haste. They never stopped until at last they raced Inside the town where Teebo had remained. Dismounting there beneath the leafy shade Of olive-trees, they reached the hall of state, And found their lord, his courtiers and slaves. 41

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They greeted him in Pagan wise and way: “May good Mahom, who rules forever, save And keep Teebo, the flower of his race! Your noble son, of gallant force and face, Beseeches you, through us, to bring him aid, For he has caught the son of that old knave Lord Aymeri, who rules Narbonne today! Young William, disguised, devised a way To get inside your wealthy town and take It, as with Nîmes – and, what is more, he aims To woo your wife away from your embrace! His evil plan was foiled, Mahom be praised, But not before he had for seven days Held Gloriette and her against our rage! If we’d not found a vault beneath its gate, Whose entrance is a drop-stone deftly laid Inside our fort, we’d never have reclaimed Your lovely wife for you to hold again! But she and we were rescued by our faith In Lord Mahom! Sir William is chained Inside a cell from which there’s no escape! Come, punish him as cruelly as you crave!” On hearing this, old Teebo laughed and hailed The knights and men surrounding him that day: “To arms,” he roared “and then to horse, I say!” Not one was loath – they leapt to both in haste, Good Spanish steel and Magyar destriers. When Teebo left from Africa again, The Moors he took were Almerian slaves And Syrian and Slavic renegades, Whose van alone held sixty thousand blades! They never stopped until they reached the bay, And very soon they’d loaded ships of trade With wine and meat, with biscuit and with grain. When all was in, including them, they raised The sails aloft and, with the anchors weighed, They sought and caught the roving winds to brave The open sea and speed upon their way. Their bugles blew, their horns began to play, Their bears to roar, their dogs to bark and bay, Their mules to bray, their destriers to neigh, Their hawks to cry, on perches and encaged. Their din at sea was heard a league away 42

The Capture of Orange For seven days and nights; but on the eighth, Before they’d come to Port Orange again, Its Pagan lord would suffer loss and pain The likes of which he’d never known, I’d say. For he would lose and nevermore regain His splendid town and splendid wife the same! SIR WILLIAM was locked away between Sir Gilbert and his gallant nephew Gui: “Dear God,” he cried, “the King of Love, it seems We’re doomed to die in agony indeed! King Louis’ court knows nothing of our need, Nor do the rest of my brave family: White-haired Bernart, Sir Garin of Anseune, And bold Beuvon, the lord of Commarchis , And Bertrand too, my nephew fine and fierce, Who, when we left, remained behind at Nîmes With men galore, a thousand score at least! What use is that? We need their service here!” The answer wrought from handsome Gui was brief: “But surely not, my lord, when love is near? Why don’t you ask your pretty Pagan queen ‘For sake of love’ to slake her lover’s need?” Said William: “By Heaven, if you keep On mocking me, you’ll kill what’s left of me!” SIR WILLIAM was seething with despite. Inside the cell both he and Gui alike, And Gilbert too, bewailed their sorry plight. And while they did, in sorrow out of mind, Orable came, and when she looked inside And saw the men, she said to them: ‘Sir knights, Attend me well, for I would speak my mind! The Pagans’ mood against you runs so high That you will hang tomorrow, or tonight!” “There’s nothing we can do!” young Gui replied: “What remedy, fine lady, can you find To set us free and get us three outside? If you succeed, I’ll be your man for life And serve your will at any place or time! Most noble queen, have mercy on our lives!” Said William: “In truth, she must have lied, To trick us here and trap us with her wiles!” On hearing this, Orable heaved a sigh. 43

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AND THEN SHE SAID: “My gallant lords of France: By good Mahom, your blame is falsely cast! Inside my rooms I gave you shining arms, And if you could have held the Pagan charge Inside my walls till Louis, son of Charles, And Aymeri, your father, and Bernart, Lord of Brabant, and all your clan had marched Against the town – if they had had the chance To do this while the Moors were off their guard – They could have won this border-town Orange And all around, each narrow, ford and pass!” Said Guielin: “That’s true enough, I grant! And if we three were not now where we are, I’d serve your well until I breathed my last!” “Upon my faith,” she answered with a gasp, “If I could know that I’d be safe from harm, And be the wife of William ‘Strong-Arm’, I’d set you free, all three, and seek the path Of Christian Light to lead me from this Dark!” On hearing this, our hero’s spirits danced! “My fair,” he cried, “ I swear, on Peter’s Arch, By God and good St James, that what you’ve asked Shall, if I live, most surely come to pass!” The Queen replied: “Then that is all I ask.” She led them forth, unlocking, as they passed Through block and floor, each door and bolted clasp. Their steps were lithe and very blithe their hearts. AND THAT IS HOW Orable saved the counts. She wrought their liberty, then led them round To Gloriette and brought them safe and sound Inside her room, where each was richly gowned And served a feast of wine and fish and fowl! And then it was the lovely queen announced: “My noble lords, please listen to me now! I’ve set you free from custody most foul And led you here and fed you; yet, just how You can escape still harrows me with doubt! But here’s a thing for you to think about: Below our feet there lies in shadows’ shroud A tunnelled vault that no one knows about Except my ancestor who dug it out To reach the Rhône through soil unknown to plough! 44

The Capture of Orange If you could send an envoy through it, bound For your domains to reach Bertrand the count, Then he could come and meet you underground With all your men; and then, before the proud, Benighted Moors had any sight or sound Of their approach, your men could strike them down! Their girded swords could win this border-town, Each pass and ford and narrows all around!” Said William: “There’s much to gain, I vow. But where shall such a messenger be found?” SAID WILLIAM: “My nephew Gui, young hero! Go forth to Nîmes! Let nothing halt or keep you! Tell young Bertrand, your brother, that I need him To bring me aid from every rank and region!” But Gui replied: “Good uncle, I beseech you! So help me God, I can’t believe you mean it! For, by the faith I owe to good St Stephen, I’d rather die beside you, fighting fiercely, Than crawl away to Nîmes or Aix, believe me!” SAID WILLIAM: “Young Gui, my gallant nephew, I bid you seek the vault below and enter! Return to Nîmes! Let nothing here prevent you! Tell young Bertrand your brother to assemble What help he can and hasten here directly!” But Gui replied: “Good uncle, no, I beg you! I can’t believe you mean what you’ve suggested! I’d rather fight beside you here and perish Than crawl away to Nimes or Aix, God help me! Sir Gilbert’s here! Send off, I say, the Fleming!” Said William: “And will you go, good fellow?” The knight replied: “With loyal heart I’m ready To do my part in sending out a message!” “Then go, my friend! To Jesus I commend you! On my behalf tell brave Bertrand my nephew To gather aid and hasten to our rescue. Unless he does, by God, you’ll have to tell him We’ll never meet again this side of Heaven!” WHEN GILBERT KNEW his part was due so swiftly, The worthy man began to have misgivings, And doubted much his power to fulfil it! 45

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“I’ve never been or seen below a city!” The queen herself replied: “I’ll guide you thither, And God Himself will light each path and pitfall! So fear for naught that’s mortal-wrought, Sir Gilbert!” On saying this, she lifted up and shifted A six-foot slab of stone beside a pillar, Then said again: “This step is your beginning! You’ll find below a pathway that continues Till, in arcade, three columns mark its limit.” So Gilbert stepped and started on his mission To go below, not knowing how or whither! Along the path Count William went with him, As did the queen and Gui his gallant kinsman. They all set out until they reached the pillars, Where Gilbert strode alone straight through the middle. He reached the Rhône, then found the boat they’d ridden, And, dipping oars, slipped quietly downriver. Count William turned back, and, turning with him, Went Gui and she the fairest-faced of women, To Gloriette, where once again she hid them. My worthy friends, it would have been much quicker To head instead directly back to prison – For, ever since they’d left the cells, a witness Had watched and heard each little word they’d whispered. And now he turned to pay his Prince a visit! 6. How William and Orable were separated

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THE PAGAN SPY was very spiteful-hearted. He’d heard them well, so went to tell his master, On meeting whom this message he imparted: “Prince Arragon, I’ve knowledge that will startle Your loyal heart, concerning Queen Orable And those you thought were well secured and guarded! Your stepmother has sprung the bolt that barred them And led them back to her part of the castle, Where even now they share in food and laughter!” “Can this be true?” the angry Prince demanded. “I do not lie, my lord,” the villain answered. “I saw them there, inside the queen’s apartments, In private talk and warm embrace thereafter! She loves them all, my lord, and she would rather 46

The Capture of Orange Bed William than King Teebo your father!” On hearing this, the Warden’s visage hardened, And, calling forth his faithful Moors he asked them: “Advise me now, with counsel wise and hardy, How I should act regarding fair Orable, My stepmother, whose wicked ways and harmful Dishonour me and shame my noble father!” SAID ARRAGON: “My strong and worthy kinsmen, For Mahom’s sake, take arms and armour swiftly! Before we’ve done, these wicked, cunning Christians Will come to grief – and anyone who’s with them!” His men replied: “We’ll gladly do as bidden!” And off they ran, some fifteen thousand villains. Alas indeed for William, unwitting, As was the queen, and Gui the gallant, sitting In Gloriette and playing chess, and thinking With high content that they were safely hidden! They heard or saw no danger to their vigil Till with a roar the Pagans stormed the building. SIR WILLIAM sat underneath the pine-tree, With Orable and gallant Gui beside him. They heard or saw no threat at all arriving Till with a roar the Saracens surprised them, And, seizing wrists, tied flailing fists behind them, And swore at once a swift revenge and final! One Pharaon, who thought himself the wisest, Addressed the rest: “Prince Arragon, your Highness, Your father dear, Emir Teebo the mighty, Who left you here to guard this town and guide it, With Gloriette, his richest fort and finest, Will weep to hear how villains have defied you, Outfought your men and slaughtered southern knighthood! Your noble name will not be worth the slightest Unless you tear them limb from limb, and likewise Redeem the shame of such a queen’s devising, By spurning her and burning her entirely!” But Escanor, his hoary figure rising, Said: “Pharaon! Your speech is not a wise one!” SAID ESCANOR, his hoary head uncovered: “King Pharaon, your show a lack of judgement! You shouldn’t start upon a course of justice 47

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You cannot stop at will once you’ve begun it. Prince Arragon, let me suggest another! Your father dear, of noble birth and courage, Has left you here to guard his town from trouble, And Gloriette, the fort of his beloved. If you should burn his wife before his coming, His love for you will turn to hate abruptly! So wait a while! Cast all inside your dungeon, Orable too, your traitorous stepmother! Send further men across the sea to hurry Your father home, with Haucebier your uncle, But let them choose how each is to be punished.” The Prince replied: “You’ve spoken well, old cousin, And in reward I’ll see you lack for nothing. I have, indeed, already sent a runner To the emir, my father, and his brother. Within a week I trust they’ll be among us.” At this, his men took William and flung him Inside a cell with gallant Gui the youngster. Orable too they threw inside to suffer. God help them all, Whose Judgement day is coming! SO WILLIAM was slung inside a cell With gallant Gui and Teebo’s wife as well, Who cried and sighed, then sighed and cried again: “Dear God above, Whose love can conquer death, Alas for me, of baptism bereft! I wanted so to be baptised and blest! Sir William, alas the day I set My eyes on you and witnessed your prowess! Because of you I’m hauled from Gloriette And called a whore! God pity my distress!” But Gui replied: “Your sighing makes no sense! I should have thought so great a love would let The pair of you find heaven in this hell!” On hearing this, his uncle almost wept, And swore with rage by good St James and said: “If not for shame and other men’s contempt, I’d knock the wind right out of you, you wretch!” But Gui replied: “That’s something you’d regret! I couldn’t care who knows it now: I’ll tell Each man I meet he’s not to call you hence The ‘proud of arm’ but ‘prince of charm’ instead! 48

The Capture of Orange You hurried here upon a lover’s quest!” On hearing this, our hero bowed his head. SIR WILLIAM was angry and aggrieved Inside the cell, held under lock and key With Teebo’s wife as well as gallant Gui: “Dear God above!” he sighed and cried, “How we Have been misled – and now we’re dead indeed! How mad I was to carry out this scheme – It’s brought us naught but lasting shame and grief! God help us now, Who judges all and each! The King, alas, knows nothing of our need, Nor does Bernart, my brother white of beard, Nor Lord Garin, the hero of Anseune, Nor strong Bertrand, who stayed behind in Nîmes. We need their help, or else our fate is sealed.” “Good uncle,” cried young Guielin the fierce, “Don’t speak like that! You surely have no need? Is Teebo’s wife, your ladylove, not here For you to kiss and hug and snuggle near? A fairer fate you couldn’t hope to meet!” “You’ll drive me mad, by God!” his uncle screamed. And when the Moors heard such a quarrel reach Them from below, some forty rushed beneath To throw the pair right out of there, and leave Orable on her own, the courtly queen. The pair was hauled before the Warden’s seat, Where Pharaon , with growing anger, screeched: “Prince Arragon, you must attend to me! Your father dear, our good and great Emir, Who left you here to govern and to keep This lovely town, its fortress and its fief, Will weep to hear how villains such as these Could thumb their nose at your authority! Your noble name will not be worth a bean Unless you flay and slay them, to redeem The shame and pain of his own wife’s deceit.” But when he heard these biting words, young Gui, With rolling eyes, reared up and gnashed his teeth. He bared his arms, and, rushing forth, he reached His left hand round the Pagan’s head and heaved His heavy right against the villain’s cheek! He broke his jaw, and every bone beneath, 49

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Heroines of the French Epic Then flung him dead before him at his feet. On seeing this, the Count’s content was deep: “Dear God,” he cried, “Who judges all and each, We’ve had it now! Our death is guaranteed!” 1610

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SIR WILLIAM beheld the Pagan’s fall: “Dear God,” he cried, “Who judges each and all, We’ve had it now! Our death has been assured!” But Gui replied: “Don’t lose your heart, my lord! You’re not without some allies in the fort!” Said William: “In truth, their number’s small!” The gallant Gui looked round him, and he saw A mighty axe stood up against a wall. He strode to it, and seizing it, employed Its shining blade against a whining Moor. He split him through, like timber, to the floor! On seeing this, this Prince’s anger boiled: “Seize both these men – again!” the Pagan roared. “I’ll splay their bones, I’ll flay them to the core, Then in the Rhône we’ll fling them far from shore!” But Gui replied: “Be gone from here, you fraud! You gave the word that freed us from the vault To lead us here and share your feasting-board! By all the saints in Rome, I swear you’ve brought A pair of guests whose fellowship will cause You more despair than ever you’ll afford!” As this was said, two Saracens came forth, Who by a pole were bringing wine galore Inside a vat, that they were meant to pour. But when they saw the flurry in the court, They dropped the lot and scurried from the storm. The Count, at once, retrieved the pole and launched An avalanche of blows so cold and raw Against the skin of those within its course It froze the blood of everyone it caught! INSIDE THE HALL stood William the brave And Guielin, whose courage was ablaze ! With swinging axe and slinging-pole they rained Enormous blows on rows of Pagan knaves! Fourteen or more they flattened straightaway, And furnished scores with such alarm they chased Them down the floors and out the palace-gates! 50

The Capture of Orange With bar and bolt they slammed those in their face, Then raised the bridge upon its heavy chains! The sight of this drove Arragon insane! He called upon his wisest men and wailed: “Advise me now, for good Mahomet’s sake! This William has robbed me like a knave, And now he has my very hall of state! I see no way of getting in again!”

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King Quinzepaumes and his brother Gondrez. Each one will bring some thirty thousand knaves And fight me here in Nîmes until they take Both it and me by fee of number’s weight! They’ll torture me and maim me till I’m slain. But I’m resolved on one thing, come what may: A world of gold won’t stop me on that day From breaking out with all the knights who came With William to this benighted place, And going back to France, our native place! And when I come to Paris on the Seine, I shall dismount upon the steps inlaid With marble there, and all will stare and say: ‘Where’s William, whose valour is so great, And little Gui, your brother bright and brave?’ Alas for me! What shall I tell them, save That in Orange the two of you were slain?” On saying this, he fainted and he lay Upon the ground, till rallied round and raised. BERTRAND THE COUNT was stricken in his soul For little Gui and William the bold, Lamenting them in free and noble tones: “Sir William, how rash of you to rove With little Gui to see Orange alone, Your bodies stained and dressed in vagrants’ clothes! My brother Gui, how brave of you to go! The Saracens, I’m sure, have slain you both, And I am left in Nîmes upon my own, Bereft of kin and threatened by the foe! And come they will – the Pagan Lord Teebo, With Desramez and mighty Golio. The thirty kings who think of Spain as home Will challenge Nîmes with their assembled host. They’ll torture me, then slaughter me, I know. But by the saint that pilgrims seek in Rome, I won’t be stopped, for cities full of gold, From going first to Orange on the Rhône! I’ll seek revenge for all the loss and woe Our family has seen and suffered so. Ah, wretched me! Why have I been so slow? I should have gone to face them long ago!”

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The Capture of Orange BERTRAND THE COUNT was stricken in his mind. But while he wept and filled the air with sighs, Sir Gilbert reached the fort at last and climbed The marble steps to reach the hall inside. How quickly then Bertrand began to smile, And, in his joy, with ringing voice he cried: “Most welcome back, you good and noble knight! Speak up at once! Is little Gui alive, And William, whose face with valour shines?” Without a pause the honest knight replied: “They are! Inside Orange itself, confined To Gloriette, the fort of Teebo’s wife! The wicked Moors surround them on all sides, And who’s to say how long they may survive? Sir William sends me to bid you ride And sail and march with every speed and might At your command, to help him in his plight.” How quickly then Bertrand began to smile! With ringing voice around the hall he cried: “To arms at once, you noble knights of mine!” And all obeyed – at once they leapt astride Their steeds of Spain and Syria alike. When good Bertrand left mighty Nîmes behind, He took with him the total of his might: The van alone held fifteen thousand knights, Who never slowed until the Rhône was nigh. On galleys there they boarded through the night, Then sailed away and rowed against the tide In fierce array until they all arrived Before Orange, whose plain was long and wide, And where they pitched their many tents in lines. Bertrand the count was very keen to strike, And when he saw the messenger he cried: “I need the truth, Sir Gilbert, noble knight! Can we attack this city and divide These hardy walls and marble halls inside?” “Impossible!” the honest man replied: “Though every knight in France were at your side, You’d never take Orange in all your life.” On hearing this, Bertrand was filled with spite. “I NEED THE TRUTH, Sir Gilbert, worthy envoy: Can we attack this noble town and sever Its haughty walls and fortified defences?” 53

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“Impossible!” replied the worthy fellow, “You’ll never hurt this hardy town, I tell you.” On hearing this, the Frenchman shook with frenzy, But Gilbert strove to temper his displeasure. “My lord,” he said, “I’ve something good to tell you! I know a way that you and more may enter The fort itself, avoiding all attention!” Bertrand replied: “Then lead the way, God bless you!” So Gilbert did, who knew the way already. While all the rest remained inside their shelters, He led the best, some thirteen thousand Frenchmen, Toward the vault with no delay whatever. Between the pair of pillars there they ventured In single file, without a light to lessen The darkness of the winding way they wended. Bertrand the Peer expressed the fear of many: So all could hear, he charged the worthy Fleming: “Sir Gilbert, I demand the truth, God help me! It’s my belief that William has perished And you’ve conspired with Arragon against us!” “That’s craziness!” the worthy man protested: “I swear, by God, I’d never play the felon! This passage leads to Gloriette directly: Just follow me and trust in me, I beg you!” Bertrand replied: “Our common faith commends you.” So, on they walked, and talked, until they entered The fort itself, then Gloriette the splendid, Where William rose up at once and met them. He cried aloud: “Praise God the Lord of Heaven! At last the way I’ve sought so long has beckoned!” The gallant knights, at once, took off their helmets And, in embrace, wept tears of joy together. Bertrand the count addressed his uncle gently: “My noble lord, are you in health and temper?” “I’m hale and whole, thank God above, good nephew,” The Count replied, “though I’ve had pain a-plenty! My visit here has been so full of perils I thought I’d seen the last of you forever!” His nephew cried: “I swear we shall avenge you!” In Gloriette he blew a horn to beckon His men in camp, who armed themselves directly. Sir William, inside, was brave and ready: He dropped the bridge and, straightaway descending 54

The Capture of Orange Towards the gates that kept the town defended, He flung them wide with all his strength and temper. The French outside rushed in to find their fellows, And when they did they cried ‘Mountjoy!’ together, That cheer of Charles that makes the heathens tremble! They snatched their arms, they grabbed for any weapon, Then, dashing forth from every lodge and dwelling, They struck as one to save the town they cherished. But all their pluck availed them not a penny, For they were up against too many Frenchmen, Who seized the town as young Bertrand attempted To storm the fort that soared towards the heavens! The fighting there turned twice as hard and heavy: So many coats of Eastern mail or leather, So many shields, so many spears were severed, So many Moors in streaming gore upended! When Arragon saw all his people perish His grief was such it robbed him of his senses: He leapt astride his battle-steed and steadied The solid shield he’d conquered from a Frenchman. He stared around and found a gleaming weapon That, bending down, with both his hands he hefted. His charger reared as rowels speared its belly And veered it forth towards the vicious melee. He slew at once Foucher, the duke of Melans, And then two more in his enormous frenzy. On seeing this, Bertrand was driven senseless. He drew his sword, a blade with razor edges, And struck the Moor with all his strength and temper. The blow he gave was made with such resentment It slit the Moor, it cleft him to the breastbone And flung his soul to Satan’s hold forever. His fighting men surrendered then – or perished.

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8. How William wed Orable WHAT GOOD IS DONE by spinning out a tale? The Pagans stopped, and those who didn’t paid The price in blood, sent flooding from their veins. Sir William himself went straightaway To Fort Orange and freed from Teebo’s jail The southern queen, so fair of form and face. 55

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When this was done he hailed Bertrand again: “Fine nephew mine, attend to what I say! This Lady here, so dear to me, has saved My mortal life from ending in this place! And I have pledged to her, upon my faith, That she shall be my wife, in Jesu’s name.” Bertrand replied: “Then why do you delay? Uphold at once the promise you have made! Take what you want with happy joy today!” Said William: “Your will I will obey!” SIR WILLIAM was valiant and courtly. When force of arms had won the town, he ordered His men to bring a mighty barrel forward And fill it up with fresh and fragrant water. Bishop Guimer of Nîmes stood there before it. When Teebo’s wife had shed her clothes they brought her And plunged her in, to make her soul immortal. Her limbs were held by little Gui and also By brave Bertrand and Gilbert from the northland. They took away her Pagan name that morning, Baptising her for Christ the Lord as Guibourc. Inside a church re-sanctified according To Christian Law instead of Pagan glory, Our hero led and wed her at the altar. A Mass was sung at Bishop Guimer’s orders, And after that they left the chapel, walking To Gloriette, the Lady’s former quarters. How fine a feast they held inside the fortress! Bertrand the count served both of them, supported By gallant Gui and Gilbert from the northland. A week was spent in feasting and rejoicing! And when they went the minstrels were rewarded With many robes of silk with ermine borders, With Spanish mules and many splendid horses. AND THAT IS HOW our hero won his Lady, And fair Orange! Some thirty years he stayed there, Each day of which was challenged by the Pagans. ❦

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THE SONG OF FLOOVANT 1. How Prince Floovant was banished from France MY LORDS, God bless you all! Attend, and I shall sing you A verse or two, or three, of France’s noble history! Of Clovis I shall sing, who was, for so it’s written, The first of France’s kings to be baptised a Christian. Some six and twenty years he spent in pagan living, And any man he found who followed Christ’s religion, He hankered straightaway to hang upon a gibbet, Or drag between his steeds till life and limb were riven. But God the Lord above poured love upon his spirit And Clovis was baptised, with happy heart and willing, At Saint-Denis in France, inside the lovely minster – And anyone who doubts the truth of this can witness Its record in the church when next they pay a visit! As King of France he ruled with bravery and wisdom, Begetting with his wife four gallant-visaged princes: And FLOOVANT was the name the eldest one was given. He made the sturdy youth successor to his kingdom, He promised him the crown and all the honour with it, But Fate had other plans: a boyish piece of mischief Led Floovant to be banned from native land and kinsmen For more than seven years! Now lend an ear and listen! NOW LISTEN WELL, I bid you, for God our Saviour’s sake, Who dwells above in glory, Who bore the Cross’s bane, And I shall sing of Clovis, for Clovis was his name, The first of France’s monarchs, so all the records say, To be baptised a Christian and govern for the Faith. For six and twenty summers he followed pagan ways, And, finding any Christian, he wanted straightaway To hang him on a gibbet, to fling him into flames, Or drag him with his horses till life and limb were twain. But God the Lord above us poured so much loving grace Upon his soul that Clovis was christened and was saved 57

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At Saint-Denis in Paris, inside its lovely nave. As King of France he governed with courage and with brains, Begetting with his consort four princes highly praised: The eldest was our hero and FLOOVANT was his name. He made the gallant youngster the heir to his domain, He promised him the sceptre and all that appertained, But Fate had other wishes, and childish folly chased Our hero into exile for seven years and made The sight of land or kinsman a mortal ban to break. One Pentecost it started, a festive summer’s day. King Clovis was in Paris to celebrate and pray With fourteen other monarchs, their splendour on display. One such was Senecālus, a mighty lord who came From Burgundy, possessing each castle it contained, Each village, town and city to old Vienne the great. “Come forward, Senecalus,” said Clovis, “for I’d place My son in your protection, as he is still untrained In many arts of warfare, and still is of an age Where courage needs its counsel and recklessness its rein.” “My lord,” replied his vassal, “I willingly obey. I’ll gladly tutor Floovant in any way I may.” And so the duke invited the Prince that very day To join him in his lodgings and feast the night away. At sunrise, Senecalus, replete with food and ale, Strolled out into an orchard, delighting in its shade, And took the youngster with him to keep him entertained. The pair was unattended and walked the leafy lanes Until they sat together upon the grass of May, Where weary Senecalus dozed off without delay. His beard was white as winter and tumbled to his waist. Now you must know, good people, that in that time and place All noblemen were bearded, more grandly so with age, Both laity and clergy whose heads were always shaved. And when a man was guilty of stealing in those days It was their wont to sever the whiskers from his face And all the beard he boasted, each tress of it and braid. To suffer such dishonour was worse than all disgrace, For if its victim ventured among his peers again, They had the right to seize him and take his life away! So what? Well, Senecalus was sleeping, as I say, With Floovant idly watching – until he tempted Fate: He happened to be holding a dagger, sharp and straight, With which he’d sliced an apple to eat within the glade. 58

The Song of Floovant Before he even knew it, he’d sliced the beard away! Old Senecalus started, from slumber rudely raised To see his white moustaches and every wispy wave Of what had been his whiskers removed by Floovant’s blade! At once his rage ignited, exploding in a flame When he beheld before him the youth he was to train, Still playing with the dagger whose edges were to blame! He wrenched it from the youngster, his angry cheeks ablaze, And very nearly used it to slay his protégé! His heart a-brim with venom, with stinging voice he railed: “You reckless ignoramus! You’ve shamed me, for a game! A curse upon the moment that you were born to reign! I’m off to see your father, and when he sees my face, He’ll slice your foolish head off and tear your limbs away!” On hearing this, young Floovant began to weep and wail: “Forgive me, noble master, for God in Heaven’s sake! I’ll pay whatever penance you set for me to pay!” He fell before his tutor, his tears like falling rain. He begged the man for mercy – but there was none to gain. “FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, good master, forgive my foolish deed! I’ll do whatever penance that you decide is meet! And I shall give you gladly three hundred rapid steeds, With all the arms and armour three hundred riders need, As well as fifteen castles to add to your demesne.” But Senecalus answered: “Don’t waste your breath on me! I’m off to see your father, and when he sees my cheeks, He’ll send you to the gallows or rend you piece by piece!” On saying this, he left him, without a ‘by your leave’, And with his head well covered by samite silk, he reached The palace-hall of Clovis, his monarch and his liege. HIS HEART A-BRIM with rage, old Senecalus left, His cloak of samite silk around his naked neck. Until he reached the hall he never slowed his step. His monarch and his liege had risen from his bed And gone to Saint-Privé, where Mass was sung and said. No sooner had the duke caught sight of him he went Upon his knees to kiss his shoe, his foot and leg. Then, lifting off his hood, he showed the King his head. On seeing what he saw, the angry Clovis said: “My good and worthy duke, who showed you such contempt?” “Upon my faith, my lord, your eldest son himself, 59

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Whom yesterday you placed beneath my tutelage, And whom, this very day, I almost slew instead!” On hearing this, the King was driven to the edge Of self-control: he called on fourteen of his men: “Make haste, my loyal knights! I order you to fetch My eldest son Floovant, and bring the villain hence! I promise, by St Peter in Nero’s field, to rend His reckless limbs awry! I’ll hang him till he’s dead, Or wrack him any way my counsellors suggest!” His soldiers left at once, with no delay or let – For no one dared oppose or shun the King’s behest – And very soon the youth was standing there, in dread. The monarch’s royal sword was brought at his request, But, learning this, the Queen implored him to relent: Upon her knees she kissed his shoe, his foot and leg. THE MONARCH’S royal sword was brought by Gautier. King Clovis seized the hilt, his heart aglow with rage, And hurried from its sheath the sharp and shining blade. The Queen, however, fell before him in dismay, And said: “Have pity, Sire, upon your son’s mistake!” “My lady,” said the King, “for you I’ll show him grace, But only if he leaves my kingdom straightaway And sets no foot in France till seven summers wane.” The youth replied: “My lord, I will, without delay.” And, falling to his knees, he swore by all the saints Whose relics, one by one, were summoned and displayed, That he would go from France and not return again Till seven years had passed; then Clovis further bade His son to go alone, with none to share his shame. The ban imposed was read across the King’s domains To all of those who ruled the counties in his name, Prohibiting them all from lending any aid To Floovant; neither gold nor silver he could trade To purchase horse or arms or food on any day. If any disobeyed, then nothing they could say Would save them from the loss not only of estate, But limb and life itself, without the least debate! So Floovant fled the hall, so angry at his fate He never said goodbye to any man or maid, Not even to the Queen, who loved him more, in faith, Than him whom she had wed, and honoured and obeyed. Young Floovant sought a lodge whose noble host embraced 60

The Song of Floovant The lad his lavish house had often entertained. The man himself was kind and of a gallant race, And Floovant asked at once, with courtesy and grace: “Good host, give me some arms and armour for my way, And I shall serve your name wherever I may stray! I swear that you won’t lose at all in this exchange, For I’ll redeem the loan one hundred fold in rate When I return to France – God willing that I may!” “I will, most gladly, lord,” the gallant host exclaimed, And helped him don at once a helmet and some mail. He girded on a sword, whose hilt was gilt-engraved, And laid a quartered shield about his neck and nape, And in his hand a spear whose shaft was strongly made. As Floovant mounted horse, he held the stirrup straight, Beseeching God the Lord, Whose mercy never fails, To keep the youth from harm and out of evil’s way. Then Floovant took his leave and sped along the lane That led him from the town between the nearest gates. God help him, hapless youth, on his unhappy way: More woe he’d undergo before the end of day! But now, behold his squire! His name was Richier, And he’d been hunting game when all of this took place. But when he heard the news that, while he’d been away, The master whom he loved, had, in his father’s rage Been exiled on the spot for such a boyish jape, And had already fled, he flew into a rage! At once he swung astride a rapid destrier, And swore to God above, Whose Judgement Day awaits, That nobody on earth was going to gainsay His right to stand beside his master, come what may! He seized his only spear – a length of sharpened stake. When Floovant’s mother saw the squire’s intent, she hailed The youngster from above and beckoned him to wait. Then, rushing down, she seized his weapon and his rein. She stayed his spurring foot and held it in embrace: “Take pity on my son! Ensure that he is safe! I thank you from my heart for your enduring faith.” “No words are needed, ma’am,” said noble Richier. “I’ll never fail your son, while life and limb remain.” He took his leave at this, and, turning with a wave, Farewelled the troubled Queen. She similarly raised Her waving hand to him, and as she did she prayed To God the Lord above that He would guide his way 61

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YOUNG FLOOVANT hurried on across his father’s realm. His galloped past Châlons, across Champagne, then He bypassed Fort Anglers and entered the Ardennes. With every stride he cried to God the Lord – and yet He’d undergo more woe before the sun had set! His father, back in France, was very sad and vexed. KING CLOVIS, in his palace, was very out of temper. He summoned all his barons and when they were together He said: “My loyal nobles, I face a sore dilemma: My eldest son, Prince Floovant, has shamed my name and credit By maiming Senecalus, my friend, like any felon! The punishment I wanted, however, was prevented: If I had had my wishes, I would have cut his head off. But leaders of the clergy exhorted me against it: They told me that to do it would see me called forever A murderer who slew the life that he’d engendered! And so, my purpose thwarted, I have a new intention: Bring forth to me a razor, and in your common presence, I too shall shed my beard, to share the shame and error.” The nobles did his bidding: they brought the blade in question And watched as mighty Clovis cut off his regal tresses, Because of what had happened to one in his protection. Then every noble present performed the selfsame gesture. Now here’s a song, good people, that’s worthy of attention: A song that tells you truly of Floovant’s high adventures, Of every woe and foeman this hero had to better Before he could return to the lovely land we cherish! 2. How Floovant came to King Flores SO FLOOVANT had to forfeit the lovely land that raised him. His shield upon his shoulder, with nobody to aid him, He plied upon his journey and sighed to God our Maker: “Dear Lord in highest Heaven, how rich I was and favoured! No king from here to Egypt, however strong or crazy With arrogance, would ever have dared to come and face me 62

The Song of Floovant In any sort of battle, when I could stand against him With forty thousand swordsmen, their blades as sharp as razors! I’ve lost it all because of my reckless misbehaviour – And I am lost, unsure of the path I should be taking. My will and skill together are not enough to save me.” But then his conscience murmured: “What foolishness you’re saying! What craven thoughts you’re having, by St Denis your Patron! If any noble vassal should hear your lamentation, He’d never want to serve you – and nobody would blame him. You know there’s not a fighter from here to Tabaraya That you’d have any trouble in breaking like a wafer If powerfully you struck him the best blow you were able! You know that you have heard of King Flores the Alsatian, A monarch of great honour, both gallant and audacious, Who, having shunned Mahomet, has angered Pagan nations. If you could reach his kingdom before they have regained it, Your sword may reap a harvest of honour and salvation!” On hearing this inside him, at once he acted bravely And spurred through hill and valley, through village land and vacant, Until he saw, before him, beneath a pine, a maiden Ill-handled by some heathens who’d captured her and chained her. The sorry maid was weeping, and wretchedly bewailing, As they, with flat of sword-blade, made sport of her and plagued her. The woods around resounded with her humiliation. Young Floovant, when he listened and heard it was a lady, Drew rein at once, and, halting upon the track he’d taken, Called out to God in Heaven, Who governs all creation: “Dear God above in glory, I’m filled with hesitation! My honour sees before it three evil-hearted Pagans Who in their evil clutches torment a noble maiden – And yet it may be madness for me to move against them: My horse could bolt in terror! My life could be in danger!” But then his conscience murmured: “How cowardly! How craven! The family of Clovis has always acted bravely! For all the gold that glitters on old Pavia’s pavements, Your honour won’t allow you to leave the maid unaided!” On hearing this inside him, he gripped his spear to raise it, Then spurring forth his warhorse, with ringing voice he hailed them: “My lords, release the lady! There’s no way you will take her! You’ve seized her for your pleasure, I see that very plainly.” On hearing this, the Pagans were filled with indignation And, seizing on their weapons, determined to assail him With all the speed their spurring in little space could gain them. 63

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Upon his floral buckler young Floovant met the bravest And drove his iron lance-head beneath the boss to break it. The lance-head hit the hauberk and tore it like a wafer To gore the man inside it, whoever chides or praises. Without a peep he perished, so swiftly was he taken. Then, drawing forth his sword-blade, the gallant youngster aimed it Against the heathen helmet the second Moor was laced in. The helmet nor the coif-cap did anything to save him As Floovant drove the weapon through head and heart to slay him. The third of Mahom’s trio ran off in trepidation, As terror filled the maiden, on witnessing the mayhem. But Floovant asked her gently to tell him what her name was. She said: “I am Floretta; and I will tell you plainly: I am King Flores’ daughter, who rules Ardennes and places In Austria, Bavaria, Lorraine and in Alsatia. For spurning their religion, the Moors have turned against him. My father sent me hiding, but four of them waylaid me And took me to their quarters – but somehow I escaped them And sheltered in this forest; but after days of straying This evil trio found me, God send them all to Satan! If God and you had shunned me, I’m sure they would have raped me. My lord, take me to Belfort, since you it is who’ve saved me!” The youth replied: “ My lady, be sure I’ll not forsake you, But take you from this forest to city and to safety.” “MY LADY,” SAID the youth, “mount up with me and ride. I sure you wish to leave this spot as fast as I .” She did so, as he held the stirrup-irons tight, Then, mounting horse himself, they left – so help them Christ: Before their day was done, they’d suffer such a fright As nobody before had suffered and survived: Young Floovant had to meet and beat five further knights, Or leave behind the girl, his honour and his life! But firstly, let me tell of Richier, the squire Who’d followed on his trail, with never-failing mind, And suddenly observed the Pagan rogue in flight Who’d fled our hero’s spear and left his friends behind To die at Floovant’s hand beneath the stand of pines. He fretted for it now, in Pagan way and wise: “Alas, my noble friends! Ill-fated were your lives, By fickle chance misled, a shameful death to die! And every knight on earth will laugh at me alike, Since I was one of three who failed to beat a child!” 64

The Song of Floovant On saying this, the wretch turned round again and spied The noble Richier approaching him the while, And bearing at his breast a sharpened pole of pine! “And who are you, young squire?” the wretched Pagan cried. “That answer I can give!” brave Richier replied: “I’m trying hard to find a newly-dubbed young knight Who passed this way today, in darkness or in light. If such a one you’ve seen, I beg you not to lie!” “I have indeed, you wretch – to my eternal spite! He slew my closest friends! He threw away their lives! If you’re a friend of his, you’ve said your last goodbye!” “You’re lying now, I know!” said Richier and plied The weapon in his hand and brandished it on high. Before the wretched Moor could mount his horse’s side, He struck him such a blow upon his helmet’s stripes It cast the gems below and floral-hems on high Before it hit his head and split it open wide! The blighted Pagan fell, his soul to hell consigned. His coat of mail had rust on every link of iron, And Richier disdained to take it as his prize, Or anything of his, except his spear of iron – Because its tip was sharp and all its shaft incised, He stooped beneath the trees and seized it with delight: Before the darkness fell he’d need it to survive! Young Floovant, with the maid, was pressing on the while, And, breaking from the wood, came up against a knight Ferocious in his look, and fearsome in his size: The shield around his neck would break a peasant’s spine! His name was Fernagu, and in his restless pride He’d left his father’s ranks, King Galien, behind, And hewn a dozen heads from hapless Christian hides – His saddlebows displayed their faces in a line. Young Floovant’s courage sank on seeing such a sight. The Saracen exclaimed: “And who are you, Sir Mild?” Our hero said: “My lord, I’ve no desire to lie. I come from Laon and am a simple serving-squire Of Didier, a lord and seneschal, whom I Have served for two whole years to earn the name of knight. I bring his daughter forth to her fiancé’s side.” “My friend, ride on in peace,” the fierce Fernagu cried: “For holding her so dear, I’ll spare your little life! But I would hold her too – and boldly, like a wife: Beneath this olive-tree I’ll lie with her a while. 65

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Mahomet, I am sure, will bless the place and time – If only for the shame it brings the Law of Christ!” Young Floovant said at once: “ I dare you just to try! If you’re so keen to prove your manhood and your might – A bravery you’d show by wronging tender brides – I swear I’ll make you feel the strength of what is right! I’m not afraid of you or him you call divine, Who, centuries ago, was fodder fit for swine!” On hearing this, the Moor was almost driven wild: “And who are you, in truth?” with ringing voice he cried: “I swear by good Mahom, my god who lives on high, You’ll lose your head as well, for what you would deny!” AS FERNAGU saw Floovant, his rising anger flooded And drove his charger forward, of Carthage breed and courage. But Floovant matched the heathen, in hatred and in hurry! What heavy blows they bartered against their golden bucklers! They struck beneath the bosses and tore the boards asunder. Their hauberks didn’t sever – they must have been a wonder – And wonderful the horsemen who didn’t fall or fumble Withdrawing swords from scabbard to carry on the struggle. Prince Fernagu in fury was like a rabid mongrel. PRINCE FERNAGU in fury was like a man possessed: His swarthy face was savage, his countenance was dread. His body loomed enormous and full of fierce intent. He drew his sword and brandished its blade of razor-edge, Then swung it down at Floovant and struck his pointed helm So sweetly that it severed three laces end to end, Then slit the youngster’s hauberk and clipped his shield as well. It passed within a whisker of Floovant’s naked neck. The will of God Almighty was all that saved him then: The deadly blade deflected and struck the ground instead. Young Floovant knew exactly how close he’d come to death, And spurred his horse to counter with all his angry strength. He struck his fierce opponent upon his pointed helm So fiercely that he scattered its gems and floral hems. The weapon split his helmet, to naked bone and flesh, And, had it not deflected, it would have split his head. WITH ALL HIS ANGRY temper, young Floovant spurred his steed. He drew his sword and brandished its blade of shining steel. Upon his banded helmet he struck a blow so sweet 66

The Song of Floovant That first of all it severed three laces like a leaf, Then sheared away a hand-span of flesh above the ear Before it crossed his cheekbone and shaved him to the teeth, Then hit him on the shoulder and bit a hefty piece! The crimson blood erupted and bled about his seat. The Pagan cried in anguish: “There’s murder in your zeal! Defend me, Lord Mahomet, from death and from defeat! I’ll sell my honour dearly before I perish here!” PRINCE FERNAGU was shaken when he beheld his blood. He drew his cutting weapon that glittered in the sun And swung it at the helmet of Floovant, which it crushed So cruelly the youngster was stunned from back to front. The awful blow descended, towards the right it swung And, severing his hauberk and ermine coat in one, Drove on towards his shoulder, where all the muscle was. It would have gone right through it, without the Lord, Whose love And power steered the weapon away from it at once. The blade of steel went flashing towards the floor and struck As brightly and as brashly as lightning from above. On seeing it, young Floovant was horrified and clutched His hands towards the Heavens and prayed to Mary’s Son, In fear of mortal torment from matching blows to come From this gigantic Pagan, whose bravery was such. IN EVERYTHING, however, the will of God prevails. It did at time’s beginning and will do every day, With Fernagu and Floovant and you and me the same. As Floovant prayed to Jesus for comfort and for aid, The strength of God Almighty went flooding through his veins. As Fernagu approached him to send him to his grave, Young Floovant, full of courage, flung upwards with his blade And with a twist he slew him and threw his soul away! The youngster, and Floretta, were full of thankful praise, And yet, you know the saying, and true it is, I say – Before the evening’s over, you shouldn’t praise the day! While Floovant had been fighting, four Pagans on the trail Of Fernagu, whose father was the emir of Spain, Had heard the noise of fighting and seen their master slain, While crossing through a thicket and up behind the maid. When Floovant fell, exhausted, and fainted from the strain, Those blackguards seized the moment – and fair Floretta’s waist! The maid was more than startled, and shrieking out, she wailed 67

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Heroines of the French Epic Her woe across the forest, the valleys and the glades! Young Floovant woke in panic, and when he saw that Fate Had spun its wheel against them, he sprang up straightaway To teach another lesson – and save the maid again! How lustily he chased them, how lustily he faced And fought them for the maiden, for right and honour’s sake. But Floovant was exhausted from all he’d done that day, And they were fresh and eager and overfilled with hate Against him for the slaughter of Fernagu the great. The maiden wailed in terror, the Pagans wailed in rage, As Floovant strove to muster whatever strength remained Within him at that moment to swing his bloodied blade. He sweated from the effort, he fretted from the pain, And I am far from certain he would have won the fray, When suddenly, from nowhere, rode noble Richier! The loyal squire had covered, with courage and with faith, The open trails and any he thought his lord would take. And then he’d heard the clashing of voices and of blades, And hastened through the forest to follow whence it came. On bursting through the woodland, how glad and sad the same He was to find his master in such a sorry state! At once he spurred towards him, and as he did he raised His shining sword and swung it to right and left, the way A reaper swings his sickle when harvesting the grain. Our hero saw him coming, as did the maid, and they Were filled with joy and courage – the Moors, however, changed Their mind about the harvest, whose seed was sown in vain! They left the field all fallow, not wanting to be hay! The four of them departed; the trio who remained Were blithe and joyful-hearted, and thankful all were safe. The maiden said: “You’ve saved me from capture and from shame. I swear to you my father, King Flores, will repay Your bravery and kindness in any way you crave, In shining gold and silver, or in some other way. So take me back to Belfort, the seat of his domains, And you shall meet my father, and he shall learn your names.” The Frenchmen were contented and willingly obeyed The wishes of the maiden – for theirs had been the same! My friends, there’s little purpose in spinning out a tale That has enough adventure to keep you entertained! They journeyed on to Belfort, and nothing more took place To joy them or annoy them, or so the record says. How happily King Flores received them at the gates 68

The Song of Floovant Of Belfort’s noble castle, from where he ruled his states! How happily his daughter was able to relate The tale of her adventures, her capture and escape From Pagans who had caught her and Frenchmen who had saved Her liberty and honour, whose bravery and grace Deserved his royal guerdon, in riches or estates! The king was glad to listen – and she as glad to praise. THE PRINCESS TOLD the king, who listened to her story: “These men have risked their lives to save your only daughter, And you can plainly see that they have suffered for it! They’ve taken many blows from Pagans low and haughty With evil on their minds and venom in their voices. The pair of them has helped the pair of us this morning: For both of us they’ve drawn their weapons and employed them. As they have brought me here, so I bring them before you, For I have pledged my word that both shall be rewarded. May God deny your right to be a king henceforward If you should let them go with no increase of fortune.” “Good daughter, they shall stay and thrive,” replied King Flores, “For I shall give them gifts of destriers and palfreys, Of armour and of arms, and gold and silver coinage.” On saying this, he turned, and leaving gate and porter, He motioned both his guests, and fair Floretta also, To walk with him in talk until they reached his fortress. King Flores of Alsace was nobly bred and courtly: He gave Floovant a seat beside him and his daughter, And Richier the same, befitting one so loyal. He gave them food and drink, without delay, or talking, Until they were refreshed, and then addressed them warmly: “MY FRIEND, I’d like to know your name and whence you’ve come.” The youth replied: “My lord, my native town is Laon, Where I was born and bred a wealthy townsman’s son. My godfather, the King, gave me the name Floovant, Because that was the name of one of his own sons.” King Flores said: “My friend, in faith that’s true enough. I know the King of Laon’s a gallant man and just, And that his lovely wife has given him four sons. Prince Floovant was the first. I saw the infant once Upon the hills of Laon – a handsome lad he was. I’ll wager now he fights as well as anyone! I wish to God, Who knows and watches all above, 69

Heroines of the French Epic I had him here with me – and some four thousand such! If he would fight for me, by God, I’d give him much: My daughter, wealth galore, and half the land I’ve won.” “God willing, that may be!” the youth replied at once. “My friend,” the king replied, “the will of God be done!” “MY FRIEND,” THE KING continued, “I suffer heavy loss. When I arise each morning I scan the land in shock: I see my country burning in more than thirty spots. The Moors have turned against me for spurning false Mahom. Beyond this very terrace, some four leagues further on, Their pride has built a castle, well garrisoned and strong, With parapets and ditches and fences all along. They’ve sworn to take my kingdom before it’s Pentecost, Then sing their way to Paris before the grass is long, And cleave the head of Clovis, the gallant lord of Laon.” “Then we must change,” said Floovant, “the measure of their song, And bring them something sadder to tune their hearts upon!” On saying this he beckoned the Princess with a nod And said to her:“My lady, I call upon you not To falter on the promise you offered as your bond, When you were held in danger by those we freed you from. My squire has earned his knighthood – will you supply his wants?” “Most willingly and swiftly,” she answered – and ran off! THE MAIDEN TURNED at once, of noble heart and mind, And ran towards a room, of which, when she arrived, She turned her private key and flung the door aside To hasten to a chest, secured and out of sight. Then, with another key, she opened it up wide And drew a hauberk forth, whose mail was golden-white, And then a helm so bright it filled the room with light. Then, matching with the two, she drew her finest prize: A sword that had been forged by fair Ysor the sprite. Upon its blade the name of Jesus was inscribed. When first it had been made, its temper had been tried By striking it against the heavy anvil’s iron: It split the anvil’s head and all the rest besides! How hardy was the grip that held in such a strike! A thieving hand, alas, removed it in the night And sold it to a king prepared to pay its price: One thousand silver marks, or so the record writes. This monarch asked Floretta if she would be his wife, 70

The Song of Floovant And when the courts agreed that everything was right, Their pledges were exchanged in everybody’s sight, And he gave her the sword, to cherish as his bride. But then – it’s sad but true – this gallant monarch died: With hatred in their hearts, some foes of his contrived To slay him in his sleep one dark and dreadful night. The maiden kept the sword within its sheath of hide, Releasing it to none, however close or kind, Except to Floovant now, because he’d saved her life. He took it, glad of heart – as well a hero might, And, holding it, withdrew the lovely blade inside. As soon as he beheld the name of Jesus Christ, He knew no pagan Moor could ever match its might. He named the sword Joyeuse – for very joy – that’s why, And no amount of gold could take it from his side. Great Charlemagne himself received the sword in time And with it won Palermo and Hungary the prized, Calabria, Apulia, and Sicily the Isle, And Saxony and Lombardy, and Spain in all its pride, And all the land from Laon up to the Sea of Ice. But it was Floovant’s first – yes, once upon a time He’d drawn it from its sheath and borne its blessed Light! YOUNG FLOOVANT spoke aloud and told the king his thoughts: “With this in hand I’ll save your land against the Moors!” The king replied: “My lord, I do not doubt at all Your readiness and skill in wielding arms of war, And thank you from my heart for your direct support. But you are here alone, and my resources poor To match the Pagan might and counter wrongs they’ve wrought.” The youth replied at once: “But right is might, my lord, And I am not alone – there’s Richier, whose sword Has shown what it can do for one who’s bravely born.” The king replied: “Indeed, this gallant squire of yours Deserves to be a knight – and that I can perform. Tomorrow, when the light has risen on the morn, I’ll summon every man remaining in my force Whose hand can hold a spear, and legs bestride a horse, To gather here at once; and when they’re in my hall, I’ll knight your noble squire then tell my vavasours That I have chosen you to lead a fresh assault Against the Pagan host at Avenant their fort. My men, though they are few, are true of heart and sure. 71

Heroines of the French Epic I know that, to a man, they’ll fight until they fall.” Young Floovant said at once: “Much thanks, my noble lord, For what you’ve promised me, and Richier’s reward.” On saying this, he left, as Richier was brought To pray, alone, in church, as knights-in-waiting ought. 3. What happened when Floovant fought the Moors AS SOON AS DAY had dawned, the bidden troops arrived And mustered in the church, when Holy Mass had chimed. Then Flores told his lords, his vavasours and knights, To gather in his hall, where Richier the squire Had earlier been led and made to kneel a while. King Flores stood aloft, and with a sword of iron He dubbed the youth a knight, in everybody’s sight. He clipped upon his heels some spurs with shiny spikes And girt about his waist a sturdy blade so bright It lit up every face and place on which it shined. Then, with Joyeuse itself, he dubbed a second time The good and gallant youth, and, as he did, he cried: “I give to you, with joy, the noble name of knight, To fight for good on earth and God the Lord on High. Be ever brave and just: be generous and kind, And serve your rightful liege with loyal heart and mind. If you succeed in this, you’ll lead a worthy life And, when you die, your soul will live again with Christ.” “So help me God, I will!” young Richier replied. NO SOONER HAD HE spoken when Floovant stood and said: “My noble lords, your monarch, the gallant King Flores, Has given me the honour of leading you, his men, Against the haughty Pagans who occupy this realm. I swear to you I’ll lead you with honour and with strength, And never will I leave you until my dying breath. At light of dawn, tomorrow, we shall essay the strength Of Avenant, the castle constructed in contempt Of Belfort and its ruler, and Jesus Christ Himself! Tomorrow we shall challenge, but I must know ere then If you will stand beside me and put them to the test.” “We will, my lord,” they answered, and to a man they pledged Obedience and valour till victory or death. When this was said they parted and didn’t meet again Until they rose for battle and every rank was set. 72

The Song of Floovant WHEN EVERY RANK was settled, though none of them was big, They rode along a valley that led beside a ridge They had to cross in order to reach the fort and miss The open plain that bordered where Avenant was built. At least, that was the planning, the strategy, the trick, But, friends, I’m very certain you’ve heard the ancient quip That sometimes it’s the biter who ends up being bit! The Pagans knew the danger – for it was hard to miss The noises of the morning, the clamour and the din Of forces and their horses four leagues across a ridge! A heathen force was waiting, well armed and well equipped With weapons of their country, or those they’d stolen since. Young Floovant showed his courage: he galloped up a hill And called upon his fighters, addressing them like this: “You gave your word, my brothers, to me and to the king, That you would fight with honour, through thick as well as thin! So, turn your words to action, for courage truly lives And thrives not in the good times, but when the times are ill!” When this was said, they cheered him and followed with a will, When, charging down the hillside, young Floovant led them in To battle with the forces of evil and of sin. Good barons, worthy fighters, if you had heard the hits Of lances splitting bucklers and ripping mail to bits! If you had seen the Christians and witnessed what they did, Then you would know forever what gallant fighting is! I know of one who saw it – and just as well, for if She hadn’t, then my story would soon be ended with, And you’d be none the wiser, and I would waste my wit! As fighting raged below her, a maid was at the sill Of Avenant’s high windows – a Pagan maid, that is, Who saw a Frenchman fighting, and fell in love with him! The Frenchman’s name was Floovant – the Pagan’s Maugalie! SHE SAW A FRENCHMAN fighting, and loved him for his deeds – And he himself was handsome, of gallant mood and mien! From where she was she called him, in ringing tones and clear: “And who are you, Sir Gallant, upon your dashing steed, Your flashing blade all bloody, your courage plain to see? I swear, by good Mahomet, I know your horse at least – It’s Fernagu’s, my brother, the son of the emir! May good Mahomet curse you for robbing such as he! But tell me, what is your name, and tell me truthfully!” “My lovely,” answered Floovant, “I’ve nothing to conceal. 73

Heroines of the French Epic I am a native Frenchman, a knight for just a year. I came to see King Flores two days ago, and seek My fortune through adventure in service for a fee. And I have earned a fortune already from my liege, In money and in horses and golden gifts a-gleam! He needs a hand – a strong one – to save his land from thieves!” Fair Maugalie responded: “The wit you show is weak! King Flores is a pauper – if I were you, I’d leave And come to serve my father, the great Emir Galeen! He’d give you fourteen cities to govern as a fief, And you could bear my colours, and I could keep you near My chambers, as my favourite, and counsellor-in-chief!” “My lovely,” answered Floovant, “what pleasure that would be! But first there is some business I’ve come here to complete! Today will show tomorrow the way for you and me.” “Delight’s in this direction, I swear,” said Maugalie. On saying this, she vanished and Richier appeared, And spoke his mind to Floovant, in ringing tones and clear: “Upon my faith, Sir Floovant, you show a wayward streak To act a part so foolish and speak so triflingly! Why don’t you leave the battle, with victory so near, And bed your latest lover – if you think you’ll succeed? I think, if you’re discovered, you’ll lose much more than sleep! Ignoble Prince, God help me, you hold your honour cheap If you can change allegiance and serve the Pagan Creed, Forsaking truth and justice for sake of fame and greed! You had to leave your homeland because of your misdeed, A prince without his kingdom, a knight without his steed!” “Sir Richier,” said Floovant, “don’t chide me, noble peer, Although I cannot blame you for thinking I am weak.” “My lord, I know you’re loyal,” said Richier, “but see: You have no royal trappings that show your royalty, And yet you have the bearing, the manners and the means To get them as a lover from any wealthy queen! You are the son of Clovis, your bravery extreme. If you would walk in ermine, then earn the wealth it needs By winning it in battle, with valour and with steel!” “Good Richier,” said Floovant, “forgive my levity. I swear by God in Heaven that that’s the last you’ll hear.” “My lord, I do forgive you; my love for you is dear. But guard your mind from madness, your tongue from idle speech. Now pardon me, I beg you, for chiding you, my liege. I do so not from malice, but from the love I feel.” 74

The Song of Floovant Said Richier the noble, his face a-glow with zeal. “My friend,” replied our hero, “I do – and may you me!” WHEN RICHIER and Floovant were reconciled once more, They turned around their horses and spurred towards Belfort, As trumpets rang before them, and clarions and horns. The sound woke up the city; the king himself came forth To greet the first arrivals and seek the first reports: “What news have you to give me concerning the assault?” Said Germany’s King Urban:“Good tidings, thank the Lord: We’ve won a mighty battle! The field today is yours! We’ve never fared so finely in one assault before, Or slain so many Pagans or left them red and raw! The Frenchmen in your service, in truth, surpassed us all. The youth you newly knighted killed evil Ercafor, The great Emir’s own nephew, who led the heathen force. We drove the others backwards to Avenant with swords! We saw the Pagan princess, who, leaning from the walls Of Avenant, was flirting with Floovant as he fought!” “The French, I know,” said Flores, “are gallant men in war!” He strode towards our hero, and, with a laugh, he called: “Take freely of the booty your bravery has bought: We made a fair agreement to share in any spoils.” “My lord,” our hero answered, “I want, and ask for, naught. Share out amongst your people, especially the poor – For it is they who suffer the most in any war – The wealth and any riches that our success has wrought. Reward the common soldiers, there’s none deserve it more, And men who have been fighting on foot, with little choice, Since they have lost their horses in fighting for your cause, And have no sturdy armour or mail that should be worn To give themselves protection when they’re protecting all!” The king was very noble, and did as nobles ought: He gave the battle’s booty to every need he saw: To soldiers who had nothing, to knights without a horse, And to the poor before him, some fifty score and more. Then Richier and Floovant rejoined the royal court, And Germany’s King Urban went with them to the hall. Floretta too went with them, to feast with them and talk, The daughter of King Flores – as you recall, I’m sure! Two gallant knights went with her, and as she went, she walked Bare-footed, with her hair down, and bore a sparrow hawk! 75

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THE MAIDEN TOOK her seat and then she looked across At Floovant for a while, but said to him ere long: “A kiss, my handsome lord! Yes, this is what I want. There’s no one in this world of whom I am more fond.” “My lady,” said Floovant, “I beg of you to stop, For many here have served your father well and long, And this will only make their jealousy more strong. I’m just a legionnaire, a poor one, from far-off, And dare not run the risk of doing any wrong That earns me others’ hate and turns my wage to loss!” “The choice is yours, my lord,” she pouted in response, “Or Maugalie’s, the Moor who’s snared you with her song! It’s her you love, I’m sure: she’s beautiful and blond! But there’s a hundred more she’ll love before she’s gone, A hundred men who hope she’ll sing to them anon! If one should pine away, the rest will hanker on! The sadness that she brings is not worth dying of.” Said Floovant: “I can see that little love is lost Between you and the Moor – she must have done you wrong.” On saying this, he hailed Urban the Aleman: “Tell all our men to arm, and sound the horns aloft! This very night we’ll ride by moonlight to a spot Where we can hide in wait inside a marshy copse. At dawn we’ll send some troops to Castle Avenant To lure the Pagans forth and lead them to a shock! If we succeed, the Moors will bear a mighty loss.” Throughout the town they armed, and in a throng set off From Belfort once again without a moment lost. They sounded, at the gate, four horns of olifant, And, as they left, their sum, on foot and horseback, was Three thousand seven hundred in ten battalions. By light of moon they rode, at gentle pace and soft, To where they meant, then sent the tenth to Avenant. The Moors were tricked: they picked the little for the lot, And Floovant and his troops soon harvested a crop Of Pagans who, like stands of wheat the reaper chops, In bands of three to seven were riven till they dropped. How many steeds were left, bereft of men, to trot Or traipse across the plain and drag their reins along! 76

The Song of Floovant The Pagans who survived were little better off: They turned their tails and raced, like rabbits chased by dogs, Towards the river Rhine and tried to swim across. I don’t think many reached their Castle Avenant, Or lived at all, in fact, to thank their feckless gods! No castles on the banks of river Rhine were stocked With anything but stacks of French and German wrath! A THOUSAND PAGANS fled across the Rhenish waters, But those who didn’t drown were very swiftly slaughtered. Another rank was chased and beaten back by sword-blade To Avenant again, and butchered on its drawbridge By Germans who refused to let themselves be thwarted. They chased them all the way, with hardy Frenchmen also, Who slew them on the bridge, then threw their bodies forward To fight their way inside and face the castle’s forces. How fierce a fight ensued! How terrible the torment! The savage Pagans roared in pain and disappointment At Mahom and Fabur, Apollo and Tervaugant, Then cast them in the ditch like rotting mongrel-corpses! The Frenchmen, looking up, saw Maugalie before them, Behind a window where the maiden had her quarters. On seeing her, they rushed to bring her down and brought her To Floovant, in the shade of pine-trees in the courtyard. As soon as she looked up, she knew the one who’d caught her: “Have mercy, in the name of Jesus,” she implored him, “And spare me from the shame and pain of men in warfare!” “My lady,” said the youth, “I do not need exhorting: I would not see you harmed, for any gold or glory.” He placed her in the care of Richier the dauntless, And said to him: “Beware! This jewel’s worth a fortune!” “In truth,” replied the youth, “all other gems are tawdry!” THE CHRISTIANS WON the castle and lands on either side: It took three days of fighting from dawn of day till night. At last, as Floovant stood there, upon the castle’s height, Fair Maugalie approached him and, kneeling down, she cried: “My gallant lord, have mercy upon our Pagan lives: Mahomet, whom we worship, is worthy and divine: He gives the world its flowers, its daily bread and wine, And those who walk in his way leave suffering behind.” Young Floovant heard her folly, and with a laugh replied: 77

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“Your gods, my lovely lady, are idols built of lies: We’ve flung them in the ditches – and idle still they lie! Not one of them has powers to help you live or die.” On hearing this, a Pagan, who happened to be nigh, Was filled with rage and goaded his rapid horse to ride Towards the town of Basum, and to his liege’s side. The great Emir was anxious, and when his man arrived, He started up, with others, and called the Moor aside. As soon as he approached him, he saw his look was wild, And asked him why he’d journeyed alone so sad a mile: “What news have you to give me from Avenant, our pride?” “I swear, by good Mahomet, there’s none that you will like. Your sister’s son is slaughtered, Prince Ercafor the fine, And Fernagu, your own son, who never lost a fight, Was murdered by a Frenchman who fought as if inspired! He killed the king of Syria and all his men alike, Then seized our lovely castle and took your heart’s delight, Fair Maugalie, your daughter, whose face with beauty shines.” “Ye gods! Tell me directly! Whose hand has dared so high?” “My lord, by good Mahomet, from land of France two knights Have come to serve King Flores, by winning back his shires. And one of them’s a wonder – a youngster like a lion: He clutched your son and clawed him and gnawed him till he died, And now he paws your daughter, and adds her to his pride!” On hearing this, the Pagan became a ghastly white, And fell in such a swooning he couldn’t be revived Till four of his most royal rushed up to help him rise. “MY LORD EMIR,” they said, once they had helped him up, “You’re wealthy and you’re wise, so why regret so much The loss of one poor fort to France and evil luck? Let us attack in France and seize a thousand such!” “My lords,” said the Emir, “you speak with wisdom’s tongue. I’ll muster all my men and summon to the front Our rearguard that I left back home in Africa.” Let’s leave a while the Moors, God curse them every one, And turn our thoughts again to Flores and his sons, As, riding side by side, they spied Fort Avenant. Young Floovant rode to them, and then the victors hugged, Before they sat to speak upon a satin rug: “How goes it, my good friend?” King Flores said at once. “Most well,” the youth replied, “thanks be to God above! No counter-charge was made, no spear or arrow flung. 78

The Song of Floovant By dint of our prowess Fort Avenant was won: We drove them to its gates, then took it with a rush! The wealth that we have gained is countless in its sum: Do what you will with all that God has given us! Share what is won between yourself and your two sons, And me, and every man who earned it by his pluck.” “My lord,” said King Flores, “you’re born of noble blood! I’ll give you land of mine, whatever is enough, And fair Floretta’s hand, the daughter that I love.” Young Floovant said: “My lord, much thanks, by God above!” AN ARROW’S RANGE away from the captured castle’s right, An orchard had been planted, with walls on every side. And it was there the booty was shared among the knights By Floovant and Sir Urban with liberal delight Until there wasn’t any who wasn’t satisfied! Fair Maugalie was watching from where she was confined, And King Flores’s daughter was standing by her side. The proud and pretty Pagan was first to speak her mind: “If only good Mahomet, who governs all and guides, Would make it that this Frenchman, whose face with valour shines, Could marry me and make me his first and favoured wife! The rich Emir, my father, would cherish him alike, And give us land more wealthy than all Romagna’s pride.” “My lady,” said Floretta, “you hold yourself too high! For is it not the custom in Pagan law that wives Lie only with their husbands until they get with child, When he may bed three others until her term arrives? A curse upon Mahomet and those who heed his lies! The laws of your Mahomet are mockeries of Christ’s!” On hearing this, the Pagan was filled with bitter spite: “Upon my faith, my lady,” she said, “what jealous gibes! It’s not a month, I’m certain, since you were otherwise. I saw you at the court of my father, and your eyes Were flirting with some fifty or hundred of our knights, With any – like a harlot, a penny for a smile!” Floretta said: “Your slander’s as vain as it is vile! My honour is unsullied, my chastity survives! When I was caught, by Pagans, I cursed them from my side For three whole days, escaping upon the fourth at night. Prince Fernagu, your brother, thought I was his to find, But gallant hands defied him and slew him in my sight. I also saw your lover leave life and you behind, 79

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Prince Ercafor of Baudas – but not that you would mind – You’d gladly wed his killer, or any thirty like! A curse on any person deluded by your lies!” With this and that and other their argument grew wild, And had they not been parted, there would have been a fight. Below, the king was talking to Floovant in this wise: “Defend for me this fortress while I return to mine. I swear to you my daughter will shortly be your bride.” “My lord,” replied the Frenchman, “your wish is my delight.” The king left with Floretta and booty he’d acquired, And both his sons – who, sadly, had evil on their minds: May God in Heaven curse them, and any of their kind! Their jealousy was plotting against our hero’s life – As you will hear, as long as the song and you abide! 4. How Floovant was imprisoned

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MAUDARANZ AND MAUDARE were evil-hearted villains. They walked off arm in arm, to talk aside in whispers. Maudaranz said: “I swear I cannot keep it hidden: I hate this knight of France, and have from the beginning. He’s gallant and he’s brave, and given so to giving That everyone’s his friend, the worthy and the wicked. Both you and I will lose, if he should wed our sister. Let’s visit the Emir and plot some planning with him That lands this irksome man forever in their prison!” “Good brother,” said Maudare, “I’m with you to the finish! Floretta too must die – I’ll capture her and kill her, And string up Richier, and Urban, on a gibbet!” Attention, lords, I bid you! Attend me well, my lords! There never was or will be such treachery henceforth As Maudare and Maudaranz proceeded to perform, Not even that of Judas, who, full of wicked thoughts, Betrayed our true Redeemer and earned his due reward! As soon as there was moonlight they left the fort on horse, And taking no one with them, except two serving-boys, They made their way to Basum, arriving with the dawn. They found Galeen the fearsome, surrounded by the force Of Pagans he had summoned from countries south and north In hundreds and in thousands, beyond account in all. Maudaranz and his brother, their faces to the floor, Knelt down to clutch his ankles and kiss the shoes he wore. 80

The Song of Floovant The great Emir said clearly: “And who are you, my lords?” And they replied: “Your Highness, we’ll tell you nothing false. We are the sons of Flores, who’s shunned Mahomet’s Law To be baptised for Jesus – a name that we abhor! And what is more, our father has welcomed to his court Two mercenary Frenchmen, the worse of whom outfought Prince Fernagu and slew him two days ago, my lord. He also took your daughter, as booty and reward, Without the least intention to marry her henceforth, And gave her to his servants for mockery and sport. We hate what we have witnessed, and waiting there no more, We’ve come to serve Mahomet and give you our support.” “All praise to you, good princes!” the great Emir rejoiced. “You will not lose a penny or any lands of yours – Instead, I’ll give you gladly, in fief, some fifteen forts!” ON SAYING THIS, he summoned one Pinar to his side And said: “Bring forth Mahomet and set him in our sight.” The wretch replied: “Your Highness, your wish is my desire.” And soon, upon its dais, they’d brought the god inside. How fat he was and flabby! How wide he was and high! His body had been moulded of Arab gold refined, And girt with heavy curtains, like women when confined, Through which his face was showing like glowing candle-shine. On bended knee, the princes crawled up to him and cried: “Ah, mighty Lord Mahomet, so powerful and wise That wind and hail without you would fail to leave the sky, So we, without your favour, can never hope to thrive! Our mortal father, Flores, has forced us both to fly The creed he has adopted and all that it implies!” On saying this and placing a rod of gold inside The idol’s curtained carriage, the wretched traitors cried: “Mahomet, take this token of faith and love alike: Be merciful and guide us to do what’s good and right!” Beside them stood a Pagan called Jacobi the wise: A hundred years of learning had turned his whiskers white! His knowledge of Mahomet was wonderful and wide, As well as of the courses of every star and tide. At yearly feasts and holy he preached about the lives And teachings of Mahomet, Apollo, and the like, Who’d come to earth to rescue its faithful anti-Christs! “Attend to me, good barons!” this crazy creature cried, “Mahomet is too noble to sell himself for bribes! 81

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This token that you bring him should wait until his mind Has judged you on your actions in two or three months’ time. Bear witness with your service that you know wrong from right, And he will lead you forward, in majesty and might, To found a fitter kingdom, upon Montmartre’s heights, Where both of you shall govern and wear the crown alike.” The feckless pair responded: “We shall, without a lie! If King Galeen will give us four hundred men in iron, Then we shall give Mahomet, before tomorrow night, Fort Avenant, together with everyone inside! We’ll render him the Frenchmen to punish in their pride!” The great Emir responded: “Take all the men you like!” ATTEND TO ME, my lords, and shudder at the malice Of King Flores’s sons, called Maudare and Maudaranz! They gained from King Galeen four thousand hardy vassals And rode throughout the night in moonlight at a gallop. Arriving by the fort before the dawn, they gathered The brigands they had brought and hid them in a valley. Then, riding to the gates, both Maudare and Maudaranz Harangued the keeper’s ears in curt, uncourtly language: “Release the bridge at once, and let us in, you lackey!” The porter was no fool, and he had seen the shadows Of men in arms and steeds preparing for an ambush, So speaking like a man, he answered them with valour: “There is no entry here for rebels or their rabble!” On hearing this, Maudare was driven wild with anger: “Release the bridge, you wretch! I am Maudare, you blackguard, The son of King Flores, and this is Prince Maudaranz! We need to see at once our father’s French companions! We’ve ridden through the night and gathered many landsmen. Tomorrow we shall fight the great Emir at Basum To win our father’s war in one decisive battle!” The porter had no choice, although it proved a bad one: He let them in, alas, and straightaway Maudaranz Withdrew his flashing blade and instantly attacked him: His severed head was flung across the bridge’s planking. THE PORTER HAD no choice. He opened up the gate And lost his head, by God, before it shut again! Maudaranz and Maudare rode in with all their knaves And battered down the doors that led them to the place Where Floovant lay asleep, and noble Richier. 82

The Song of Floovant They rushed Sir Floovant first and clutched him where he lay So strongly even he had no hope of escape. They bound his wrists with cord that cut him to the veins. THEY BATTERED DOWN the doors, I say, to where they slept, And rushed Sir Floovant first with overwhelming strength. They seized him in a band, and in their wild contempt They bound his hands with cord that cut him till he bled. Young Richier, beyond, was in a curtained bed, But when he saw his lord, it woke his fierce prowess, And seizing forth a pike that lay beside his head, He struck a Pagan king, who’d run to him, so well He split him clean in two, right through from spike to belt, Then slew another Moor, a fierce and foolish wretch. But when he saw the sum of those he stood against, He took in hand Joyeuse, lain also by his head, And, racing to the walls, he clambered down and fled. He had to hide that night beneath a leafy hedge. HE HAD TO HIDE that night beneath a leafy tree. Maudaranz and Maudare and one called Maucaree, Threw royal France’s heir upon a sumpter-beast, His hands tied up, above, his feet bound underneath. The villains’ joy was full on finding Maugalie, And so, with her in tow, they turned around to leave. As Floovant lurched along, his visage wan and bleak, His sorrow overflowed. He shed so many tears They wet his ermine cloak and tunic underneath. He sighed and cried, inside, with every breath he breathed: “Good father, you were wrong so long to banish me! We’ll never meet again, unless God intervenes! Ah, Richier, fine son of Jocerain the Peer, You saved me once before, but nevermore, I fear!” The Pagans journeyed back, rejoicing, till they reached The gates of Basum town, dismounting on the green. His mantle in their fists, they forced the Frenchman’s feet Up every marble step that led to the Emir. MAUDARANZ AND Maudare, that princely pair of villains, Bestrode the marble steps that led inside the building Where King Galeen the Moor, the great Emir, was sitting. “My lord Emir,” they cried, “lift high your mourning visage: We have the Frenchman tied whose pride has proved so wicked! 83

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Your Highness, take revenge! Let’s make a noose and lynch him!” On hearing this, Galeen shook off his brooding spirit And looked towards the sky, with hand and voice uplifted: “Mahomet, mighty lord, your power knows no limit!” On saying this, he turned and told the soldiers with him: “Erect upon that hill, at once, a sturdy gibbet, And when our meal is done, we’ll set the Frenchman swinging!” When Maugalie heard this, her heart was filled with pity For him who’d eased her plight when she had been imprisoned. And so she said: “Emir, my dearest father, listen! Allow two weeks to pass before these princes kill him, And summon in that time your proud rearguard division: A thousand knights should see the justice you deliver!” “Good daughter,” said Galeen, “ you are so wise, and pretty, I never can deny your counsel or your wishes!” When this was said they led our hero to a prison As deep as they could find, with toads and vipers in it As wild as rabid dogs, their bile and venom spitting, Their foaming jaws agape to feed on what they’d bitten. Our hero fought them off – he found a pointed pickaxe The Moors had left behind, forgotten or relinquished. 5. How Richier the squire was tested

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Let’s leave our hero there, a while, in his affliction, And find out what his squire was doing and was thinking. All night, as you recall, he’d slept beneath a thicket, Until the light of dawn lit up the leafy spinney. The gallant youth arose, though heavy was his spirit At having been the dupe of those pernicious princes, And knowing that his friend and master’s life was finished. He wrung his hands in woe, he hung his head in pity, And almost wished to end his own aggrieved existence. HE’D HIDDEN IN the greenwood, until the dawn had come, And seen the fortress burning, its citadel lit up. He wandered now through meadows and, turning one by one The corpses that he found there, he sought the lord he loved. Not finding him, he wondered at what the Moors had done. Among the rest lay Urban, the German lord, whose blood Was pouring from a goring two mighty spears had cut. When Richier beheld him, his tears began to run. 84

The Song of Floovant He asked the dying hero: “Where is my lord Floovant?” “The Pagans took him with them,” replied the Aleman, And, saying this, fell backward, his mortal duties done. Good Richier commended his soul to God above, Then went at once to Belfort, wherein he entered just Before the city’s belfries for morning prayers had rung. The king himself had mounted an ambling mule to come To old St Vincent’s abbey, where Mass was said and sung. Astride, his gaze alighted upon the field, as young Sir Richier came running, in hose and shirt un-cuffed, And scything with his sword-blade at any stalk or stump. On seeing him, King Flores rode up to him at once And asked him what had happed at Fortress Avenant: “The worst that could,” he fretted, “for you and all of us! Two traitors have betrayed us –and, sire, they are your sons! Your fortress lies in ruins, your forces in their blood, And Floovant has been captured, the liege-lord that I love.” On hearing this, King Flores was stricken dumb and numb, And fainted on his donkey, his agony was such. I’m sure he would have fallen if helpers hadn’t rushed. WHEN FLORES HEARD again that in their evil envy His sons had burnt the fort and slaughtered all its tenants, He cried: “What have you done, my sons, and why, by Heaven? I pray to God above and good St James, together With every Christian saint, for justice to be rendered!” He never made a prayer more fervent, or successful, For in the end they gained a bitter wage, I tell you – As you will surely hear, if I obtain a better! THE SORROW IN the town was terrible and deep. Surpassing all the rest was young Floretta’s grief. In tender tones she called on Richier to speak: “Good-hearted, gallant knight, explain it all to me! Was Floovant really caught, the knight I thought to be The fairest, finest count who ever mounted steed?” “My lady,” said the lad, “he had no choice indeed! Your brothers played us false! With devilish deceit They’ve sold us all for gain to Spain and its Emir! But by the saint in Rome that holy pilgrims seek, I swear I’ll hang the pair ere thirty days have ceased!” “I cannot wish it else,” Floretta said, in tears. But then she led him off to chambers underneath 85

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And dressed the youth again in satin from the East, In hauberk and a helm that set the room a-gleam, Then bound around his neck a golden-banded shield. She gave him back Joyeuse inside a newer sheath, Then led him forth to view a newly saddled steed. He thanked the courtly maid for all that he’d received. Well-armed again, he yearned with all his might and means To be at Floovant’s side, his gallant-visaged liege. THE KING WAS IN his city, his face a mask of rage, And those who shared his table went silently away To wash their hands, returning to eat in silent haste. But Flores, he ate nothing, for he was full of pain, And Richier touched nothing they placed upon his plate. He asked to have a bed made, and left without delay – He tried to sleep, but couldn’t, whichever way he lay: Instead he wept, lamenting his master’s sorry fate: “Alas,” he sighed, “fair noble! Benighted were your days! And I must go to Clovis, bereft and bitter-faced, A rod upon my shoulder, like any common knave. The Peerage and the princes will meet me on the way, Fine ladies, noble maidens and matriarchs the same, In company with Clovis, his gallant face ablaze, To ask for news of Floovant, for whom his love was great. Alas! How can I tell them where last I saw his face? They’ll think I have betrayed him, whatever I can say. But by the saints beloved of God above, I’ll take Most gladly fifteen gashes from any Pagan blade, If that is what is needed to free my lord again!” He rose and put his chausses on – God help his fevered brain – He donned his heavy hauberk and tied the helmet’s lace, Then girt his sword about him, whose hilt was gold-engraved, Then took his shield and hurried across the hall to make His way across the city before the light of day. He took no leave or greeting, from any man or maid, And when he left the city he rode with every haste. He galloped through a forest, a tall, tremendous place, And when at last he left it he met upon his way A knight who was the son of Duke Emelon the brave, A lord the Moors had driven from his ancestral place. This son had gone out hunting, for pleasure, and had ranged Through fifteen leagues of forest in search of any game – By then the Moors had vanished and none of them remained – 86

The Song of Floovant And, looking up while walking, he saw young Richier! With lightning speed he mounted his rested destrier And rode it straight towards him, his spear and buckler raised. As neither deigned to challenge, or ask each other’s name, The only greeting given was done with ringing blades That split apart their bucklers and flung them both away! If Richier was startled, he didn’t show afraid – And if his foe was angry, then so was he the same! Without a word they flourished their golden-hilted blades To barter blows on helmets of banded green and grey. There never was a battle so bitterly engaged As this one, so they tell me, and so the record states, Until Joyeuse was lifted and left its mortal trace: It struck the hunter’s helmet so heavily and straight It slit him when it hit him, then split him to the waist As Richier withdrew it and threw him to his grave. Young Richier was happy to see the other slain, For he had fought him thinking he fought a Pagan knave! How sad it is when valour is used in a mistake! Without the help of Jesus and His redeeming grace, The prowess of a moment can prove an endless bane! He left the open roadway and kept to little lanes That led him willy-nilly until at last he came Before the very castle of him whose son he’d slain. Beneath a shady bower, of pine-tree and of bay, Good Richier dismounted and, as he did, his gaze Fell straight upon the father, Duke Emelon the brave, Who’d spent the day in riding, for simple pleasure’s sake, With thirty knights in tunics and ermine-bordered capes. They’d carried moulted falcons and sparrowhawks uncaged To sport with by a river, the Ienor its name. On hearing them approaching, and slipping from the shade, The youth, in courtly manner, addressed them straightaway: “May God, Who dwells above us, in glorious array, Bless every Peer and part of this noble cavalcade! I do not know your leader – forgive me any blame – For I have never seen him or ever been this way. God bless you all, however, and him the first, I say! I’m on a weary journey that worsens every day I cannot find my liege lord in other lords’ domains: Galeen the Moor has caught him and holds him in his jail. My lords, allow me shelter, for God our Saviour’s sake! I’ve ridden through this forest for two whole nights and days. 87

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My destrier’s not eaten one fist of oats or hay.” Duke Emelon looked closely and saw his gallant face, And so he answered nobly: “Dismount your destrier, And I shall give you shelter for Christ our Saviour’s sake. Come, lodge with me till morning, without a penny paid!” He called upon a marshal in whom his trust was great And said to him: “Take hold of this noble horse’s rein. Escort it to our stables, then feed it well with grains. Then bring its gallant rider inside my hall of state And dress him in my ermine, the finest that you may, Then have him eat whatever his heart and hunger crave. As you would serve your master, I want him served the same.” His marshal answered swiftly: “Most willingly, your grace!” And led off by its bridle the noble destrier. The chamberlain brought forward a gown of costly make And draped an ermine mantle around the Frenchman’s nape. They led him off with honour towards the hall of state, Where, after bringing water, they served him straightaway With venison a-plenty and claret finely aged. The seneschal in person attended on his plate. Alas he ever sat there! Alas he ever ate! Without the help of Jesus and His redeeming grace, He’d never feel more sorry for anything again, Nor ever in his lifetime be sated with such pain! WITH VENISON a-plenty and claret wine the best Young Richier was feasted at Emelon’s behest. But soon there came a servant who bore in great lament The body of his master –whom Richier had met – And very soon the duchy knew all about his death. When Emelon beheld him, his royal heart was rent, And gazing, ever gazing, he swooned about his neck. But soon he asked the servant: “Who did this? Where, and when?” “My lord, as I’m a Christian, he fought a prince of men – A knight of shining courage and valiant prowess. My master charged him wrongly, and paid a mortal debt!” “My lord, as we are Christians,” his angry cronies said, “We’ll wager it’s the stranger you’ve welcomed as your guest! Let justice be his steward! Cut off his cruel head!” At this, the grieving father grew wilder in regret, And when his knights and barons had armed themselves, he went, His visage white with anger, inside the hall where yet Young Richier was dining and wining with the rest. 88

The Song of Floovant The barons would have slain him, I’m certain, there and then, But Emelon swore loudly, by St Denis the blest, That no one was to clutch him or touch him but himself! His heart a-glow with anger, he leapt the marble steps And, snatching up the dagger his seneschal had held, He went within a whisker of striking Richier dead. But Emelon was noble, and kept himself in check By thinking of his honour, and how it would be spent If he should spill the blood of a freely bidden guest. And so he struck the wine-bowl upon the table’s edge And spilled the crimson claret on Richier instead. “You evil-hearted villain! You callous, scheming wretch! I had a son – one only – and from a world of men You chose my one and only to kill in cold contempt! Before this day is over, you’ll suffer my revenge!” On hearing this, a tremor transfixed the Frenchman’s flesh, His hunger disappearing as he was filled with dread! YOUNG RICHIER looked up at good Duke Emelon, Who glowed with hate and woe because of his dead son. He saw the knife he held and felt a tremor run Right through his flesh to think he’d kill him in cold blood. Beside him lay Joyeuse and, seizing it, he sprung So nimbly to his feet he forced the duke to jump! The Frenchman said: “My lord, I swear by God above, I’ll not be killed or caught before my sword has struck, Or I have said my word on what occurred with us: This morning, when I rode across the heath-land scrub, I met a haughty knight whose arrogance was such That, seeing me well armed, he rode for me at once, Without a word of cheer or any challenge flung. He struck my buckler’s right – a mighty blow it was – And I struck him, of course, as any would have done, In self-defence. Although I killed him with my thrust, He would have done the same, if he had had the luck. No man I’ve ever met displayed so fierce a lust To slay me without cause and lay me in the dust! My lord, allow me this – as courtesy instructs – And every court will praise your name in times to come: Return the arms I bear, and wearing those you love, Let fighting show who’s right between the two of us! If I should lose, and you resolve the matter thus, No royal court will say you broke a loyal trust.” 89

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“You rogue!” replied the duke, “Restrain your flapping tongue, And save it for the rope whereon I’ll have you hung!” “Then you would be a rogue, my lord, and live as one That every dawning day exposes to the sun! You welcomed me last night and said I’d be as snug And safe within your land as any hand in glove! In self-defence I’ve slain a man who was your son, As he’d have slaughtered me, if God had willed it thus. And he attacked me first, when I had hurt him none! If you dispute my word, then let our swords adjudge!” On hearing this, the duke, at first, was stricken dumb, But quickly finding voice, he answered loud enough: “The charge is mine to give, and yours to take it up!” Said Richer: “I do! Let Jesus be our judge!” He gave his pledge at once, and so did Emelon, To let the Word of God be heard through combat done Between the pair, and theirs be silenced till it was! Young Richier sought leave to arm himself at once, And when they’d brought his horse he saw it hadn’t touched The fodder-oats and hay they’d fed it in a tub. To him this was a sign, and raised his spirits much. God help our youngster’s cause – although the duke’s was just! DUKE EMELON himself took Richier and led him Across the hall and down the marble steps to shelter Beneath the olive trees, where many were already, And many more arrived from each and all directions, Prepared to slay the youth, if Emelon would let them! Instead, he swore aloud to God and good St Leonard: “Let no one lay a hand upon this noble Frenchman, For he has pledged to me that it was in defending His own life that he slew the son and heir I cherished. Now he and I shall fight before the court of Heaven!” On saying this, he donned a byrnie ringed with metal, And girded on a sword whose name was ‘Sweet Avenger’. With shield around his neck and spear-head at the ready, The duke bestrode his steed – as brave a man as any! And so he’d have to be, good people, let me tell you, To bear such mighty blows as those Joyeuse would render! DUKE EMELON was noble, and like a gallant knight Returned his glowing armour and weaponry alike To Richier, who swiftly prepared himself to fight, 90

The Song of Floovant And, when his steed was saddled, jumped speedily astride. He left the hall as quickly as spurring heel can drive, And Emelon, as swiftly, went spurring hard behind, Afraid that if he didn’t, the youth would take to flight! In truth, he’d no desire to – it never crossed his mind. THE FRENCHMAN spurred his horse amid the heather’s spray. He saw the duke, of course, before him as he came, And called upon the Lord, in Whom his trust remained: ”I see before me here a father filled with hate Because, alas, I killed his son the other day. His rancour seeks revenge, and I may well be slain, For he has done no wrong and I’ve no right to claim. And yet I pray to Him Who bore the Cross’s bane, That He may spare my life and keep me whole and hale Until I’ve seen my liege, Prince Floovant, once again. To fight this duke at all will be a great mistake. So let me do at least one noble thing today, That every man and knight will count to my acclaim: I shall submit to him, in hope that in this way He’ll know I share his woe, and seek alike such grace As he does for his son, from God and him the same. But if his thirsty pride refuses to be slaked, I’ll strike such lusty blows with sharp Joyeuse my blade That he will grow so loath to ever fight again His trusty sword, I swear, will rust inside its case!” As this was said, the duke approached Sir Richier And cried: “Sir knight, at least you’re honest and you’re brave! You’ve scorned the choice and chance you had to run away, So turn your shield and face a father’s hurt and hate! Our truce is at an end: in truth, I cannot wait!” Young Richier replied: “You’d make a great mistake! Display your chivalry, for once again I say: If I have killed your son, I understand your pain And feel it too, indeed! God bless him in his grave And fill you with the grace to pardon me of blame.” “Your words are wind, sir knight!” cried Emelon, enraged: “I never can forgive, whatever words you say, For blood must be avenged, and yours must be exchanged With that of my dear son, whose life you bled away! My Turkish spear can’t wait to bleed it from your veins!” On saying this, he spurred his rapid destrier, As Richier did too – since nothing else availed. 91

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Beneath each buckler’s boss such lusty blows they laid Their quartered shields were shorn of all except the frames! But God was on His guard, and, through His loving Grace, Their lances split apart and neither man was maimed. Both fighters showed their skill to neither fall nor sway, But draw their Eastern swords without the least delay, And smite each other’s helm, alike of Eastern make. Their shields were little use, and neither was the mail That clothed them head to toe, though both were double-chained: The driven blood went through and bled upon the plain. There never was, in truth, a duel so fiercely waged As that between the duke and Richier that day! The duke had every right.And God help Richier, For if he won the fight, he knew he’d have to face The rage of every knight the duke had in his pay. And if he lost, he knew his death would seal the fate Of Floovant, who, alone, could never flee his jail. JOYEUSE, INCISED with gold, went flashing, edge to edge, And struck the duke so hard about his ear it cleft The circle that adorned his rich Pavian helm And carved beneath the coif a mighty slice of flesh. In more than seven spots the blood escaped the mesh, And when the Frenchman saw how heavily he bled, He called upon the duke to pardon him again: “Ah, Emelon, fine lord, for God’s sake do not let Me kill you like your son! I urge you to relent! Here! Take my priceless sword, and, if you wish, avenge Your anger with its blade upon my naked neck!” So fine a gesture made unmade the duke’s intent, And, hearing it, he sighed, and, dropping sword, he wept, Not knowing what to say to Richier’s largesse. “SIR KNIGHT,” HE SAID at last, “your heart has overborne me! Its valour and noblesse have vanquished my vainglory. For love of God on High, Who bore the Cross’s torment, I free you of all blame or shame in my son’s slaughter.” Said Richier: “My lord, God bless you and reward you!” He went to kiss his foot – but Emelon forestalled him. DUKE EMELON displayed his chivalry of mind By swapping hate for love of Richier the squire – A love that Richier would soon repay in kind 92

The Song of Floovant By saving him from death and serving him in fights That won him back his lands that Pagan hands had prised. For now they said farewell, commending each to Christ, And Richier rode on, his honour bright as light.

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6. How Floovant was rescued from prison SIR RICHIER rode on, his honour brightly lit, Through wild and desert land and many dales and hills, Not stopping once until he saw, by Basum bridge, The Pagans in a camp as rich as it was big, And heard the yelp and whelp of heathen languages. The anger that he felt welled up beyond its brim, And on its course to God this curse escaped his lips: “Dear Jesus, Son of God, and Man through Mary’s gift, A curse upon these knaves whose ways are steeped in sin, And on that evil pair I know are in their midst, Maudaranz and Maudare, by whom my liege was tricked! Allow me, noble Lord, to punish what they did!” Dismounting by a fount of water sweet and swift, Beneath an olive-tree, he took a herb-plant which A doctor back in France had one day given him. He used it now to dye the colour of his skin Till top to toe he showed as black as boiling pitch. In this way he could move among the Moors at will, And freely speak their tongues, for which he had the skill. Maudaranz and Maudare he hoped alike to trick. And so he passed their tents, with steady steps until He saw their great Emir, surrounded by the pick Of all his Pagan peers – some fifteen mighty kings. Maudaranz and Maudare held bowls the shape of ships, From which they served his wine and many a dainty dish. Young Richier strode up and greeted them like this: “May all Mahomet’s might and all Apollo’s skill Protect you, great Emir, and all I see you with!” The great Emir replied: “And you as well, young prince! Who are you, handsome friend? Come, tell us as you sit!” Said Richier: “My lord, as true as Mahom lives, I am Josiah’s son, a Tabarian king. I’ve sailed the seas in search of what adventure brings, But I was caught and brought, by brigands in a brig, Inside a Syrian port and put to auction’s bid. 93

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And I was bought for gold by one of France’s kings, Who wanted me baptised and Christianised forthwith. But I could not abide the thought of such a sin, And swore that I would die ere doing such a thing! And when this monarch saw I never would renege Upon my Pagan faith to worship Christ the King, He threw me in a cell, a stony hell of flint. But Mahom paid me heed and freed me from its grip! I headed straight for Greece; but hearing, as I did, Of your prowess I’m here to say that, if you wish To challenge France, I’ll lead your men and help them win!” At this the Pagans roared: “Well spoken, gallant prince!” “Indeed,” replied Galeen, “you are the son, I think, Of cousin Margaret, the wife of Greece’s king! Whoever doubts your claim, or flouts it, shall be killed!” When this was said they ran to give the youth a kiss, And would have, to a man, had he not turned his lips And cried: “Good Saracens, I beg you to desist, For I have sworn an oath to every god there is, That I shall shun the kiss of any friend or kin Until my thirsty sword has had French blood to drink!” “That thirst is quickly quenched!” Galeen said, with a grin, “For in my cellar now a Frenchman lies un-sipped, Whose claret’s due to flow tomorrow from its skin! If you can hold him fast, your sword can drink its fill!” Said Richier: “My lord, I’ll seize him in my grip And squeeze him to the lees till every drop has dripped!” “AND WHAT’S your name, good kinsman?” continued the Emir. Young Richier responded: “It’s one I’m proud to speak: I’m called Maudras The Fiery, back home in land of Greece.” The great Emir said quickly: “A glowing name, indeed!” And straightaway his cronies ran up to share the heat: The greater and the lesser were equal in their zeal To welcome him most warmly, and many wished to greet Him on the cheek with kisses, which forced him to repeat That he must kill a Frenchman before he kissed a cheek! “A pledge that’s quickly settled!” said the Emir Galeen, “For I have caught a Frenchman and kept him for two weeks. Tomorrow we were going to cut him up like meat!” Said Richier: “Good uncle, let me prepare the meal – Though by the time I’ve finished there won’t be much to eat!” The great Emir called over his jailer Malapris, 94

The Song of Floovant And said: “Show him the Frenchman we’re curing underneath!” The jailer grinned and answered: “Your mood is food to me!” THE PAIR OF THEM went swiftly, descending to the cell. Young Richier stood waiting while in the jailer went And took with him a cudgel of evil weight and strength. As soon as he saw Floovant the jailer raised its length And beat our hero’s body, his back, his limbs and chest, Until he groaned from bruising and broken, bleeding flesh. The jailer grinned and left him, as Floovant winced and wept. Returning to his guest there, the laughing jailer said: “Just listen to that Frenchman! I’ve pounded him so well He’ll make a tender morsel when he is burnt to death!” On hearing such derision, young Richier saw red, And said, his anger rising beneath his bated breath: “You misbegotten mongrel! You blighted, evil wretch! It’s you who’ll soon be roasting upon the fires of hell!” On saying this, and raising Joyeuse above his head, He struck the wretched jailer a down-blow so immense It slit him through the middle and split him to his belt! Then, looking to his right side, he saw a slope that led Towards a pit the Pagans had dug to make a well That slimy toads and vipers had turned into a nest! And so he took the body and threw it to the depths Where Mahom and Tervagant could reach the soul they’d bred. The devil-hearted body had met its evil end. YOUNG RICHIER went rushing down every step until He stumbled on the chamber where Floovant wept and winced. But when our hero heard him and saw him rushing in, His skin as black or blacker than ink or boiling pitch, His wounded body shuddered, not knowing it was him. He called aloud on Jesus, Who bore the Cross of Sin: “Another Moor approaches, in ugly mood and grim: I fear that if he beats me the way the first one did, I never shall recover, however long I live.” At this, he looked before him to see a broken brick, And picked it up as something to strike the stranger with. But then a voice implored him: “Is that the way to bid Your closest comrade welcome – a friend who’s come to spring This Pagan trap that holds you? It’s Richier, my prince!” Imagine Floovant’s wonder and joy at hearing this! A flood of happy feeling drowned every ache and ill! 95

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“MY FRIEND, what can I do?” cried Floovant most forlornly: “Three days have come and gone since last I ate a morsel! I’d swap Cambrai for bread and Orléans for water! I can’t take any more: my body is in torment, For every day they come to put me to more torture. And worse than all – I’ve lost Joyeuse, my noble sword-blade, At Fortress Avenant, when Pagan cunning caught me! Fair princess of Alsace, you gave to me its glory, And now, alas, it’s lost by my unworthy wardship!” Said Richier: “My lord, I have it here before you! And what is more it’s slain the monster here who mauled you!” To hear this happy news filled Floovant with rejoicing And banished every bane and pain that overbore him. SAID RICHIER: “My lord, I must return directly, For both of us will die if we are seen together Engaged in private talk; I have no doubt whatever That they would kill us both the moment they suspect me!” “Then go, my noble friend! But see you don’t forget me – And bring me food to eat as soon as chance will let you! My strength is all but gone, so long my want of any!” Said Richier: “My lord, your wants shall be attended As quickly as I can, if God above protects me Against these blackamoors.” On saying this, he left him. HE LEFT THE STONY CELL and bounded up the staircase, Where, looking round, he found a sign of fortune’s favour: A coffer made of iron belonging to the jailer. Its clasps were very strong, but, kicking hard to break them He found, to his delight, provisions for the taking, Of wine and food galore to feed his master’s craving! How well they were received the moment that he gave them And shut the prison-door so nothing more could plague him! When this was done, he tore his gown in many places, To make it look as if attackers had assailed him, Then went back to the hall where the Emir was waiting. On seeing him, he fell before the haughty Pagan. “What happened?” cried Galeen in anger and amazement. Said Richier: “My lord, may good Mahomet aid us! 96

The Song of Floovant Attend to what I say! My life was almost taken, Because your Frenchman’s cell was guarded by a traitor! I saw him in the vault discussing their escape-plan! Because I told him straight how you would treat betrayal, The two of them began to cudgel me and flay me! Without Tervagant’s aid, I know they would have slain me. Mahomet’s loving grace, I know, was all that saved me! Your Frenchman’s back in jail, your jailer’s back in Hades – I slew him and I threw him inside a yawning crater! I would have slain the Frank, but wanting to obey you And tell you what had passed, I stayed my hand against him.” On hearing this, the Moor was filled with trepidation, And praised Mahomet’s power in every hour of danger. “This Frenchman’s life will end as soon as it is daybreak! Sit down, beloved kin, and rest from all your labours!” SAID RICHIER: “My lord, this haughty Frenchman, who Has dropped into your hands, may prove a useful tool. He is Escorfan’s son, the mighty Breton duke Whose orders can convene some twenty thousand troops. So if you spare his son – that is, until you use His capture to placate his father’s might and mood, Then you can take them both, and with your army move Unhindered into France. And once in Paris you Can hang them with their king, as quickly as you choose!” The great Emir replied: “You are a cunning youth! Once Brittany is ours, then all the coastline through To Germany will fall, and France will follow suit! I’ll give you France, my son, as your reward, to rule, And Maugalie to wed, my daughter fair and true. With good Mahomet’s grace, who makes the sky and dew, Your marriage will take place in Laon’s most royal rooms!” Said Richier: “My lord, we’ve much to gain, in truth, As what you’ve given me already richly proves!” But through his teeth, unheard, he muttered this rebuke: “May God, Who governs all, ensure you never do Rule anywhere in France one single night or noon! If I am any judge, your lovely daughter soon, For love of someone else, will play you for a fool, And let my sword exact the vengeance that is due!” On saying this, he left and went inside a room To speak with Maugalie, who’d asked to see him too. No sooner had he left, when who should come in view 97

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But twelve of France’s Peers, around the necks of whom Were pilgrim-sacks, and whom, upon their ambling mules, The Pagans had waylaid upon a mountain route. Pinel was first to speak, supported by Ganuz: “Be joyful, great Emir, and praise our gods anew, Who’ve dropped into our laps the tastiest of fruit: The best of France’s crop: a dozen noble dukes Whose orders can convene some twenty thousand troops!” On hearing this, Galeen let out a mighty whoop And cried: “Mahomet, lord, how bountiful are you, Who offer me a feast when all I seek is food!” “MAHOMET, mighty lord, how bountiful you are, Who offer me a feast when food is all I ask! Convey these men of France to dungeons deep and dark! Tomorrow they shall hang – on that the die is cast!” Their captors drove them off with heavy rods and hard, And led them down to cells where light was never cast. When Floovant heard them come, he wondered what had passed, And when they came inside, our gallant hero asked: ”Who are you, noble lords? What brings you to this pass? Your accents and your speech are those of royal France!” “For so are we,” said one, “and Peers of every part! For here’s Antelme, a count, and here’s Duke Jocerant, And here’s Angelier, the hero of Bordal! Here’s Chartre’s Aumeri, his brother too, Morant, And Brittany’s Escorfan, and Normandy’s Richart. Heres Baldwin, Count of Flanders, and brave Sir Fulk of Troie. And Burgundy’s great duke, whose provinces are vast. This baron rules Saint-Gilles, whose lands alike are large. And I, the twelfth one here – I am Sir Guinemant, Who rule Château-Landon, Hérupe and rich Le Mans! My orders are obeyed from there to Vauguyon!” YOUNG FLOOVANT cried: “My lord, by God Who bore the Cross, Are you indeed the lord who rules Château-Landon? If so, you’ll find in here the brother you have lost!” On hearing this, the Peers looked up at him in shock And asked Floovant his name, their eyes and ears agog. “My lords, without a lie,” he cried, “I am Floovant, King Clovis’s own son, the mighty lord of Laon, Who banished me from France in anger at a wrong I did my tutor there, the marshal of Dijon – 98

The Song of Floovant In jest I cleft his beard and sheared his whiskers off. For this I was expelled by Clovis in his wrath From anywhere in France for seven years with none But Richier my squire as my companion. Sir Guinemant! My squire’s your brother, is he not: Another gallant son of yours, Duke Jocerant?” At this, the barons cried : “Embrace us all, by God, For every one of us is man of yours by bond!” Inside the cell they kissed in warm embrace and fond. INSIDE THE CELL they kissed in glad embrace and dear, Then Floovant hailed them all with good and gallant cheer: “My worthy lords of France,” he said, “attend to me! Young Richier my squire is up there with Galeen And all his Pagan men, who love him like a peer, Because he’s made them think he’s kin to the Emir! I’m sure it won’t be long before he reappears.” The squire was in the room of Princess Maugalie, Where he was playing chess with Ocidam’s emir, When suddenly a youth rushed in upon the three And, looking at the Maid, addressed her laughingly: “My lady, by the gods, whose wonders never cease, A mighty stroke of luck has landed on us here! A dozen knights of France, the finest ones, indeed, Are in your father’s jail below us as I speak! The least of them, in arms, could breach a hundred shields!” On hearing this, our youth was filled with heavy grief And left his game at once to slump upon a seat. HE LEFT HIS GAME at once and slumped upon a bench, Where Maugalie the fair and beautiful Princess Sat down as well and laid her arm about his neck. Then, kissing him three times, the lovely maiden said: “Good cousin, speak the truth! How gallant are the French?” “My lady,” he replied, “there are no braver men. It takes a dozen Moors to match a Frenchman’s strength.” “Upon my faith,” she said, “I do believe you, yet They say my father holds a dozen of their best Inside his cells – what say we see them for ourselves?” Said Richier: “I’m sure you’ll learn much more from them, Though I can’t take you now, I’ve such an aching head.” But to himself he swore: “I’ll never take you there!” At this, she left the youth and, seeking pastime, left 99

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Heroines of the French Epic To challenge one Pinar, a gallant prince, to chess. At once, you may be sure, our youngster’s headache went, And so did he, at once, towards the cells again! 1490

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HE LEFT THE MAIDEN playing a game of chess with Pinar, And, flying to the doorway, he flitted past it swiftly. He didn’t pause or tarry until he reached the prison, And called upon the jailers called Josez and Caïfas: “What kind of men,” he asked them, “has our Emir imprisoned?” “The finest knights,” they answered, “in all of France’s kingdom.” “Then let me in to see them,” young Richier continued, “For I may know some faces – and, if I do, they’ll grimace!” And so the cell was opened and Richier went in it. Indeed he knew their faces and ran to them and kissed them! Then everyone was gladdened and saddened at the visit – For truly they were happy that Richier was with them, But bitter at the bondage to which they’d fallen victim! Let’s leave them for a moment and turn again to witness Fair Maugalie, and ponder the cunning ways of women! She’d stopped her game the minute she’d noticed who was missing, And in her heart was certain he’d gone down to the prisons. Determined to discover the purpose of his mission, She lit a flaming lantern and, through a passage hidden Behind a wall, she followed a slope that led her thither. Concealed behind a column, she peered inside the prison And saw him with the Frenchmen, embracing them and kissing. She looked again, in wonder, and all her body shivered. So nobody could hear her, between her teeth she whispered: “Emir! There’s trouble brewing, with treachery a-brimming! Unless you hang these barons, it’s you who’ll do the drinking! By all I owe Mahomet, I cannot hide this vision!” She ran back to her chamber, and once she was within it, She sent a man to summon her cousin from the prisons. When Richier received him, he didn’t wait or linger, But left his fellow Frenchmen the moment he had given His plighted word to free them as soon as chance permitted. He leapt the stony staircase to Maugalie the Princess, And raced inside her chamber to find the maiden sitting. As soon as she beheld him, she beckoned with her finger And led him to a corner where no one else could listen. “Alas! Who would have thought it,” she wailed, “supposed kinsman? You’ve led my noble father to think from the beginning That you were born in Persia and proud of our religion – 100

The Song of Floovant Instead you are a Christian of Clovis’s own kingdom! What’s more, I know I’ve met you – you pitied my affliction When Avenant the fortress was captured by the Christians. Your courteous behaviour may save you yet, Sir Richier!” On saying this, she halted, and, sighing deeply, whimpered: “Alas, Emir of Persia, a web of treason’s spinning! By all I owe Mahomet, I fear you’ll founder in it!” Young Richier was near her, and hearing her, he shivered, And, falling down, implored her for mercy and forgiveness: “Our very lives, my lady, are in your hands this minute!” On seeing him so woeful, the maiden wept for pity. “SIR RICHIER,” she said, “most brave and noble knight! Don’t trick me anymore, but truly speak your mind! You want me to assist – but tell me how, and why!” “For God Almighty’s sake, forgive me,” he replied, “But since you know so much, I’ll tell no further lies. The Frenchman caught before the rest of them arrived, Was him at Avenant whose deeds you so admired: The heir to all of France, King Clovis’s own child! He ventured forth, with me, to help King Flores fight. But Flores’s own sons betrayed us in their guile To the Emir; so now the Lights of France abide With Clovis’s own son in cells as black as night! This sun of France will fade till all his skin is white, Without the help of God, Who dwells above the skies, And yours as well, Princess – for you are brave and wise.” “SIR RICHIER,” she said, “most noble knight and bold! If you can pledge to me that Floovant hence will hold And have me for his wife, when we have been betrothed, For love of him I’ll leave my heathen gods of old And never stray again within Mahomet’s fold. I would endeavour then to serve you, heart and soul, And him, and any friend or venture you proposed.” Said Richier: “Princess, I swear it shall be so. Let’s visit him at once and you shall hear the oaths You seek concerning this from me and all below.” When this was said the Maid re-lit her lantern’s glow, Then Richier and she removed a paving stone Beside a column’s base that opened to expose A vault she’d used before to come and go unknown. To start with she held back, and Richier alone 101

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Appeared before the French, who, at his entrance, froze! “Alas, we are betrayed!” he hailed them, with a groan: “The daughter of Galeen heard every word we spoke: Tomorrow, at the dawn, we’re headed for the rope!” “Alas!” our hero cried, “How grim and dim a road We’ll tread ahead, so far from any help or hope.” When Richier heard this, he spoke in braver tones: “My noble lords, there is another way to go! The princess Maugalie, whose face with beauty glows, For love of Floovant here is ready to revoke Her Pagan life and leave her Pagan gods of stone – If she can be his wife and make his faith her own!” The Frenchmen said: “My lord, you surely won’t say ‘no’!” To which young Floovant cried: “Go, bring her here below!” Young Richier replied: “I will, and nothing loath!” And so he ran, and raised the stone beside its post, Then, taking by the hand fair Maugalie, he strode Beside her to the cell, where all the Frenchmen rose. When Floovant met her gaze, she loved him at a stroke, And in a sweet embrace she hugged and held him close. Again, and still again, she kissed his eyes and nose: “Too long, my gallant Prince, have you forgone your throne! For love of you, I swear I’m ready to revolt Against my Pagan ways and Pagan gods of old And strive so you may thrive and let your honour show! But first, I’ll free its light from this benighted hole!” Said Floovant: “Fair Princess, God bless what you propose! Whatever pledge you seek these barons will bestow.” And so they did – each one, they plighted her their troth, To do her will as well as anyone could hope! And she agreed alike to ward off any blow Or woe Galeen had planned for them to undergo. Returning to her rooms, she made them tasty roasts Of venison and bear and forest-boar, and bowls Of clear and spicy wine to slake their thirsty throats! WITHIN THEIR lowly cell the Frenchmen feasted grandly Upon the noble fruits of Richier’s great valour – And with their stomachs full, their hearts were high and happy: “That Maiden has no peer!” exclaimed the merry barons: “I’ve never seen her like!” said Floovant, and he added: “There can’t be one as brave from Paris to Port Apre!”

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The Song of Floovant WITHIN THEIR lowly cell the Frenchmen feasted high, And with their stomachs full, their heavy hearts grew light. Maudaranz and Maudare were not so glad of mind, And said to the Emir: “You’ve failed your promise, Sire! You swore a hasty end to every captured knight, But now you’re like Daluz, who spared the haughty life Of Aubrey, duke of France, for fourteen years, inside His Pagan cell, until the day at last arrived When Aubrey slipped his chain and with a slitting knife Slew King Daluz himself and then his son Dalize! Beware of this, my friend, or you may end alike!” No sooner was this said than Maugalie arrived, And, with a kiss, the king received her at his side, Then asked her fair: “And where have you been, lovely child? And cousin Maudras too? He’s vanished from our sight!” “My lord, inside his room your gallant nephew pines And frets about the French you’ve captured and confined: Two days ago you swore that all of them would die!” “He has no need to fret,” the great Emir replied: “Tomorrow, at the dawn, I’ll hang them from the pines! And you, my dear, shall wed Maudaranz, prince of knights!” “I beg you, no, my lord!” the lovely maiden cried: “A heart that has betrayed is renegade for life!” On hearing this, Galeen was almost driven wild: “How dare you, wicked jade, defy his will and mine?” He had her led at once inside his Pagan shrine And wed to Maudaranz with every heathen rite. The wedding-feast was set with noble food and wine. The lovely Maid herself was filled with bitter spite And sent for Richier to meet with her aside. No sooner was he told, than boldly he complied, And she began to speak as soon as he arrived: “Bestir yourself, my lord, most valiant of squires! Your comrades in the cells must act this very night – If not, they will be hung as soon as it is light! Galeen has made me wed Prince Maudaranz the vile: He led me to the mosque before Mahomet’s shrine, And now the knave will want to bed his bidden wife! It’s up to you, my lord, to think and do what’s right!” Said Richier: “Princess! Be strong of heart and mind, And I shall do my part, so help me Jesus Christ!” He turned at once to search for helms and hauberks bright, Then took them to the French, who donned them with delight. 103

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And then, throughout the town he had a message cried That King Galeen himself had ordered him to hire The fastest steeds he could within the shortest time And pay one hundred pounds to those who first arrived. It wasn’t long before some thirty steeds were lined By mounting-blocks of stone, beneath the shady pines: The finest steeds in town for Mahom’s finest knights! They weren’t to know their foe, the French, would leap astride! Inside the cell they armed, and when they all had tied Their mail and shining shields, they made the Cross’s sign, And surging up the steps set all their hope in Christ. Until they reached the rooms they never halted stride, And when they found the hall, they burst their way inside. Galeen and all his lords were just about to dine – Though very soon their meat would all be cold and sliced! Duke Jocerant advanced and, with his weapon high, He smote one Josuez, the king of Pisceni. He hit his skull so hard he split it to his spine, While Guinemant his son struck Russia’s king alike And slit him, brain to breast, and watched the rest subside Upon the marbled floor in slivers left and right. Duke Aumeri of Chartres assailed a Magyar knight As Duke Morant, his brother, attacked a Tabarite: They hewed them down and slew them, whoever laughed or cried. Angelier struck Pinel and wrenched his head awry, As Normandy’s Richart struck royal Boqueri And flung him dead before three thousand Pagan eyes. Then Floovant sallied forth, his gallant eyes alight, And in Maudaranz’ face with ringing voice he cried: “You harlot’s son, you cur! Prepare yourself to die!” On saying this, he swung his sword with such a spite It split the wicked fiend from brain to breast and sliced His withers to his waist and took the traitor’s life! And Richier came next, most valiant of squires, To strike Maudare the same and end his shame alike. “Mountjoy!” the Frenchmen cried, in unified delight. Galeen, the great Emir, saw little cause to smile – As he beheld his men escaping left and right, With Frenchmen on their tails, their weapons burning bright, And yearning all for blood before they burst outside. They hewed a hundred heads, and more, the record writes, From Pagan kings and dukes, from guest and groom alike, Who in that ancient room were robbed of Pagan pride. 104

The Song of Floovant The only Moor untouched was Maugalie the bride! Young Richier, with grace, addressed the Maid and cried: “My lady, fair and brave, “you’ll not be left behind.” He took her by the hand, then, leading her outside, He sped her to the steeds beneath the shady pines. The Saracens themselves were holding them in lines – They’d thought that their Emir had commandeered their time! Instead, our gallant peers snatched any one they liked! They swung the Maid astride the fastest they could find, And flung upon their own, not wasting any time. They turned around in force and, never slowing stride, They left the dreaded town and headed for the Rhine. When all had crossed a bridge and reached the other side, They lifted up its planks and, splitting them with spikes, They tossed them in the flow to float upon the tide. When this was done they turned for Belfort and its knights: God speed them on their way, I say, for love of Christ!

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7. How Floovant escaped from the Moors THE FRENCHMEN hurried onward, along a metalled roadway, With Maugalie the Maiden, so slim of limb and shoulder. But King Galeen pursued them and, with a thousand soldiers, He found another crossing and led the Pagans over. Among them was a royal called Scorpion of Vaugris, Who rode up to his leader and boldly thus bespoke him: “O great Emir of Persia, your colours have been lowered! Your captives are escaping with happy hearts, and crowing That they have snared your daughter fair Maugalie the noble! Fine Emperor, I ask you to make her my betrothèd – Then with my shining weapon I’ll slaughter all these bolters!” The great Emir responded: “You’ve spoken very boldly, And you shall have my daughter – when you have caught my foemen!” The hot-blood said: “Your Highness, my waiting wastes the moment!” He dug his spurs directly against his mount and drove it Across the hills and valleys, through wooded land and open, Until he saw his quarry on open ground and sloping. With ringing voice he shouted: “That’s far enough, you rovers, And far too far to go with my future queen a-strolling! Shall prisoners and robbers escape with what they’ve stolen? Since manacles and shackles are not enough to hold you, I’ll hurry you to Heaven before you even know it!” 105

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Young Richier could hear him, but didn’t fear his boasting The slightest bit, and, spurring his Arab steed, he smote him Upon the heavy buckler his heathen hand was holding: He hit the shield and split it between its golden moulding, Then, thrusting on with vigour, he slit his double hauberk And rammed the point of iron through flesh and bone below it: One lance’s length it threw him and slew him in a moment. He seized his noble gelding, the reins of which were golden, Then led it to his father, and said as he approached him: “Accept this mount I offer in admiration’s token, For I am very certain it’s stronger than the old one That’s taken you already to Rome with such devotion. This gelding will be better to get you to our homeland In France, or on to Paris and to the court of Clovis.” Said Jocerant: “I thank you, by God and all that’s holy.” Then mounting up the faster, he left behind the slower. ACROSS A heathen hillside the Frenchmen rode together. Fair Maugalie, the courtly, was watching all directions, And saw the evil Pagans were gaining on the Frenchmen. She turned at once to Floovant and gallantly addressed him: “So help me, noble scion, by God Who dwells in Heaven, Some twenty thousand Pagans are coming, all in helmets, And we are in their homeland, still many miles from Belfort! With every stride they’re taking they’re matching us, and better , And when their vanguard catch us, the fighting will be heavy. If I am caught, my father will surely cut my head off. Alas, I’ll never flee him! Yet I shall not surrender, But try a ruse, since nothing is gained if nothing’s ventured! I have, inside a sleeve here, a shirt of white, and leggings That Richier had asked for and I had sought to get him. But I instead shall wear them, and be prepared and ready To sit astride my saddle as like a knight as any!” “Then do it now,” said Floovant, “fine Maiden, brave and clever, And we shall all address you as Foucon of Tudela!” At once the gallant beauty dismounted, well attended By Richier, who steadied and held her very gently. Then, putting on the jacket and pulling on the leggings, She looked like any fighter or knight among his fellows! FAIR MAUGALIE the Maid dismounted from her stallion, And never more that day would use a lady’s saddle! What’s more, she took a herb, and squeezing it, she massaged 106

The Song of Floovant Its sap against her skin, which turned it black and blacker Until she looked as dark as any of her clansmen! And then she donned the clothes, which fitted her exactly, Before she mounted steed, to speed it or to amble. Astride, I must confide, she looked like any vassal! FAIR MAUGALIE the Maid was full of brave resource. She put on straightaway the clothing she had brought For Richier the bold, who’d asked for it before, And then a coat of mail, the smartest ever worn! She draped a fitting cloak of purple over all Then mounted once again her stallion of war – Her feet replete with spurs both neat and finely wrought – Before she seized a spear, and heavy shield what’s more, Then spurred towards the head of Floovant’s little force! Young Floovant said at once: “Sir Faucon, do come forth! Why have you but a lance and shield and nothing more – A hauberk or a helm, a cutting spear or sword?” The Maiden said at once: “I need no arms, my lord, But these, and other charms I have, albeit small, That I shall need indeed when we have reached Belfort And I must face again the daughter of King Flor: I know that we shall clash, and fear that I may fall! One Saturday ago we met upon the morn In Castle Avenant, as doubtless you recall: I do not wish to face that beauty any more, For it would be unfair for dusk to face the dawn: Her looks, so bright and light, will blight a Blackamoor’s! If you desire her, Prince, then bed her and enjoy Her once or twice, or thrice – but wed me, as you’ve sworn! Then, though I lose a fight, I know I’ll win the war!” Said Jocerant the duke: “So help me God, my lord, This Maiden is as wise and brave as any born! I’m sure of this: she won’t be recognised at all! But let us guard her well, and keep her to the fore, For at the rear I fear our party may be caught! We’ll die before the Moors take back this bride of yours!” When this was said, at once young Richier spurred forth, And by its golden rein led forth her gelding horse. Again they spurred ahead – God speed them, one and all, As the Emir Galeen drew nearer with his Moors! ALONG THEY spurred to Belfort, God speed them all and each – One thousand Moors pursued them of the emir Galeen! 107

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See one of them this moment whose name was Estorgīs, A rich emir and ruler of Babylon’s demesne. He rode up to his master and boldly made to speak: “Your colours have been lowered, O glorious Emir, By dogs who have your daughter, the fair-faced Maugalie! Fine Emperor, I beg you to pledge her hand to me And I shall slay these barons with my well-burnished spear, To earn her hand in marriage – that is, if you agree.” The great Emir responded: “I do agree, indeed. I’ll give her to you gladly and everyone shall see! Your church shall be Montmartre, your aisle the Paris streets, Your wedding-gift the kingdom – as soon as you succeed!” “My lord,” the rogue responded, “my waiting wastes the deed!” He dug his spurs directly against his mount to speed Across the meads before him, through wooded land and clear, Through valleys, over hillsides and countless little streams Until he saw his quarry on sloping land and steep. With ringing voice he shouted: “That’s far enough, you fiends, And far too far to sally and dally with my Queen! Shall thieving sons of harlots escape so easily? I’ll haul you back to Basum where all shall see and hear The judgement of her father, our emperor Galeen: He’ll hang you till you’re twitching, then hitch you to his steeds Till every limb is severed, then burn you in a heap! He’ll give your bony ashes to all his warrior-chiefs To make them even bolder upon the battlefield.” Duke Guinemant could hear him, and didn’t like the speech: He never let him finish, but turned his Arab steed To strike the noisy Pagan upon his burnished shield. Beneath its golden centre he cleft the buckler clean And reft the heavy hauberk of half its rings beneath. Between his ribs he planted his sharply burnished spear With force enough to kill him, though still the villain breathed As from his steed he tumbled and stumbled on the lea. His horse’s reins were golden, and Guinemant with glee Took hold of them to follow his comrades with the beast. The great Emir kept coming: he flayed his horse to keep An arrow’s range and further beyond his Pagan peers, A thousand wicked Pagans whose anger burned their cheeks. King Estorgīs, though injured, had struggled to his feet, And, looking right, he noticed his master drawing near. With ringing voice he called him: “Fine Emperor, my liege, Fair Maugalie your daughter is nowhere to be seen! 108

The Song of Floovant I’d say the French have left her in Basum or its fiefs – I swear to you, I’m certain that Maugalie’s not here. The only Moor that’s with them is one upon his steed, Who doesn’t move a muscle but holds aloft a spear. If you proceed, they’ll kill you as soon as you appear, For they have planned an ambush behind that stand of trees: King Flores the Alsatian has come to their relief With fifty thousand liegemen and more, believe you me!” The great Emir responded: “But that’s beyond belief!” Then added, as an insult to injured Estorgis: “You’ve bled so much, young hero, you cannot hear or see! One man becomes a thousand to failing eyes and ears! You’re right in this: my daughter’s not here, for you at least! Your ardour was your folly – both you and all the cheats Who’ve tried to buy my daughter have paid a mortal fee! I don’t believe your ravings! I’ll hunt the Christian thieves Until they all are captured and hanging in the breeze!” He kicked and pricked his courser to drive it with a leap One furlong and a quarter beyond his Pagan peers. At last, upon a lookout, he saw the French beneath, And seeing them so near him, he couldn’t halt his zeal Until his men were with him, but started for the field, As all his forces followed, directly on his heels. When Floovant saw them coming, so full of hatred’s heat, He said to all his barons: “My gallant knights and free, The Saracens are coming, a thousand strong at least: We cannot flee them further, we’ll have to fight them here. So let us turn our horses, as bravely bred as we, And each select a victim to feel our burnished spears!” On hearing this, his barons pledged faithfully to heed His call and flee no further till all their blows had breached A hundred Pagan helmets of glowing, gleaming green. And so they turned their horses and spurred them forth to meet The Pagan van, selecting, each man, a target each. Beneath their golden bosses they split the Pagan shields And threw to ground their owners and slew them in a heap. Prince Floovant chose to joust with Galeen the great Emir: He bored right through his buckler, he tore his hauberk’s seams Of double-mail, just missing his ribcage underneath, But flinging him a spear-length before him on the field. The Devil saved his servant, who didn’t even bleed, But couldn’t save his war-horse as nimble Floovant seized Its golden reins and mounted with one enormous leap. 109

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Then, motioning his Frenchmen to bring away the steeds That each of them had conquered, he raced across a reach: “My lords,” he shouted gaily, “this booty’s twice as sweet! If we can save these horses and trust our own to reach Belfort alive, the Pagans can’t even boast that we Were forced to steal their horses because our own were weak!” This said, they took the roadway that led among the trees. Galeen was left to smoulder with anger and with grief, Until at length the vanguard he’d ridden from appeared And brought a second war-horse of noble strength and speed, Which straightaway he hurried and harried with his heels. “Each one of you, pursue them!” the raging monarch screamed. So, to their trumpets’ trilling and tabors’ drilling beat, The misbegotten Pagans pursued our men’s retreat: “By Mahom and Apollo,” swore Emperor Galeen, “I’ll not relax my labours until the French are seized And I’ve retrieved my daughter, the haughty Maugalie! I’ll torture them in prison, I’ll slaughter them like beasts! I’ll have their bodies quartered and dragged by rapid steeds!” “I SWEAR by good Mahomet and gallant Tervagant, I’ll not relax my labours until these Christian dogs Are rounded up, impounded or slaughtered on the spot! No fortresses shall hide them, however big or strong!” That’s what he said, but I say: ‘God willing he’ll be wrong’, For help was there already to serve and save Floovant: King Flor himself had ridden and hidden with a squad Of fifteen thousand horsemen, whose courage was their bond. He’d placed them in an ambush along a slope of rock, Upon a ledge well hidden by bracken, branch and frond, And where a chasm gave them a view of all beyond. From there it was they spotted the mighty Pagan throng With fourteen knights before them, both like a van and not – For Maugalie the maiden and Richier the strong, With Floovant and the barons, outran the Pagan mob! “Mountjoy,” they shouted gaily, “for Clovis and for God!” Atop a mighty oak-tree that stood some way beyond The woodland, Flor had stationed a lookout to keep watch And wait until the moment the Pagans came along – And when they did, to tell him without a moment’s loss. So when at last it happened, the fellow knew his job: He saw the hated heathens in fierce pursuit and hot Of hapless Christian fellows, and straightaway he shot 110

The Song of Floovant Down every branch as swiftly as autumn leafage drops, Then flew to tell his master inside the rocky copse. With ringing voice he roused him before his running stopped: “To arms at once, your Highness! To arms with all we’ve got! For I have seen the Pagans in hot pursuit and strong Of fourteen Christian riders who cannot shake them off: Although they ride like fury, I fear that they will not. They call ‘Mountjoy!’, your Highness, the war-cry of Floovant, The gallant roving Frenchman who served you and was lost.” At once the king responded: “I swear, so help me God, That we today shall harvest a rich and handsome crop Of booty even Clovis might well be jealous of! Seize armour bright and weapons, fine knights of noble stock, To hit the hated Pagans our watch has lit upon! One half of all our forces, whose valour is their bond, Should spur their gallant horses to where this crevice drops, And there await the moment we need them up the top. The Pagans will know nothing until they feel the shock Of cutting spears before them and all escape cut off! Surprise can win a battle against the strongest odds – Since ancient times it’s happened, I’ve heard, and doubt it not. So greet them with your lances, good vassals, hard and oft, And we shall surely beat them, and help to right a wrong.” “Your will be done, your Highness!” they shouted in response, Like gallant men, directly, and then one half thereof Went spurring down the incline without a moment’s loss, The other half remaining among the trees on top. Eventually young Floovant came riding past the rocks, Outrunning still the vanguard of Balan’s blighted mob, Who truly had no inkling of any ambush-plot. As Richier rode past him and Floovant spurred along, Flor recognised directly the pair that he had lost. With matching speed our hero espied the king and stopped. While reining in his war-horse, he raised his voice aloft: “My noble lord, forgive us! Forgive us all, dear God, For I must tell you truly: your sons are dead and gone, And it was I who slew one, my weapon and my wrath, And Richier the other, whose heart with valour throbs. For love of God forgive us, fine monarch, for, if not, We cannot kiss in friendship and I must wander on!” “So help me, God Almighty,” said Flor, “you did no wrong: I curse them both for traitors and worse than rabid dogs! I pardon you completely, most noble knight and strong.” 111

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At this, they stripped the ventails upon their hauberks off And kissed each other, weeping, in fair embrace and fond. The Moors would feel the strength of their doubly bounden bond! Together Flor and Floovant, and all those up the top Turned round to face the Pagans and spurred their horses on – For it was now or never: they had to win, if not, The Pagans who had pained them so wrongly and so long Would capture them and slay them directly or anon – For there were just too many to flee or shelter from. The earth and woodland trembled, resounding to the shock Of hooves in hundred thousands, converging on the spot. The Christians spurred their horses, and when their forces crossed, What mighty blows and buffets their cutting weapons swapped! The Frenchmen drove their lances so fiercely and so oft In Pagan bone and bellies they splayed their guts upon The stony ground in thousands and laid them out in lots. The chase and heat of battle, together with the fog Of dust they raised around them, oppressed the Pagan mob And helped the Christian forces to pounce and pick them off. When Galeen saw the Frenchmen so fearsome in their wrath, And then the force behind them, so gallant and so strong, He cursed his lack of judgement and arrogant aplomb! His forces fell before him: they wilted as he watched. He almost fell with sorrow – but anger bore him on: His vanguard had been beaten – he swore the rear would not! He summoned fourteen thousand, their lances strong and long – The great Emir was certain that these would do the job! My lords, I’m sure they would have – if they had worked for God! THE FIGHTING FLARED anew – more grim it grew and fierce. Young Floovant and the rest, relentless in their zeal, Lopped Pagan heads and arms and severed hands and feet. The Pagans died in scores, and falling from their steeds, Turned ruby-red with gore the summer grass of green. So fierce a rout of Moors before was never seen. Among them rode a stray, the lovely Maugalie, And, as she wandered past, her rein was rudely seized, As some of them exclaimed: “Here’s one of their young Peers!” But Maugalie replied: “ Oh no, I’m not indeed! My ancestors were Moors and I am from the East! A minstrel’s what I am, and what I’ve always been, In service of a knight, a noble one indeed, Who dresses me in silks of fine Biterno weave. 112

The Song of Floovant In magic arts as well I am without a peer: From any land my hand can raise a running stream, And griffins fifty score from airy lairs unseen, With serpents in their claws whose venomed jaws they squeeze While trailing on the ground their flailing, stinging rears! These beasts can rip away your helms and mail of steel And eat the living flesh of your Castilian steeds.” At once her captors cried: “What magic minstrelsy! Ride off and show your skills to our Emir Galeen: He’ll give you wealth galore for talents such as these!” “But now is not the time!” responded Maugalie: “Ride onward, noble Moors! You have a foe to beat! There’s Frenchmen here to fight: seek them instead of me!” On hearing this, at once, the Pagans set her free And left her all alone to wander where she pleased! On every side the French attacked the heathen breed. In common and in duel they fuelled the battle’s heat. See Richier for one, whose face with valour gleamed: He raised the flapping flag upon his cutting spear And spurred his rapid steed to strike a fierce emir. He split his shield in twain, he slit the coat beneath And drove both flag and spear right through from front to rear. He flung the Moor to die upon the floor beneath. Palermo’s Pagan lord was next to feel his zeal, And then another four before he paused to breathe! The Frenchmen drove the Moors down-valley in retreat. Imagine, lords, the gall and grief of King Galeen, On seeing Pagans fall and fail him in his need! With ringing voice he cried: “Betrayers of the creed! The paltry French are strong, and all of you are weak!” On hearing this reproach, the Pagans struck their steeds In common rage and rode to vent their honour’s spleen Against our men again, whose hunger but increased To strike their heathen helms of stout Biterno steel: This battle wouldn’t end till many lives had ceased! The Pagans forced our men one furlong in retreat, And Richier held fast the rein of Maugalie: “Come on, Princess, come on!” he hailed her laughingly: “Though life and limb were lost, we’d never leave you here!” The Maiden sighed and said: “I thank you all, indeed!” When this was said they fled, together, till they reached The Christian rank that stood to face the heathen siege, Where Maugalie was kept and Richier released To strike the haughty Moors and deal their cause defeat. 113

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HOW BITTER WAS that battle! How hard it was and heavy! The great Emir of Persia came spurring through the melee, His whirring lance-head lunging, his burnished buckler ready: Count Guinemant obliged him and struck it in the centre! He split it through and, slitting his Eastern mail, he threaded The iron of his spear-point beside his ribs and sent him A lance-length from his saddle to sprawl upon the meadow. His hand went out to capture the nasal of his helmet, And surely would have caught it and captured him – however, Four thousand of his Pagans came storming to the rescue, And, more than that, surrounded Prince Floovant in their vengeance And struck him from his warhorse, whose nimble days they ended. With cutting spears they slew it and threw its master headlong Upon the ground, surrounding young Foovant with their weapons, Determined, as they neared him, that he alike should perish. What heavy blows they dealt him, both singly and together, But each of them he parried with all his strength and temper. In self-defence he harried and slaughtered more than seven: He thrust his weapon forward – a blade of fiercest temper, Which ended every challenge directly and forever! By force of arms, however, I’m sure he would have perished, Had Richier not joined him, his courage fierce and ready, With Jocerant, his father, Count Guinemant his fellow, Duke Aumeri of Chartres, Duke Morant and the brethren Of Peers: Richart the Norman, the duke of Laon, Angelier, Sir Fulk of Troies, whose partner was Baldwin of the Flemings, The mighty duke who governed great Burgundy’s possessions – From Brittany Escorfan, from lovely France Antelmes , From Burgundy another whose bravery was legend – The Peers Twelve of Clovis, with Flores for good measure! When all these hardy heroes came rushing up together They cleft the throng of Pagans with Floovant at its centre, As each of them selected then slew his first of many! They lifted up our hero upon a horse they’d readied And straightaway he lifted his sword again to render Enormous blows on any whom roving chance presented: The first one felt his fury, then nothing more forever, As Floovant sent his helmet and head across the meadow! And then he saw before him the king of Benevento, The monarch who had slaughtered the horse that he had cherished: He saw him and he knew him, and as his temper trebled, He struck the felon’s buckler, raised up above his helmet, So fiercely that he shattered its boss of gilded metal. 114

The Song of Floovant Then, slitting helm and hauberk, he split the feckless felon Completely through the middle, from muddled brain to belly: He splayed him from his warhorse and laid him on the meadow: “Be gone, you stinking mongrel! You misbegotten felon! You slew a noble warhorse in your conceited error!” This said, he sped at others, relentless in his efforts. Where challenge loomed the largest he charged across and met it With mighty blows, his weapon as sharp as razor’s edges. And when the Pagans saw him, their hearts were filled with terror, And, giving way before him, the greater and the lesser Fell victim to his comrades, who struck them all the better. Soon every Moor was certain he’d die unless he fled them. Galeen, their mighty leader, saw countless Pagans perish, And when he did, he lifted his ringing voice, addressing Those still alive and shouted: “Escape! Escape, I tell you!” On hearing this, his heathens obeyed without exception. They turned their back on Floovant and fled before his menace, And that of all the Frenchmen and Germans there assembled, Who, sounding out their trumpets and bugles till they echoed, Pursued the fleeing Pagans. They charged them with their weapons Four mighty leagues and further across a slope to get them! You couldn’t move a furlong in any one direction And not behold the bodies of Pagans in their death-throes, Or roaming Spanish horses whose saddlebows were empty, Their owners on the meadow, face-up or down, together. They drove the rest, who clamoured for any god to help them, Towards a local river, whose rapid swirls and eddies Hid sudden depths and pitfalls of unimagined peril. The heathens struck the water, but when they did so many Were drowned before they managed to cross as they intended, That others used their corpses like floating logs or ferries! The great Emir just made it – but what a ruin met him: He’d wagered all his army, and half was lost already! Young Richier and Floovant, King Flores and the Frenchmen, Together with the Germans, returned across the meadows And took their choice of captives among the many wealthy Survivors they’d surrounded and others who’d surrendered: The battlefield was covered with dying or with dead men, And any living Christian who wanted steed or weapon Could take his pick of either, for such a sum was present That none could tell its total, however quick or clever. When everyone had done so, they rode at once for Belfort.

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WHEN ALL ARRIVED at Belfort, how happy was the city! A citizen called Godfrey, a Frenchman who was richer Than any other burgher from there to Laon, insisted That Floovant share his villa, rejoicing when he did so. So it was there Floretta came running up with kisses Of welcome for our hero of regal mien and spirit, And Richier the loyal, and all the Frenchmen with him. She looked upon the Pagan with signs of great suspicion, But, lucky for the latter, with none of recognition, Because of all the blacking upon her face and figure. Young Richier dismounted the nimble steed he’d ridden And, like a gallant liegeman, brought Maugalie the princess Inside a vaulted chamber as fast as he could bring her. Fair Maugalie disposed of the clothes in which she’d ridden, Then, striding to a coffer, she straightaway undid it. She took from it some ointment, rubbed all her body with it, Then leapt inside a bathtub and scrubbed her body briskly. The black upon her faded, the white returning quickly Until her normal beauty was back, with added glister! When once again Floretta, the flower of her kingdom, Saw Maugalie, the pleasure would vanish from her visage! At dawn upon the morrow, before the sun had risen, The Frenchmen took the Pagan, as brave as she was pretty, To be baptised for Jesus inside St Vincent’s minster. With joy the town resounded to see so fair a Christian – But when Floretta heard it, it almost drove her witless, And off she ran to Floovant, returning to his villa. As soon as she beheld him, she ran to him, and flinging Her arms around him, pleaded: “Most high of heroes, kiss me! I vow, I love you better than any person living!” But Floovant said: “My lady, your vow is injudicious: Your father has beside him a hundred knights as skilful And brave as I, and many much worthier and fitter, Who’d hate me ever after for what you’ve just admitted! A foreigner with nothing, who needs a wage to live on, Cannot afford to purchase the spite of those who’d give it!” On hearing this, Floretta was almost driven witless. “My lord,” she answered swiftly, “I’ll heed your admonition, Although I know it’s prompted by Maugalie the Princess! How could you not desire her? So fair she is and pretty, Far lovelier, I grant you than any Western women. 116

The Song of Floovant How gladly I’d have wed you if only you’d been willing. My loving heart is sorry and sad it cannot win you.” Young Floovant said: “My lady, I beg you, don’t continue! My heart has been won over by Maugalie the winsome, And it will never alter though limb from limb be riven: For she it was who saved me from torture and from prison, And all my men advise me to wed so brave a spirit.” Floretta, sad and sorry, could not abide to listen, But hastened to her father, her tearful eyes a-brimming. She cried; “My peerless parent, in Jesu’s name, have pity! If I can’t marry Floovant, with whom my heart is smitten, I’ll never wed another, and you’ll have bred a spinster!” At this, the monarch hastened an envoy to the villa To summon Floovant to him upon an urgent business. When Floovant heard the envoy he did as he was bidden And went to see King Flores, his barons going with him. As soon as Flores saw him, he said to him, quite simply: “Fine hero! Wed my daughter, and when my life has finished, Alsace shall be your kingdom with everything it brings you. Together we shall conquer more Pagan land and riches!” Young Floovant said directly, but with the grace befitting: “My lord, I have to tell you, I cannot do your bidding, For there is here a Maiden, conceived in beauty’s image, Who freed me and my comrades when we were flung in prison And the Emir of Persia was just about to kill us. She saved us from his clutches and helped us flee the city, And I gave her my promise, which everybody witnessed, To love her and to wed her if God above were willing. I’ll die before reneging on any promise given. My lord, I must acknowledge the truth of my position: I am the son of Clovis, the King of France, whose limits He’s banned me from completely, in anger unforgiving Against a petty insult my childishness committed: One day, while he was dozing, I shaved my tutor’s whiskers! For this much I was banished from France for seven winters! But time has passed a-plenty for vanished beards to thicken, And I shall travel homeward, together with these princes, To claim the right of kingship, and everything it brings me. If I could wed Floretta, I would do, in an instant, But two I cannot marry, for Christian Law forbids it. Bestow her hand, your Highness, on Richier here with me, The son of this great fighter, Duke Jocerant, my kinsman. Good Richier will serve you with every breath that’s in him, 117

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And be to you henceforward the best son you could wish for! My lord, give him Floretta, for I can tell you this much: No Pagan force in future will raid you or evict you When forty thousand Frenchmen are allied to assist you!” “Upon my faith, I like it!” said Flores as he listened. “I too,” replied Floretta, “see good in this decision. Since it cannot be other, I’ll gladly wed Sir Richier.” “Sir Richier,” said Floovant the valiant, “come hither “And gain from noble Flores the flower of his kingdom, The soil itself, its riches, and all things concomitant!” “My lord,” the lad responded, “your orders are my wishes!” He pledged upon his honour, as everybody witnessed, To cherish fair Floretta and be a faithful Christian To her and to her father while breath of life was in him. King Flores asked his barons for new and true commitments To Richier as liege lord, that willingly were given. With everyone rejoicing, and when the moon had risen, Both Richier and Floovant were married to a princess! They feasted in the palace with Flores, who was blissful To have an heir so worthy, instead of two so wicked! And truly there was no one who proved to have more wisdom Or courage in a battle, or better arm, than Richier, Except for that great hero you know of now – Sir William, Who slaughtered Moors in thousands with hatred undiminished. As king of the Alsatians, and Austria, young Richier Went on to drive the Pagans from Papal lands and cities That in his lengthy lifetime the heathens seized or pillaged. 8. How Floovant returned to France

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THE MIGHTY HALL of Belfort was ringing out with cheers For gallant-hearted Floovant and lovely Maugalie, And Richier and Floretta, so worthy of esteem, When suddenly a Frenchman, a messenger, appeared. He brought with him a letter as, weary-limbed, he reached The mighty hall by leaping the marble steps beneath. He asked at once for Floovant and straightaway received Good Richier’s assistance, who pointed to his liege. Before the envoy started, the youngster intervened: “My lord, I want to ask you, before this envoy speaks, If you have ever seen him before in France the sweet?” “Indeed I have,” said Floovant, “and hold him very dear! 118

The Song of Floovant Guimar! God bless and keep you! Come over here, fine Peer. Lord chamberlain to Clovis, I loved you much indeed, And hear that, when I vanished, you also chose to leave. Be certain, friend, in future, that you can count on me.” “Much thanks, my lord,” he answered, “but now another needs! Your father, royal Clovis, requires you urgently! A mighty Pagan army, led by Emir Galeen, Has trapped him in the castle at Laon with heavy siege. Your noble, loving mother sheds unremitting tears And through me she entreats you to speed to their relief.” On hearing this, young Floovant rejoiced as well as grieved: “Ah, God be praised,” he answered, “Whose wonders never cease! That he who sped me from him and counted me so cheap Should need me now so dearly and count upon my speed!” He called upon King Flores, not waiting in the least, And Richier his comrade, whose visage glowed with zeal: “My noble lords,” he asked them, “advise me if you please! My father and my mother are trapped by the Emir At Laon inside their castle, and now they’ve sent for me! As soon as I am ready, they’re asking me to leave.” “My noble lord,” said Flores, “of course you must, indeed! You cannot fail your father in such an hour of need. Moreover, I’ll go with you with fighters I’ll convene.” “My hearty thanks,” said Floovant, “God bless you, noble liege!” Said Jocerant: “Prince Floovant, attend a while to me! Our lands are close, or will be, and we your loyal peers Will each attend them firstly to muster men that we Can bring to you and meet you at castle Auvilly.” “My lords,” responded Floovant, “God’s blessing on you each!” When this was said they parted and went their ways to reach, Each man, his land, and order the muster of his fief, Then lead his force to Floovant at Castle Auvilly. King Flores the Alsatian proceeded to convene His men, whose number totalled a thousand score at least. At dawn of day, soon after, they rode from Belfort’s fields, And, passing through the middle of Burgundy, they neared A fortress, and, before it, a sad and evil scene: The fortress had belonged to Duke Emelon the Peer, But recently the Pagans had overrun its keep And seized the duke outside it while he was hunting deer. As Floovant looked, they hauled him before his walls and jeered Their victim in a blindfold and handcuffed at the rear. They dragged him to a gallows they’d raised upon the green 119

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To wring his neck in hatred and swing him in the breeze. But, as you know, the will of our loving Lord decrees What does and doesn’t happen to mortals such as we! Young Richier was leading, whose heart with valour beat, A vanguard of four thousand – and God resolved that he Should help the Pagans planting their shady gallows-tree! No sooner had he seen them than Richier agreed: “Mountjoy!” he cried, “Good barons, attack these evil fiends!” And with his spurs delivered the message to his steed. He raced off to the rescue and struck one Malatree, Who was indeed a nephew of Emperor Galeen: He ran his bannered lance-head right through him, front to rear, Then flung him dead a lance-length before him on the field. And then he slew another with his nielloed spear Before he drew his sword out, his knighthood’s sword of steel, And hit a third so sweetly upon his helm of green He split his wits and waistband and everything between! The Pagans fled in panic and let their captive be, As Frenchmen sped to meet them with weapons keen and mean That spared the Pagans nothing and took their heads with ease. Of fifteen thousand Pagans, I tell you truthfully, There only were a hundred with luck enough to flee. Duke Emelon, in wonder, hailed Richier in speech: “You’ve saved my life and rescued my duchy’s wealth and weal. I swear that from now onward I’ll serve you as my liege.” Young Richier moved forward on hearing this, and each Embraced the other warmly and kissed upon the cheek. The Frenchman reinvested the duke with all his fief And left to him, moreover, the Pagan booty reaped. Prince Floovant went with Flores and Richier to sleep The night inside the tower their valour had redeemed. With dawn the coming morning the army took its leave And rode until arriving at castle Auvilly. As promised, there he met with the twelve courageous Peers Whom Maugalie’s own valour at Basum had released. The least of them had brought him a thousand men of liege: In all some thirty thousand were ready to proceed. And so they did, in columns of noble men and steeds, Until they saw the tower of noble Laon appear, A mighty banner flying above it in the breeze, And Pagan tents below it, established for a siege. “My noble lords,” said Floovant, “advise me, if you please!” Said Richier: “My captain, if you will give me leave, 120

The Song of Floovant I’ll find a way to Clovis and tell him that you’re here With thirty thousand soldiers to answer his appeal. You’ll know that I am with him as soon as you can see My flag beside your father’s above the castle-keep. As soon as you observe it, move forward with all speed And strike the Pagan campsite, its lodges and marquees. When we inside the castle have armed ourselves to leave, We’ll do so, bursting forward as you attack the rear. Behind them and before them, around them and between, They’ll hear so many war-cries they won’t believe their ears! They’ll turn in flight, not knowing or seeing where to flee!” “Good Richier,” said Floovant, “well spoken, friend, indeed!” When this was said they parted to implement the scheme. TO IMPLEMENT THE PLAN they left when this was said. Young Richier, well armed upon a courser, sped Towards the Moors, his face well hidden by his helm. He rounded rich marquees, pavilions and tents Till reaching King Galeen’s, whereat he halted step Beneath a leafy tree that shaded all its length. Upon the grass of green a silken rug was spread, On which sat an emir with King Galeen himself. Both rulers were engaged upon a game of chess When Richier appeared, to help their game progress! He leaned upon his spear and as he did addressed The pair in Pagan speech, for he could speak it well: “Emir, take my advice and move your knights ahead Together with this king who hides behind his men!” On hearing this, the Peer reared up at him and said: “By Mahom, who are you, you interfering wretch? I swear by all the gods you’ll pay for your contempt.” But Richier replied: “You fool, you’re wrong again! The next move is my sword’s, and you’ll be well in check!” On saying this, he smote the Peer across his neck And sent across the board his lopped and bearded head! He said to King Galeen, who sat there stunned with dread: “Don’t lose this piece, Galeen! I’m sure you’ll soon collect A matching set of these upon your board of death!” On saying this, he spurred his rapid steed and sped To reach the fort of Laon without delay or let. The gallant knight arrived before the fort and said: “Good porter, let me in! The King of France expects!” “And who are you, sir knight?” the wary porter said. 121

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“My name is Richier,” he answered, “and I’m sent By Floovant, my liege lord, to see the King himself, Whom he has come to save with thirty thousand men.” On hearing this, at once the porter ran to wrench The smaller gate ajar, through which young Richier leapt. For him it truly was a choice of ‘quick or dead’, For some one thousand Moors in hot pursuit had left Their camp at once to seek the slain emir’s revenge. Dismounting on the blocks beneath a pine, he went Directly to the hall up countless marble steps And found the King inside, dejected and distressed. His heart was filled with woe, with anger and regret That he, those years ago, had sent young Floovant thence. Two others of his sons had played him false since then – In anger they’d renounced their Christian faith and fled To serve the Pagan will of King Galeen instead. The Moor had paid them back with Saxon land and wealth, And Clovis, wracked with woe, was bitter and bereft. When Richier strode in, he hardly raised his head – Until the youth began this fine and fair address: “May our Eternal Lord, Whose Glory knows no end, Save Clovis and all those who love him and defend! I’m sent here by your son – the one who loves you best, Prince Floovant, who has come with thirty thousand men! If you but raise this flag upon your tower’s crest, Your son, who is my lord, will know that we have met. Within a wood they bide, not far from here, and when They see my flag aloft, they’ll strike the Pagan tents. So arm your knights, my lord, and every man that’s left, And with our cutting swords we’ll do our part as well. From front and rear the Moors will be so fiercely pressed They’ll buckle straightaway and pay their folly’s debt.” On hearing this, the King was swept from sorrow’s depths To heights of joy; alike, his wife beside him wept For Floovant’s sake, her son that soon she’d see again. With every haste they did as Richier had said: His flag of war was raised upon the parapet, As knights galore prepared their horses and themselves, Then, pouring forth in scores, and five and fifties, left To join up with the force they knew that Floovant led. The Moors had no idea of any roving threats Until from front and rear the French drove into them!

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The Song of Floovant THE MOORS HAD NO IDEA until their camp was stormed, But in a flash Galeen had armed himself for war. He donned the coat of mail and helm he’d always worn, Then seized his banded shield, his finely tempered sword And well-nielloed spear, then mounted on his horse. Soon all his men were armed and mounted like their lord To meet the French attack that came from aft and fore. How fierce a fight ensued! How well the Christians fought: They lopped off heads and arms, they toppled tents galore. The French nielloed spears impaled each yelling Moor So well that each became a dumb and tumbling corpse! King Clovis fought the way that every monarch ought, And he and Floovant met amid the fierce assault, Not knowing who was who; soon they were crossing swords! They stormed each other’s shield with blows that cracked the boards, And lusty Floovant struck his father to the floor, Then stooped across his man! He would, of this I’m sure, Have hewn his father’s head in ignorance of all, Had Richier not cried: “Young tiger, draw your claws! That’s Clovis, King of France, your father and your lord!” On hearing this, at once young Floovant left his horse And at his father’s feet most fervently implored: “Forgive me! In God’s name, forgive me, noble lord! For it is I, Floovant, your son – once more at fault! I swear I did not know that it was you I fought!” His father said: “Fine son, I pardon you with joy, And bless the happy hour your sturdy arm was born!” When this was said, they kissed and, weeping with remorse For everything they’d missed, they laced their helms once more And mounted horse again, with mutual support, To carry on the fight against the harried Moors! The Germans and the French were like a vice’s jaws That held and pressed their foe till they were red and raw, Then either bled them dry or, bleeding, let them fall. GALEEN WAS FILLED with woe to see his men tormented. With silver spurs he drove his destrier to vengeance And struck with all his hate Count Guinemant the Frenchman. He cracked the shield he bore, he tore his hauberk’s meshing, He drove his cutting spear against the baron’s belly And threw his bleeding corpse one lance-length on the meadow. Prince Floovant saw the deed, and almost lost his senses. He charged upon his steed, his anger at its zenith, 123

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And smote the great Emir with all his strength and temper. So true a blow it was and with so true a weapon That all Mahomet’s wiles were powerless against it: The head of King Galeen went flying to the Devil! The fight was done and won; the Pagans fled in terror, As French and German knights flew after them and sped them With blows towards a flow whose tow was swift and heavy. The river did the rest: so many of them perished That no one, then or now, could calculate how many! Of Clovis’s two sons, the ones who’d turned against him, One perished straightaway, the other fled directly To Basum town inside the realm of his protector, Whose men elected him to be Galeen’s successor. This royal traitor’s name, God rot his bones, was Jetta, Who brought to France henceforth such sorrow, pain and terror. Floovant and Richier returned to Laon together. No man alive today, or yesterday, could tell you The princely booty gained from all the Pagans left there: A field of dashing steeds, or palfreys sweet and steady, A bank of silk marquees, of golden cloths and bezants, And prisoners of rank, whose ransom would be heavy. Whoever came that day made profit on the venture: Until the day they died they lived in pride and plenty. THE PROFIT GAINED that day by one and all was high: The BOY who’d gone, returned: and when the MAN arrived His mother hurried forth, and, as she held him tight, She kissed him tenderly, then welcomed all the knights. You never saw such joy, so many tears and smiles! Prince Floovant introduced fair Maugalie his bride, And straightaway the King led everyone inside St Rémi’s church to crown our hero and his wife. King Flores of Alsace was anxious then to ride Back home with all his men and Richier besides – And so they did, each lord returning to his shire. King Floovant stayed in France, and ruled it all his life As one whom much distress had tutored to be wise. My lords, there’s nothing more that any man alive Could tell you of this song that wouldn’t be a lie. God bless and guard you all who’ve listened to my rhymes – And me no less, the bard who sang you every line! ❦ 124

PART II

Bartered Brides ‘On looking round, the King saw Garnier was near. He said at once: “My boy, my comfort’s joy, come here! Since first I dubbed you knight in Valbrun’s open field You’ve battled hard for me and won great victories, Confounding with your hand my strongest enemies. Had land been free before, you would have been enfeoffed. But now take this reward: four thousand men with shields To serve you when you wed the lovely Aye my niece.” Young Garnier replied: “Much thanks, my noble liege,” And bowed his head as far as Charlemagne’s feet.’ Aye of Avignon (ll.70–9)

The commodification of women, both as primary and collateral objects of male desire or ambition, is clearly witnessed in Old French Epic poetry from its beginning as a recorded genre, and testifies strongly to the victimisation experienced by females in the patriarchal society of medieval Western Europe. The medieval Church justified its jaundiced view of womankind by reference to the anti-feminist diatribes of its founding Fathers, and promoted it daily by an insistence on the celibate ideal for its ordained Sons. Biblical exegesis branded all women as ‘daughters of Eve’ – the supreme temptress to mankind’s original sin and primary instrument of the Devil – and thus, of logical necessity, as both evil and inferior creations to men. This tradition of thought and belief, once legally adopted and socially institutionalised, inevitably affected all aspects of a medieval woman’s life: her education, her work, her legal and property rights, her political and religious role, and, perhaps above all, her marriage conditions. Examples of marriage by hierarchical arrangement, for gain, rather than by personal choice, for love, abound in the chansons de geste, and reflect no doubt the daily reality endured by many female members of their original audiences.In the Song of Roland, for example, having just announced his heroic nephew’s death, Charlemagne immediately offers the dead man’s fiancée, Aude, the hand of his son and heir Prince Louis as a fitting alternative, assuming she will consider this the highest consolation and honour he could possibly bestow upon her at the loss of her beloved – upon this, the very 125

Heroines of the French Epic day of the doomed pair’s intended marriage! In Raoul de Cambrai, this same Louis, now king, injudiciously offers the unwilling hand of his sister, the hot-headed hero’s mother, to a relative stranger as a timely reward for military services rendered. In another popular epic, Girart de Vienne, Charlemagne’s initial promise and subsequent revocation of the hand of a recently widowed duchess marks the start of the most celebrated baronial revolt in the extant canon of Old French Epic composition. In many chansons de geste, including the great Song of Roland, the hands of ‘well-bred and pretty women’ are promised in marriage by Saracen monarchs to their troops as an inducement or reward for military prowess, and the reparations demanded by Pagan victors in these narratives often stipulate the inclusion of Christian virgins (see, for example the Song of Aspremont, ll. 7833–46; 7916–30, 7993–8015). Amorous Saracen princesses also offer their female entourage quite freely to French heroes who find themselves imprisoned inside otherwise hostile strongholds (e.g. Floripas in Fierabras and, as already seen, Maugalie in the Song of Floovant). In the Song of William the irrepressible Saracen-born Guibourc, although now christened as a necessary condition of her recent marriage, is still quite ready to offer an inducement she knows will overcome her weary barons’ reluctance to aid her husband: “And any man with land who wants a wife, I have five score and sixty more inside, Princesses all of peerless mien and mind; By William’s grace each raised here from a child; They sew my silk each day with rowels fine; Come with me now and choose the one you like! My lord will give you land, and I a wife, If you will go and win them in the fight!” How many men rushed forth to choose a bride, Who at Archamp were fated soon to die!” (The Song of William, ll.1390–1400)

There is, of course, much overt violence, both physical and verbal, in any poetry based on warrior prowess, and some of it in the Old French Epic is certainly also directed towards women. Verbally it can be found at all narrative levels, from brief, misogynistic asides, often quoted as ‘wise proverbs’, to lengthy tirades, often of the most insulting nature, usually, but not always, delivered by a male at the boiling-point of anger or frustration. In the Song of William, for example, the eponymous hero raises his sword to strike his own sister after deploring and cursing her life as one of serial debauchery. In Raoul de Cambrai, Raoul hurls the most insulting accusations at the Mother Superior of Origny convent, who is also the mother of his closest companion Bernier, and then his troops proceed to burn down her convent with her and three hundred of her charges trapped inside. In The Knights of Narbonne, the ageing Aymeri brutally knocks his wife Hermenjart to the ground when she, naturally and sensibly, objects to his decision to dismiss all their sons from their endangered homeland. Having been 126

Bartered Brides violently struck, amazingly she rises, however, and proceeds to thank her husband for reminding her of her ‘rightful position’ in the marriage! At its most abusive extreme, the rape, mutilation, and/or murder of women, as innocent victims of male aggression in civilian or military life, are reported unflinchingly in the Old French chansons de geste. Both Saracen and Christian women, from Bramimond in the Song of Roland (c.1100) onwards, express their fear of the consequences of military defeat, and are shown to suffer cruelly therefrom, in individual confrontations and group assaults. Like some profitable movies of today, some successful Old French epic songs were continued either backwards or forwards in time to entertain their public with the youthful exploits or last days of particularly popular heroes or with those of their ancestors or descendants. One such chanson de geste, relating the harassed marital life of a Countess Aye of Avignon, seems to have proved sufficiently popular among French medieval audiences for it to be alluded to in many other tales and to justify the composition of a sequel some ten years after the original production appeared. Read together they offer us a fascinating insight into the narrative modifications being made by the trouvères of the time in order to adapt their Epic genre to the changing taste and composition of their audiences.Most notable here is the shifting emphasis, both during and between each narrative, from a passive to an active romantic heroine, and from a loathsome to a respected Pagan hero. At her father’s death, Aye of Avignon, Charlemagne’s niece, becomes a rich and royal marriage target, not only for the ardent arrows of respectable suitors, but also, because of her exceptional physical beauty, for the shafts of cupidity and desire shot continually by her predatory neighbours. In Aye I she is, predictably, ‘awarded’ by her uncle to his favourite knight, Garnier of Nanteuil, for whom, the poet makes it clear, the acquisition of her duchy is of equal importance to that of her hand.However, the Aye I poet does begin to challenge the most basic assumption of his artistic genre, namely that ‘Pagans are wrong and Christians are right’ (Song of Roland, 1015), by introducing a cast of Christians who are villains and a Saracen protagonist, King Ganor, who is anything but evil. Subsequently his continuator in Aye II breaks completely new ideological ground for the chansons de geste by transforming the Pagan monarch, the French Epic genre’s traditional arch-villain, into a Romantic super-hero, one who is a model of virtue, both as monarch and as lover. King Ganor in Aye II is not only prepared to wait patiently and courteously for his devotion’s reward, but also willing to abandon his land and his personal safety, his territorial conquests and even his religion, at a moment’s notice, to pursue, rescue and realise the love of his life. The second poet is thus also able to give a complete twist to the traditional ‘Saracen Princess’ motif of his genre, by having a Pagan hero fight for the hand of a Christian Princess, forfeit his material gains and change his religion to achieve a romantic goal. Although there seems to be no historical prototypes for the three protagonists of both poems, the character of Aye was a popular one among medieval audiences, being frequently referred to in subsequent literary works. Her symbolic figure – one whose beauty and sweetness were able to inspire and survive the ruthless devotion of three Christian dukes and a Pagan emir for fifteen full years – no doubt struck 127

Heroines of the French Epic a particularly sympathetic chord among the female listeners to and readers of her first adventure, inspiring and ensuring the success of its continuation. Both poems are fairly short by Old French Epic standards, but are nonetheless brimming with scenes of action, episodes of pathos, and moments of rustic and maritime charm. It is to the lasting credit of both original authors that the amorous adventures of this long-suffering heroine can still be enjoyed today in either or both of their medieval manifestations.

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AYE OF AVIGNON 1.How Lady Aye was married MY LORDS, God bless you all! Attend me, I implore you, And hear a noble song that tells a worthy story: How Charlemagne raised Sir Garnier from boyhood, Together with the Queen, who cherished and adored him. The child was good and true, and grew so wise and loyal That when the King went out, to woodlands or to waters, He never left him home: the noble youngster joined him To hold his hunting-bow or help him with the horses, Or wear upon his wrist the hunting-hawk or falcon. And when the King was tired, the youth, inside his quarters, Would sing him off to sleep or play some music for him: There never was, in truth, a more adept performer. And then, when it was time to ply the art of warfare, Young Garnier at once was knighted and awarded The leading roles in court, at Charlemagne’s orders, Of seneschal in chief and bearer of the war-flag. His duties spurred him on: ere long he left on horseback With many gallant knights to fight against the forces Of Charlemagne’s foes, defeating all that fought him. Sir Garnier was wise and shared his fame and fortune So freely that his name was honoured even more so. His closest friend at court from early days had always Been Bérenger, a duke, who, as I heard, was also A son of Ganelon, that most disloyal royal! But soon a maiden’s love would sunder friendship, causing A thousand knights and more to die in bloody slaughter, And churches to be torched, their burning belfries falling. The song of Aye begins – so listen and enjoy it! SIR GARNIER, the son of Lord Doōn, was brave, And loved by great and small for all his winning ways. With many gallant knights and vavasours he waged Campaigns against the foes of Charlemagne’s reign 129

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Heroines of the French Epic And suffered night and day for Charlemagne’s sake. He captured many forts in Charlemagne’s name, Subduing foreign foes and forcing renegades To recognise the King and promise him their faith. King Charlemagne loved the valour he displayed, And gave him many gifts and honours in exchange – As you’re about to hear, without the least delay. 40

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KING CHARLEMAGNE’S reign was full of noble deeds: In one of these he’d fought and wrought a great defeat On Witikind, the King of savage Saxony. But Charlemagne’s win had cost him many Peers, And Avignon’s Antoine, a duke, was one of these. His widowed wife, bereft of vigour in her grief, Had but a daughter left to rule their mighty fief. In lovely France, the King, his whiskers white with years, Was holding court at Laon, where many had convened, And summoned forth the girl, who was indeed his niece, To share with him her cares and plan for their relief. And thus it was that Aye, our heroine, appeared. Three hundred knights in white escorted her with zeal, A bodyguard well armed with lances and with shields, And shod in spurs to speed their stallions and steeds. The maid herself bestrode a tawny mule whose seat Was made of golden silk with padding in between. She wore a gown whose folds were sewn with golden pleats. No Christian maid before was half as fair as she: She stunned the court at once– she took away their speech! The King, though, wasn’t mum, and bade her take the seat Right next to him at once, whomever this aggrieved! Then, lifting up his voice, he said so all could hear: “Sir Antoine of Valence, alas for you indeed! Your loss to me is great! Your lifetime was too brief!” Bertrand of Laon replied: “My lord, let grieving be, For neither young nor old can know when death is near. What is important now is that your niece receive A count, a duke or prince, in marriage, who may keep Her lands from others’ hands and govern them in peace.” On looking round, the King saw Garnier was near. He said at once: “My boy, my comfort’s joy, come here! Since first I dubbed you knight in Valbrun’s open field You’ve battled hard for me and won great victories, Confounding with your hand my strongest enemies. 130

Aye of Avignon I Had land been free before, you would have been enfeoffed. But now take this reward: four thousand men with shields To serve you when you wed the lovely Aye my niece.” Young Garnier replied: “Much thanks, my noble liege,” And bowed his head as far as Charlemagne’s feet. The Monarch stopped him short and led him off to greet And grasp the proffered hand of Aye his bride to be. God help her though, for woe would haunt her wedding-feast – Such woe that never since old David’s sling released The stone that slew Goliath, of which the Scriptures speak, Or Judas Maccabeus made Antiochus yield, Or Trassus was betrayed by Jetta of Londite, Did wilder war ensue wherein so many Peers Who’d lived a life of joy endured an end so bleak! SO LOVELY AYE was given and Avignon was won – And Gontier and Sanson, Renard and Aumagon Went looking for their kinsman Duke Bérenger, at once! They found him playing chess with Bernart of Riverun. “In truth, my noble uncle,” said angry Aumagon, “The bond that you made boast of has quickly been undone, And with it much distinction assured to all of us! You’re not to have one foot of the fief of Avignon, Nor marry Aye the maiden or wear Valence’s glove! Her hand and land are given by Charles to Doon’s son!” Said Bérenger, with laughter: “Good nephew, that’s enough! No knight in France would ever usurp what’s mine in trust While breath was in my body, however brave he was: He’d know that with my weapon I’d split his reckless skull!” “Then be prepared to do so!” replied young Aumagon. At this, the board went flying as Bérenger rose up And ran to Charlemagne his lord and Emperor. “My lord,” he cried, “I ask for my pledged inheritance, Which is fair Aye in marriage and all of Avignon, As in his life your father bequeathed to me for love.” But Charlemagne answered: “Sir Bérenger, enough! I’ve never heard this mentioned, by you or anyone!” Sir Bérenger, in anger, went striding through the crush To Garnier and shouted: “Pull back, companion! If you accept this woman and her possessions thus, Our friendship will be over, our enmity begun! Fair Aye will be a widow in twelve or seven months: My weapon will avenge me, for justice must be done.” 131

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On hearing such a death-threat, Sir Doon’s gallant son Faced Bérenger directly and softly answered thus: “By all the faith I owe you, what heady wine you’ve drunk! What heavy sleep it gave you that you should dream so much! If I’m to die as swiftly as you have sworn I must, Then you must be the lightning that strikes us from above! I’ll not give up the woman! What man would think of such? What sort of cur refuses so fine a gift of love? You’ve been my close companion for eight and forty months: I want you at the wedding – to share the feast with us!” Duke Bérenger retorted: “Be certain, I shall come! And when you bathe, I’ll shave you: I swear, the only cut You’ll have will be a blunt one – you’ll never see the blood!” SAID AUMAGON the swarthy: “Fine Emperor, my lord, I fear you may have started this day so fierce a war That long before it’s over a thousand knights of yours Will die in bloody sorrow who thought to live in joy. The woman is my uncle’s; that’s what your father swore, And Garnier was witness, with others, to it all. If she’s not freely given, then dearly she’ll be bought!” Young Garnier retorted: “Then bring a witness forth! There’s not a person present, however fierce or sure, Whom, if he dared defy me by saying what he saw, I couldn’t prove a liar and silence with my sword.” At this point in the quarrel the maiden raised her voice: “Duke Bérenger, so help me, the fault in this is yours! Have you been dead for seasons and are you now reborn? Your apathy has justly deprived you of reward! The hart you stalked has vanished – don’t chase it anymore, For it has been recaptured by Garnier of Nanteuil! I’ve no desire to struggle against our Monarch’s choice!” “This maiden is unrivalled,” said everyone in court: “Whoever is her husband will never but rejoice!” THE QUARREL over Aye went on until at length Count Auboin and Miles, the sons of Pinabel, Nephews of Ganelon, came striding up the steps Of Charlemagne’s hall, their spur-less heels unchecked. On seeing him, at once to Garnier they said: “Put any thoughts of Aye forever from your head! Nor Aye nor Avignon shall Doon’s son possess! If you usurp the right, we’ll fight you to the death. 132

Aye of Avignon I As falcon scares the dove, so does your growing strength Affright the King , and thus he feathers both your nests! You, Garnier, are born of Aymer’s haughty geste, Who, with the thief Maugis, Charles banished from our realm. Yet they returned and burned the land where’er they went: From Orléans to Laon, no solid house was left. And royal Gui was slain by them in the Ardennes.” “You villains, hold your tongue!” said Garnier, incensed, “For it was you and yours who on the road that led From Aigremore attacked and hacked to death the best Of kinsmen, Duke Buevon – a debt you owe me yet! If I deserve reproof, then what should you expect?” Their anger drew like flame that grew the more intense As Auboin reached out his hands towards the head Of Garnier, to seize his hair and tear it thence! But Garnier was fast: his fist was first instead And struck him in the teeth so sharply that he bled All down his chin and stained his ermine collar red. The King commanded both: “Control your recklessness!” Both Auboin and Miles were seized at his behest, Then taken from the hall and thrown inside a cell. The King himself led forth his lovely niece to wed Young Garnier at once, before the sun had set. THE PAIR WAS WED, it’s said, upon the feast of Easter, A time of joy and hope for all of Heaven’s creatures, When sunlight wakes the bud and makes the grasses greener, And lovely maids are clad to match the merry season, And every lad is glad to catch and clutch them nearer! The King was home in Laon, and like a noble leader, Had summoned all his lords and men of liege to meet him In council to discuss their plans and disagreements. So Garnier wed Aye amid this mighty meeting And Charles of Saint-Denis showed how much he esteemed him: The Queen herself led Aye, attending her as needed. The maiden wore a cloak of silk from Almeria Inlaid with glowing jewels as rich as they were their gleaming. The cloak was red of hue and trimmed with ermine neatly. By Garnier she sat at one end of the meeting, While at the other end, the council was proceeding – And with a jealous rage their enemies were seething! Said swarthy Aumagon: “Is honour sold so cheaply? There was a time, I thought, when it was bought more dearly. 133

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I’d rather die than live to witness its demeaning!” Then, leaping up at once, he looked at all his people, As angry as a lion, his face a mask of evil. How quickly wisdom dies, when folly vies with reason! This song has lessons strong – if you will let it teach you. THE COURT was large indeed, for Charles had summoned thither His barons, with their plans and contrary ambitions – Like Guillemer the Scot’s with Helgot of Dunilin’s. Count Bérenger was one, supported by his kinsmen. He spoke with ringing voice and everybody listened: “Rich Emperor,” he cried, “I have a charge to bring you! When we give service true, you promise us great riches – But when we seek reward, you give us less than little. I don’t know who has turned your love from us so quickly, But why should we, if spurned, remain within your kingdom? I’d rather be abroad in poverty, than sitting Among the lords of France but subject to derision!” “Sir Bérenger,” said Charles, “forego your angry spirit And further claim to Aye – she’s wed and that’s the finish! Accept instead your choice of Garnier’s two sisters, And double gain is made – Nanteuil’s a wealthy city, And brings a thousand knights to fight for you if bidden!” But Bérenger invoked the Virgin Maid as witness That never would their clans by marriage be co-mingled: “Until the fiery woe I feel has been extinguished, And Aubuin and Miles have been released from prison, I’ll burn upon a pyre that many wrongs have kindled! Sir Garnier will rue the day that Aye bewitched him. Though nothing I can do will change his smiling visage, There’s something I can say to which he’ll have to listen: A charge that I can lay, of treachery most wicked, For which, if you’re a King, my lord, you’ll have to kill him!” THE COURT WAS FULL of nobles and knights of highest stock, As Aumagon the swarthy stood up and spoke aloft: “Fine Emperor, attend us and what we’re speaking of! Both I and my good brother are cut from honest cloth, As sons of Duke Alori, nephews of Haguenon. And so are Miles and Auboin, the sons of Pinabel, Who ruled the realm as far as the valleys of Matron Until his life was ended defending Ganelon. But are the sons to suffer for fathers doing wrong? 134

Aye of Avignon I Fine King, I know you wonder what brings this sermon on: Well once, at Verberia, while sitting on a rock, Sir Garnier, here present, said this to us, by God: ‘My lords, my noble barons, we need to plan a plot Against the King, whose evils have driven me to wrath, Whose traitorous oppression, I fear, will never stop: We’ve won him many riches, yet we ourselves are robbed! My blade is keen to kill him, in front of all or none, In woodland or in water, wherever chance allots! And when it’s done there’s nothing for us to fear anon: His only son, Prince Louis, is weak of will and soft – If we accept to serve him, he’ll think himself well off!’ That’s what he said, your Highness, but we replied: ‘We’ll not! We’d rather bear our losses than kill the King, by God!’ As witnesses I call on both Miles and Auboin: Your favourite would have killed you, if we had willed him on!” So Charlemagne ordered their prison-cell unlocked And summoned both before him to hear some proof thereof. THEIR PRISON-CELL was opened at Charlemagne’s order: To hear some proof of treason he summoned them before him. Count Auboin spoke firstly, and no one could ignore him, For even if he’d read it or it had been reported, He couldn’t have repeated so well his kinsman’s story: “Fine Emperor,” he told him, “of this I can assure you: Upon a step of marble, at Verberia’s storming, With kinsmen I was resting when Garnier implored us And said: “My noble barons, we need to join our forces Against King Charlemagne who treats us all so poorly. We’ve won him lands in battle and we deserve our portion. Your family are fighters and lion-hearted stalwarts, And I’m prepared to slay him on any night or morning In woodland or in water, wherever chance affords it. And when it’s done there’s nothing for us to fear henceforward. His little son, Prince Louis, is weak of will and palsied: He’ll only be too happy if we continue loyal. But if we work together, in time we’ll kill him also!” ‘Upon our faith we’ll never,’ we four replied in chorus: ‘We’d rather bear our losses than see our Monarch slaughtered.’ My lord, I’ll fight with any who says I witness falsely.” Young Garnier responded: “You evil-hearted fraudster! I’ll fight you and defeat you, for God knows I am faultless.” And so they gave their gages to Charlemagne’s warden, 135

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As Aye endured a sadness she’d never felt beforehand. With fear her brow was furrowed and all her looks were altered. Sir Bérenger was watching and said, to further gall her: “It seems to me, my lady, your price has greatly fallen. I was to you a hunter who, though he had you cornered, You still could dare to menace, since Garnier had caught you! But with the Lord’s permission your lover will be slaughtered And I shall have your county and you, its fairest portion, To rule and love at leisure with well deserved enjoyment!” But Aye replied: “You blackguard! Don’t waste your vigour talking! I’d rather be a spinster or nun in holy orders Than ever be a part of the clan of Duke Alori!” Queen Blancheflor was listening and laughed at Aye’s rejoinder. THEIR GAGES HAD been given, the battle’s hour bespoke, When Girart of Riviers, who held in his control Dinant, Namur, Erēzée and Haye, arrived below – Sir Garnier’s own nephew, his sister’s son, we’re told. This youngster was the grandson of Doon of Nanteuil, And with him, as he travelled, a thousand soldiers rode. He shed his spurs and mounted the palace steps of stone. King Charlemagne kissed him, his welcome nothing loath, And sat him by his uncle, who hugged and held him close. Sir Garnier addressed him in happy, loving tones: “What dalliance, fine nephew, has kept you from me so? The King deserves our service o’er any mortal soul, For he has joined by marriage his fortunes with our own. But Ganelon’s foul kinsmen have dealt my bliss a blow, By calling me a traitor before his royal throne – And I must fight the charges, tomorrow, on my troth!” Girart replied: “Fine uncle, your honour is well known. I’ll take your place tomorrow, God curse me if I don’t!” “My gallant lad, you cannot, for any sum of gold, For such is the agreement: the fight is mine alone.” “Then my delay has shamed me,” his noble nephew groaned: “You French, have you forgotten? It wasn’t long ago That Roland fell to treason and you were filled with woe – And yet, his killer’s kinsmen still trouble Charles’s throne! They should have died beside him, those seven years ago. Before the dusk tomorrow, their guilty blood will show.” Said Aumagon the swarthy: “You’ve said enough, you rogue! If any man lays charges, abroad or here at home, Against my family’s honour, I’ll ram them down his throat. Before midday tomorrow you’ll see that this is so!” 136

Aye of Avignon I THE QUARREL grew between them, their anger drew like flame. Count Bérenger continued to charge Sir Garnier: “I only seek what’s justice and speak the truth, in faith: If Charles could but remember the great assault we made Upon your father Doon at old Nanteuil that day Aymon’s four sons, your cousins, opposed us with disdain, I do not think he’d give you, with such unblinking haste, His lovely niece, the duchess, or Avignon, her claim.” But Garnier reproached him with Ganelon again, His kinsman sent as envoy to King Marsile in Spain, Whose treachery slew Roland among the Spanish dales. The King exclaimed in anger: “My lords, enough I say! This matter won’t be settled or any peace attained Between the warring parties without a combat waged.” When this was said he ordered the court at Laon to break And meet again at Soissons; then Blancheflor and Aye Went straight to church, beseeching the aid of St Gervais. THE FEAST DAY OF St Basil was chosen for the fight. Sir Garnier kept vigil until its dawn arrived, When Bishop Morris chanted the offices required And Garnier gave bezants one hundred pounds in price. The lovely Aye gave bracelets and necklaces alike, Which still today are kept there in coffers richly lined. Fell Ganelon’s foul nephews, Sir Auboin and Miles, Arrived at Charles’s palace when Mass was said and signed. To Charles and his attendants they swore a second time That Garnier was plotting an end to Charles’s life – And Garnier repeated and swore to God on High That never had he done so and never so would strive. So Auboin went swiftly to arm himself in iron: He donned a heavy hauberk, whose surcoat was of white, And then put on a helmet of African design: Embedded in its nasal there shone a beryl bright. His brother Miles engirded a sword about his side Which Ganelon his uncle was given by Marsile. His shield had once belonged to Sir Rembalt of the Isles. His lance was long and heavy and bore a vicious spike. A steed from Monsenīa was brought for him to ride, And Auboin bestrode it with such a limber stride He never held the saddle or touched the stirrup irons. You should have heard his kinsmen acclaiming him with pride: “You show them, noble scion! Be strong and bide your time – 137

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For if you yield or falter, our clan will be reviled!” “My worthy lords, don’t worry,” Count Auboin replied: “Without the need of clergy, my glowing steel will shrive Sir Garnier of error and prove our might and right!” This said, he reached the meadow, his clan on every side, And soon the trumpets summoned Sir Garnier to fight. COUNT AUBOIN was first to reach the field and enter. Sir Garnier, prepared as valour bade, was second. He donned a coat of mail whose double-chains had never Been severed by the thrust of any cutting weapon. He laced upon his head a green and glowing helmet That once had been Matol’s, the Jew who had defended Jerusalem itself as King Matant’s successor. A Moor had found it there, in Abraham’s own dwelling, Inside a crimson tomb with him who had been buried. Then Garnier laced on a sword with razor edges And took his shield, emblazoned with lions at its centre. His menfolk brought his spear that bore a streaming pennant, And then secured his steed, a piebald called Rosēnet. SIR GARNIER, armed nobly, and splendidly arrayed, Received his noble charger, a piebald destrier, Which straightaway he mounted with such a noble grace He never held the saddle or used the stirrups’ aid. The gallant charger shuddered, to feel the sudden weight. Girart and all his soldiers rode closely in his wake, To guard his back from strangers and any breach of faith. Sir Garnier was praying while riding through the gates, And thanking all his menfolk, as he arrived to face Sir Auboin, who waited at his appointed place. HOW MIGHTY WAS the shouting, the yelling and the cheer, The moment both combatants were facing on the field. Sir Garnier rode forward and raised his voice to speak: “Sir Auboin, your charges have burdened me with grief. God damn you and your kindred for having cast on me The slightest slanting shadow of wicked treachery! What evil thoughts inside you could even make you dream That I would seek the death of our Emperor and liege? No shining gold or money can blind or blinker me – Though you and all your kinsmen are blind from birth, it seems!” Count Auboin responded: “I’ll show you what we see!” 138

Aye of Avignon I They turned their steeds and spurred them so sharply with their heels That when they charged, the power that lay behind their spears Destroyed the painted lions emblazoned on their shields. Count Auboin delivered a thrusting-blow so fierce It razed the saddle’s pommel and grazed the man beneath! Sir Garnier’s rejoinder was just as fast and clean: He rubbed Auboin’s ribcage with flag-cloth and a piece Of sharp and shining lance-head, enough to make it bleed! The saddlebow behind him went flying as the steel Drove through the croup and shattered the backbone of his steed. The charger slumped in slaughter and threw its charge a-field, But Auboin was nimble and hurried to his feet, Ashamed that he had fallen in sight of all the Peers, And that he’d lost a warhorse of noble Spanish breed. He swore in all his anger, by Simeon the sere, That Garnier would garner a harsher wage indeed! He drew aloft his weapon, that even in its sheath Shone brighter than a mirror and shimmered razor-keen, Then challenged his opponent, while venting forth his spleen: “By God above,” he shouted, “so much for gallantry! These witnesses believed in the valour of your deeds, But now they’ve seen you fighting, they know of your deceit! I stand here keen to show you what proper valour means: With cowardly dishonour you’ve robbed me of my steed! But by the saint that pilgrims exalt at Nero’s field, I swear that if you scruple to fight me on your feet, Your horse’s fate will follow the fortune of my steed – My golden-hilted sword-blade will bring it to its knees! May God Who suffered treason and wrong upon the Tree, Curse any knight whose courage and honour are too weak To face a fellow fighter but not to slay his steed! But still I will forgive you if you dismount to me And we can fight as equals, befitting chivalry! I think that you will find me no easy man to beat, But one who will withstand you for long enough to see The Lady Aye unhappy for many days to be, When she beholds the vengeance that I intend to wreak On you, for plotting treason through murder of our liege! Some price will be exacted before we take our leave – For I am like a lion that you have raised from sleep, And you, you spotted leopard, have stirred the king of beasts!” Said Garnier: “I’m happy to fight upon my feet And turn your roaring lion into a bleating sheep!” 139

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On saying this, he swiftly dismounted from his steed And tied it up beside him, beneath a leafy tree. He drew his silver sword-blade, whose golden pommel gleamed, And ran to face his rival upon the grassy green, So God the great Redeemer could make His judgement clear. The Lady Aye was watching and praying on her knees, Beseeching God our Saviour, Who bore the Cross’s grief, To guard the son of Doon from death or injury, And punish every kinsman of Ganelon the fiend For wrongfully accusing Sir Garnier of schemes To murder Charlemagne, his Emperor and liege. UPON HER KNEES in prayer was Aye the fair duchess. Towards the Eastern sky she turned her lovely head And in her gentle speech besought the Lord of strength To guard her wedded lord from injury or death. Count Auboin ran in with villainous intent, And, lifting up his sword that glittered end to end, He rushed at Doon’s son and aimed against his head A mighty blow – and though it struck the shield instead That Garnier had raised the instant that it fell, And even lost an inch of blade as on it went – It split the floral shield above its boss and sped Towards the noble head in its Pavian helm. Thank God the helm was strong! It didn’t even dent, But sent the blade to slide and glide upon the left. It cleft one hundred rings of byrnie triple-meshed, And where the thigh is wide it sliced a strip of flesh And drew the crimson blood that flooded down his leg. Two fingers and a half of spur alike were cleft. The weapon struck the ground with such enormous strength It drove beneath the grass six inches of its length. Sir Garnier was shocked: he rocked, but never fell. His nephew, bold Girart, could see his lord’s distress, And you don’t need to ask if he alike was vexed. In soft and tender tones he whispered to himself: “Fine uncle of Nanteuil, his claws are sharply edged! By blessed Mary’s Son, if yours are any less, I’ll die of blame if you should die a shameful death: Inside the vaulted hall I asked you, nay I begged Before them all to fight this villain in your stead! By Heaven’s King and her who bore Him at her breast, I wish that mine could be the shield above your head: 140

Aye of Avignon I If that were so, the blows would soon be at an end!” The Frenchmen, looking on, agreed beneath their breath That Auboin would be the best of knights and men If he had not be born to such an evil geste. The colour in the cheeks of Lady Aye had fled. She knelt there and she prayed for Heaven’s Queen to bless And keep her wedded lord from Auboin’s revenge. THE CHEEKS OF Lady Aye had drained of all their colour When she beheld the blow that Auboin had struck him. She prayed to God above and to His Virgin Mother That they would keep from death her wedded lord and husband, And curse Lord Auboin, with all his clan, whose cunning And evil-hearted plans had always led to nothing But misery and death that blemished France the lovely: They ended Roland’s life, whose visage glowed with courage, And Oliver’s his friend, as history instructs us, And Charlemagne’s Peers’, the flower of our country. “Dear God above,” said Aye, “I call upon you humbly, As one who knows You know the honour of my husband, To grant him in this fight the victory of justice.” Sir Garnier himself, whose conscience was untroubled, Had nonetheless been stung when Auboin had struck him Before so many peers, who’d seen him bleed and stumble, Who’d murmured in surprise, then cried aloud in wonder: The shame he felt, indeed, outweighed the pain he’d suffered. Count Auboin, meanwhile, was keen to strike another. But Garnier flung up his cutting sword and swung it Against his Eastern helm with all his mighty courage. The crafted ring on top cracked open like a nutshell, And had the nut below not moved as it was coming, It hardly would have known the blow that would have crushed it! But as it was the blow slid off the helm and sundered The saffroned byrnie’s links, as many as a hundred. It rushed towards the hems, and, reaching there, it cut them. Before it reached his hams it breached the villain’s buttocks And tendered such a steak of rump as you’d be lucky To render from a sow, however richly nourished! The weapon bit the spur, then hit the ground and burrowed Some eighteen inches south before its mouth was muzzled! Count Auboin was shocked, and, as his senses shuddered, He buckled to one knee and almost took a tumble. His kinsmen rocked with fear to see their hero stumble, 141

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And all of France’s Peers, with ever-mounting worry, Cried openly in prayer: “Sweet Mary, Maid and Mother, Whose blessed body bore the Lord of Peace among us, Bring some immortal truce between these mortal brothers! If either one should die in this, a private struggle, Then where shall land of France and Charles find such another?” The Lady Aye herself had witnessed from her cover The blow that Garnier had rendered Count Auboin, And, falling to her knees, at once, she offered humbly Her thanks to God our Lord, the Ward of all who love Him. WHEN AUBOIN the rogue could feel the stinging flesh-wound That Garnier, the son of Lord Doon, had dealt him With all the bitter bite his burnished sword could render – Enough to make him reel and keel upon the meadow, And feel his nostrils fill with flowing blood already – His woe was so intense he thought he’d lose his senses. He swore to God the Lord that he would have his vengeance Or hold his honour cheap and hate himself forever. He seized his burnished sword and, raising it to Heaven, Rushed Garnier at once, with all his strength and temper. The blow he gave was meant to settle every debit, By splitting clean in half the helmet of the debtor – A heavy bill it was, a heavy charge, directed With all the skill of one well used to its collection – But Garnier put up his quartered shield as credit! The blow destroyed the shield as though it were a feather, And struck the helm below so ruthlessly it severed The precious stones in half and smashed the floral esses: Their circle, made of gold, availed him not a penny. The leather coif was ripped, and, clipping hair, the weapon Made crimson blood galore go pouring from a head-wound. If false Auboin’s hand had held his weapon steady, It would have split the head wide open like a melon! Sir Garnier drew back some fourteen feet in terror. Sir Auboin, at this, could not contain his pleasure: “Lord Doon’s son,” he cried, “it’s plain to this assembly That Charlemagne’s choice has matched you with a fellow Whose skill to make you pay exceeds the claims of any! And pay you will! Enough to render Aye a beggar, And all your kin, whose wealth was vested in this venture! One way alone remains to purchase your redemption: Submit your sword to me in absolute surrender, 142

Aye of Avignon I Acknowledging defeat before these barons present! My clan and I, whose deeds will always be remembered, Will speak for you to Charles and seek some intercession. I’ll pay, on your behalf, a barrelful of bezants To douse the fiery rage and smouldering displeasure He’ll hold for you, if you will make a full confession Of your expressed intent to make a move against him! I counsel you, my lord, to go at once and tell him – For, if you don’t, be sure, without a doubt whatever The next blow of my sword will split you through the centre – No herb on earth, no saint, nor God on High can help you!” ON HEARING THE contempt in Auboin’s remarks, And seeing from his head the blood bespread the grass, And feeling, top to toe, the blow’s enduring smart, A dreadful rage engulfed Sir Garnier’s great heart, Then flooded through his veins to fill his fighting arm! He swept his weapon down. The villain raised his targe, But such a flowing blow just broke the shield in half As nimbly as a knife splits lettuces apart, Before it poured below and pared the helmet’s guard! It would have split the rest, but as it sped, it glanced Against the rim and reft his left ear as it passed. Sir Garnier exclaimed, his face an angry mask: “Sir Auboin, by God, I’ve made my point at last! Although the final proof against you waits its chance, So please the Judge of all, Whose Day shall come to pass, My sword shall lay it bare before the day is dark. You’ll rue the day you chose to ruin me with Charles! You’d better run and hide in India, you carl! The first mistake you make, if you remain in France, Will see you hung at once – for all can see your mark: The criminal’s one ear! I’ve shown them what you are! By sheering off its peer, your hearing will be marred, And everyone will see your evil from afar! My soul shall be absolved of any guilty charge Of treason to the King, both now or in the past!” ON HEARING SUCH a speech, and seeing, on the paddock, His severed ear, the Peer was desolate and angry: He’d never felt before such misery and anguish. He swore to God the Lord, our fortune’s oar and anchor, That he would have revenge or ever scorn his valour. 143

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He rushed at Garnier, his face a mask of anger, And with his cutting blade laid such a blow it shattered From top to base the shield with which he vainly parried. Not stopping there, it lopped his helmet of a panel. If false Auboin’s hand had not been made to slacken, It would slain at once Sir Garnier the gallant. But in his hand the brand rebounded from its damage And flew the villain’s grasp, just missing him in landing! Sir Auboin was shocked – as you can well imagine – And ran to pick it up, but even so was laggard, For Garnier had flown and snatched it by the handle. On raising it, he rammed his own back in its scabbard, Exclaiming to his foe: “God willing, wretched vassal, Your head will find the ear it cheerfully abandoned!” But Auboin was brave, his courage nothing lacking, And, running to his horse that lay upon the paddock, He seized a mighty mace that hung against its saddle. Then Achart and Hondré, a pair of daring clansmen, The sons of Lord Macaire, or so the record has it, Came rushing to his aid with thirty of their landsmen. Without the least delay they would have stopped the battle By slaying Garnier – if God had let it happen. But Charlemagne’s guard, a hundred men he’d gathered To oversee the duel, were swift in their reaction, And, rushing up as one, they faced the fierce assassins. The clamour grew, and soon the rival groups were clashing – But not for long – the few were overrun and vanquished: Some twenty-two were lost the moment that it happened, The other eight were tossed inside a cell and shackled. King Charlemagne swore upon his white moustaches That he’d not drink a drop of spicy wine or claret Till justice had been done and punishment exacted. Upon the field of fight, the rival knights still battled. SIR AUBOIN stood firm, the brother of Milōn, The cousin of Macaire and kin to Ganelon Whose wicked treason, wrought at Roncevaux, had cost The lives of Charles’s Peers and fearless Roland’s loss. The villain held a mace of copper, brass and bronze, Which he had brought and hung along his saddle’s cloth. He swung it up and struck the son of Lord Doon So fierce a blow upon his shiny helmet’s top That Garnier was stunned, so much so that he rocked 144

Aye of Avignon I To ground upon one knee, the pounding was so strong. Had Auboin struck next, our hero would have lost. But gallantly he rose, as swiftly as he’d dropped, And with a lurch he swung his rival’s blade aloft And struck him with the strength of all his temper’s wrath: My lords, it was the will of our Almighty God That with this very blow Sir Garnier smote off The hand that held the mace – and proved Auboin wrong. The villain fell to ground and fainted on the spot. This blow, as you might know, gave Aye of Avignon More joy than all the gold of royal Aragon! Sir Auboin was down, his hand and weapon gone, And when his swoon had passed his mood was sad and soft: “No need for any more, fine son of Lord Doon,” He said. “I will confess the treason and the plot I planned for you to feel the wrath of Charles’s rod. Bring Charlemagne here, our mighty King of Laon.” The marshals there replied: “And so we will, by God!” Thus Charlemagne came, and with him Duke Naimon, And many barons too and knights of noble stock. With ringing voice the King addressed Sir Auboin: ”Confess the treason, wretch, and reason that could prompt Your wish to make me hate the son of Lord Doon!” “My lord,” the wretch replied, “without a lie, by God, I’ll tell you why I laid the charge of treason on Sir Garnier and claimed it was his plan ere long To murder you by sword or poison’s deadly shock. I thought that if we fought to prove the right and wrong, I’d win the fight and right to Aye of Avignon, Whose husband should have been my brother Miles the strong: His claim to her is true – as true as it is long: You promised him her hand, my lord, in days bygone, And promises, once made, remain a bidden bond. My brother has been true and loyal all along, And never put his mind to any kind of wrong. Whatever I have done, he’s had no knowledge of. The ones who urged me on, Achart and Hendrion, Are in your dungeon now, held under key and lock. I’ve lost my ear and hand because they urged me on. And you will also bear some blame in this anon If you don’t punish them, as France’s law allots. No word of this is said to pardon me one jot, Or barter for my soul before Almighty God: 145

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If I should go to Hell, then there will be a mob Of my beloved clan to greet me on the spot! For I am sure to see my uncle Ganelon, With Pinabel and Gui, my kinsmen of Sorence. The cells of hell will swell with all of us in stock! But I do free of guilt Sir Miles, my brother fond. My brother had no part, I pledge, in any plot. This pledge at least, I hope, may favour me somewhat. The men you hold in jail have brought this evil on – Although I played my part and won’t say I did not.” “Arrest the rogue!” said Charles, “And bring out from the stocks Inside our palace jail the other eight we’ve got Who blemished Garnier with wicked treason’s blot And wanted him to die! I think it right they swap That fate with him and die the way of traitorous dogs! Take every one of them to hang at Montfaucon! Upon my father’s soul, whose life with valour shone, I swear I shall not eat of meat or fish hereon Until each one of them has tasted treason’s crop!” The marshals there replied: “We’ll serve them right, by God!” THE KING of France continued: “It’s only right, my lords, For treachery to suffer the punishment it ought. Sir Auboin’s admitted before you, one and all, That what he did was plotted and planted in his thoughts By those we hold in prison: by God Who made our laws, I want you all to witness: these men shall be destroyed, With Auboin, for surely he shares the evil wrought. But, as you’ve heard him tell us, Sir Miles was not at fault. His brother has absolved him of any blame, therefore His name should not be slighted or blighted at our courts.” “My lords,” his barons answered, “the choice is surely yours.” When this was said the traitors inside the jail were brought To watch as their co-plotter was slaughtered with his sword. Then, one by one, the others received their fair reward: To Montfaucon they led them, where each was hung and drawn. Sir Miles, their evil kinsman, filled up with Mansel coins A cart, and sent it swiftly to Charlemagne’s door. The King received the present – and yet, my friends, before The month was out, I tell you, that gift was dearly bought By him and by the bridegroom, Sir Garnier of Nanteuil. This story is a good one – you must agree, my lords! You’ll never hear a better, of that you can be sure! 146

Aye of Avignon I 2. How Lady Aye was harried KING CHARLEMAGNE welcomed the tribute that arrived From Miles– who was a villain, the same as all his tribe! The tribute that he sent him was Mansel coin, in piles – But dearly was it purchased, by Charles and Aye alike: Attend me, I implore you, and hear the reason why! The King of France decided to welcome back Sir Miles By sending forth an envoy, who voiced the King’s desire To see him in his palace and speak with him a while. Sir Miles obeyed the summons, not daring to defy, And Charlemagne met him the moment he arrived. He said, so all could hear him inside the palace high: “Sir Miles, I do acknowledge and know without a lie That in your clan and household are many wealthy knights. You also are the ruler of lands that can supply Some fifteen thousand fighters if ever they’re required. Your loyalty’s unquestioned, says every knight of mine, And I myself am certain that in this recent trial Of treachery and treason that’s cost so many lives You played no part whatever, and never shared the crime. I’ll not reveal who told me – for you it must suffice That know I do, and ask you to not be angered by The fact that he who told me has answered with his life. There’s not a man around us or in the land whom I Shall pardon, should he blame you or speak of you with spite. But, as your King, I bid you, from this day on in time, To be a friend forever of Garnier, the knight Who holds Nanteuil as nephew and favourite of mine. You’ll both be my advisers, with old Naimon the wise. Before the whole assembly I promise this besides: I’ll give you the first woman, no matter where she bides, That you would like to marry and make your wedded wife – Provided she’s a spinster – this royal pledge I plight. I’ll give her to you gladly, on this you can rely. Make Garnier your brother, and take another bride!” “My lord, I’ll gladly do so,” the knavish knight replied, And kissed Garnier in friendship before their monarch’s eyes. But, as you’ll hear, good people, his friendship was a lie, For later on this traitor took both his wife and life. As soon as this was over, a messenger arrived Before the royal palace and made his way inside. He asked for Charlemagne who, when he was apprised, 147

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Received the kneeling envoy and beckoned him to rise. His message, worthy people, was such as would in time Bring further tribulation to Garnier the knight And Avignon’s first lady, the lovely Aye his wife: Attend a little longer, and hear the reason why! INSIDE HIS marble hall sat royal Charles the Great, Who’d punished with his life Sir Auboin that day – A deed that had enraged the clansmen of the knave. Although they’d made their peace with gallant Garnier, Their act was just a sham, inspired by cunning hate. The envoy placed a scroll with every show of haste In Charlemagne’s hand, who opened it and gave The parchment to his clerk to read what it contained. He said to Charlemagne: “My lord, this message states: “Anseis of Cologne, the king of that domain, Informs you that the Moors have ravaged his estates. He asks you for support, in God our Saviour’s name, Recalling to your mind the promise that you made: You swore that if the Moors should trespass on his claim, That you and France’s host would hurry to his aid.” “That’s true enough,” said Charles, “upon my beard of grey! Good envoy, listen well to what I have to say! Return and tell your lord: before two weeks have waned I’ll join him with a host whose valour is acclaimed, Some sixty thousand men in battle’s full array. Sir Garnier himself shall bear my Oriflamme, And you, Sir Miles, I know, will swell our ranks again.” The knave replied: “My lord, your will I will obey.” The envoy went, and Charles sent others straightaway To summon men, and soon some sixty thousand came. At Charlemagne’s word they started on their way, The Oriflamme consigned to good Sir Garnier. Before he left he spoke to Avignon’s fair Aye: “Return to Avignon, well guarded and in haste, Whence Guinemer and Fulk, whose hearts are true and brave, With Girart of Riviers, both true and wise the same, Will take you to Nanteuil, so please you, noble Maid, With thirty other knights in whom I’ve fullest faith.” “My lord,” said Lady Aye, “your will I will obey.” Then, shedding many tears, she watched him ride away. The army moved in ranks that Charles himself arranged. Sir Miles was at his side. But, hear me lords, that knave 148

Aye of Avignon I Had planned with Aumagon and Sanson both, that they Would take five hundred knights, their clansmen, and would wait In ambush in a wood the people called Valprez! There Aye would be attacked, and haling her away, They’d put to sword the lords and soldiers in her train! The villains had agreed and told Sir Miles the same: “When you are in the land that Charles has planned to save, Choose where and how your hand may slay Sir Garnier! We’ll do our part. We’ll seize and keep the lovely Aye. My lord, when you return to France from this campaign, We’ll woo the King so well that, by the Virgin Maid, Fair Aye shall be your wife before the summer fades!” THE TREASONABLE DEED was thus agreed among them, As Charlemagne took the road with those he’d summoned, To aid King Anseis by whom Cologne was governed. Proud Aumagon, meanwhile, with Sanson, took another, With liegemen of their clan, in total some five hundred. They reached the wood I’ve named and took their stealthy cover Beside the path they knew that Aye would soon be coming. The escort at her side was thirty five in number, With Fulk and Guinemer and wise Girart among them. They rode on unaware until all of a sudden Five hundred men in arms surrounded them and struck them. As you can guess, I’m sure, it proved a useless struggle For thirty five, whose lives in gallant prime were sundered, Save those of Guinemer, Girart and Fulk his cousin. Fell Aumagon the wild would certainly have hung them, Had Sanson not prevailed upon his reckless brother. The Lady Aye was seized – so trim of limb and lovely That Aumagon was filled with foul desire and lusted To have his way with her, and would indeed have done so, Had Sanson not prevailed – an act that later won him Some pity from the King, as soon you will discover. There was an escapee from this attack, a youngster Who, as he fled – and bled from where a lance had cut him – Reached Lorion, a fort defended by two brothers, Sir Fouquerant the one, Sir Renier the other, Of whom Sir Garnier of Nanteuil was the uncle. On learning this, the youth revealed the truth and trouble Concerning Aumagon and Sanson, who’d abducted Fair Aye and brave Girart, whose visage shone with courage, With Guinemer and Fulk, whose coffers had been plundered: 149

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“A score and ten we were, and armed with almost nothing, For none of us foresaw their treachery and cunning. They gave a mighty roar, then pouring in their hundreds, Well armed and dressed in mail they flayed us in a flurry. I am the only one who has escaped their clutches. For God’s sake, noble knights, take all that you can muster And rescue Lady Aye, so courtly and so comely, The newly wedded wife of Garnier your uncle, Who’s ridden off with Charles to save the lives of others!” When Fouquerant heard this, and Renier, they hurried To summon forth their men, who, when they heard the trumpet, Bestrode their steeds of war, four thousand in their number. To Lorion’s own wood they rode and took up cover Along a route they knew those villains must be coming. It’s often said, you know, and this confirms how justly, That friendship’s bidden coin outshines all hidden money! WHEN GARNIER’S two nephews, whose names have lived in song As Fouquerant the gallant and Renier the strong, Were told of the abduction of Aye of Avignon By Sanson and his nephew, the hot-head Aumagon, They called to arms their liegemen without a moment’s loss. Four thousand in their number, together they rode off Along the path that led to the woods of Lorion – Where Aumagon and Sanson were shortly due to cross, And they were set to rescue fair Aye of Avignon. They hid until they spotted the rogues I’ve told you of, Who rode along unmindful of their impending lot! Then, in a flash, it happened: Renier and Fouquerant, With Nivier’s Sir Archart and Thibaut Arquenchon, (Sir Garnier’s own kinsmen, the son of Lord Doon,) Rushed forward and confronted those mongrels and their mob. With fiercely ringing voices they ordered them to stop: “You feckless sons of harlots, your reckless days are gone! You’ll rue the hour you sighted fair Aye of Avignon.” On saying this, they charged them with all their temper’s wrath. They spared no lead or iron as heavy blows were swapped For Charles’s niece, the duchess and dame of Avignon. “Dear God above in Heaven,” she cried aloud in shock, “What men are these who’ve ambushed the clan of Ganelon? I don’t recall the banner these bandits hold aloft! How much I miss your valour, brave scion of Doon! I fear you that you will never set eyes on me anon!” 150

Aye of Avignon I THE MAIDEN SAW them fighting and heard the cries of many, But she was neither frightened nor riven of her senses: Instead, her hand discarded the mantle she was dressed in, And, leaping from her palfrey, she flung to ground and fled there, Dressed only in her tunic of Almerian velvet. She raced along a pathway, an ancient track the peasants From thereabout had always made use of, as it led them Towards a falling torrent whose waters they collected. To cross the flow below it, without a boat, was deadly, But Aye was more in terror of ravishment, however, And struck across the river, regardless of its perils. She struggled on so strongly that with the Lord to help her She gained the far embankment and scrambled up its edges. The land around was wilder, but glancing up directly She saw a wooden abbey whose look was far from wealthy: The widow of a marquis, one Audegont, had settled Inside there and was living the life of an ascetic, With fifteen other women, in wilderness and desert Where savage boars and lions and bears were ever present. The marchioness was watching and called on Aye in friendship: “What brings you here, fair sister? Escape from fierce oppression, Or flight from foul abduction? Or has your husband left you? Whatever fate you’ve suffered, don’t be afraid to tell me. And be no longer frightened of any force or felon, For nothing here awaits you but shelter and protection.” FAIR AYE REPLIED: “My lady, I’m guilty of no wrong, I swear, nor is my husband, a knight of noble stock. The evil blood between us is not our own, by God: My father was Duke Antoine, the lord of Avignon, And Charles the King’s my uncle, the mighty lord of Laon. He gave me to my husband Garnier, son of Doon, Who’s ridden off beside him to bear his gonfalon And lift a siege the Pagans have laid before Cologne. In escort I was riding back home to Avignon, When Ganelon’s descendants, Sanson and Aumagon, Slew all of them and robbed me of everything I’d got! I fled to flowing waters and, with no boat to cross, I sprang upon the current and God held me aloft!” “And now we shall support you!” replied good Audegont, “For by the faith I owe you, it is my joy and bond: Antoine was my own brother, the lord of Avignon! I shall inform the sons of Duke Garin of Mâcon, 151

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FAIR AYE HAD FOUND a haven, where, thank the Lord above us, Duke Bérenger or Sanson could never take or touch her! In Lorion’s large forest there echoed still the struggle Of clashing swords and lances and crashing steeds and bucklers. The ambush was a slaughter: it caught at least a hundred – But no one there succeeded in catching Aye the duchess! IN LORION’S LARGE forest four gradients combine To form the Orfon valley: with waters rushing by The leafy pines and laurels, it makes a lovely sight. There’s nesting-hawks and falcons for any eye to find, And flowers in abundance, and many herbs alike, From which Salerno doctors make cures of every kind. Upon that day of slaughter, with horses running wild, Their reins and saddles dragging the undergrowth awry, The trampled herbs emitted a scent on every side That made the forest smell like an earthly paradise. IN LORION’S LARGE forest the fighting was so fierce, The buffeting so mighty that every charger reeled. No fairground ever traded its wares so lustily! While all of this was passing, Sir Fulk and Guinemer Lay tethered both together, with Girart of Riviers, In anger and frustration beneath an olive-tree. When Fouquerant’s supporters, and Renier’s, appeared, They called upon them loudly: “Identify your liege!” “Sir Garnier!” they chorused, “Just yesterday we three, With Lady Aye, were ambushed, and she has disappeared.” On hearing this, the others ran up to set them free, Then armed them and equipped them with weaponry and steeds. The first one to be ready was Girart of Riviers. He grasped his sturdy buckler, and, levelling his spear, He re-attacked Sir Sanson, the first he chanced to meet. He rammed his shield asunder and slammed the man beneath So strongly that he tossed him one lance’s length a-field. His helm of green embedded in grassy earth and leaves, Where fifty men detained him before he gained his feet. 152

Aye of Avignon I “For Avignon and honour!” cried Girart of Riviers. When Sanson heard his victor and knew who it had been, He cried: “Is this your honour – the payment I receive For saving you from slaughter in yesterday’s defeat? Your clan has never honoured my family’s good deeds!” IN LORION’S LARGE forest how many men were slaughtered, How many rapid horses sent staggering and falling! Across the field of battle rode Aumagon the swarthy: “What’s happening, fine uncle?” his ringing voice exhorted: “No man before has suffered so swift a loss of forces! You brought three hundred fighters, arrayed in shining hauberks, Of whom there’s but a dozen remaining to support you! You brought us very boldly, now bring us home as surely!” At this, the press was parted by Haguenon the hoary, Whose blade had felled already one hundred of the fallen. IN LORION’S large forest how many men were slain As dusk replaced the daylight and night replaced the day. The folk who lived around there ran in as fighting waned To loot the corpses’ booty – and who’s to say them nay? Disarmed, the fallen Sanson was led away in haste To Fouquerant the noble, Girart and Renier, Whose hands he kissed in honour and hopefulness of grace. “My noble knights,” he pleaded, “what fate for me awaits? If Charlemagne takes me, he’ll hang me straightaway.” The noble knights responded: “It’s not for us to say. The King will do whatever he wishes, come what may!” They made their camp at twilight within the grassy glade And rested there, till rising as soon as daylight came. The hearts of all were happy, a merry noise they made, Until they sought the duchess, and thought it very strange That nobody could find her or knew about her fate. They found her mule, however, and mantle on the trail. “This day is turning evil,” said Girart in dismay: “If I have truly lost her, I’ll earn a villain’s name!” They leapt at once on horseback and, searching once again, They chanced upon four locals returning from a day Of fishing on the river, who answered them this way: “My noble lords and barons, here’s all that we can say: We’ve never seen or heard of a missing Christian maid. But down by yonder fountain, beneath the big cascade, Fair water nymphs meet often, disporting there at play, 153

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And yesterday we saw one, a lovely maid, in faith. With nothing to support her, she fought the water’s race, And, by the Lord, she crossed it – we watched her all the way! She ran towards a chapel the poplar-wood contains. We never saw her further or heard of her again.” The Frenchmen then were certain: “That’s surely Lady Aye!” And turning round their horses, they swiftly spurred away. THEY SWIFTLY spurred their horses to find the fair duchess. The local peasants told them about a bridge ahead Where they could cross the river, and did, at Rochefrete. They sped towards the chapel and when at last they set Their eyes upon their quarry, how happily they met! Girart addressed the duchess, and, laughingly, she said: “It’s you, Girart! I knew it, fine scion of prowess! Don’t hide from me our losses – how many men are dead?” Girart replied: “My lady, I fear that we and them Have started on a quarrel of unremitting death! Duke Sanson is my captive, and knows he’ll lose his head!” “I know,” the duchess answered, “you’ve done your duty well. And when my husband knows it, he’ll show his thankfulness.” “GIRART,” THE DUCHESS said, “I do not hate Duke Sanson: He rescued you from death when Aumagon in anger Had weapons at your neck and threatened you with hanging. He rescued me as well from being cruelly ravaged. His graces were in vain if gratitude is lacking! However, he must stay a prisoner in shackles At Avignon inside my marble-vaulted palace, Until my lord returns and we address the matter. I’ll ask the King to show some mercy to his vassal, And take, instead of life, for love of God, a ransom. I’ll give a hundred pounds if Charles agrees to have it. If Garnier objects, he’s not the man I married!” On saying this, they left good Audegont the abbess, And took, at her request, the booty they had captured. The peasants were her guide to Avignon, and gladly She gave it all to them to make them rich and happy. With Sanson in her cells she thought her troubles banished – But greater woe was soon to meet her with its malice – Count Bérenger himself was coming to attack her!

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Aye of Avignon I 3. How Aye was besieged WHEN AYE WAS IN her palace, back home at Avignon, With Sanson in her prison, she thought her troubles gone. Alas for Aye! Her troubles would only be prolonged, As Bérenger invaded her duchy in his wrath! Her husband was campaigning with Charlemagne, far-off, As Bérenger assaulted his properties non-stop. If Garnier had lingered, he would have lost the lot! THE FIGHT FOR AVIGNON began outside the fortress In bright and sunny light, as soon as day was dawning. Fair Aye had gone to pray at Holy Cross’s altar, When suddenly she heard the hue and cry of warfare. A hundred women ran, with her, along the walkways That led up to the walls, to see what had befallen. They saw Count Bérenger – upon a Nordic warhorse Whose withers were as white as snow on winter mornings – And Girart of Riviers as he appeared on horseback And spurred his Danish steed relentlessly towards him. No spear, however good, would not have split on forcing Through glue and Spanish blue to crush the shield before it! The blows that they exchanged sent both combatants sprawling. Civilians and knights ran forth to help the fallen Replace their battle-gear and mount again their horses. THE FIGHT BEGAN as soon as morning light would let: Sir Guinemer bestrode his Arab steed Baucent, That Charlemagne of France had won in war himself And given to the lord he’d raised among his men. My lords, you never saw a knight so finely dressed: Upon his back he wore a mail of triple-mesh, And bore a burnished helm, of green, upon his head. A painted lion graced the shield about his neck. Duke Aumagon looked up, and seeing him, he cleft The facing rank, well armed, to demonstrate his strength. The pair of them rode in and struck with such prowess The blazon and the blue on either’s shield was rent. No spear, however good, would not have split its length. Duke Aumagon was hurt, but Guinemer was felled. As Aye observed the joust, she turned as pale as death: “Our enemy is here,” she cried to all the rest, “And what a knight he is, true Father ever blest! Alas that he belongs to such a wicked geste!” 155

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BEFORE THE FORT the fight began at dawn of day. No citizen demurred whose arm could offer aid. Some fifteen thousand men had come with Bérenger, Who rescued Aumagon, with nothing lost, and raced Towards the city-gates, whoever wept or wailed. The swarthy Aumagon fought in the van again And drove with such élan he burst inside the gates. But when he tried to turn, his fortunes took a change, As fifteen spears or more attacked his destrier, That tumbled, wounded sore, and perished straightaway. Count Aumagon was seized by many hands and haled Away inside the fort and brought to noble Aye. From head to foot his mail was very tightly laced, And when they took his helm and heavy mail away They clearly saw the strength and stature of his frame. His glowing visage shone with eyes of piercing grey – He looked just like a hawk new-moulted from the cage. “Count Aumagon,” said Aye, “alas your evil ways! When Charlemagne comes, he’ll hang you like a knave!” Count Aumagon replied: “Don’t hold your breath to wait! Some fourteen thousand men are well equipped to break This fortress down before the King can bring you aid! A curse upon them all if I’m not out of jail Before the King arrives to see your palace razed!” Four confidants of Aye took Aumagon away And threw him in a jail one Solomon had made, A Jewish rogue, like those who wrought our Saviour’s fate. On every side the cell was lined with heavy slate That made the room a tomb more gloomy than a cave. Said Aumagon: “Alas, I’m in a living grave! I’d rather die at once than lie in such a place!” Fair Aye herself was back upon the walls and gazed At Bérenger, who stood beneath a laurel’s shade. What accusations flew, when he beheld her face! “FAIR DUCHESS AYE, my lady,” said Bérenger the fierce, “The character of women is frivolous indeed! Like sparrowhawks they alter their courses in the breeze: A fellow thinks he follows, then finds he’s nowhere near! Through women sin was started in Paradise by Eve, Who ate the fruit forbidden when bidden by the Fiend And plunged the world in sorrow and unremitting grief. Now you have caused a quarrel that never will be healed 156

Aye of Avignon I Until a thousand barons have perished in the field. How mad of you to fly to Sir Garnier from me!” “Count Bérenger,” she answered, “how cleverly you preach! Apart from cope and mitre, and psalter-book, sir priest, You’re fit to give a sermon – there’s nothing more you need! Both Aumagon and Sanson have found a pew in here – The year may well be over before they’re off their knees! However much you need them, I cannot think they’ll leave!” “Dear God,” the count responded, “my anger strains its leash! Sweet Heaven, grant me vengeance as bitter as it’s sweet!” He called his men by trumpet to make a brief retreat, And though he left his brother and nephew there, he schemed To rescue them from capture as quickly as could be: He sent away his envoys with letters of appeal To Otto in Bavaria and Miles the Ardenese, And Haguenon the hoary, to help him with the siege. Among the reinforcements that Bérenger convened Were twenty thousand fighters, including crossbow teams. Fair Aye knew nothing of it –dear God – till they appeared! COUNT BĖRENGER rode forward, as undisputed leader Of twenty thousand fighters who’d come at his convening: Within a day they’d travelled the shoreline of Chargia And reached the noble city with hue and cry unequalled. Fair Aye knew nothing of it – dear God – until they reached her The very morning after she’d sent away her liegemen. Inside her palace chambers the fair duchess was sleeping, And had a dream that filled her with awful dread to feel it. She dreamt that Charlemagne had freed his levied legions, And Garnier her husband had hurried home to see her. She dreamt that she was holding a rose with which to greet him, But he refused to take it, and in a rage was seizing The ring upon her finger and ruff upon her bliaut To strike her with a weapon whose angry edge was gleaming. A terror stabbed her sharply and, waking from her dreaming, She heard at once a yammer of shouting and of screaming, And the almighty clamour of trumpet-calls repeating. With every step she stammered: “St Mary, save and keep us!” AS SOON AS DAWN had broken Count Bérenger attacked them. His forces, armed and ready, were full of fearless valour. With lances sharp and steady, and heavy iron mallets, They rushed the walls and scurried up swiftly lifted ladders, 157

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While Haguenon below them attacked the gate with axes. The goal of their invasion was Aye’s majestic palace. Dear God! The people in it were driven wild with panic: The maidens fled, escaping to churches and to chapels, The mothers wept to madness as children sank in sadness. The citizens and soldiers ran off like startled rabbits. When panic seizes power, at any hour, this happens. FAIR AYE WAS IN her chambers, with no one by her side, Save one or two retainers and one domestic knight. Her chamber-door was battered, and when it clattered wide, Count Bérenger ran forward and seized her like a vice. Said Haguenon the hoary: “Got rot the arm that’s shy, For fear of any monarch or any man alive, To do with you whatever his lusty strength desires!” “There’s no fool like an old fool!” the duchess Aye replied. “In truth, whatever happens, you’ve spoken like a child!” SAID BERENGER: “Fair Aye, now I have reached my goal, I’ll tell you what a road you’ve made me tread alone: Through many sleepless nights my eyes have never closed. My armour, never shed, has bruised me to the bone. But now I’ve trapped the hind my heart has longed to own! As soon as I release Sanson and Aumagon So many knights of theirs they’ll muster to my host, With gonfalons of silk on lances gripped with gold, That Garnier will rue the day he heads for home!” “Count Bérenger,” said Aye, “you’ll harvest what you sow! The King of France will lay your wild pretensions low, As with Guimar, who lost Marteuil, his hearth and home.” 4. How Aye was abducted

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COUNT BERENGER despoiled the town of all its wealth, But fearing Charles’s rage, he very quickly left. He freed both Aumagon and Sanson from their cell, Then took the booty gained at Avignon’s expense. His henchmen seized on Aye and took the fair duchess To cells at Graillemont, where Bérenger had fled. In truth, he would have liked to bed her there and then, But both his nephews cried: “For Heaven’s sake, relent! If you persist in this, we’ll fight you to the death! 158

Aye of Avignon I Secure her well and serve the lady with respect, Until the plan begun is carried to its end: If you slay Garnier, the son of Doon, then You openly can sue the King with your request To give you Aye his niece and Avignon as well.” The nephews, what is more, obtained their uncle’s pledge To speak no more, alone, with Duchess Aye till then. He swore, for he was sure that he’d achieve his quest: He had the Lady now, imprisoned and bereft, And Garnier, he thought, would very soon be dead. But, oh, there’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip, my friends! Already, messengers from Avignon had left To tell King Charlemagne, whose siege had met success At Tarragone in Spain, of Bérenger’s intent. THE SARACENS were beaten. Besieged at Tarragona, Some fifty thousand Pagans had perished there in total, And Charlemagne’s forces at last were heading homeward. In Cordova he’d handed the Count of Barcelona The royal crown he’d taken from the emir enthroned there. Before he’d passed Narbonne, returning with his soldiers, The messengers arrived there and straightaway they told him About his niece’s sorrow, and him to whom she owed it. Sir Garnier was frantic: he groaned in high emotion, He tore his hair in anguish and wrung his hands, bemoaning: “Dear God in Heaven, help me, by all that’s good and holy!” King Charlemagne summoned his royal lords and rode them Together down a valley to talk the matter over With Burgundy’s commanders and every German noble. To foreign lords and Frenchmen he laid his anger open: “I swear to you, my barons, by St Peter the Roman, If you are loath to punish the great dishonour shown me By Ganelon’s two puppies, who’ve bitten me, their owner, I shall not wear in Paris my crown or royal clothing Until I’ve healed the scarring their scorn of me has opened! I gave to them a city! What gratitude they’ve shown me!” ON HEARING THE distress in Charlemagne’s mind, Ripaut, the lord of Rennes and Nantes, was first to cry: “My lord, we’ll follow you wherever you decide! What land on earth can stand against your fierce desire? What town can face you down? What fortress can survive? Avenge your liegeman’s pain and that of Aye his wife.” 159

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Heroines of the French Epic “What welcome words, by God!” the Emperor replied, As twenty thousand horns confirmed their will to ride. Count Bérenger, I’d say, had Aye on borrowed time, Unless his skill to fight outweighed his fear to die! 1280

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TO LANDESMORE they galloped and gathered in the open. They severed orchard-saplings as bivouacs for soldiers, While golden-pommelled shelters were raised for every noble. Charles looked upon the castle of Graillemont, enfolded By rivers to the inland, and also by the ocean Which carried boats from Sicily, Calabria and Puglia, From Babylon, from Syria and from Constantinople. He saw the sturdy ramparts below the tawny stonework Of soaring towers erected in olden times and golden. IN LANDESMORE they gathered and settled all their forces. They hacked apart the gardens and saplings in the orchards As bivouacs for soldiers who had no other quarters. Count Bérenger was ready: he stormed across his drawbridge With Aumagon and Sanson and Haguenon the hoary, And some three thousand others, who drove their eager horses Towards the royal campsite with swiftly swinging sword-blades. Four hundred knights of Charles’s immediately were slaughtered. My lords, you can imagine, the sudden noise was awful: It seemed to all who heard it as if the sky were falling! The tents of Charles erupted with thirty thousand voices, The first of all, believe me, Duke Garnier’s, the dauntless. How splendidly he faced them, upon his charger Fauvel! His shield aloft, and lifting his bannered spear towards them, He moved to strike Anseis, the first of them he saw there, A youth who was the son of Duke Haguenon the hoary. He split aside his buckler, from golden boss to border, Then ripped apart the meshes upon his hardy hauberk. From front to rear he twisted his weapon ever forward And flung the wretched youngster one lance-length from his courser. “For Avignon, good barons!” Duke Bérenger exhorted: “My lady Aye has suffered, and they must pay the forfeit!” OLD HAGUENON observed his slaughtered son below, And, truly, he saw red, so dreadful was his woe: “Such blood of mine you’ve shed, benighted son of Do! The sons of Aymon slew my kinsman Amanfro, And slaughtered in cold blood Girart of Valcorot. 160

Aye of Avignon I Your clan has done so much to devastate my own That now, I hope to God, you’ll harvest what you’ve sown!” The destrier was black that Haguenon bestrode, And Garnier’s was beige – but how they galloped both To strike and strip the paint upon their shields of gold! The lance of neither man survived the buffet whole. With neither man unhorsed, they fell at once to blows! THEIR GOLDEN shields were shattered as soon as they were struck. The press of men was heavy, and needing room to thrust, Sir Garnier turned Fauvel to give them both enough. Upon its golden saddle he fiercely straightened up, And, spurring it so hotly he drew the courser’s blood, Flew forward like a falcon released upon the hunt. Sir Garnier’s sharp weapon struck hoary Haguenon High up, upon a helmet that couldn’t bear the brunt, And shattered all beneath it, from forehead through to tongue. The spirit left his body, the lifeless body slumped. With dragging reins his war-horse abandoned him at once. What happened then was something that doesn’t happen much: The father’s body landed directly by his son’s! WHEN HAGUENON was slaughtered it turned the tide of battle. Count Bérenger was robbed of his best and wisest clansman, And Graillemont fell silent, in shock at what had happened. The raiding-party halted and, faltering, were harried Right back to where they started, with saddened hearts and angry. His surge was so successful that Charlemagne’s campsite Moved closer to the fortress, one arrow’s range exactly. The Emperor commanded his foragers to gather Whatever food around them the land could give his barons. And then, collecting branches, on any cart or wagon, Of pine and oak and laurel, he made his soldiers fashion Large catapults and slingers and mangonels that battered The castle walls with boulders and did them awful damage. How many bricks were broken! How many homes were damaged! Among the walls and walkways the duchess Aye was standing, And when she saw her husband, she called upon him gladly: “Keep going, noble baron! Our foe will soon be vanquished!” WHEN BERENGER could see the sum of Charles’s force, And felt the boulders fall against his castle-walls, He quickly sued for peace with this condition sworn: 161

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Heroines of the French Epic He’d render Aye, he said, if Charles forgave his fault And let him come to terms with Garnier henceforth. But Charlemagne swore, by St Gilles of Provence, That all of them would hang as soon as they were caught, And that would be at once, so help him God the Lord! 1360

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COUNT BERENGER was fearful of Charlemagne’s rage And of his solemn promise to hang him straightaway. And so he called his nephews, with one or two more knaves, Inside a vaulted chamber to seek their counsel’s aid. [The few that he had chosen he knew were very brave, But all agreed that staying would only seal their fate: “To linger is to perish! To live we must escape!] Down there, upon the harbour, we’ve seen a ship of sail, A sturdy one, well able to take and keep us safe Through reef and roughest water in strongest wind or rain. Last evening it anchored with riches overlain – St Basil’s nephew owns it – at least, that’s what they say. My lord, we mustn’t dally, but buy it straightaway And sail away to Persia or Africa’s domains, For Babylon the distant or Barbary’s terrains, Or Spain, beside the sons of Marsilion the slain, Where you can have possession in peace of Lady Aye: In Christendom you’ll never achieve your wishes’ aim.” With this their counsel finished –for all believed the same – So Bérenger stood waiting until the evening came Then summoned forth the nephew of Basilis the saint And bought the vessel from him, with all that it contained, Including all the sailors to work it on the waves, Then stocked it with provisions to last a year of days. He took on board the duchess, distraught in her dismay, And sat her on a fold-stool of ivory, then draped A curtained lodge around her to hide her well away. Fierce Aumagon swore grimly to the unhappy Aye That if she wept or whispered or dared to show her face, He’d cut her pretty head off with his well-sharpened blade: [“You have no other safeguard! Beware, and so be safe!”] It hardly was a wonder if Aye was sore afraid! So Bérenger departed, and, under fullest sail, By dawn the coming morning the ship was well away From Charlemagne’s anger and all his army’s rage – They wouldn’t learn till morning of what had taken place! However much they fretted, they’d lost the lovely Aye. Duke Bérenger had bartered his honour for her sake. 162

Aye of Avignon I THE TOWNSFOLK were astonished, on waking in the morning. They opened every gateway, and, bidding Charles come forward, They offered him the keys of the city and the fortress. Duke Garnier received them and those of La Roche also. Then, packing up their lodges and pulling down the awnings, They loaded up their sumpters and sadly turned their horses. Fair Aye was on the ocean, confined to covered quarters: “Ah, wretched me,” she sorrowed, “my life again is forfeit! Sir Garnier, fine scion, each ocean wave withdraws me, But know, whatever happens, that one day I’ll rejoin you!” She had with her a minstrel called Garnion the courtly, And on his lyre he played her a lay to ease her torment. On lanyards strong and lengthy enormous sails were hoisted To chase the ocean breezes and race the vessel forward. I don’t know if their journey was fifteen days or fourteen: I do know that they landed directly on the foreshores Of Aigremore, a town in the isles of the Majorcas. My lords, this is a region that tiny folk and tawny Called pygmies still inhabit, with heads that are enormous! The Pagans and the pygmies, they say, are always warring.

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5. How Aye was purchased by a Pagan King MY LORDS, they’d reached a kingdom composed of many islands That held imposing cities of wondrous wealth, comprising Of shining gold and silver and silks of bold designing, And further wealth in cattle and many types of livestock. King Ganor ruled the country and port of their arrival, A bachelor who yearned for a royal wife beside him. Below his ancient city a lovely grove was sited, Wherein the king was sitting with all his barons by him. His eyes were on two Frenchmen he’d captured, who were plying Their weapons in a duel for his and their delighting. Hernaut, Count of Gironde, was one he had his eye on, The other was his brother, Garin of rich Ansyon. Both Frenchmen had been captured by Ganor in the fighting That killed their brother Aymer ‘The Captive’ at its climax. King Ganor had detained them in long and strong confinement, And yet he’d not discovered in all that time how mighty Their fame was in the country that they had left behind them. He watched their sparring daily, and this is how a rider Who hurried to the garden knew where and when to find him: 163

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“In Mahom’s name, your Highness, I come with merry tidings: Below us, in your harbour, a splendid ship’s arriving! It may be an Almanzor’s or someone like your Highness – Whoever it belongs to was rich enough to buy it And stock it with a lady of beauty and refinement! I don’t know what her rank is – her beauty though is priceless!” On hearing this, King Ganor could not refrain from smiling: “Most noble god Mahomet,” he pleaded, “give me guidance: I have no wife beside me, and greatly I desire one!” THE NEWS OF SUCH a lady made Ganor very happy: From top to toe he quivered, his heartbeat was so rapid! Without delay he mounted, with thirty of his barons, On ambling palfrey-horses or mules of Aquilante, And rode down to the harbour with no desire to dally. They saw the sails descending upon the splendid galley And then the Frankish barons, together, on the gangway. Then Ganor saw, at one end, the quarters that they’d fashioned For Aye – the shelter covered with fine Otrenta hangings. Upon a bed inside it the lovely lady languished, Face down upon the covers, where swooning in her anguish She wept away, bemoaning her sorrow and her sadness. King Ganor stared in wonder, at her and what had happened, Then, speaking French adroitly, addressed her roving captors: “Please tell me, on your honour, the reason for your travel.” Duke Bérenger responded: “Most truly, we are vassals Of France and Charlemagne – though both we have abandoned! In Charlemagne’s circle we have incurred such malice That he and we can never be friends again or allies. But all of us were told of a noble king called Ganor – A peerless man, they told us, with spear and shield in battle. If Ganor will receive us, then for a year we’ll gladly Defend him and his kingdom from any who’d attack him, Or help him conquer others, if that is what he’s planning.” At once the king responded: “Your luck has altered, vassals! You made a wise decision to turn your back on anger, For you will never need to return to Charles’s palace! But tell me now, I bid you, who is your fair companion. Though she may be your cousin, your kinsman or a clansman, If you agree, I’ll pay you a wealth of gold to have her To be my wife forever, in rich and royal marriage.” But Bérenger responded: “I’ll never let that happen! In land of France, our country, it’s never been the practice, 164

Aye of Avignon I Nor would the laws we live by in our religion sanction A good, God-fearing Christian to sell the wife he’d married.” “BY GOOD MAHOM my god,” the Pagan Ganor said, “It’s always been the law, where I was born and bred, That should a woman come, or should a horse be sent It pleased the king to have, his will was freely met! But I will pay, in gold, I tell you nonetheless.” But Bérenger replied: “I’ll die ere I’ll consent!” The Pagan king replied: “ So you would wrong me, friend, Or play me for a fool? By Mahom, you’ll accept Ten bezants worth of gold, for nothing will prevent Me claiming every right belonging to my geste!” The Frenchman raised his sword of golden hilt and went To drive the answer home upon his royal head – But as it chanced he struck a bodyguard instead And drew his blade of steel right through the wretch’s neck. Then swarthy Aumagon struck Maudrot with his strength And two of Ganor’s best were flung before him dead. King Ganor fled the pier in fear that he was next, But all the Frenchmen rushed to sail away again, As Baligots and Turks ran forward with the rest The city-guard contained to reach the water’s edge! As Ganor led the way, a hundred galleys left And raced across the sea to chase the fleeing French, As greyhounds chase the boar already worn to death. With grappling irons they hauled the sailing ship to rest, Then trailed it back to port, whoever wailed or wept! MY LORDS, if you had seen the way those Pagans got them! With grappling irons they hooked the galley till they stopped it And hauled it back to port, whoever joyed or sorrowed. If you had heard the way that Duchess Aye responded! With ringing voice she cried: “Dear God, have mercy on me, And curse you, Bérenger, for your pernicious folly! From company most sweet you’ve parted me most wrongly, And lovely France as well, where I was cherished fondly. Now you will meet your death, and I shall be dishonoured!” But Ganor spoke her tongue and straightaway he promised: “Sweet sister, never fear! My fair, forget your sorrow! Believe me, when I swear upon my god Mahomet: I’ve never had a wife – but I’d wed you tomorrow!”

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KING GANOR summoned forth one Maligon of Syria: “Secure the ship and crew and everything within it! Protect the Frenchmen too from criminals and killers.” Upon a Syrian mule the Lady Aye was lifted And swiftly led away inside the royal city Towards Mahomet’s mosque, the church of their religion, Where every text in full of Tervagant was written. The mosque began to fill with Pagan Peers and princes, Who, dropping chin to chest, bent forward in submission. Within an eyelid’s blink the mosque was full to brimming. “Dear God above,” said Aye, “what kind of cursed kindred Are such a throng as these to whom I’ve fallen victim?” At this Alfāmeon, a Pagan of distinction Whom Ganor had employed on many foreign missions – He’d often gone to Rome, Apulia and Sicily, And even up to France on much official business, And therefore knew by sight the lords of Charles’s kingdom – Could not control a laugh of instant recognition. King Ganor said: “My lord, don’t keep your humour hidden! If these are men you know, then tell me so this instant!” “BY GOOD MAHOM I swear,” the Eastern envoy said, “The barons you have there are some of France’s best, And with them’s Lady Aye, fair Avignon’s duchess, A niece of France’s King, the Emperor himself! I saw Sir Garnier and Aye the day they wed! And those two are the sons of Ganelon who bred The deadly treason done at Roncevaux, that led The Peers Twelve of Charles and many other French Of Charlemagne’s host to their untimely end! Their names are Bérenger and Sanson – worthy men: We Pagans owe a lot to them and all their geste! Release them, lord, and pay the pair their fair respect!” So Ganor had them brought before him on the steps, And when he met them there, addressed the pair and said: “GOOD BARONS, are you brothers –for this is what I hear? Don’t lie to me, I bid you, for truly there’s no need If you are both the sons of Count Ganelon indeed! And why does Charles forbid you to stay in France the sweet? Where does this woman come from, and what’s she doing here? What incident has parted this lady from her liege? Were you the ones to take her or make her wish to leave?” 166

Aye of Avignon I The noble Aye responded. Although she was in tears, You’ll never hear a woman who spoke as well as she: “Your Highness, noble monarch,” said Aye, the wise of speech: “You do not know the evil this pair has done to me! The duke Antoine, my father, held Avignon in fief To mighty Charlemagne, of whom I am a niece. Not long ago he wed me to Garnier, a Peer Of loyalty unrivalled and peerless bravery. He bore the royal standard when Charles was asked to lead His men to war that ended with Tarragone’s defeat. My husband bade me journey to Avignon, where these Two brothers took my city and I myself was seized. They held me for a long time in Graillemont their keep, And this is where the King came to fight and set me free. Within a day his army had laid a mighty siege. When Bérenger saw clearly he wouldn’t last a week, He forced me to his galley and fled across the sea When night was at its darkest, like any common thief. He’s held me thus, well hidden, until we landed here. I urge you now to hold me with better grace than he, For when the French discover where fate has taken me, They’ll sue you very fiercely to barter my release: The ransom they will pay you in Frankish gold will be Some fourteen times as heavy as my own weight, at least! And if you wished, Lord Ganor, to raise a gallows-tree Upon the rocky platform that rims that hill of green And hang this pair of villains, you also would receive My own undying friendship, fine monarch, for the deed!” SAID GANOR: “Aye, my lady, you will what I will not! To slaughter these two barons would certainly be wrong, For Ganelon, their father, was he who hatched the plot At Roncevaux that slaughtered the Peers Twelve and robbed The cream of France’s knighthood from Charlemagne’s crop! Instead, I’ll bid them follow the path their father trod To Spain, with my own guardsmen Maingot and Baratron. How warmly they’ll be welcomed by King Marsilion! He’ll offer them fine cities with treasuries well stocked! And I shan’t want a penny of anything they’ve got Except for you, fair lady and niece of Charles the strong! A year’s delay shall part us – that starts today and stops When I return from Mecca and worshipping Mahom – And then, my dear, I’ll wed you, if every Pagan god 167

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We Saracens believe in will sanctify the bond.” Beneath her breath the Duchess returned a swift response: “May God above deny you the smallest joy thereof!” And so the rogues departed. They cast their anchors off, With every mast erected and every sail aloft. With rowers in addition they sailed without a stop Until they reached the port of a city called Moronde And saw the harbour markers where anchors could be dropped. The city loomed above them, between four mountaintops, Surrounded by two rivers that carried to and from The whole of Spain, on barges, their surplus and their wants. The city walls were granite and made of massive blocks That buttressed many towers defending all beyond. Marsilion, between them, had built a fort as long From one end to the other as any bowman’s shot. Before it was a courtyard with levels leading off. Four lovely trees of laurel were planted in the spot Where Ganelon had plotted the treason that had cost The slaughter of Count Roland and his companions. But God had wrought a wonder, to lessen Charles’s loss, Upon the laurels planted around that evil grot: Although their trunks were living and green from base to top, Their limbs had never budded from that occasion on. And it was here the brothers, Bérenger and Sanson, Conducted by those others, Maingot and Baratron, Gave greeting to the sons of the king Marsilion, Surrounded by four thousand of false Mahomet’s mob. Both parties, in their fashion, gave greetings fair and fond, And then the king demanded: “What men are these, Maingot?” Count Bérenger responded, in fluent Saracen! COUNT BERENGER responded, who knew the Pagan tongue: “Your Highness, we are Frenchmen and born of noblest blood To Ganelon our father, who earned your father’s love. The mighty Charlemagne has done me wrong, and thus The other day I left him to serve King Ganor – but He flung me in his prison until I fled his clutch! I’ve come here now, desiring to offer you my glove And fight beneath your banner all manner of affronts. If any Christian leader should land here in Moronde And I should fail to slay him and lay him in the dust, Then I won’t claim a ring of the gold your hand has won!” On hearing this, the Pagan embraced his neck at once: “By good Mahom,” he thundered, “you’re surely one of us!” 168

Aye of Avignon I “YOU’VE DONE a noble deed, Sir Bérenger, in coming Across the sea to me from France in such a hurry! For this, if you agree, I’ll give you so much money And land of mine to rule as regent of my country, That when it’s known in France among the high and humble, King Charlemagne’s eyes will goggle wide with wonder! I’ll give to you the heights of Monsecret to govern, With all the land and rights belonging to my uncle, Together with the hand of my fair sister Plumba.” Count Bérenger, at this, fell at his feet abruptly, And swore away his soul, agreeing like a mongrel To take a bride whose pride denied Lord God above us. “Since now I am your man, most noble king and brother, Avenge the pain you can that Ganor made me suffer! You do not know the gain he made from me unjustly: I speak of one so fair she dazzles every other: Ask Ganor for her hand – for it was I who won her! If you two bred an heir, I swear by your Mahomet, This child would rightly be your claim to France the lovely, For Charlemagne bears no heir of any courage: His only son’s a youth whose character is nothing.” THE KING WAS very happy to hear of Lady Aye. As fast as he could do so, he left his hall of state And summoned forth two envoys, Josor of Valternez And Blancandrin’s own brother, called Brunamor the sage: “My lords,” he said, “I want you to leave Moronde today And sail to the Majorcas as swiftly as you may. Beseech the monarch Ganor to send me straightaway The niece of Charlemagne he took from Bérenger. Make clear that, should he not do, I swear upon my faith, That I shall leave him nowhere, to rule or to escape, Where he can live in safety or lie in when he’s slain! Since ancient Menelaus lost Helen’s lovely face, And Troy was razed to rubble in answer to his rage, There’ll not have been such trouble for any woman’s sake!” “This message,” said his envoys, “ is very fiercely phrased – But since it is your bidding, no word of it we’ll change!” On saying this, they left him and took a ship in haste Whose sails were white as lilies; when all of them were raised, Their voyage took not thirty, nor half of thirty days. At Aigremore they landed and in an orchard’s shade They found the monarch Ganor among his baronage. 169

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Both he and Aye were seated upon a silken drape Observing those two captives disporting with their blades: Duke Aymeri’s son Hernaut was one on whom they gazed, The other was his brother, Garin of rich Ansayn. Both Frenchmen had been captured by Ganor in a fray That sent their brother Aymer ‘The Captive’ to his grave. As soon as Aye beheld them the blood froze in her veins, And, so that none could hear her, she very softly prayed: “God bless you, gallant heroes, and keep you sound and safe! May Jesus Christ our Saviour preserve me with His grace Until I find the moment and means for our escape, Which, if I’m spared, I will do, with God Almighty’s aid!” At this, the envoys entered, Josor of Valternez And Blancandrin’s own brother, called Brunamor the sage. Fair Aye was there to hear it when their demand was made. THE ENVOYS SAW the king among his fierce assembly Of Pagans by the score and heathen Turks a-plenty, With wicked Canaleans and Moors from Morienna. On seeing him, they reached where he and Aye were resting And neither was afraid to state their master’s message: “Lord Ganor, noble king, your welfare is in peril! The sons of King Marsile, enraged at your pretension, Demand that you return the niece of Charles the Frenchman! If you refuse, they’ll bring a greater force against you Than Menelaus led to rescue lovely Helen. They’ll sail across the sea, departing from Albenna, And Bérenger the duke will bear their battle ensign.” The king replied: “I fear your lords less than a chestnut! I swear, by good Mahom, the mountains will be levelled And every sea run dry before I’ll serve their pleasure! It is my wish and will to keep fair Aye and wed her!” “Then we shall go, my lord – but you shall know the error And ruin of your life a stolen wife can render: As Paris learnt of old with Helen!” said the envoys. King Ganor looked at Aye and loved her more than ever. Her figure was to him the form of all perfection: Her face as fresh of hue as dew on summer petals, Her limbs so lissom too – though trembling as she dreaded That Ganor in his fear might soon relent and send her. But Ganor spoke and said: “Sweet sister, do not tremble! For by Mahom, in whom my trust is set, I pledge you That you need never fear I’ll give you up to any, 170

Aye of Avignon I While I can still command some thirty knights or twenty! I’d take you with me first and journey to Outrentez, Where we would sail away to lovely France together. For you I’d leave Mahom and worship God in Heaven.” On hearing this, fair Aye fell down before the gentile. The messengers turned back, not daring a farewelling, And, coming to the port, they boarded ship directly. The crew raised every sail and with the weather’s blessing They sped again to Spain and gained a swift reception: “Will Ganor render Aye?” asked Margoros the elder. Said Brunamor: “My lord, it’s folly to expect it! The king has pledged to fight and never to surrender Fair Aye, though all his knights but thirty should have perished. There’s nobody, he says, could find a finer treasure, Or be of gladder mind to sturdily defend it!” MARSILION’S TWO SONS, Aiglee and Margoros, Bade every lord in Spain to help them right the wrong. Boïdas was the first to come, from Aragon. He counselled them to call the kings of Karreon, And those of Entenor, all four of whom were strong. “We’ll do just as you say,” said they in Saragosse, And gathered men galore in galleys at the docks. Each galley’s sails were cut of canvas and of cloth That formed a dragon’s face when all were raised aloft. The leader of their fleet bore twenty-four thereof To signify the sum he led and sped along. On reaching Ganor’s isle, they readied, taking stock. My lords, King Ganor too was ready to respond, But I must step in first, to tell you where he locked Fair Aye away, in case you doubt there’s such a lodge: A wondrous tower it was, called Aufalerne the Strong, Built high above the port upon a barren rock, Where only sparrow-hawks and monkeys shared the spot With savage bears and lions that roamed the land beyond. Although the port below might overflow with wrath, Its anger couldn’t reach the residents on top, Who stayed inside the tower, and even, should they want, Could fish or hunt for deer in woodland called Argon. In such a place was Aye, at Ganor’s word, ensconced, Although she couldn’t hear, I fear, the word of God At matins or at Mass, in sermon or in song. 171

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Three Pagan queens were there who served her daily wants Devotedly, and tried, besides, with lessons soft To turn her heart towards Tervagant and Mahom. But Aye returned so firm but courtly a response That nobody could blame her manners or aplomb. Sir Garnier had bound her heart with such a bond That no one else could hope of moving it a jot! So I shall leave her too, and Ganor, for the nonce, And Ganelon’s two sons, and King Marsilion’s, To tell you more of Charles and what was going on With noble Garnier, the son of Lord Doōn, Who’d lost the lovely Aye, and longed for what he’d lost. 5. How Lady Aye was rescued

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BLEST MICHAELMAS it was, the festival and time When stags are good and fat to hunt for meat and hide. Sir Garnier, with some one hundred of his knights, Had just unstrung his bow from such an enterprise, And sought to cool his brow beneath the boughs inside A leafy glade with shade and grass on which to lie. He bade a minstrel play the lay about a squire Called Robert and the faith of Enguelas his wife, And how they saved their lord, Sir Oliver, from strife. The lay brought lovely Aye so clearly to his mind That all his body froze and cooled his brow to ice! My friends, you could have walked at least a country mile, Before he talked again in question or reply – And only then because a palmer came in sight, His pilgrim-staff in hand, bareheaded, bearded white, And, slung around his neck, his satchel of supplies. Our hero called him in, then sat him at his side And asked him: “Gallant sage, from where have you arrived?” “From Spain,” the answer came, “from holy James’s shrine. Upon Saint-Vincent’s road, my lord, I almost died When set upon by rogues, who hauled me to an isle Belonging to a king of Pagandom so fine He wouldn’t have a peer, if he believed in Christ! And there, my lord, I saw so marvellous a sight That if I told you now, you’d say it was a lie! I saw with him two knights of this your land and mine: Garin of Ansyon was one I recognised, 172

Aye of Avignon I The other was Hernaut, so powerful a knight! But with the pair I saw the fairest Maid alive, Called Lady Aye by all the Pagans, who admire And honour her, for she’s to be their monarch’s wife! Marsilion’s two sons, however, have conspired With Bérenger, a duke, to challenge for the bride Against this island king, who’s fighting for his life. This noble king, my lord, released me from my plight, But made me give my word, upon our Saviour Christ, That I would seek in France for men to help him fight. I’m very sure the gains from going would be high.” Our hero, hearing this, embraced him seven times And more, for he was sure that this was Aye his wife. “AS GOD WILL BE your judge, is this the truth, my friend? Have you returned to France to seek, as you have said, For soldiers who will fight for Avignon’s duchess? Believe me when I say that’s Aye, the wife I wed And Bérenger purloined – God grant me my revenge! My lance shall win her back while ever I draw breath!” The pilgrim said: “My lord, I swear, by all that’s blest, That that is why I came, to summon Christian help For Aye, and for the Moor to whom I swore my pledge. No Pagan ever born has matched Ganor’s noblesse.” “MY FRIEND, BEWARE of treason,” said noble Garnier. “Will you, in truth, conduct me to Avignon’s fair Aye Upon King Ganor’s island, this Pagan you have praised, With any sum of soldiers that I would care to raise? If this is so, ten only are all that I would take, Prepared to serve King Ganor in any noble way. And when we have defeated our common foe, the knaves Can either rot in prison or he can have them slain. Whatever fate awaits them, I’ll seek no further wage, Nor claim the smallest part of whatever gold you gain. But you, my friend, must promise, by Simeon the saint, To never speak my name out to Ganor or his aides, Nor those of my companions – he must not know our names.” “I swear it,” said the pilgrim, “so let us not delay! King Ganor won’t deny you whatever prize you claim.” Sir Garnier made ready, and soon his choice was made Of ten that he could count on, and these, my lords, were they: Girart was one, the son of Duke Othon, ever brave, 173

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As were Mâcon’s Sir Garin, Sir Fulk and Renier, And Avalon’s Sir Guimer, Sir Fulk and Gautier, And Achart of Messina and Aspremont’s Tiebaix, Together with the pilgrim, God bless him with His grace! Before they left, their whiskers and beards were fully shaved, And any hair remaining, both blond and black, replaced By scarlet caps of cotton, or silk of samite lace, So nobody would know them, whoever saw their face! When this was done, they readied a ship upon the bay At Graillemont – with stables for every destrier, And plenty of fresh water for men and beasts the same. They fortified the bulwarks, for fighting on the waves And hiding any weapons to seize upon in haste, Along with food to live on for one whole year away. They also took some pack-hounds and falcons of the chase, And coffers full of mangons and finest golden plate. Towards the stern, where tackle and instruments were placed, The Frenchmen stocked a cabin where they themselves would stay, While at the prow and bowsprit a pommelled pole was raised Whereon a flag was hoisted that bore a dragon’s shape: Whichever way they headed, it showed its jaws agape! The ship they took was fitted with three enormous sails That caught the slightest breezes and sped them through the bay, As Mellion, their helmsman, steered stoutly through the waves. May God Who bore the Passion, protect them with His grace, As off they raced together to rescue Lady Aye! TO RESCUE LADY AYE Sir Garnier left France. For two days and a night they kept the coast abaft Till reaching where the isles of the Majorcas are. Before they saw their goal, another week had passed. The pilgrim, on his own, had climbed upon the yard And spotted Aigremore, and Aufalerne, at last. Descending to the duke, he hailed him with a laugh: “Lord, can you see the spire that towers like a mast Above the land as if its top could touch the stars? Well, that is where, I swear, they hold your lady fast: Where she can smell the scent of any spice or plant, But cannot gather one, behind her window-bars!” Sir Gautier exclaimed: “Then we must seize the chance! What pleasure it would be to pluck her from their grasp!” BEFORE THE TOWN itself, below a slope well terraced In whitest sand that made the land a joy to enter, 174

Aye of Avignon I Is where their anchor dropped and where their journey ended. They took their steeds of war and by their bridles led them Ashore, where they were groomed and where the grasses fed them. The pilgrim, on his own, was hastened by the Frenchmen As envoy to the king, whose tongue he spoke, requesting King Ganor to receive and lodge them at his pleasure. The pilgrim found the king in sick and sorry temper, For on that very day he’d fought the force against him. Not only had he lost a marshal whom he cherished, But flesh and blood himself from lances in the melee. He lay upon his bed amidst the hall’s assembly, Well poulticed to relieve the pain of wound and swelling. His court was much amazed to see the pilgrim enter, Who, when he’d left before, had looked more like a beggar: For now he’d used a horse, a noble one, to get there, Moreover, one that bore a priceless store of treasure! The pilgrim reached the king, and knelt before his bedside: “ My lord, I have returned much richer than I left you, For I have brought you back the bravest men who ever Rode forward to a fight beneath the light of Heaven! They’ve pledged that, for a year, they’re happy to defend you And swear that if they fail to slaughter or to render As prisoners your foes and any that offend you, Then you may leave unpaid all services they’ve rendered, And bear to them no debt – for they’ll not take a penny!” Said Ganor: “By Mahom, you’ve paid me back already! If I survive this wound, and war, you’ll not regret it!” SAID GANOR: “Do you know, my friend, this Christian crew Who’ve left their land behind because you asked them to, And come to me, whose name they never even knew?” The pilgrim said: “My lord, I know them well, it’s true, But not as famous kings, as princes or as dukes, But hardy vavasours acclaimed for what they do, Which is to sell their skills and kill no matter whom! In many wars before they’ve shown their valour’s proof, And now, twelve months or more, they’ve pledged to fight for you! As soon as they can face those Spanish brothers who Have turned your enemies, together with those brutes Sanson and Bérenger, whom you dispatched thereto, You’ll see them split their shields, and more besides, in truth. As captive or as corpse your foe will be on view, Or we shall disappear and forfeit any dues!” 175

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On hearing this, the king called up to him Fabur, His seneschal-in-chief and nawab of Nibus. Together they returned, the Pagans on their mules, Directly to the port where, gathered in a group, The French had disembarked, prepared at once to move. Fabur was first to speak, the nawab of Nibus: “We welcome you,” he cried, “as gallant Christian troops, In friendship and respect of the Divine One Whom You love and worship best, the Lord of Heaven, Who Inspires you from on High and shows His power through The wonders of His hand in every land He rules, In every grain and grove and woodland greened anew.” OUR FRENCHMEN, having made their way across the sea, Had come to Ganor’s land and led ashore their steeds. They’d dressed themselves afresh and waited on the quay In lovely marten furs and dapple-hued pelisses. Their weapons caught the sun, reflecting golden beams From armour and from all their horses’ saddlery. Against her window’s ledge, fair Aye observed the gleams From lofty Aufalerne, as strong as any keep, So near, and yet so far, a mighty arrow’s reach. “Dear God above,” she cried, “Who never fails our need, I know those noble arms! They come from my demesne!” At this, a Pagan queen, attending her, appeared: “Fair sister,” she inquired, “what troubles you, my dear?” To which fair Aye replied: “Can you interpret dreams? A dreadful vision came, last night, to fright my sleep! I dreamt that I had climbed upon a hillock’s peak And lay upon its grass, with Ganor, at my ease – Upon my lap I held his noble head indeed – When from the sky I saw two eagles veer and steer Their beaks towards our eyes on which they hoped to feed! Then from my native land a falcon chased between, And with it raced a lion, the whitest ever seen! The falcon, in the air, gave neither eagle peace, But stopped them in their flight, then dropped them from its beak Towards the beast below, that seized them in its teeth And wouldn’t let them go till naught was left to eat!” “My lady,” said the queen, “be happy, for this means That from your land a hand has come to help you here – Which, if King Ganor knew, would sadden him indeed.” Back down inside the town, the Pagans led our Peers 176

Aye of Avignon I To lodgings that surpassed, in comfort, all belief, Where Ganor often went to speak with them and seek For any news they cared to share of France the sweet – Which they were glad to give, while knowing which to keep! FOR MANY DAYS they tarried, without the call to strike A single blow in anger, or mount a horse to fight. Then Garnier, one morning, rose early, with a mind To take his goshawks hunting, for sport and exercise, With Fulk the brave and Guimer, his brother, by his side. They dressed in rich apparel and mounted mules to ride. Dear God, how fine a river they found, to their delight, And hunted there for hours until, upon the ninth, They passed the very tower where Aye had been confined! Fair Aye was at her window, and leaning from its height, She saw the trio coming across a field nearby, And thought she’d never witnessed so wild and weird a sight: Three bald and beardless riders, with caps strapped very tight To faces tanned like leather from weathering the tides! But Aye’s resolve was tougher than that could turn aside, And calling till they heard her, with ringing voice she cried: “Ahoy there, gallant Frenchmen! I beg you, halt your stride And speak to me a moment, for I am French alike! What news have you to tell me of your sweet land and mine? Is noble Charlemagne, our monarch, still alive?” At last the duke could hear her, and when he looked on high, She recognised his features, and hers began to shine! “How long I’ve been forgotten, my worthy lord,” she sighed, “And how much pain I’ve suffered for love of you, sir knight, To foreign lands abducted for foreign hands to buy!” At this she drew the ring off he’d given her as bride, Wherein a pair of jewels, as rich as they were bright, Enclosed a third as gleaming, but many times as prized! This stone had been transported from Earthly Paradise, Where God Himself had formed it with such a force divine That it was filled with magic of unimagined price: The maidenhead of any who wore it was denied To any other’s taking, unless the maid complied! Inside a golden moulding this stone was fitted tight. She took the ring and threw it, from where she stood on high, Towards her loving husband, who knew it in a trice, And, knowing this, was certain that he had found his wife – Or she had him – whichever, my lords, you think is right. Be sure of this, however – they soon would reunite! 177

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INSIDE MONJARDIN PASSES, a ford called Malestrange Gives crossing to a torrent that floods the mountain’s face, And there it was the Spanish had made their army’s base. One day the brothers mustered five thousand Turkish knaves To mount their steeds and carry their banners on a raid. This vicious vanguard started across the fields and made For Aigremore directly and stopped before its gate. The French would have their hands full before the end of day! THE SUN WAS SHINING brightly that morning, when the force Of noisy Turks rode up to the gates of Aigremore. King Ganor had recovered from wounds received before And gone inside his garden that lined the city-walls To hear the merry chorus of calling-birds abroad, And meet again the Frenchmen, whom he had summoned forth: “I’m sure you all are certain of what I’ve called you for: My gallant-hearted Frenchmen, it’s time to go to war! I’ll ride with you wherever at any time at all – At morning or at evening, at moonlight or at dawn – For I can wield a buckler as well as any born. And if my own endeavours should fail to equal yours, Then all my kingdom’s riches shall be to me as naught. As naught alike I’ll count it if I should be unhorsed, As long as I can draw on my gleaming royal sword, For I don’t think there’s any by whom I’ll be outfought: In land of France last season two paladins were caught, Who’ve taught me how to use it till I can learn no more!” “Please introduce your teachers!” said Renier of Milan, And so he did: his jailer was told to bring them forth, And when they saw Sir Garin and Hernaut of Gironde, His face aglow with laughter, they marvelled in their thoughts. Sir Garnier approached them and said, with laughing voice: “Don’t name us to King Ganor, for God’s sake, noble lords, For we have posed as soldiers he thinks that he has bought – And we shall buy your freedom as soon as chance affords!” The brothers quickly answered: “You have a bargain, lord!” SAID GANOR: “Worthy soldiers, you know this pair it seems?” Said Garnier: “The taller and blonder one, indeed, For both of us were squires, together many years In Charlemagne’s household, the King of France the sweet. But one day I was captured when Mâcon was besieged, And Garin here redeemed me, without a ransom-fee! 178

Aye of Avignon I I swear that if I ever could pay him back the deed, I wouldn’t be as happy with all the gold that gleams!” At once the king responded: “Then I shall set him free!” And so he did, both captives, as blithely as could be! Indeed, he gave the brothers good arms and armour each, With free and full selection of any of his steeds. So now our ten companions became a dozen peers Whose like for gallant valour, from here to Nero’s Field, Could never have been equalled, whatever paths were beat! But now, they heard the force of the sons of King Marsile: On Ganor’s gate they battered their level-bannered spears And shouted: “Are the menfolk too frightened to appear?” Some fifty thousand fighters responded to their jeers By riding forth directly, with Ganor in the lead: Their tally was impressive, but not their sally’s zeal, Until our doughty dozen displayed the soaring speed And ruthlessness of falcons, attacking as they pleased. Our hero struck the blazon upon their leader’s shield And split apart its panel beneath the boss of green. He tore apart the hauberk and drove his shining spear, Together with its pennon, right through him to the rear, Then slew him on the gravel one lance’s length beneath: “Mountjoy, for Charlemagne!” he cried across the field: “May God above in Heaven curse any man who fears To barter blows aplenty for lovely Aye’s release!” THEY TURNED the Turkish vanguard: defence became attack! For seven leagues you couldn’t have travelled any track And even found a glove-full of bloodless, empty land Without a Turkish body on gravel, grass or sand! If any reached their campsite, it didn’t make them glad To think that of the thousands, the pride of all they had, There scarcely were a hundred in all who made it back. Their army blew its trumpets in force across the ranks. So many horns resounded you’d think the earth would crack. Our hero hailed his comrades: “No further, gallant band! Turn back – as if escaping their countering attack! If we pretend to flee them and turn our horses back, Their boldest will pursue us, and they can be entrapped!” Said Garin of Ansyon: “I like the sound of that! If we’re to beat these forces with what this city has, We’ll have to use what wisdom and trickery we can!”

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AT MALESTRANGE’S crossing, a ford called Monstardon Gave shelter to the sons of the Moor Marsilion, And every man they’d summoned from Spanish court or cot. Soon one of them came running, Teebo of Montcenon: From front to rear his buckler displayed a gonfalon And half a spear, embedded where half had broken off. “Arm straightaway, companions!” the Pagan cried aloft, “For I’ve some news to tell you: King Ganor, in his wrath, Has got himself some fighters from Charles’s realm, so strong That they took on our vanguard and put to flight the lot! For every thirty living a thousand have been lost!” Then Bérenger and Sanson, Béraut and Aumagon, The cause of all this fighting for Aye of Avignon, Companions-in-evil, came adding to the shock: They cried, with ringing voices: “The soldiers Ganor’s got Are not from France’s kingdom, wherever they are from, Nor men of Charlemagne’s, for we four know them not!” Our hero, in the meantime, had spurred his comrades on: Girart was there, his nephew, the son of Duke Othon, Renier, and Fulk, together with Garin of Mâcon, And Gautier and Guimer and Fulk of Avalon, And Achart of Messina, Tiebaix of Aspremont – Supported now by Garin and Hernaut of Gironde And Ganor’s hand, that hoisted a snowy gonfalon. Towards them, like a falcon, Count Bérenger took off, Around his neck a buckler with lions painted on, And in his hand, held level, a lance green-gonfaloned. When Garnier beheld him, and knew just who he was, It pleased him more than gaining the wealth of Aragon! He spurred his horse, that speeded like fury in response. It sported, like a warning, a bright-red saddle-cloth! Our hero struck his rival upon his buckler’s gloss And split the boards to pieces above the golden boss. He slit the coat beneath it and, driving on, he lodged The lance-head deep inside him, with all the gonfalon. He thrust it through his liver, his heart and lungs, the lot, Then split in half his backbone and levered him to drop One lance’s length before him and die upon the rocks: His spurs flew off and landed upon the sand beyond. Sir Garnier despatched him with this departing shot: “It serves you right for hurting fair Aye of Avignon: You’ve paid for it by dying a world away from God!”

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Aye of Avignon I WHEN SANSON LOOKED around and saw his brother dead, His golden spurs upturned to Heaven overhead, His shining Eastern helm embedded where he fell, His war-horse speeding forth, its swinging saddle cleft, He cried aloud and sighed in sorrow and regret: “My joy in life is slain to see you lain in death! No more shall I delight in anything again!” He gripped his spear and braced his buckler on his breast, But couldn’t reach his foe across the heavy press. If you had seen the blows he struck in his attempt, You would have been amazed, I’m certain, nonetheless! He turned his horse to strike at Renier instead: He flattened him so well along his horse’s neck, He would have had him caught, or finished him himself, When Fulk and Gautier rode up to save their friend. And, what is more, they caught old Sanson there and sent Him, under heavy guard, to Ganor’s palace cells. COUNT BERENGER was slain and Sanson taken captive. Béraut and Aumagon spurred hotly into action, The one to joust Hernaut, the other one Sir Garin. All four of them were flung one lance’s length from saddle, And, with their cutting swords, were locked in mortal battle When Fulk and Gautier rushed up to their companions, Defending them from death, and seizing their attackers. They too, went, under guard, to cells inside the palace! Sir Fulk and Gautier had well repaid King Ganor When Hernaut of Gironde and Garnier the gallant Returned towards the fight and swelled its mighty clamour! Our hero struck the shield of shining blue that straddled King Brunamor’s old neck, the brother of Blancandrin. Beneath its golden boss he cleft its central panel And ripped the coat beneath, of triple-mail, to tatters. He drove his burnished spear from ribcage through to backbone And flung him down to die upon the open paddock. And Hernaut of Gironde struck Alexi, a pasha Who held the land Kirmahn, King David’s ancient allod. And Garin of Ansayn struck hoary Amoravid. Our French brigade indeed displayed such skilful passion, I wish you could have seen the smiting and the smashing Of weaponry on shields and helmets of enamel! The daylight saw it all, in sunshine bright and happy, As Pagans by the score were overrun and vanquished, 181

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THE PAGAN BEST were beaten, the rest were full of fear. Duke Garnier, impatient, rode through them till he reached Their leaders and gave challenge to arrogant Aiglee, The eldest son of many Marsilion had reared, The ruler of Toledo, Almeria and Puie. Our hero struck him fiercely – he feared him not the least – And pierced so very sweetly his shield and coat beneath That down he fell and perished without the slightest peep! King Margoros, who saw it, found naught about it sweet: “Fine brother,” he lamented, “your murderer has steeped The whole of Spain more deeply in never-ending grief!” THE BATTLE FINISHED quickly when Aiglee met his death: The Spaniards stopped fighting and turned around and fled. Our gallant Frenchmen chased them with all of Ganor’s men, And ran them to the harbour at sword and lance’s edge. They sacked their boats for booty, and found themselves such wealth The poorest man among them would lack for nothing hence. For Spain the Spanish headed, for Aigremore the rest, And Aye was filled with gladness to hear of their success. She prayed aloud: “True Father, reveal to me, I beg, If I shall ever leave here with Garnier – and when!” ONE SUNNY DAY thereafter, at light of dawn, behold King Ganor striding swiftly inside his hall of stone, Whose columns so were studded with gleaming stars of gold And brightly polished jewels and lighter gems aglow That nothing more was needed to light it from below. The time had come to lavish rewards on those he chose. AND SO IT WAS that day that our twelve heroes entered. Duke Garnier, the brave and courtly, first addressed him: “We seek your leave, my lord, for it is time we left you!” “Not yet a while, my friends!” the king replied directly, “For on our isle the king, by custom and convention, Must make, once in his life, a pilgrimage to Mecca. Now I have never gone, and every day regretted My own delay – but now, I am resolved and ready! As I shall also take my best knights to attend me, 182

Aye of Avignon I I need you here to keep my island-home defended Till I reclaim my rights and honour my intention To wed the Lady Aye for whom we drew our weapons. I’ll pay you with such wealth that you’ll be rich forever, And willing to return another time to help me.” “Your plan is good, my lord,” the French replied together. And so it was the king embarked upon a vessel With sixty-three or more of his most gallant henchmen, To visit the Emir of all the Eastern Empire – His land left in the hands of our most gallant Frenchmen! Ere ever he returned he’d recognise his error! SO GANOR TOOK a vessel to make his trip thereon To Mecca, where he wanted the blessing of Mahom. He landed at the harbour of Alexandria And went at once to honour the great Emir thereof – His land left in the hands of Sir Garnier the strong! Ere ever he returned there he’d recognise his wrong! It happened on the feast-day of valiant St John, That Pagans give more honour than we in France allot. Since Aye had been imprisoned three years had come and gone. The Frenchmen came at nightfall to her benighted spot, And when she saw her husband, she said with sigh and sob: “What troubles I have caused you, fine scion of Doon! May God, if He so pleases, reward you well anon!” She pressed his lips with kisses – indeed she wouldn’t stop! “Enough of this!” said Gautier, the lord of Avalon. “The night is short of season, and we must do a lot! If we are seen by any, then all escape is lost!” Sir Garnier did nobly by Ganor, says the song, In this much: there was treasure a-plenty to be robbed From Aufalerne the tower, but he took not a jot Of wealth in any measure, save Aye of Avignon, And three of her attendants, to be baptised for God. Then Gautier did something, with Hernaut of Gironde, Whose like was never witnessed for daring and aplomb: They stole inside the prison, they picked the prison’s locks, Then rounded up Sir Sanson, Berart and Aumagon, And led them to their vessel, with Aye of Avignon. The trio had no knowledge of any plan or plot, So when they saw our hero they got a fearful shock! The vessel left its harbour, and as they sped along, They recognised, to starboard, the coasts of Africa 183

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And Spain upon the port-side, its Main a medley of Both small and larger islands they passed without a stop. Through day and night they journeyed with every sail aloft Until on the eleventh they came to Graillemont. The tidings spread like wildfire through every court and croft That Garnier had rescued fair Aye of Avignon, And every man and woman ran up till both were mobbed! The clerics and the bishops, aligned before the throng, Gave Garnier a welcome as fair as it was fond. The noble duke’s companions requested him to drop His anger at Sir Sanson and wretched Aumagon, And so he did, not seeking redress for any wrong – Indeed he gave his sisters, whose peerless beauty shone, In marriage, one to Sanson and one to Aumagon, With Graillemont as dowry together with La Roche. When this was done both Garin and Hernaut of Gironde Returned to their own kinsmen, whose hearts rejoiced that God Had rescued them from prison and from the cruel wrath Of men whose minds were careless of boundary or bond. Fair Aye, beside her husband, returned to Avignon, Where both were glad to settle, for both had suffered long. They had a son called Guyot, so wild of will anon He warred with Charlemagne – but that’s another song! ❦

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AYE OF AVIGNON – II 1. How Aye was pursued THE SONG OF AYE you know was NOT the way it ended – And if I sang no more, you’d miss the bit that’s better: It tells of Ganor’s woe and all the blows it led to When he discovered how his bride-to-be had left him! So listen once again to lovely Aye’s adventures. King Ganor of the Moors returned at last from Mecca, Where, as you may recall, he’d gone for Mahom’s blessing. An envoy stopped him first, on Florimonda’s meadows, And said: “My royal lord, I’ve dreadful news to tell you: Your trust has been betrayed by him who led the Frenchmen: His name was Garnier, Lord Doon’s son, and wedded Already to fair Aye! He only came to get her! And that he’s done, my lord; and, what is more, he rescued The hostages you took – they’ve sailed away together!” On hearing this, the Moor, bereft of all his senses, Fell faint upon the ground, his sorrow was so heavy. “Alas,” he cried, “it seems all Christian men are felons! What kindly heart can warm to minds of such deception?” “FAIR AYE,” he cried again, “so virtuous and winsome! By all the gods, you are the worthiest of women! I’d rather walk unshod the length of Charles’s kingdom Than know Sir Garnier is boasting that he’s tricked me!” WHEN GANOR started forward, the heart in him was dead. He almost lost his senses, his grief was so intense. He stumbled to his palace and for a year from then He never changed his clothing or bathed himself again. He wouldn’t have his hair cut, and left his beard unkempt: And yet his face still glimmered with his innate prowess – His limbs were still as handsome, his build as noble yet, His waist and hips were slender, his shoulders squarely set, His pallid hands were shapely, his neck was full of strength. 185

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Heroines of the French Epic At last he planned a journey, together with a friend Attending him, a linguist, whose help would be immense: He first acquired the clothing they needed for their quest: The cotton smocks of pilgrims, with arm-holes right and left, And shortened cloaks provided with hoods to hide their heads. He also found them breeches cropped off at ankle length And shirts of humble haircloth close-fitting to their flesh.

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AT LAST THE KING was ready to leave upon his venture: A trip to France the sweet, allegedly on penance. So, leaving Aigremore, that war no longer threatened, They hastened to the port, and soon were on the jetty. In French the linguist sought their passage on a vessel Whose crew was all on board, and which was called Saint-Clement. The captain said he’d place his boat at Ganor’s pleasure, For in his face he saw a rank to be respected. THE SAILORS CAME from Pisa and Genoa alike, And rich they were from travel and trading through the isles Of Pagandom, in cities and strongholds far and wide, Obtaining Eastern spices and herbs of many kinds, From cinnamon and ginger to liquorice and thyme, And every sort of plant-root for medicines you’ll find In many Lombard markets on any day or night. Their captain said to Ganor – that’s Ganor in disguise – “My lord, where do you come from?” “From Saint-Denis,” replied The king, “I am a brother of wealthy Baron Guy.” The salty-bearded captain, Boydell his name, replied: “If God in Heaven lets me, and winds on earth comply, Then you should see that city in fifteen days and nights. You must have heard the story of Garnier of Nanteuil, Whose noble valour rendered, then rent him from his wife. Well, when she was recovered, upon this very isle, They went back to her city of Avignon the fine And held a fair they promised, while either was alive, Would be exempt of taxes and any toll or tithe! So that is where I’m headed – with thousands more, belike!” On hearing this, King Ganor said softly, with a smile: “And I, so help me Mahom, will purchase me a life!” THEIR talking stopped the moment the deck beneath them rocked From such a breeze arising as every sailor wants. Their craft was fully loaded with everything they’d stocked, 186

Aye of Avignon II And every sail and lanyard was straining to be off – As soon they were, like fury, through foamy wave and trough. Upon their right they followed the coast of Aquilant. Through night and day so swiftly the current swept them on No single sail was lowered for ten days of the watch. From faraway they sighted Saint-Gilles inside Provence, Then Aix, the lovely city, and noble Avignon. Where Rhône, the peaceful river, relieves the ocean’s wrath, And sailors’ hearts are happy to hear the anchors drop, Saint-Clement and her cargo of men and spices docked.

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SAID GANOR TO the sailors: “Now, what’s the payment due? Whatever wealth I carry I’ll gladly give to you.” And with a smile he offered a golden mark in proof. “My lord, you owe us nothing,” replied the worthy crew, Who put the pair ashore there, among the shallow dunes. Dear God, how great a pity the city never knew The trouble it was in for, the sorrow and the rue The morrow was to bring them, and Aye the duchess too! KING GANOR AND his party approached the town in haste: “My lords,” he said, “this duchy is such a lovely place! If I had known how lovely before I came away, I would have brought my navy to win it by blockade! I would have filled this harbour so full of masts and sails You’d not have seen between them a foot of any wave! That’s what I’ll do the next time, if this time I should fail.” On saying this, they entered the city’s postern-gate And stopped upon the steps of the palace, in the shade. From vespers just returning, they saw the Lady Aye, And Ganor, spurred to action, approached her straightaway: “God save you, lovely lady, and fill you with His grace! We’ve come to ask for lodging, in loving Jesu’s name, But only for this evening; we need no further aid, For with the dawn tomorrow we must be off again.” Aye looked at him, observing the flowing, snowy spray Of beard that in a twelvemonth had flourished to his waist. The paleness of his body belied a glowing face She thought she knew – though, clearly, a year had run its days Since last she had been near it, in Ganor’s hideaway. She said: “I’ve seen you, brother, but where I cannot say.” “At Laon,” he said, “my lady! I saw your wedding-day. I heard that men were fighting, soon after, for your sake.” 187

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THE KING WAS very happy to be with Aye at last, And, as they talked together, he stood there more entranced With her than all the treasures of Alexandria. When Ganor paused from talking, again the duchess asked: “So you were born, good pilgrim, at royal Laon in France?” “My lady, no,” said Ganor, “I come from Vermandois.” “But you are on a penance – how did that come to pass?” “At Bouillon, in a tourney, the iron of my lance Went through one of my brothers and slew him by mischance. I’ve been to Rome in penance, then Saint-Gilles in Provence, And now it’s to St Martin’s at Tours, along the Pass That crosses Mount St Mary’s and sets me on my path. I seek our Lord’s forgiveness, Who loves the sorry heart.” King Ganor’s constant talking increased his friends’ alarm, Who said: “What devil in him is forcing him so far? We’ll hang when she remembers exactly who we are!” KING GANOR WAS as gracious and kind as he was bold. In one hand he was holding a pilgrim-staff of oak, But took off from the other a glove with stitches sewn. The graceful hand beneath it was long, and pale as snow, And, on its little finger, displayed a ring of gold From mines in Almerīa, the finest carat known. No man who ever wore it, or woman, so I’m told, Would ever die of hunger or from a thirsty throat. Aye showed it to her escort, a Spaniard called Ramōn. “This pilgrim’s of good breeding, by all the faith I owe!” She said, and, moving closer, she took the ring in hold And slipped it from his finger: “You’re worried now!” she joked. But Ganor answered calmly: “Indeed, my lady, no! In truth, I’d gladly give you my ring and glove, you know, For I was in your service before the son of Do! I would be now, and will be, but I am under oath To forfeit horse and weapons till I have cleansed my soul! Please give me leave, my lady! I must prepare to go.” “My friend,” fair Aye responded, “not right away, I hope! You’ve sought the boon of shelter, which gladly I’ll bestow, So you can leave tomorrow as fresh as April’s rose! What’s more, I’ll gladly give you provisions for the road, For even the most noble can’t live on air alone!” 188

Aye of Avignon II “Upon my faith,” said Ganor, “We can’t accept a groat, But would be very grateful to find a willing host.” When this was said she led them to Garin Bonnefoi’s home, The provost of her city, and Gui her son’s abode – As pupil of the provost, where nobly he had grown. Alas she ever looked at the ring and glove he showed, Which earned their owner entry, and turned her weal to woe! IN GARIN’S HOME, the provost, King Ganor’s men were lodged, Beside the outer gate of the walls of Avignon. “Where is the duke, good provost?” King Ganor asked anon. “My lord, he’s led an army of workers to Nanteuil, To bolster its defences with taller walls across.” The king was very angry to learn the duke had gone, And so he called two rascals whom he had brought along, Called Baratron and Margot, to hatch another plot: This Margot had a plant-root whose properties were strong: No mortal man who tasted the slightest bit thereof Could keep his eyelids open; he’d close them on the spot And slumber like a dead man until he’d slept it off. So, when they sat at dinner, a little later on, And Gui presented Ganor, with courteous aplomb, A plover-pie his mother had sent them in a pot, This Margot crushed the plant-root and sprinkled it on top, While everyone was eating and drinking loud and long. The smell was most enticing, the pie was piping hot – So young and old together, both gluttonous and not, Attacked the pie with gusto, then fell asleep like logs! At this, the Pagans looted whatever served their want, And little Gui was kidnapped by Ganor in his wrath! They left the house, ensuring that every door was locked. Conducting from their stables three horses tawny-blond, They swiftly put their bridles and shining saddles on, Then galloped through the district to reach a distant dock. The trading-fair had finished, the stallholders had gone, But soon they found a sailor preparing to cast off. King Ganor’s gold persuaded the tar to take them on And heed the monarch’s wishes to speed his craft along.

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KING GANOR STEPPED aboard, but, as he did, he spied A labourer, a man, in fields above the tide, Whose back was bent in work upon the track he plied. King Ganor halted step and called the man aside:

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“Friend, take this piece of gold, and go before tonight To Aye in Avignon beneath her shady pines. Then tell her this: ‘Although he knows that you are wise, King Ganor of the Moors, whose heart is also high, Has, in his pilgrim’s garb, outwitted you this time And taken your son Gui to Aigremore the wild! He says you’ll never see your son again in life Until the lad has learned the language of his isle. As surety, receive his ring and glove alike.’” THE MASTS WERE RIGGED and ready without the slightest noise. King Ganor asked the captain, before they left the shore: “My friend, are your provisions sufficient for us all?” “We have,” replied the captain, “a year’s supply on board.” “Good brother,” Ganor asked him: “In what land were you born?” “In truth,” replied the captain, “I’m from the island shores Belonging to King Ganor, who in the song that’s called ‘The Duchess Aye’ held lately that lady in his thrall!” “Good brother,” answered Ganor, “then speed for Aigremore, For I’m that very monarch, your countryman and lord, Who truly held the duchess of Avignon before Sir Garnier deceived me and took her from my court. I have this day, however, returned him fit reward By taking, through deception, young Gui his only boy!” On saying this, he lifted the youngster’s blanket forth To show the lad, well clad in a tunic lined for warmth Beneath a gown of crimson in silk and cotton wrought. The sobbing youngster begged them: “Please take me back, my lords! If we’re away much longer, my mother will be fraught!” To cheer him Ganor gave him a moulted sparrowhawk, Then told the captain swiftly to sail them out of port. While all of this was passing, fair Aye was in her hall, Inside a chamber painted by Salemon of yore. She drowsed, and in her dreaming it seemed to her she saw Her town ablaze with flashes that lit it like a torch. Upon the porch, all naked, her little son was stalked By two bears and a lion, who caught him with a roar! The bear-cubs tossed the youngster inside the lion’s maw, Then from the sky a griffin came roaring down and caught Both beast and boy together and soared away towards Tall Aufalerne the tower, by which it let them fall. This vision woke the duchess, who shuddered in her thoughts, Then hurried to St Simon’s to pray to God the Lord. 190

Aye of Avignon II FAIR AYE AWOKE in worry and dressed herself in fright, Then hurried to St Simon’s to pray to Jesus Christ. She sent men to the hostel in search of Gui her child, But none could wake the sleepers to let them get inside, Where all were drugged too deeply for anyone to rise! Her messengers turned quickly and told the duchess why: “There’s crime a-foot, my lady, that cannot be denied! Your little son’s been kidnapped and taken in the night! Those pilgrims that you welcomed were Pagans in disguise!” On hearing this, the duchess tore all her hair awry: “Alas I ever bore you, my lovely Gui!” she cried. THE TOWNSFOLK, when they heard, came running up and heaved Their strength against the doors until they burst them free And saw inside the house that all were fast asleep! They sounded the alarm, then chased along the streets. Upon the way they met that worker from the fields, Who came where Aye was sat beneath a cypress-tree. “My lady,” said the man, “abandon idle grief, For happiness in life’s a fickle friend indeed! Among the pilgrim band last night there was a Peer Who gave to me this gold, but made me first agree To use its royal worth upon our church’s needs, And bring to you this news of him and little Gui: ‘King Ganor has your son aboard his ship at sea!’” The duchess tore her hair and couldn’t halt her tears: “How treacherous you are, wild heathendom, indeed! What honest folk on earth are safe from your deceit?” Upon her steps she wept: she couldn’t help but weep, As Ganor took her child across the heaving sea. The captain and his crew used every brewing breeze To speed their monarch home, where he was met with cheers. He tended Gui with care, and with the passing years The youngster grew in strength and handsomeness of mien. King Ganor schooled him well in Pagan ways and means, And taught him to play chess and draughts with expertise, Then how to read the stars and courses that they keep. He made him seneschal, above his other Peers, And wouldn’t eat a thing unless the youth was near. And when the moment came to give him steel and steed He knighted him as fair and finely as could be. My lords, it proved a boon that little Gui was seized: If what they say is true, it saved his life indeed. 191

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Whoever hears in full the tale of Aye will see How present woe may hide a happiness to be. So listen well, my friends, to what my song reveals, For you can learn a lot from what it has to teach – And hear of mighty fights, invasions and the siege Of castles that were cast to ground by evil greed: Of Auboin I’ll sing, and Alerant, who schemed With Miles of the Ardennes and Othon to defeat Sir Garnier in war, by Charlemagne’s leave! My song of Aye begins – so hear the best from me: No minstrel hence, I think, will ever sing its peer! 2. How Aye was widowed

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ONE EASTERTIME it was, when winter snows have thawed, When woodlands bloom anew and meadows blossom forth, And birds begin to sing and make a merry noise, Like ‘kee, o-kee, o-kee’, the nightingale’s sweet call; When anxious maidens sigh, for lovers far forlorn, While wedded wives delight the menfolk they adore. In Saint-Denis itself King Charles was holding court, Without Duke Garnier, whose two brothers-in-law, Sanson and Aumagon, with the agreed support Of Miles and Auboin, their cousins, and the lord Otto, their German kin, had poisoned Charles’s thoughts Against the duke, and brought such blandishments galore That Charles began to spurn the lord he’d loved before. WHEN CHARLES had finished eating, the cloths were cleared away. The hall began to empty, the bedrooms filled apace. The plotters seized the moment to stir their pot again! Counts Aumagon and Sanson were first with their complaint: “Fine King, we ask for justice against Duke Garnier, Who with his weapon slaughtered my brother Bérenger. He wed us to his sisters, but that was just a way Of robbing us of half of Nanteuil and its estates. He’s strengthened his defences, without your ‘yea’ or nay’, And bodyguards protect him throughout the night and day. We’ve offered him no challenge, not wanting to engage In action that would vex you or flex your fearsome rage.” Aside the pair continued: “By Rome’s most blessed saint, We swear that when we do so, we’ll dash out all his brains!” 192

Aye of Avignon II “You’ll what, you race of devils?” said Charles, who’d heard the knaves: “Without his son, you justly may claim his whole domain.” Said Aumagon the swarthy: “To me it’s all the same, For I don’t care a penny for him or any claim!” “MY LORD,” said Alerant, the ruler of Traysene, “I urge you to recall when Nanteuil was besieged By you, who sent Doon, defeated, into Pouille. How, even when he died and lay beneath our feet, The rebel left behind three sons to vent his spleen! Queen Blancheflor your wife raised lovingly all three, But you held Garnier in singular esteem, Delighting in his growth and knighting him with glee. You gave him land – without the counsel of your Peers – That should have been Antoine’s, who rightly felt aggrieved: With fifteen thousand men he’d served you well for years, When Garnier had brought but four or five indeed. His castle of Nanteuil lies next to your demesne And right upon the spot where three more kingdoms meet: Lorraine, the rest of France and all of Germany. He’s reinforced his town without your royal leave, Though every wall before seemed tall enough to me! The man who owns Nanteuil will not be stopped with ease. Indeed he likes to boast that if he were besieged, He would defeat your son, Prince Louis, in two weeks!”

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SAID MILES of the Ardennes, beside his German kinsman Count Otto: “Truly, Sire, it’s neither fair nor fitting That all of us should lose so one may be the winner! I urge you to recall when you besieged the city: Its Pagan walls you left un-cleft were well sufficient, But still he’s built some more, without the least permission: Its tower now is huge and white as snow in winter. Upon one side Argonne encloses his position, Where venison abounds, provisioning his kitchens. The Meuse, the other side, is an abundant river. He’s often said in boast four sieges couldn’t shift him! My lord, if we were sure of our and your position, Within a month we’d clip the wings of his ambition! Your Majesty, accept, as proof that we are willing, A gift of Eastern silk, with gold and shining silver So heavy in its load four sumpters couldn’t lift it!” The Emperor replied: “I’m not against your wishes,

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But I must make a trip beyond Marsois to visit Brabant and put an end to Walter Aval’s mischief! When I return, my friends, make sure your work is finished.” And thus it was that wealth, the lure of land and riches, Would end a good man’s life and hand his wife to villains! NOW GUISCHARD AND Alori were Garnier’s two nephews – The sons of those two sisters whom Garnier had wedded To Aumagon and Sanson when Aye before was rescued – And both were at the court of the King of France together. When both of them were told of their fathers’ ill intention To turn against their uncle and plunder his possessions, It pricked their honest conscience, it spurred their gallant tempers And drove them both to challenge the royal son of Pépin. Said Alori, the younger: “True Emperor, attend us! Sir Garnier’s your vassal – his loyalty well-tested. You even praised his offer to strengthen his defences! The city was his allod, but he agreed to rent it From you in loyal service you seem to be rejecting! God damn him for a gudgeon, if he remains your tenant!” The Emperor smiled wryly when Alori had ended. “What’s this,” he grinned, “Alori? Did I hear you correctly? You’re willing too that Heaven should watch your uncle perish!” The youth at once retorted: “So help me God, no, never!” At this the nephews bristled and asked to leave his presence. Both Guishard and Alori left Saint-Denis’ assembly: For love of their good uncle they left Charles altogether. The saying’s true: ‘A nephew out-vies a son for vengeance.’ AS AUMAGON AND Sanson rode homeward in a hurry To summon forth an army and stir up further trouble, So Guischard and Alori sped off to find their uncle And tell him all they knew of the plot they had uncovered: How much he stood to suffer and lose unless he mustered Whatever help he could do, in friends or any others, To fight a mortal battle – for that was what was coming! THE MAN WHO WROTE this story knew everything that happened: Our duke was in his city with Aye his fair companion And masons by the thousand at work upon the scaffolds, Who made the town resound to the pounding of their hammers. A lot of knights and soldiers were lodged inside its barracks. The duchess had refurbished St Simon’s church and chapel, 194

Aye of Avignon II To which, in high procession, a hundred monks had gathered. Upon the steps outside it three hundred knights were standing, Attired in silken breeches, in silk and cotton jackets, And tunics trimmed with ermine and marten-collared mantles. They watched the entertainment of bear- and lion-handlers, And minstrels telling stories or singing songs of valour. Young Guischard and Alori dismounted at the palace. Fair Aye moved up to welcome Guischard, the son of Sanson, And Garnier did likewise for Alori the gallant. Embracing them, they asked them if something were the matter: “There is indeed,” they answered, “A matter of great sadness: Sir Miles of the Ardennes and Dijon’s Baron Alex, With Count Otto the German, are planning to attack you! But, what is worse, our fathers, both Aumagon and Sanson, Have sided with these villains, to our abiding anger! Before the King they promised to slay you in his absence! May God above condemn us, and then forever damn us If we don’t turn this evil right back upon its planners!” “DEAR GOD,” EXCLAIMED the duke, “how could my lord consent, For any lure of wealth, to leave me to my death? I’d hoped to hunt my woods and fish my riverbeds, But now, alas, it seems that I must fight again! The duchess spoke her mind, on hearing his distress: “My lord, you have, yourself, a wondrous sum of wealth, Acquired from Aufalerne, the tower in Ganor’s realm. So summon mercenaries, and show the King your strength! I’ll give them so much gold and silver none will rest Till every foe of ours is vanquished, live or dead!” THE MIGHTY FEAST was ready; the tablecloths were laid, And all had called for water to wash before they ate: But soon they’d have more trouble than pleasure on their plates! A noise arose around them of shouting at the gates, As Auboin and Alex and fearless Milon came. The diners ran for weapons, as the alarm was raised, But someone in the tower, who’d watched them all the way, Said: “Barons, hold your horses! There’s many more than they! I’ve seen them all advancing; they’re passing Malavale, Beside the woods and ruins of our old abbey’s nave. Prepare to make a stand in the valleys of Moraive, With bowmen in three places, or four, where they can aim Their bolts at our attackers when battle is engaged.” 195

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Duke Garnier demanded his armour straightaway. He donned a heavy byrnie of strong and sturdy make And laced an Eastern helmet of green about his face: Upon the helmet’s nasal a precious jewel blazed. He girt a sword about him, old ‘Beardless’ Buevon’s blade, And raised a shield depicting that wonder of our faith, The raising, by our Saviour, of Lazarus the saint. He draped its strap of samite about his collared nape, Then gripped his lance of ash-wood, whose tip was razor -straight. Along the palace courtyard they brought his destrier, Which, fully armed, he mounted without a moment’s waste, And headed for the gateway to lead the coming fray. The duchess left her chamber; towards the hall of state She hastened, where she started, most fervently, to pray: “Lord God, our Heavenly Father, by Whom all things were made: Who fashioned Eve and Adam and all that Earth contains: Who took on flesh in Mary to manifest Your grace, As witnessed by the Magi, for whom Your love was great – They brought You gifts of honour that You did not disdain, And when they journeyed homeward You kept their party safe From Pontius Pilate’s soldiers and Herod’s royal rage – Dear Lord, Who was baptised in the river Jordan’s wave: For two and thirty summers You taught the Christian Faith, And when the Jews had caught You, showed naught again but grace: You let Yourself be taken, then crucified and laid Beneath the earth You gave us; but then You rose again To free with love Your people whom evil had enchained In cells of hell constructed by centuries of hate. By saying ‘Peace be with you’, You healed the world of pain. As I believe most truly You did all this, I pray That You will save the husband You gave to me at Aix From weapon’s wood or iron, from capture or the grave, Or any foe’s unhorsing from any blows he takes.” BEFORE THE GATE, dismounted, Sanson and Aumagon Stood waiting, with four thousand in hauberks sleek and strong. Duke Garnier attacked them – he chose the thickest spot– With strength that was rewarded by that of mighty God: No knight he felled was able to rise or battle on: He rounded up a hundred and had them hurried off To Belin, his chief jailer, who found them all a lodge! SIR MILES of the Ardennes, with bearded old Sir Milon, Dismounted at the gate and waited with equipment 196

Aye of Avignon II To batter any bulwarks and shatter any timbers. Duke Garnier attacked them with all his gallant spirit, Together with a thousand and more who sallied with him. No knight he felled was able to rise or to continue: He rounded up a hundred and had the lot delivered To Belin, his chief jailer, who found them all a billet! WHEN GARNIER’S two nephews, young Guischard and Alori, The sons of his two sisters – when they beheld the horses And other captured booty returning to the fortress, They didn’t dress for battle: they simply pressed towards it Upon their raging horses, a Pagan and a piebald. Around their necks they hoisted their bucklers double-boarded. In naked hands they steadied their sharp and ready sword-blades And raced away to fight for their uncle and support him. Sir Gaifier and Seguin, both Charlemagne’s courtiers, Were first to feel their ardour, the heat of which was scalding! Both Aumagon and Sanson, their fathers, started roaring: “You mongrel sons of harlots, how could you think to thwart us? The King will take your fiefdoms and see you die in torment! You truly must have sprung from the seed of Cain, who slaughtered His brother with a dagger! What other blight could cause you To fight against your fathers for an outsider’s fortune? Your choice will kill your mothers, this night or in the morning!” Their gallant sons responded: “It’s your choice that will haunt them! Whoever thinks like you do will surely die in torment!” When this was said the battle grew hotter than a cauldron. Sir Girart caught a glimpse of Sir Auboin and sought him Across the field – a meeting and matching that was mortal! AMONG HIS BARONS’ RANK Duke Garnier remained, A comfort and a spur, for bitter was the fray. Together they observed the death of Gautier, A hero of Nanteuil, its gonfalonier. Behind the walls his wife, Melissa, wept and wailed. “Be silent, foolish wife,” the duchess Aye exclaimed, “And tell each church in town to ring its bells, I say!” Girart and Auboin, meanwhile, came face to face Through quartered shields of blue they’d shattered clean away, And hauberks that were grand but hadn’t helped to save Their backbones, which, at once, their thrusts had cleft in twain And left them reft of life upon the open plain. Upon his horse Morel Duke Garnier fell faint. 197

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Heroines of the French Epic To help him Jocerant rode up with Renier. Duke Otto tried alike to comfort Miles’s pain: “Fair brother,” grieved Sir Miles “I’ve failed our bond today! However long I live, I’ll never smile again.”

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BEYOND THE TOWN a little there grew a fir-tree grove, Where stood a sturdy chapel, St Martin’s, so I’m told, Whose ancient graves abutted the junction of three roads. A lovely cross of marble was sited there below A pine-tree that was shading a fountain’s gentle flow – And Auboin and Girart, who lay as dead as stones, The road before them ruddy, where mortal wounds had flowed. A thousand men around them, their bodies bowed in woe, Confessed with mea culpas their own imperilled souls. DIRECTLY BY the chapel, in shade of tree and Cross, Both Auboin and Girart were lying, dead as rocks. Though Garnier was grieving, two others, further off, Were bringing him some comfort to help redress the wrong: Brave Garin of Ansyon and Hernaut of Gironde, With five and twenty thousand in helm and hauberks strong! Their men had just ascended the heights beyond Marsonne And sighted in the city its mighty fort Fregonde. The rebels in their hideout armed every man they’d got And Miles their leader told them: “Unless these men are stopped, Our clan will be dishonoured, our homelands will be lost! Lord Sanson, let us fight them! We must, Lord Aumagon!” COUNTS AUMAGON and Sanson ran swiftly from the walls To face the force arriving with banners flying tall. When good Sir Garin saw them, he greeted them with scorn: “For shame, you wicked traitors: may Jesus curse your course! Do you forget the prison of King Ganor the Moor? No gold or any silver could prise you from its jaws, But Garnier the gallant not only led you forth But wed you to his sisters so fair of face and form. You ought to serve him gladly in any case or cause!” The villains were embarrassed and couldn’t speak at all. THE VILLAINS WERE ashamed and neither of them spoke. They simply lowered spear and sped to barter blows. They jousted man to man with Garin and Hernaut, Who spun them on their backs one lance’s length below. 198

Aye of Avignon II The knights of Garnier came rushing up to both, A thousand men or more, and took the pair in hold To Garnier’s head guard, – called Belin, as you know! The villains were disarmed within a shady grove Then taken to the cells, built well of marble stone, Where Do, the white of beard, had shackled long ago The Saracen Magan, whose ransom cart of gold Had been the cause of war between the King and Do. On seeing what occurred, both Miles and Otto groaned: “My lords, we cannot win – turn, everyone, and go!” And so they did, at once, their helmets low with woe.

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AND SO THE FIGHTING ended as evening advanced. The strongest men were weary, for all had battled hard. “Sir Garnier’s been lucky,” the rebels said at last: “He’s won a thousand horses so strong of limb and heart The worst one, in Pavia, would fetch a hundred marks. The saying is as valid today as in the past: The penny gripped is better than four within your grasp!” THEY BLEW A THOUSAND horns and angrily turned tail. Count Miles of the Ardennes lamented in his rage: “Fair brother Auboin, I failed our bond today. However long I live I’ll never smile again.” Duke Garnier sought out his dead till none remained, Then took the slaughtered counts inside St Simon’s nave, Where more than fifty clerks recited psalms and prayed With laymen fifty score for blessings on the slain. The bodies of Girart and Auboin were laid In marble biers of white with porphyry engrained. Upon the palace steps, beneath an olive’s shade, The barons of Nanteuil surrounded Garnier. Sanson and Aumagon were both disarmed and placed In Belin’s sturdy hands and taken to his jail. Their disappointed sons harangued them on the way. The gallant Guischard said: “My lord, if you had stayed In Graillemont your fief, you could have watched the bay And seen the boats bring in a well-begotten wage – Much better than the one you’ll get from Garnier: Your eyes won’t see your feet for thirty days, I’d say!” Said Alori: “Dear God, they’ve more than that to face! Duke Garnier intends to send them in exchange For Gui, his son detained by King Ganor in Spain.” 199

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Heroines of the French Epic At this their fathers cried: “Enough of this, you knaves! He wouldn’t dare do that for any gold or gain! Once Charlemagne comes, he’ll hang you renegades!” When Garnier heard this he almost went insane. He only spared their lives for both their children’s sake, And for their lovely wives, his sisters, whom he’d made To wed the wretched pair, and both of whom now came To sue their brother’s heart for mercy on their fate. 610

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THE SISTERS CAME at once, together, to the court. They came on ambling mules with thirty knights in all. Their brother Garnier embraced the pair with warmth: “In raging shame we come, my lord,” said Aganor, “To ask you to forgive our foolish husbands’ fault. Some devil in their hearts began this wicked war. You gave them Graillemont – now take it back, my lord.” At this the duke was filled with anger and remorse. “MY LADIES,” said their brother, “I saved this pair of traitors From Aufalerne’s great prison, and what is more I gave them To both of you in marriage with Graillemont’s entailment! But now they have rewarded my services so basely That Charlemagne witnessed their plighted word to slay me! The time has come to pay them correctly for their labours, And that is why I’ll send them to King Ganor the Pagan, If he will but surrender to me the son he’s taken.” Said Agenor: “Good brother, we cannot so forsake them. Return to us our husbands – we ask no other favours.” Duke Garnier responded: “By God, I’ll never waiver!” But Aye his wife arrived there, that gentle, noble lady, And, speaking thus, was able to change his mind and save them: “MY LORD,” his wife implored him, “I would not like to see These Frenchmen sent to Ganor to die because of me. Their sons are strong and loyal, Guischard and Alori, So spare their reckless fathers to show them chivalry! If both can learn their lesson, your gain will not be mean – And if they can’t, their evil, alive or dead, will reap The punishment it merits from Him Who judges each.” SAID GARNIER: “My lady, I know what we shall do: I’ll take them to my liege lord King Charlemagne, who Will love me as he used to on hearing of the truth.” 200

Aye of Avignon II He brought the pair before him upon the steps and used His sword to cleave their tethers and set the villains loose. Said Aumagon: “How noble you truly are, sir duke, In jousting and in justice, with felons and with fools. In truth, we swore to kill you, and Charlemagne knew, But here and now we sever with those we swore it to, And swear anew forever to serve you and be true.” At once Alori added: “And we shall see they do!” DUKE GARNIER assembled a portion of his forces – Well over seven hundred – perhaps a thousand almost, Who mounted rapid horses to make the journey northward. Together with their husbands the three countesses also Rode off in gallant fettle across the Burgund border. But hardly had they ridden the valleys of Malortris When they received a message that made them hold their horses! An envoy, spurring hotly, came hurrying towards them Upon a noble warhorse he’d won in Tarragona. The horse he rode was gallant, the news he brought was galling– But nothing was omitted or changed as he reported: “My noble lord, in truth, I’ve tidings of misfortune: Count Miles of the Ardennes and Otto, duke of Vaurin, Came yesterday at noon to Auberive and stormed it! They rounded up or killed your citizens who fought them, Then swiftly left the town with booty so enormous That if they take it home, they’ll never live as paupers. They rode away in force – but have to pass before you!” Said Garnier: “By God, Who never fails or falters, I’d rather fight and die than let them by un-thwarted! If I did that, I’d be a laughingstock henceforward!” DUKE GARNIER dismounted beneath a shady tree. He called his men about him and thus began to speak: “My gallant lords and liegemen, attend a while to me! A messenger has ridden the road from Auberive To tell me that he’s witnessed the plunder of my fief! I’d rather die in fighting than let the thieves go free!” Both Aumagon and Sanson came spurring up with shields Whose quarters were divided by golden bands on each. “Duke Garnier,” they pleaded, “allow us both to lead! We’ll ride until we sight them, then fight them till our shields Are broken into splinters, till gonfalons and spears Lie shattered or in tatters upon the battlefield.” 201

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Heroines of the French Epic “ Dear God above, I wonder what lies behind this plea?” Said Guischard: “Are our fathers still working with the thieves?” ‘There’s one, and one way only, to know!” said Alori. His father cried:¨Dear Heaven, the world is lost indeed When sons mistrust the pledges their fathers swear to keep!”

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HE WHEELED AROUND his warhorse, and Sanson did alike. Sir Savari rode with them, with Huon at his side. They carried solid lances with gonfalons well tied, As off they hied together for higher ground nearby, Not stopping till they rested beneath a ring of pines. The Duke remained below them upon the river’s right, To form his ranks for battle and set his barons’ line. Soon after, on his warhorse, the traitor Miles arrived And saw at once the party of four beneath the pines. Said Aleran, beside him: “My lord, who are those knights?” “Indeed, we need to know them!” the fearsome Otto cried. AND SO THEY RODE towards them, with long and lowered lances: “Benighted knights, who are you?” the fearsome Otto asked them, And Aumagon responded: “Duke Garnier’s our master, The man whom you have plundered with your rapacious army! You’ll never pass the river – for there he waits to charge you For every captive taken, and every coin and casket!” Sir Miles of the Ardennes, behind the German, answered: “Alas for you, you traitors! You feckless, fickle partners! You shame the race that bred you, your brethren and your fathers, When you transfer your service to enemies who’ve harmed them: In peacetime and in warfare they’ve slaughtered us regardless!” “MY LORDS OF FRANCE,” replied both Aumagon and Sanson, “Whatever pledge we made before the King in Paris, We owe you nothing now, since it was made invalid By Garnier, who caught, then freed us without ransom. God bless him! You must know there’s no more worthy baron! Prepare to flee, or fight the pair of us in battle!” “SIR MILES,” cried Aleran, the count of Troiesine, “Just listen to the pair! What sort of kin are these Who love a stranger more than family or peers? A loyal Turk or Moor is more to be esteemed!” “Agreed,” old Sanson said.” “It’s time for talk to cease!” At this, they came to blows with lowered, lunging spears, 202

Aye of Avignon II While Garnier, below, blew every horn to lead His seven hundred men against a thousand thieves! If you had heard the pound of lances hitting shields And swords of steel resound on smitten helms of green, As knights were struck to ground and foundered on the field! Duke Garnier attacked Sir Miles upon his steed: The villain’s mail was strong, no link of it was breached, But he was struck so well he teetered on his steed. Duke Garnier rushed in, and would have felled the fiend, When Aleran arrived, the count of Troiesine, To shield him from the blow and wield his own between. The clamour was immense, the clash of weapons fierce: The wounded and the slain lay everywhere in heaps. THE CLAMOUR was immense and fearsome was the clash: The wounded and the slain lay heaped across the land. Sir Huon raised his lance and galloped to attack Duke Aleran upon his buckler’s golden bands. The fragments, as he struck, went flying from his hands. “Now that’s a gallant blow, my lord,” said Aleran, “And I’ll not be a churl who’s chary with his thanks!” On saying this, he rushed Sir Huon with his brand And landed such a blow it shattered helm and cap To split the head below, completely, front to back! The rebels raised their cry on high to witness that! THE CLAMOUR was immense, and very fierce the fighting. Count Savari that day bestrode a Gascon strider And bore a sturdy lance whose gonfalon was shining. He sorrowed as he saw his cousin Huon lying In death upon the sand where evil had consigned him. In front of him he saw the Gascon knight Tareiffel, Count Aleran’s own son, a cousin of Sir Miles’s, And struck him on his shield emblazoned with a lion. Beneath its golden boss he split it into slivers And speared him front to rear – with flag as well as iron! He didn’t spare his heart, his lungs or liver either, But flung him to his death one lance’s length beside him. Duke Garnier cried out: “Now that’s the way to strike them! Whoever stands by you has someone to rely on!” As soon as this was said, support began arriving From Auberive itself: at Heaven’s own inspiring, Three hundred gallant knights, their city banners flying, Came hunting for Sir Miles, with firm intent to find him! 203

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THE FORCES OF NANTEUIL were certainly in need Of help from such a force as came with Anseis, Who recognized the Duke, upon his rapid steed, By Garnier’s white flag and lion-blazoned shield. Assembled, they rejoiced, and so renewed their zeal That Miles’s men were forced, in little time, to flee. Pursued to the Dordogne, they couldn’t help but leave The prisoners of war and treasures they had seized. The men with Garnier were rescued too it seems, For none of those who went and won with him would need To suffer more from woes that riches could relieve! THE FORCES OF MILON retreated in a rage While, like a gallant knight, Duke Garnier gave chase. The three countesses watched, beneath an olive’s shade, The flight and the pursuit begun by Garnier. With ringing voice, his wife, the fair duchess, exclaimed: “God bless you, noble lord, and guard you well, I pray!” God bless her too – alas, she couldn’t know the pain In store for him and her before the end of day! The villain Miles had raced his horse towards a lake, And Garnier had chased upon his destrier, His spear already raised against him to assuage The mighty rage he’d felt for gallant Girart’s sake – When he himself was charged by Hugh and Gautier, Who struck with all the force of horses at full pace: The shield around his neck was hit and split in twain. The hauberk that he wore was riven of its chains As spears, from front to rear, were driven through the mail. They flung him from Fauvel, for so his horse was named, And Miles himself returned to take it by the rein. The three of them rode on – no longer in such haste. Guischard and Alori were first to render aid, Then Sanson, Aumagon and hundreds more, who raised Their voices in lament to see their master maimed. They wrung their hands, appalled, and tore their hair away. HIS WARHORSE had been taken when Garnier had dropped. Young Guischard and Alori were first to reach the spot, And then their fathers followed, Sanson and Aumagon, And then the three countesses, who cried aloud in shock. Fair Aye the duchess fainted upon her husband, robbed Of any speech or senses, until at last she sobbed: 204

Aye of Avignon II “Alas for you your valour! Alas for me your loss! For me this trouble started, for me it’s never stopped! For me you made the journey to Aigremore’s great rock And rescued me from dangers your love for me took on! I would have died without you – would that I could ere long, So that my soul forever may live with you and God!” A SHADY TREE was near them, beneath whose pleasant cover The tender grass was scented with country mint and rushes. They gently bore their lord there, disarming him for comfort, And once again the duchess fell sobbing on her husband. If you had seen her sorrow and heard the words she uttered! She used her ermine mantle to fan him and to sponge him. A sighing and a crying arose around the duchess, As many prayers were proffered to Mary, Maid and Mother! THE DUKE HAD LOST his senses, but lying there restored them, And suddenly he uttered: “God bless you, now and always! There’s something I must say to young Guischard and Alori.” They both replied: “Dear uncle, my lord, we stand before you.” “Unless my son reclaims them, my lands are yours!” he ordered. Immediately, Aye added: “I pledge alike my borders!” She never once regretted her promise of that morning, For neither son nor father forsook her cause henceforward. “My noble knights and barons,” Duke Garnier exhorted, “Convey me with all hurry to Charlemagne’s quarters. Before I die there’s something that he and I must talk of.” His entourage responded: “My lord, we’ll serve you always.” And made him up a litter on which they could transport him. They bore him forth to Paris, and as they reached the portals Of Saint-Denis a service was ending at the altar: The old abbot had perished, and therefore, having brought there A new one, Charlemagne had bidden all his courtiers And barons to be present and witness the instalment. The King himself was present, and watched as they anointed And blessed the future abbot to serve in his appointment. THE ABBOTT SANG the Mass; a hymn was underway, When those of Auberive brought in Duke Garnier And laid him on the stones beside the Cross of Faith. The mighty monarch Charles approached them straightaway: “What’s happened, noble lords?” he asked them, in dismay. Said Aumagon: “My King, I bring a sorry tale. 205

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Count Miles of the Ardennes and German Otto came To Auberive in arms before the noon of day, Attacking it in force and sacking it for gain. Duke Garnier arrived to meet them face to face, And in the mighty fight that followed he sustained A wound that very soon will take his life away.” On hearing Charles’s voice, Sir Garnier had strained To raise his body up, and then his voice the same: “My noble lord and King, you knighted me and gave Your niece’s hand to me and all of her domains. But now that God has moved to end my mortal days I render to your care my land and lovely Aye.” On hearing this, the King replied, with weeping gaze: “Alas that we must part, most worthy knight and brave! There’s no one else on earth who’ll ever take your place.” The Duke confessed his sins, and begging Heaven’s Grace, He thanked his men, his wife and Charles his lord again. His wounds had opened wide and as the blood escaped His spirit flew to God – Whose will must be obeyed. Each cleric sang a psalm to honour Garnier, As in a marble bier his noble corpse was laid. Then, as they sung a Mass, they laid him in his grave. King Charlemagne turned, in sadness and dismay, And left with Lady Aye, whose grief was unrestrained. BOTH AUMAGON and Sanson departed from the abbey, While Guischard and Alori remained behind in Paris To comfort Lady Aye, the widow, in her sadness. It would have served her better if she had left the palace, For, badly as she suffered, there loomed a greater anguish: Count Miles of the Ardennes, through promises so ample Of purest gold and silver, and noble steeds of battle, So softened Charles’s anger at losing such a vassal That Charlemagne gave him the widow’s hand in marriage! 3. How Aye was persecuted

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AT PENTECOST it was, that festival elect. The Emperor had heard the vesper service read, And, leaving from the church to reach the hall, he held The hand of Aye his niece with friendly tenderness. A smile was on his face as lovingly he said: 206

Aye of Avignon II “My good and noble Aye, come, tell me your intent! There’s little to be gained in mourning more the dead. Re-wed a living lord, a man of great prowess. You’ll find none better here than Miles of the Ardennes.” On hearing this, his niece reared up her lovely head And said to him: “My lord, how could you name that wretch? How could I think to wed the villain you suggest? I’d rather be a nun and take the veil instead Of shaming so the man who loved me to the end! I’ll never marry Miles or any of his geste!” “You will,” the King replied, “if that is my intent!” WHEN MILES ARRIVED at court, a thousand knights escorted Such riches to the King, in gold and silver coinage, And such a wealth of steeds, as well as mules and palfreys, That Charles gave him in pledge his niece and all her borders. No serving-man or knight inside the court that morning, No seneschal or cook, no chamberlain or doorman, Escaped the villain’s thanks – each rank received its portion In gold, weighed by the ounce or as a bowl or bauble. Inside the court and out this bought him the assurance That he would have the hand and land of Aye henceforward. IN GOLDEN COIN and silver he brought the King so much It bought him the assurance from each and every one That he would have the hand of the duchess Aye at once. No chamberlain or doorman, no cook or seneschal, Escaped the villain’s payment – each rank received its sum Of gold or silver ounces, in coinage or in cups. The greater and the lesser, without exception, judged That there was no one fitter to govern Avignon. My lords, we read it often, and it’s a truth to trust: If any man with riches can summon will enough To spread his wealth around him and stint himself of none, He’ll find his name in credit on everybody’s tongue! FAIR AYE WAS WELL aware of the whispering between The courtiers around her, the mighty and the mean, And knew her uncle’s fervour was favoured by the Queen. Attend, and I will tell you how Aye outwitted each! She said to Charlemagne: “My lord, I want a year Of respite and reflection, or I shall not agree. In twelve months I can talk to the barons of my fief, 207

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Heroines of the French Epic And heal the wounds inside me of anger and of grief. Then I shall do, dear uncle, whatever’s asked of me.” The Queen replied: “Good husband, it’s fair to grant her plea.” It proved a mighty folly for Miles when he agreed, For what he lost that morning he never would retrieve! My lords, I have a story I know you’ll want to hear, Of heathen tribes, of Ganor, and Garnier’s son Gui, And how they saved his mother and changed her destiny! 930

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THE LADY AYE departed from Saint-Denis that morning, Accompanied, on leaving, by Guischard and Alori. I’ll tell you now of Baudus, another Pagan warlord: In two and twenty countries he’d visited his augurs And what he’d learnt had filled him with unabashed rejoicing. With confidence he mustered a mass of heathen forces From every Pagan island as far away as Morgis, Who met in the Majorcas and promised to support him. Two other monarchs, Butor and King Bandalis, joined him And swore him their allegiance before Apollo’s altar And Jupiter’s own image, where Baudus reassured them That he would lead them somewhere to win so great a fortune That nobody returning would ever be a pauper! On masts already fastened their quickest sails were hoisted, Then not a month it took them, nor half a month or quarter: In just three day they anchored inside the port of Monbis. The Pagans, disembarking, invaded all before them, Despoiling every city, destroying every fortress And seizing many captives, both men and women also. But, worst of all, they captured both Guischard and Alori, Who with their hawks were hunting beside the river Torsis.

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WHEN EVERYWHERE was burning, the Pagans turned, contented: They’d looted church and chapel of every precious treasure, Each chasuble and chalice, each valuable and relic. They’d captured both Alori and Guischard, who had ventured With hawks along the river, oblivious of peril. King Margos and Delīas had bound their arms together With lengths of rope and ragging, then dragged them off in tethers. Held tightly by the heathens, how keenly they lamented: “Dear Lady Aye, they’ll take us away from you forever! Whatever need you suffer, we’ll not be there to help you!”

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WHEN ALL WAS OVVERRUN the Saracens sped off. Alori and Guischard were led away in bonds. 208

Aye of Avignon II Old Sanson took it hard, and so did Amaugon. The duchess wept so much they thought she’d never stop. “Alas indeed for you, unlucky two!” she sobbed: “Now who will lift a shield to venge my husband’s loss?” “My lady,” Sanson cried, with swarthy Aumagon, “Are we then, in your eyes, too weak to right the wrong? We swear that with the help of the Almighty God, You’ll see our sons again – their lives shall not be lost! It’s Miles who won’t survive – his haughty head shall drop!” “Dear God,” the duchess sighed, “whenever will the rod Of justice punish Miles for everything he’s done?” While this was being said the Saracens sped off. The captives Baudus took – three thousand, says the song – Were sent throughout his realm, to every ploughman’ plot, So they could work his lands, enriched by Avignon’s! But let us leave a while this Pagan and move on To King Ganor, the Moor whose heart was true and strong. He’d brought up little Gui, Sir Garnier’s own son, So gallantly no knight could fight with such aplomb! If any bard omits their portion of Aye’s song, Then truly you would miss the finest part thereof!

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KING GANOR WAS a man of noble birth and courage. All Babylon was ruled by the Emir his uncle, And Cordova’s emir was Ganor’s closest cousin. Majorca and its isles were Ganor’s own to govern, But Baudus had begun to rob him and to snub him – So Ganor, on his life, had sworn to make him suffer! KING GANOR ordered Baudus to serve him as he ought And render him the tribute of liegeman to his lord. If he refused to do so, then he could be assured That Ganor would attack him when thirty days had dawned, And he would be a dead man as soon as he was caught. Sir Golias and Jambus, his messengers, were called, With Morganz and Estōrganz, to take the summons forth. They didn’t dress in raiment of cloth or silk at all, But tunics made of deerskin with golden studs adorned. They rode with every hurry, and when they reached the port, They commandeered a vessel and helped the crewmen haul The sailing-ropes to hasten departure from the shore. A day and night of sailing was followed by one more, And then they reached Majorca and Baudus in his court. 209

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The first to speak, Golias, was wise of worded thought: “May Mahom in his mercy, whose power governs all, Who makes the deaf to listen and makes the silent talk, Save Baudus from disaster, and Ganor too, the lord Who justly asks for tribute from you, his vassal sworn! It’s best for you to send it, or you may rest assured That he will come and fetch it when thirty days have dawned, And you will be a dead man as soon as you are caught.” King Baudus, who was holding a wyvern in his claw, Was just about to throw it, when someone snatched it forth. “Golias,” said the rebel, “I hear you well, of course, But tell your haughty liege lord, until he gets the point: The world will be restarted, the Antichrist restored, Before I’ll pay him further with service or in coin! Should he decide to visit, my welcome will be warm!” Golias kept his silence, as Jambus raised his voice: “KING BAUDUS, by Mahomet, whoever’s set you on This course of insurrection is not a friend you want! When you behold King Ganor and see his mighty throng Attack your wall with mallets and crack it all with rods, No tower built will save you, however tall or strong. The riches of your kingdom will be our common lot And all your men, the bearded and beardless, will be lost. Your bodies will be slaughtered, your spirits driven off To dwell in hell forever with the infernal gods! You’ll languish there in torment and anguish ever-long.” ON SAYING THIS, the envoys departed, far from happy, Returning to the harbour as fast as they could manage. As soon as they had boarded, the vessel weighed its anchors And sailed away as swiftly as skill could make it travel. Arriving at their island, they went at once to Ganor To tell him how King Baudus had answered to his mandate: “Well, shall I have my tribute? What says my stubborn vassal?” “He says,” Golias answered, “that you’ll be old and haggard, The world will be restarted, the Devil re-established, Before he’ll pay you further with service or in ransom. He says that he awaits you, and wonders why you dally. He said that if you visit, he’ll welcome you most gladly! My lord, he almost killed us and had us burnt to ashes: He held a sharpened wyvern within his tawny talon – His men alone restrained him from casting it in anger.” 210

Aye of Avignon II “KING BAUDUS answered you with arrogance indeed And almost slew us both in his unbridled spleen! Our love for you will fade unless he’s made to yield!” On hearing this report, King Ganor’s anger seethed. He summoned forth at once his Pagan men of liege From every stretch of coast and island in between, And with them, in support, his uncle the Emir. One hundred thousand men and more, I’d say, at least, Arrived at Aigremore, where Ganor welcomed each.

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THE HOST THAT Ganor summoned was something to be dreaded: The harbour-waves were hidden beneath so many vessels – On land they would have covered a mighty span of meadows! With such an army coming, King Baudus should have trembled: But when it came to hound him, it found the rebel ready: He only had his landsmen to stand against so many, Yet they were twenty thousand to match the best of any. KING BAUDUS HAD resolved on a very cunning plan: He summoned back the captives he’d sent to work his lands, And armed them all with weapons, the finest that he had. Upon a Cross of Jesus he made them lay their hands And swear to help him only when King Ganor attacked, And not to fail their duty for any mortal man. He promised them, on his part, by all the gods he had, That, should he win the battle, he’d free them all in thanks And let them leave his service with happy heart and glad. Young Guischard and Alori were made to bear his flag And lead his men to battle with Ganor’s mighty van. IT PLEASED THE LORD to choose a Saturday for battle: King Ganor sought revenge upon his rebel vassal, And in a field by Meurge the Pagan armies gathered, King Baudus leading one, the other one King Ganor. As soon as each was seen, they charged the other’s vanguard, With flashing swords in hand and golden-banded axes. With wyverns, and with darts, and javelins, they battered And shattered legs and arms through sturdy hides and strapping Till shoulder-high in blood the bolder men were standing, And horses ran amok, and trampled on the vanquished. King Baudus put his faith in those his pledge had rallied: They halted all they faced; they chased the Almoravids, And drove them with their blades through mountain-pass and valley. 211

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Heroines of the French Epic The booty they acquired was so admired and massive That many, poor before, were now as rich as barons!

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KING BAUDUS was, in truth, a most intrepid Peer: Upon that day he felled six monarchs with his spear, And captured Ganor too, as well as the Emir. It really seemed, at first, that he would win the field. Then suddenly the son of Garnier, young Gui, Led thirty thousand Moors, in armour, from the seas, And met the rebel’s men on every side and reach With overwhelming might and sent them to defeat. King Ganor was released and given back his steed. King Baudus was restrained and, by his nasal-piece, Led off by Gui the lad to meet his angry liege! “Your favourite’s done well!” King Ganor’s men agreed, As Ganor pledged his word, by all that he believed, That Baudus wouldn’t live to boast within his fief That he had tweaked the beards of Pagandom’s elite! “Divide him, head from hide!” the angry king decreed. WHEN BAUDUS WAS beheaded in payment for his scorn, And Gui could hear the captives, whose trumpeting and horns Resounded to the flight of the Almoravid hordes, He led his men towards them, his thirty thousand Moors. As soon as they had found them they bound them like a wall That stopped them from escaping and held them in its thrall. When this was done they started an opening assault With poisoned darts and wyverns that hobbled every horse. On foot, however richly and well equipped they fought, The captives were encumbered and couldn’t swing their swords. When Gui observed their struggle, with ringing voice he called: “Combatants, drop your weapons and listen to me, all! The leader who enslaved you, King Baudus, lives no more, And if you will but heed me, then freedom will be yours!” “You promise us our freedom, but who are you, my lord?” “I’m seneschal of Ganor, with blood as French as yours!” “Then listen to our story,” the prisoners implored, And gathered all around him, their leaders to the fore. Young Guischard and Alori, of arms and armour shorn, Showed faces that were noble, on bodies strong and tall. When gallant Gui beheld them, he said with ringing voice: “Ye gods! Are you two brothers? You seem to be, I’m sure!” Alori answered swiftly: “We’re cousins bred and born, 212

Aye of Avignon II Of brothers who are married to sisters of the court: Indeed, we are the nephews of Garnier of Nanteuil. This summer we were captured at Avignon and forced By Baudus from our homeland to servitude abroad. But Duchess Aye has suffered the greatest blow of all: Duke Garnier has perished, the husband she adored.” SIR GUI ADDRESSED Golias and Jambus with an order: “Keep watch upon these people. Let nobody move forward Until I’ve further questioned this pair about their story. I want to know what’s happened within my native borders And Avignon, the city where haughty Baudus caught them.” “My lord, we’d left the city that morning to go hawking, On mounts not made for racing – a donkey and a palfrey: Alas our hunting made us the hunting- prey of Baudus! But Duchess Aye has suffered the greatest of misfortunes: Sir Miles, with reinforcements, struck Avignon one morning And broke her heart in pieces, when Garnier was slaughtered.” On hearing this, the youngster fell forward on his warhorse: He’d swooned away completely – the shock was so enormous.

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THE MOMENT THAT he heard about his father’s death, Gui fell into a swoon, the shock was so intense. On hearing what had passed, King Ganor came himself And held Gui in his arms to comfort his distress. Some seven times or more he kissed his mouth and neck, And said: “Beloved Gui, forego your wild lament: The wish of the Emir, indeed of all our men, Is that you should receive this slaughtered rebel’s realm And rule it well, as king, to right its wrongfulness. I’ll set Majorca’s crown of gold upon your head And you shall lead my hosts in any battles hence, While I remain at home, in peace and sweet content To know I’ve placed my land in hands of peerless strength.”

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THE LAD MADE THIS reply: “ My lord, I thank you much. When I was caught, they thought you’d slaughter me at once, Yet you have brought me up and tutored me with love. It is my wish and will, henceforth, to be your son.” When this was said, Guischard and Alori discussed With Ganor what to him appeared a stroke of luck. How could he grieve, my lords, as much as Gui had done?

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“BELOVED GUI,” he cried, “lay grief aside, I beg you! Behold this mighty host assembled here to help us! If they should leave, their like will never reassemble. But if I raise a fleet and journey with this many For love of you, to seek and wreak your father’s vengeance, Then will you let me wed your mother, whom I cherish?” “Indeed I will,” said Gui, “I’d let you and I’d bless you, For nobody but you could match my father’s merit.” When this was said the pair exchanged their solemn pledges, King Ganor by his gods, and Gui by God in Heaven. The king and the Emir, with ringing voices, bellowed: “Good men, to arms again! The time is not for resting, For we would lead you forth to seek revenge directly On Christians who have slain your brothers and your nephews.” Their men obeyed at once, for they were more than ready! Re-gathering supplies, they bore them to their vessels, Then put to sea again with every sail erected. My good and gallant lords, attend, and I shall tell you How wonderfully Gui achieved his mother’s rescue! KING GANOR cherished Aye – indeed, he had adored her The moment they had met, and with a heart so loyal That she and nothing else was everything he’d thought of. While sleeping or awake he’d seen her face before him And placed upon the seas, to save her, greater forces Than Apolines of Tris had ever led in warfare. They didn’t take a month, they didn’t take a fortnight: In half a week they sailed inside the port of Monbis, Establishing a camp along the harbour foreshore. King Ganor’s hand was firm: he gave them strictest orders To not destroy the land or anyone who walked it! “These people will be mine, ere long in time,” he warned them. They all replied: “My lord, we will obey you, always.” Sanson and Aumagon arose upon that morning, To see, from window’s ledge, a wedge of men and horses, And hear the distant roar of baying steeds and voices: “Dear God above,” they cried, “whose army rides towards us? The Saracens, again, are trying to destroy us! Let’s hasten forth to hear what news has been reported!” They fastened burnished helms, they girded worthy hauberks And buckled on their blades, whose pommels were enormous. Between its largest gates they galloped from their fortress And left in Landesmore a troop of reinforcements. 214

Aye of Avignon II Before his royal tent sat Ganor the Majorcan, Who saw the flash of helms as both of them rode forward. He summoned straightaway young Guischard and Alori And asked without delay if they could name the horsemen: “It’s Aumagon, and Sanson, our fathers!” cried Alori. “Go welcome them,” he said, “and bring them to my quarters!” “Most gladly,” both replied, “we’ll follow such an order,” And, running to their tents, leapt swiftly on their horses. They took some fifteen score whom Baudus had deported, And left the camp to climb a little hill before them. Sanson and Aumagon rode down it on their war-steeds. THEY LEFT THE CAMP to climb the little hill ahead, Instructing, as they did, the company they led: “My lords, we’ll not be long: wait patiently and rest, While we proceed alone to learn of their intent.” Their company replied: “We’ll do as you request.” The older pair, in fact, was first to question them: “Are you the pagan Moors?” they asked them when they met: Young Alori replied: “I swear, upon my head, That I am not a Moor but Christian born and bred. I’ll never love Mahom or ever serve his ends.” “MY LORDS, THEN TELL us truly, as gallant knights and brave, Of Baudus from Majorca, who rumour here maintains Has met his match in Ganor and moulders in his grave.” At once the pair responded: “Indeed, he’s met his fate!” “My lords, then what has happened to those he took as slaves And led away in hundreds to serve in his domains?” “They’re here again, in hundreds, and all are free again!” Old Aumagon and Sanson looked closely at the pair, Their figures and their faces, and every other trait, Then said to one another: “Our sons look just the same!” Old Sanson took it further: “They are our sons, in faith!” He cried, and, rushing forward, he clasped their horses’ reins: “Dear God, where did you get to, you ill-begotten knaves?” He sighed, as sons and fathers, with tearful eyes, embraced, And men, with joy and pity, around them wept the same. “So tell us, gallant children, in God Almighty’s name, Who leads these foreign forces across our woodland plains?” “The young Sir Gui,” they answered, “the son of Garnier. “He heard that Miles the villain was making here in haste To wed his father’s widow, the lovely Lady Aye. 215

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“COME, FATHER, to our army,” the young Alori said, “For you are in no danger of injury or death. Tell everything you’ve told us to King Ganor himself, Of Miles and his intentions – God damn his soul to hell! Young Gui will not be happy until the wretch is dead: He knows his foul intention towards the fair duchess.” TOGETHER, SONS AND fathers rode back across the fields Towards the Pagan army surveying them like beasts. They only reined their horses when Ganor’s tent was reached. They recognised directly the gallant face of Gui And tearfully embraced him with joy a joy to see. Then Ganor came to greet them, Majorca’s noble Peer: “My lords,” he asked directly, “what date has been decreed By Miles for his arrival and marriage that he seeks?” “When Pentecost is over and all have left the feast.” “By God,” Gui interjected, “the day will cost him dear! His head will pay its purchase, and I shall fetch the fee! My mother shall wed Ganor – I’ve said that this shall be!” “Upon my faith,” said Sanson, “there’s none will disagree; But Miles must be encountered and driven to defeat.” “My worthy lords,” said Ganor, “attend a while to me: If gallant Gui is willing, then I should wish that he Might summon forth his mother, fair Aye, to meet us here, For I would know her wishes and how she truly feels.” “My lord,” the youth responded, “I’ll do it willingly, But you, I swear, shall wed her – I’ve said that this shall be! I’d rather fall in battle and feel its fatal steel Than live to see my mother be forced to wed the fiend Who killed my noble father because of jealousy!” “MY LORD,” the lad continued, “for God our Saviour’s sake, If you yourself are willing, remain a while in wait. My cousins and their fathers, and I, shall ride away At once to fetch my mother, the lovely Lady Aye.” “Go quickly,” answered Ganor, “for I desire the same.” At this, their party mounted without the least delay And rode with steady purpose till reaching Lady Aye – Whose heart was very heavy with sorrow and dismay That Miles had come to fight her with brigands and brigades 216

Aye of Avignon II Of Ganelon’s relations, God rot the renegades! How soon the Lady’s sorrow and fear could be assuaged, If God supported Ganor and gave his Pagans aid! My lords, you’ll hear what happened, before the end of day! Young Gui approached directly the vaulted hall of state Where, fretting her misfortune, he met his mother Aye, Fair Avignon’s first lady, herself so fair of face That no one in her lifetime eclipsed her beauty’s grace. When Gui approached his mother, she fixed her noble gaze Upon the gallant youngster, but didn’t know his name. She recognised Sir Sanson, and asked him straightaway: “Good nobleman, inform me, without deception, pray, Or any fact’s concealment, for God our Saviour’s sake: Which army locks our coastline within its ships’ blockade?” “My lady,” answered Sanson, “by God to Whom I pray, You’ll know enough about them before the end of day! But I can tell you this much – be joyful that they came, For not a one has come here to cause you any pain: Indeed, they’re here to help you against the clan we hate, And, what is more, among them is Gui your son again, And my son, and Alori’s – I swear it on my faith!” “Dear God, I can’t believe it!” the lady Aye exclaimed: “My son has long departed this life, I am afraid. God rest his soul on flowers in glory with the saints! King Ganor took him from me, by whom I was betrayed. If Gui my son were living, I know as sure as faith That nothing would have stopped him from making his escape. There’s nothing would have kept him, not all the gold in Spain, From coming to his mother and his ancestral place.” At this, a tear of pity ran down the youngster’s face, And Aye began, on looking, to know her son again. “Fine youngster,” she beseeched him, “I bid you, in the name Of Jesus, son of Mary and Son of God the same, To answer me one question with all the truth you may: Before this, have you ever set foot in these domains?” On hearing this, old Sanson no longer could refrain: “Sweet lady, don’t you know him?” the hoary duke exclaimed: “This is your son, God bless me, –young Gui – alive and hale! King Ganor raised him nobly, with every love and grace, And now he’s led an army across the ocean waves, A band of willing Pagans in armour and in rage! Their sum’s a hundred thousand or even more, I’d say. For love of Gui they’ve journeyed, I swear it on our faith, 217

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And all have pledged to help you through their allegiance paid To gallant-visaged Ganor, who’s sworn to keep you safe From Miles’s evil clutches and evil clansmen’s raids.” My noble lords, imagine the change of mood in Aye: She’d never been so happy in all her mortal days! With tears of joy and pity she wept and wept again, And hugged her son and kissed him in rapture unrestrained. So lovingly she held him, so willingly he stayed, You could have walked the distance a flighted arrow makes Ere either son or mother would sunder their embrace. Gui spoke at last, his visage with bravery ablaze, And said to Aye his mother: “Most noble Lady Aye, I know my father’s killers, of Ganelon’s foul race, And if I live, God willing I’ll make each villain pay Who slaughtered him and bludgeoned your country with their blades. King Ganor’s here to help me, a man of Pagan faith, Who nonetheless has raised me with every loving grace, And who, because he loves you, has journeyed all this way With Moors one hundred thousand – what more is there to say? If Miles should dare approach us, he’ll have the Deuce to pay: Nor he, nor any with him, will profit from his game! King Ganor held you captive, within his passion’s sway At Aufalerne his tower so powerfully made, But held you with such honour and courtesy, in faith, He never once abused you or caused you any shame. Indeed, I have to tell you he sought your honour’s gain: He brought me up and taught me within his hall of state, When, had he once but wanted, he could have had me slain – With no one there to help me, my life was his to take. Instead he taught me knighthood and girt me with its blade. And now he’s done his utmost, dear mother, for your sake: With men one hundred thousand and more, of Pagan race, For love of you he’s ventured his life upon the waves, To save you and protect you, your person and estates, Against the evil scheming of Miles, the jealous knave! Because of this, sweet Lady, I ask you in the name Of all the love that courses for me within your veins, To come and speak with Ganor and all his baronage, And thank him for the virtue his actions have displayed.” “My gallant son,” she answered, “I’ll willingly obey. May Jesus born of Mary bless any man, I say, Whose weapon sends the body of Miles towards its grave! His devilry has ruined so much of my domains. 218

Aye of Avignon II Though I should own all Paris, I’d give the town away For vengeance on the killer of my lord Garnier.” “My lady,” Gui responded, “put any doubts away, For I and all my clansmen are planning what you crave, As is the noble Ganor. God bless the Moor, I say, For any man who helps us deserves our thankful praise!” “MY LADY,” said Sir Gui, “please do as I commend: I bid you come with me to Ganor and his men And thank the king himself for all of his noblesse: For all the love he’s shown to me your son, as well As all the courtesy you know he practised when He took you to his tower, the strong-walled Aufalerne: He never used you once for any shameful end, But treated you with grace, affection and respect. So come and speak with him and thank him now yourself. And do one further thing for him and me, I beg: If in the fight to come King Ganor is so blest As to bestow the blow that renders Milon dead And brings about the fall of all his evil friends Who’ve planned to take your land and plotted your distress, Then will you grant to him the very first request He makes you in return for all his noble help, And grant it in full part with all your heart and head? If love for me endures, you surely will assent.” “Most willingly I will,” replied the fair duchess, And went to change her robes and put on nobler dress: A silk with pretty birds depicted in its threads And sewn with precious stones that glowed around the hem. Upon her head she wore a golden coronet With emeralds that shone and shimmered right and left. When Aye was thus adorned and beautifully dressed Her beauty had no peer, I’d say, for fifteen realms! An ambling mule was brought; they saddled it, and then The duchess mounted up, attended, as she left, By four domestic counts esteemed above the rest, By Gui, and every Peer of whom you’ve heard me tell, His uncles and their kin who’d joined them in the quest, And rescued him before from danger and from death. Together thus they rode towards the Pagan tents. When Ganor heard the news, he quivered with content And, mounting straightaway a palfrey chestnut-red, He went in fine array to meet the fair duchess. 219

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When Ganor saw her there, the crest of beauty’s best, He’d never known before such thrilling joyfulness. With noble grace he rode, and when they came abreast, He made a gracious bow towards her and addressed This greeting, word for word, with ardour and respect: “In Jesu’s name, the God in Whom your Faith is set, And that of every saint you honour in His stead, May Lady Aye herself, and all her friends, be blest!” “Your Highness,” answered Aye, “I welcome you, as well As every man you’ve brought to help in my distress. The courtesy you’ve shown to all of us commends My loving thanks to you, which gladly I express.” 4. How Aye was married to King Ganor

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SAID LADY AYE: “Your Highness, I welcome you most warmly, For you have more than guarded my noble son from slaughter – I know you could have killed him at any time you sought to – Instead, you’ve loved him dearly, you’ve cared for him and taught him. If I retain my power, I give you my assurance That anything you’d welcome with which I could reward you, However rich the item, however great the portion, There’s nothing I’d deny you – indeed, I would rejoice at The chance to give you something your liking made a choice of.” On hearing this, the Pagan had never felt so joyful, But held his tongue from telling the real reason for it! Dismounting at his war-tent, they sat with much rejoicing On golden mats and carpets beneath its canvas awnings. The seneschal of Ganor approached them when he saw them, And, coming to his master, he greeted him according To Pagan ways, invoking Mahomet’s mighty glory: “In Cahu’s name, your Highness, shall I bring in the water? The food and drink are ready, the choicest, I assure you.” “That’s welcome news,” said Ganor, “for we are ready also! Delay yourself no further, but bring the tables forward.” The man replied: “With pleasure, your Highness, now and always.” And yet, before they’d tasted the smallest drop or morsel, They’d hear such evil tidings as I shall tell you shortly, The truth of which resulted in such a crop of corpses, So many lances shattered on shields and tattered hauberks, So many bulwarks battered, so many castles fallen – As you will learn on hearing the ending of my story: 220

Aye of Avignon II A messenger came spurring with every speed towards them, And, seeing first Sir Sanson, with ringing voice he called him: “Catastrophe, Sir Sanson! Am I the first to warn you? Without the hand of Heaven, and Jesus in His glory To help us, then the evil that’s coming will destroy us! When yesterday at dawning I left Guiaire on horseback, I sighted Miles, the villain, who comes with mighty forces – Count Ganelon’s foul clansmen, who’ve journeyed here to join him, And mercenary soldiers in numbers so enormous There must be forty thousand, all iron-clad and sporting The finest shields and lances, astride the finest horses– They’ve gathered here to humble the duchess Aye for always. Before the dawn tomorrow we’ll have them here before us. Without the hand of Jesus to aid us and support us, The Lady Aye, I’m certain, will not survive the morning. The moment I departed their battle-ranks were forming, And Miles was pledging Heaven –I heard the villain roaring – That he would burn the duchess and slaughter her supporters. He swore alike that no one, the bearded nor the balding, Among the common people, would be exempt from torture. No wealth, he said, would save them – not all King Arthur’s fortune.” “They will be saved, God willing,” the gallant duke retorted. IN ROYAL GANOR’S presence the envoy told his message To Aye herself, so noble and comely of complexion, Beside the hoary Sanson, whose courage was intrepid: How Miles and all his kinsmen were gathering against them With more than forty thousand to humble them forever, And how he’d pledged his vengeance before them and to Heaven, And how, whoever heard it, could tell how much he meant it! Duke Sanson, first to answer, responded to the envoy: “By all the saints of Carthage, my gallant friend, I tell you That if Sir Miles is coming with infamous intention, You can be very certain that we shall deal the felon Such punishment and ruin as he has never met with! Before you is King Ganor, who’s left his land together With men one hundred thousand and more, to come and rescue The Lady Aye, so noble and comely of complexion, And Gui, her true successor, whose courage knows no measure. If Miles were made aware of the forces here against him, I think he’d halt his progress – unless he’s lost his senses.” THE NOBLE-HEARTED Pagan, King Ganor, spoke his mood: “My worthy lords, I’ll tell you what I think we should do: 221

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Your enemy’s approaching, if what we’ve heard is true, With Ganelon’s own clansmen, those buds of bitter root! Well, by my god Mahomet, let’s nip them ere they shoot To sour our future hours with fruit and seed anew! We’ll don our shining hauberks, when we have taken food, And when our gallant soldiers are fed and ready too, We’ll split the fighting forces we’ve gathered into two. Within the nearby forest that’s long and wide we’ll group One half of them, well hidden from anybody’s view. Sir Gui shall bear my banner and wait there with these troops, For so I do command him in front of all of you, Until Sir Miles the traitor has led his villains through To reach my waiting forces – and then we both shall move! Let Lady Aye be taken inside her lofty rooms, From where to watch in safety the melee that ensues, And give the prize for valour to whom she thinks it due!” The rest replied: “Your Highness, we heartily approve Your plan and will perform it as best we can and true.” AT THIS THE KING commanded his seneschal Luteez To bring them forth some water before they sat to eat. The Lady Aye and Ganor were first to wash, then each And everyone attending, the princes and the Peers. Upon a golden carpet, ornate with vivid scenes Of little birds and fledglings, the couple took their seats, Where they were served directly by ready hands and feet: The duchess was attended at table by Sir Gui, Who wore a silk of purple adorned with fleurs-de-lys. Before the king his cousins cut up the monarch’s meat And served him in abundance with many tasty treats. Some six or seven dishes were offered at the meal, And when they all were empty, the diners were replete! Our heroine asked Ganor if he would grant her leave To go, and he assented both loath and willingly – For he had longed to see her and loved what he had seen! In no land had he ever beheld as fair as she: Her lovely skin was whiter than lilies of the field, Her cheeks, like budding roses, were flushed a blushing cream, Her eyebrows were exquisite, her every feature neat, Her every limb so lovely, her hands so slim and sleek. The Pagan king beheld her as one who to the lees Has drunk the cup of passion, and all that he can see Or think of is his lover when waking or asleep. 222

Aye of Avignon II “Ah mighty god Mahomet,” he sighed, “ah trinity Of Margot, Jove, Apollo, I beg you, give to me This most divine of mortals through your divinity! The paradise she offers is all I truly seek, And truly I shall gain it, if I can rid her fief Of those malicious traitors who’ve treated her like beasts, Who slew their rightful master, Duke Garnier, in greed And grossest treason, the father of young Gui. Now he and his dear mother have promised and agreed That when I have defeated their wicked enemies, The first request I make them when this has been achieved Will willingly be granted – and I’d be mad indeed To not request the duchess, fair Aye, to be my queen! Since both the son and mother have pledged their word to me, I beg of you, Mahomet, to sanctify my plea!” FAIR AYE, SO BRIGHT of eye, so radiant of carriage, Turned round to ride away and took her leave of Ganor. The monarch told his men to arm themselves for battle, And, handing to young Gui Majorca’s battle-standard, He put beneath his charge one half of all his vassals. With both his cousins’ help Gui led them through a valley: They knew as well as he the area exactly, And quickly reached the wood wherein they hid in ambush. They stayed there through the night, beyond the hour of matins Until the hour of prime, as silently as statues. One man among them climbed the highest he could clamber In all the wood – an oak, from which his eyes examined Sir Miles’s land, to know the moment and the manner He saw the villain’s host approaching his companions. They’d armed themselves at dawn, both confident and happy, And crossed the fields, convinced that they would win the battle. But they were unaware of Ganor and the galleys Of gallant men he’d brought – they couldn’t have imagined The truth of what they faced, no word of it was carried By any mortal soul. They wouldn’t know what happened Until they’d crossed the wood and noticed, looking backwards, That they had been cut off by half of Ganor’s clansmen, And Gui, to whom the king had handed his gonfalon! The man who’d climbed the oak, the moment that he managed To see, atop his tree, Sir Miles’s streaming banner, Called out at once to Gui, in ringing tones and rapid: “Our enemies are here, in name and number matching 223

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The villains who have caused this countryside such damage! As soon as they have passed beneath this leafy passage, Let’s hurry them, my lord, as merlins harry magpies, To Ganor’s waiting host, who’ll welcome them most gladly! We’ll pay them back today for all their deeds of malice!” Gui of Nanteuil replied: “How right you are, companion!” Sir Miles’s men advanced in merry mood and manner And passed the wood before mid-morning, with a swagger. They hadn’t even seen one human shape or shadow Of thousands in the wood, well hidden by their captain. When he beheld his prey, and proper time for action, Young Gui advanced his troops without delay to trap them! As soon as news was brought by messenger to Ganor, He told his men to arm and be prepared for battle. Sir Miles had crossed the land with arrogant abandon, But soon he’d understand, with ever-growing sadness, He couldn’t carry on, or turn around, unchallenged! SIR MILES AND all his men were stricken with alarm When, gazing at the coast, from open fields, they marked A host of foreign boats upon the ocean’s marge, In which the Pagan king had brought his men to France. They saw so many sails, so many glowing masts, In my opinion, friends, no Pagan in the past Had such a noble fleet as Ganor to command! At once the villain Miles called halt to their advance Upon the town and hailed the captains of his march, Sir Gondri and Acart, Sir Floart and Morant, And Pinabel’s eight sons he’d summoned from Sorence, A dozen counts in all, a family-in-arms, With forty thousand men and more beneath their charge. The villain stalled them all and called the twelve apart: “My lords, attend to me, and keep your men on guard: Before we take the town of Avignon apart – Which has, for love of Aye, so long oppressed my heart– We must discover who and whose these forces are That need, so help me God, a fleet of ships so vast!” At this he called his spy and told him to depart: “Discover who they are, without delay!” he barked. The spy replied: “I will, most willingly and fast!” Proceeding to the shore, he warily remarked That they were sloops of war with Pagan troops on guard! But when he learnt from one that Ganor was in charge, 224

Aye of Avignon II Who in his haste had steered by daylight and the stars, The spy was greatly cheered and very nearly danced His way across the fields as merry as a lark. On seeing Miles’s face, he called as he advanced: “My lord, I have good news! Your joy shall have its chance! I’d say the Lady Aye will hurry to your arms! So help me God, the craft and crews who’ve disembarked Are King Ganor’s, the Moor who plagued her in the past! He’s sailed across the seas by daylight and the stars To capture her again and take her land from Charles! This Ganor murdered Gui, her son, a decade past, In Africa to where he kidnapped him from France. His army, even now, like us is on the march!” On hearing this, Sir Miles rejoiced with all his heart: “By Heaven,” he exclaimed, “what luck attends our task! Today the Lady Aye shall come to me at last! Lord God and all His saints can’t save her from this pass! With happy heart or not, she’ll do what I demand!” “NOW THIS IS WHAT you’ll do, my lords,” the villain ordered: “We’ll halt our progress here to rest our weary horses. You know as well as I how far and fast we’ve brought them: Let’s wait a while and see what hasty Ganor’s course is. If he should turn on us, we’ll challenge him, most surely, But if he strikes the town, we’ll hasten to support him Till Avignon submits to our united forces.” “My lord,” his men replied, “we shall obey, as always.” But even as he spoke, and they received his orders, Sir Gui and all his folk burst forth and bounded forward: Some thirty thousand men, and more, they rushed towards them, Their battle-flags secured, their bodies armed for warfare. Young Gui outran the rest two acres’ length, and calling ‘Nanteuil!’ for all his worth, made certain that they saw him! “You sons of whores,” he cried, “ you thieves, at last we’ve caught you! My mother, Lady Aye, has finished with your torments!” On saying this, her son caught up with those before him And ere his spear was spent, it sent some seven sprawling, Who never stood again or rode again on horseback. At once the youngster seized his ready-girded sword-blade, As from the rear his men attacked Sir Miles’s forces. Then Ganor, from in front, turned rapidly towards them, With fifty thousand men well armed in shining hauberks! A bitter clash ensued: how mean it was and mortal: Your eyes will never see so terrible a slaughter. 225

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A BITTER CLASH ensued: how fearsome was the fray! From every side the cries grew louder and apace, But Miles could never hope his forces would prevail: The force that Ganor brought against him was too great, Some seven men to one the numbers were that day. The Lady Aye had climbed her tower’s height to gaze Upon the bitter fight before her as it raged. She watched as Ganor spurred and, with his spearhead raised, Struck Pinabel’s first son, Acart of Valconbrez. For all his armour’s strength it couldn’t take the strain As Ganor stung his heart so well it split in twain And flung him to his death one lance’s length away. “By Aufalerne,” he cried, “these villains who have made Fair Aye to suffer so will never rove again! Before this day is done, their work shall win its wage!” The duchess watched him still and saw him draw a blade That slaughtered seven more without the least delay. “Dear God above,” she cried, “Whom sun and rain obey, I’ve thought it many times and think it now a shame That King Ganor the Moor, so gallant and so brave, Is ignorant of Christ and of the Virgin Maid. For, ever since the death of my lord Garnier, Who wed me with his ring before King Charlemagne, I’ve never seen a man so worthy to be saved. Today, may he be blessed sufficiently by fate To be allowed to free my country from its pain! If God Himself will give this Saracen such aid, Then I at least should give the best reward I may!” FAIR AYE WAS AT the windows of Avignon’s great castle To watched the ambush closing and then the battle starting. If you, alike, had been there when Ganor was advancing, And seen him batter helmets and shatter sturdy armour, And witnessed Gui employing his weapons like a master, You would have looked on heroes and not forgotten after! King Ganor’s forces also lacked nothing in their ardour: They fought en masse and fiercely where fighting was the hardest. So many knights were smitten upon the ridden pastures Their bodies lay in middens that grew forever larger. The forces of the villain were facing a disaster! “Nanteuil!” the youngster shouted, to drive his people harder, “For Aufalerne as well!” the voice of Ganor answered. When Gui could see before him the villain Miles, he asked for 226

Aye of Avignon II A special lance his vassal, one Renier, had guarded, Then, with it raised, he braced and chased towards his target. With ringing voice he shouted, while riding up to charge him, “I challenge, you, Count Milon, to judgement everlasting! How dare you vex my mother, her fortresses and farmlands? The wages of your evil are here upon my lance head. I’ll pay you for my mother and Garnier my father.” Sir Miles, already charging towards him at his fastest, Struck Gui upon the buckler while he was still advancing: Its boss of gold was shattered, and though the panels parted, They stopped the mail beneath them from being torn or tarnished. The villain lost his lance, and any chance he harboured, When Gui the gallant youngster spared nothing in his answer: The shield that Miles was bearing did naught at all to guard him, Nor aught that he was wearing, nor all of his bravado: The sturdy lance went through him as if he had no armour, Through gut and rib it cleft him and left him broken-hearted! The lad withdrew his weapon and slew the vicious varlet! “Nanteuil!” he cried, “Good barons, now finish what I’ve started! These felons will be feeble, bereft of their commander. The death of Miles avenges my mother and my father.” AS SOON AS Miles was down, his followers with fear Went fleeing through the field like startled flocks of sheep, Penned in on either side by Ganor and young Gui, Who sheared them of their heads as freely as their fleece! So much of Miles’s stock was slaughtered in retreat Ten thousand at the most were left alive to bleat For mercy, which they did at once, upon their knees, From King Ganor himself and Nanteuil’s scion Gui. Their weapons cast aside upon the open field, They swore to hold their lands in future from Sir Gui, And always be his men until their lives should cease. “This suits me well,” said Gui, “if Ganor too agrees. But if it’s not his wish, I’ll not accept your pleas.” Said Ganor: “By Mahom, I grant it willingly.” And so, before the knights, Gui took their fealty. The clan of Ganelon, those left alive at least, Swore pledges by the saints, before the gathered Peers, That they would honour Gui and serve him as their liege. When this was done the fight in every quarter ceased. Dear God, what battle spoils King Ganor’s knights received! The youngest ones were asked to bear them from the field. 227

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They rode then to the tower where Aye had watched the scene, And she came out to them, her lovely face a-gleam With smiles of thankful joy, and hugged them royally. Then Ganor spoke his mind, exactly as you’ll hear: “At compline yesterday, both Lady Aye and Gui Swore pledges to myself that all of you could hear – There’s no one who can say that this was not agreed – They said that when they’d won this victory with me, When Miles had been destroyed, his clansmen dealt defeat, The first request I made in all propriety Would never be refused but granted speedily.” “God bless me,” answered Aye, “you speak the truth indeed. Request your wish, my lord, before us all and each.” “My lady,” said the Moor, “The thing I hold most dear, By Mahom’s beard, is you – and you are all I seek! I want to wed you, Aye, in Pagan law and creed. Now keep your plighted word from blight of perjury!” THUS GANOR SPOKE his mind – and Aye was mindful ever That he had left his land to offer hers protection, Returning to her hands young Gui, the son she cherished. She wisely answered thus, without advice from any. “My lord,” she said, “in truth, I owe you much affection. Since, as you say you do, you truly wish to wed me, I seek one favour more before I will accept you.” Said he: “Upon my word, it’s good as done already! There is no deed or gift of any kind or measure That you could ask of me that I’d be loath to render!” “My lord,” fair Aye replied, “the Word of God has blest you! If you desire my love, my true love never ending, I bid you to become a Christian king, and tender Your people and your land to Jesus Christ forever. Thus shall we join our gifts and both our selves together.” At this King Ganor ran to hug her, in acceptance, And bade a bishop there to fill the founts for many! With Sanson and Sir Gui as godfathers to help him, King Ganor shed his robes to be baptised directly. They didn’t change a name that had achieved such merit, And called him, as before, King Ganor, then and henceforth. King Ganor bade his knights to do as he himself had, And any who would not, but stubbornly objected To take the Christian Faith, he straightaway beheaded! That very day – the same that ended Aye’s adventures, 228

Aye of Avignon II King Ganor wed his bride: to holy church he led her And, as his wife and peer that he revered, he wed her. If only you had seen the minstrels that attended – As soon as any heard one word about the wedding, So many of them came their sum could not be reckoned. How great a day it was! How happy and how splendid! If only you had heard those minstrels making merry On trumpets, pipes and drums and on vièles a-plenty, You’d always have recalled the richness of their revels! But I must carry on with what is left to tell you: When day had turned to night and suppertime had ended, The bishop put his stole around his neck and entered Their royal rooms to give their marriage-bed his blessing. Then Lady Aye was led, by maidens, to her bedroom, With Ganor at her side, that good and gallant Gentile Who for the love of Aye had heeded Christ in Heaven. The room at last was cleared for their repose together, And Ganor lay beside the bride he’d always cherished And could, at last that night, embrace alone at leisure And take his joy of her and make of love a pleasure. On that delightful night, good people, he engendered A son, whose story too is very worth the telling: They named him Anthony, at Ganor’s own suggestion, And he would help Sir Gui in future times protecting His gallant brother’s land from Ganelon’s descendants! King Ganor, on the morn, went off to church, attending The raising of the Host in sign of Resurrection. Lord Jesus touched his heart, and from that day forever It beat with love of God, and hate of Pagan error. King Ganor paid each bard and minstrel who was present So richly that they sang his praises to the Heavens! Addressing Gui, he said: “I cannot leave my empire, But I will leave to you your father’s land, un-levied.” But don’t you leave, my lords! I’ve plenty more to tell you Of gallant Gui himself and of his life tormented By Ganelon’s foul clan, whose plotting planned to end it! ❦

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Martyred Minds ‘I want to tell a new kind of story, ‘I’ll tell you now a truly wondrous tale Never heard before. Of olden France, but well beyond the day Know that it does not concern Ogier, When Oliver and Roland had been slain.’ Nor Roland, nor Oliver, But a most holy maiden The Song of Blancheflor, ll.1–3, c.1240 Who was very courteous and beautiful.’ The Life of Saint Barbara, ll.1–6, c.1240

Many surviving testaments to the strongly religious society of Western Europe in the Middle Ages articulate an iconification of women that continues to speak to the fears, hopes and fantasies of some groups and individuals to this day. In medieval writings, both sacred and secular, a strong masculine ambivalence towards the mysterious ‘female other’ is exhibited in texts that alternate between the unequivocally misogynistic and the resolutely reverential. At both extremes of its ideological and rhetorical needs the medieval Church found two perfect symbols for its view of womankind in the biblical figures of Eve, the attested root of all evil, and that of the Virgin Mary, the invested flower of all perfection. Similarly, in secular French texts of the Middle Ages, women were both vilified in lengthy satirical tracts or short, bawdy verse-tales called fabliaux, and, at the same time, extolled in the lyrical southern love-poetry of the troubadours, and in the narrative courtly romances of the northern French trouvères. In Western Europe during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the new masculine reverence of women, in upper secular society at least, as expressed in the ethos, practice and literature of ‘courtly’ love (see Saracen Sirens pp.1–2), was greatly strengthened by the enormous growth throughout all Christendom of the cult of the Virgin Mary. At its Council of Ephesus in 431, Eastern theologians had established a parallel between the Passion of Christ and the compassion of His grieving mother: while He had suffered physically on the Cross, she had been crucified ‘in spirit’. From that century onwards, images of the Virgin and Child, in various iconographic representations that embodied different aspects of Church doctrine, bear witness to the Marian cult’s expansion into a vast devotional and imaginative aspect of Christian piety in the Western world. In France itself, the writings of churchmen such as Anselm of Bec (1033–1109) and Bernard of Clairvaux 231

Heroines of the French Epic (1090–1153) were influential in establishing a theology for Marian devotion which synchronised in many respects with the ideology of courtly love that the upper reaches of French society had already embraced. The prayers to Mary composed by Anselm made use of the language of courtly romance and queenship to stress her benevolence and status as ‘redemptrix’, highlighting her maternal aspect as both the vehicle of the Incarnation and as the embodiment of forgiveness and grace. Bernard of Clairvaux identified Mary as the ‘Bride’ referred to in the passionate Song of Songs in the Old Testament, a figure both real and symbolic, to be worshipped as the Bride of Christ, the Personification of the Church and the Intercessor for all of human kind. Thus, devotion to the Virgin Mary proved an ideal complement, sanctioned by the Church, to the secular service of a knight to his lady in the ‘courts of love’. Mary was a heavenly lady (lover) to be worshipped (wooed) and honoured as a royal personage (Our Lady, indeed, to whom many of the churches and cathedrals of the time were themselves dedicated). As the ethos of courtly love implied that love-service, or courtship, was to be viewed as a means of personal transformation on a moral journey, and not as the social vehicle to a sexual destination, the figure of the Virgin Mary symbolised perfectly the paradoxical role of the courtly lady: one who was, at once, both physically accessible but essentially unattainable. The veneration of saints other than Mary – holy mortals who had lived a life of heroic virtue befitting them of heavenly reward as well as of human admiration – had also lain at the heart of Western religious practice since late antiquity. By its heyday in the thirteenth century hagiographic literature had recorded and praised many hundreds of these exemplary male and female lives. Widely disseminated and appreciated, hagiography had also greatly influenced other genres of French literature, altering particularly the traditional concept of what a hero – or heroine in fact –was. Several of the chansons de geste of the thirteenth century reflect in their own generic way this new kind of piety, which focused on the suffering of Christ. These Old French epics demonstrate, alongside many of the stylistic features of the courtly romances, new patterns of narration that bear a striking resemblance to those of the documented saintly career, in which separation from the family, suffering bravely endured, spiritual enlightenment and its rewards are the significant stages. The Song of Blancheflor Both Blancheflor and Bertha Broad-Foot do indeed introduce a new kind of epic tale into the chanson de geste repertoire, one which reflects many of the developments and changes that had taken place in medieval society since the actual days and subsequent imaginative ways in which the archetypal heroes of the Songs of Deeds had lived and died. A gradual but stunning transformation of the genre’s traditional ethos, characters and episodes can be witnessed in the narratives of the following poems – narratives that reflect more and more the hand of a writer, and not the voice a reciter. The religious sentiment expressed so unequivocally in the Song of Roland as: 232

Martyred Minds ‘The Pagan’s wrong; the Christian way is right’ (l.1015) undoubtedly inspires and pervades the majority of the earliest, oral-based epics, providing the ethical fulcrum on which the entire drama and humour of their stories turn. The opening pair of poems translated in the present volume is imbued with the spirit of this combative assertion and both narratives are predicated upon it. In Aye of Avignon, however, this bias, having been tacitly assumed, is never actually proclaimed, and is eventually even challenged in the depiction of French aristocrats who are weak, selfish or evil, and a Pagan king who is strong, noble-hearted and good. In both Blancheflor and Bertha, however, any suggestion of this originally essential narrative bias has completely disappeared – indeed no Pagan character, in word or deed, is involved in the action of either poem at all. Religious and national conquest by the strength of heroes over adversaries are replaced in these compositions by the moral and personal triumph of virtuous heroines over adversities. The Song of Blancheflor relates the misfortunes that befall a lovely Byzantine Princess upon marrying a very old Charlemagne. This virtuous young consort repulses the amorous advances of an evil traitor, Macaire, who takes his revenge upon her by convincing the bewildered monarch that his wife is an adultress. Condemned at first to death, she is subsequently banished and undergoes much trial and tribulation, before, with the help of a woodsman called Varocher, her innocence is finally established. The story-line itself is conventional, even hackneyed for its era (c.1240), as it appears that songs and tales about the adventures of a wife of Charlemagne falsely accused of adultery were already widespread at the start of the thirteenth century, according to the Chronica (c.1350) of Alberic des Trois-Fontaines The contemporary popularity of this particular tale can be deduced, however, from its survival in medieval Italian, Spanish, German, Dutch and English versions, while its enduring value as a social document can be appreciated through the nature and actions of its protagonists. As already stated, the rise in status of the heroine per se in the chansons de geste reflects in part that of women in those sectors of twelfth-century European society that were influenced by the contemporary sacred cult of the Virgin Mary and by the secular ethos of chivalrous woman-service as celebrated in the love-poetry of Provence and in the Breton romances of adventure. The rise of the suffering heroine in particular can be attributed in large extent to the emphasis that developed in thirteenth century Christian worship on the Passion of Christ, to the continuing popularity of hagiography as a means of moral instruction, to the growing appeal of the personal adventure as celebrated in the romans d’aventure, and to the the fading efficacy of the ‘Saracen-other’ to provide a relevant, convincing personification of ever-present evil in the everyday Western world. Blancheflor and Bertha are both spiritual models of constancy, love and self-sacrifice, and flesh-and-blood examples of human virtue strengthened through worldly experience. While Bertha is the victim of two women’s unbridled ambition, Blanchflor’s suffering is caused by the base behaviour of a male aristocrat, and relieved by the nobility of a ‘working-class’ hero. The figure of this hero in Blancheflor, called Varocher, is a character-type whose earliest preserved appearance is as Renewart in the Song of 233

Heroines of the French Epic William. As an ill-clad, unsophisticated, burly rustic, this peasant figure, or villein, is out of place in the elite company of knights, and his deeds and words in their presence have an inevitably and consciously humorous impact. As a narrative symbol of the ‘noble soul’ incapacitated by the accident of birth, however, this persona demonstrates the heavy aesthetic influence on the genre of both the contemporary rise in prominence of a middle-class – the bourgeoisie – in medieval European society, and that of a more general secular ‘movement of reaction, probably unconscious, against the military caste system based on strict rules of birth and breeding’ (W. Calin, pp.119–20). In the Song of Blancheflor, this ‘poor but honest’ woodsman’s unwavering commitment to the wellbeing of our fortuitously met heroine unconsciously matches that of the ‘love-service’ practised by the ideal courtly lover towards his chosen lady. Through the increasingly dangerous acts of prowess that Varocher undertakes selflessly for the redemption and augmentation of Blancheflor’s reputation, he reveals to himself and to others the naked splendour of his ill-clad soul. In return he is accorded the undying affection of his ‘mistress’, and the recognition of his inherent courtesy and chivalry by those on whom such qualities have been bestowed through an accident of birth. Neither that of the idealised patriarch of the earliest epics, nor that of the lampooned greybeard of several later poems, the character of Charlemagne in Blancheflor is at once a more satisfying literary construct of human strength and weakness, and a conscious artistic articulation of contemporary baronial resentment in regional France to the heavy re-imposition of a centralised royal authority during the reign of the Capetian King Philippe-Auguste (1180–1223). In Blancheflor the great Emperor shows genuine love for his wife, genuine grief at her departure and a genuine desire to be just to all at all times. However, his patronage of the dissembling Macaire, against all reason and all wise advice, leads to personal despair, domestic disintegration, national suffering and a conflict in arms between the Christian West and East. It is in his treatment of the traitor Macaire that the unknown author of Blancheflor achieves his most original and enduring success – so much so, in fact, that the poem actually bears this subtle schemer’s name in its only modern French edition, and the appellation has established itself in French culture as that of the archetypal villain. The literary birth of the ubiquitous ‘losengier’ or ‘flattering deceiver’ in Old French epic poems can again trace its cultural generation to power struggles during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries between a centralised monarch and the regional barons in France. The bitter accusations voiced frequently in the ‘Songs of Deeds’ against materially rich but morally bankrupt individuals who ingratiate themselves at the royal court no doubt reflect both the earlier concerns of the provincial feudal barons at the weakness and/or corruptibility of Charlemagne’s successors and their later resentment and jealousy at the continued existence and role of such self-seeking trouble-makers in the centralising policies of the Capetian royal household. The despicable Macaire features in chansons de geste of later and earlier composition than Blancheflor, where he is inevitably introduced as either a kinsman or a friend of the genre’s most notorious traitor, Ganelon (from the Song of Roland), 234

Martyred Minds and so is not an original creation here. However, his extended career of evil and its memorable dénouement are unique: the dog belonging to his last victim, as the only witness to his master’s murder, reacts so violently against Macaire in court that King Charlemagne orders a duel between the lord and his canine accuser. The dog wins, Macaire confesses, and is hung straightaway. The immense popularity of this totally fictional judicial combat among its European audience and readership was to inspire countless contemporary visual illustrations and written references. Subsequently the character of Macaire and the legend of his canine comeuppance were themselves to inspire a range of performance-works, from theatrical productions in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to movies in the twentieth. The compositional techniques exhibited in the Song of Blancheflor demonstrate an interesting mixture of the older ‘oral style’ of chanson de geste and its subsequent adoption of a more consciously ‘literary’ modus operandi. The old jongleur-reciter is still and always present in the written text as an omniscient narrator, who gains and regains the attention of his audience through frequent recapitulations of his story’s key points – a practice resuscitated by many a modern broadcast media presenter – see ll.1527–57, 3149–69 for examples of this ancient rhetorical technique. He establishes a lasting rapport with his public by constantly communicating his own enthusiasm for the tale through praise or censure of its protagonists, and he controls their emotions by frequent interjections of humour, horror and homespun philosophy. In this thirteenth century song the public is addressed both as an (exclusively male) audience and a general readership, however – a subtle generic shift which can be seen, for example, in a comparison of lines 7 and 2840. The old, uneven decasyllabic laisse still furnishes the narrative structure, and the emotive qualities of its systemic, oralbased formulaic language can still be appreciated in the traditional descriptions of warriors, weapons and warfare that are preserved in the shorter stanzas of Blancheflor. There are as many longer verses in the poem, however, where this ‘affective diction’ is replaced by a lexicon that will more adequately reflect the surroundings, occupations and concerns of the contemporary ‘courtly’ lifestyle: examples of this can be seen in the detailed descriptions of luxurious objects, the elaboration of travel sequences, and the pointed illustration of correct and incorrect modes of behaviour. Action itself becomes extenuated as secondary episodes interpose and characters proliferate. Bertha Broad-Foot ‘But one should read Berte aus grans piès and the Franco-Italian poem of Macaire to realize what good literary use a skilful poet could make of this contrast between the evil and the good. These poems have all the traits of a modern novel and are marvellously interesting from the psychological point of view.’ ( Comfort, p.77) The Song of Bertha Broad-Foot is, without doubt, one of the finest examples of the consciously ‘written’ Old French epic poems to have come down to us today. It is also one of the very few chansons de geste whose authorship does not remain 235

Heroines of the French Epic unknown. Adenet (c.1240–c.1300), called ‘Le Roi’, was employed as a minstrel in the courts of the dukes of Brabant for over thirty years, and, apart from the Song of Bertha Broad-Foot is known as the composer of two other chansons de geste (Young Ogier and Buevon de Conmarchis), and a romantic fantasy called Cleomadés. His reworking of this popular tale about Charlemagne’s mother is the best of many to have survived in European manuscripts from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and presents a fascinating blend of themes from history, legend and folklore, crafted together with a degree of sensitivity, originality and formal artistry far beyond that of any other extant ‘Song of Deeds’. The historical figure of Bertrada of Laon (720–783), who married King Pepin the Short, king of the Franks, in 748 – six years after she had given birth to his son Charlemagne – was one to which the qualities of modesty, kindness and wisdom were already attached in Adenet’s time. Also connected to Bertrada, however, was the legend of the historically unfortunate Geneviève de Brabant, a chaste wife falsely accused and repudiated, together with the curious myth of a ‘Queen Goosefoot’, a folkloric figure, whose image – depicting a royal personage with one wide foot, like that of a goose – can still be seen today on the doorways of several cathedrals and abbeys in France. This folkloric figure is thought to have been inspired originally by didactic depictions of the biblical Queen of Sheba, who, although beautiful and wise, being also Pagan, could not be shown as ‘without imperfection’. The cognomen ‘Broad-Foot’ is shared by several other heroines of medieval compositions, however, particularly in saints’ tales, where the same ideal Christian qualities as those ascribed to Bertrada of Laon can be discerned, together with one interesting additional common narrative trait: the goose-footed queens spend some portion of their exiled lives in spinning and weaving a marvellous, inexhaustible distaff of thread. This last detail has led some to suggest that the folkloric figure of Mother Goose, that gentle, wise spinner of tales, whose literary début was made in the Conte de ma mere l’Oye of Charles Perrault in 1695, may have originated in this historical and legendary queen. Indeed, the success of Adenet’s version of Bertha Broad-Foot has even allowed, in some quarters, for the historical Queen Bertrada to claim the dubious honour of possessing the original ownership rights to this striking avian sobriquet. The Song of Bertha Broad-Foot illustrates how ‘passive’ virtue may be strengthened enough by the suffering it endures to triumph eventually over the most active evil. Adenet Le Roi alters little the narrative structure that tradition had already built up around his heroine – which itself contains several literary motifs common to many other works of the period, (including the tale of Blancheflor in this collection): a wife betrayed, a husband deceived, a ‘wilderness’ experience of despair and deliverance, both physically and mentally. The original craftsmanship of this refined courtier’s artistic reconstruction of Bertha’s story, however, lies in his sturdier re-assembly and nobler refurbishment of such prefabricated narrative material. For this Manichean tale (Bertha = ‘bright’ in Old German) of conflict between the forces of good and evil both around and in us all, Adenet le Roi maintains the epic laisse as his narrative unit, but, like most thirteenth-century re-workers of the chanson 236

Martyred Minds de geste replaces the unevenly broken decasyllabic line (4+6) with a symmetrically divided and fully end-rhymed ‘alexandrine’ (twelve-syllable line.) The elegance of this new measure is then enhanced most originally by Adenet through his constant employment of the so-called laisse dérivative, the pairing of two verses, one masculine and one feminine, upon the same end-rhyme. By keeping his verses much shorter than the chapter-length stanzas of most of his chansons de geste contemporaries Adenet still harnesses the latent power of the genre’s ancient formulaic diction, however, to embellish moments of emotional intensity or narrative importance through the old ballad technique of ‘parallel-versing’ – the accumulation and release of short, almost identical verse-waves, driven by the narrative tide to peaks of breaking lyricism. Other stylistic features of the inherited epic tradition to which this courtly poet is prepared to pay homage include the laudatory public recommendation of his ‘apparent’ hero at the beginning of the work (in this case it is the recollection of King Pepin’s famous despatch of a rampaging lion), and the announcement, at the end of his work, of the future exploits of this noble geste (i.e. family). The scion of Pépin’s geste is of course the (historically) bastard-born Charlemagne – whose birth is also carefully ‘rehabilitated’ in Adenet’s tasteful artistic journey ‘back to the future’. With the stunning exception of the Song of Roland, the narrative of Bertha Broad-Foot exhibits a unity of tone, a coherence of action, and a credibility of character unmatched by any other surviving chanson de geste. The plot develops logically, in a geographically specific landscape, through the credible actions of a carefully named, small but varied cast of well-drawn characters, whose foibles and feelings are recorded with a penetrative finesse. Although not distinguished as such in the original poem, the wellplanned narrative displays a discernible division into four major episodes flanked by a short prologue and epilogue. Each differing scene is described with a poet’s sensitivity to language, a novelist’s eye for detail, a traveller’s love of localised colour, and, most markedly, with a psychologist’s sympathetic insight into human behaviour. One of Adenet’s greatest strengths is his complete empathy with all aspects of his story, achieved partly no doubt through the experiences afforded to him through his long career of work and travel under royal patronage throughout France and well beyond. Adenet Le Roi’s finest artistic quality, however, is surely the unusual degree of male insight which he displays in the portrayal of every female character he creates. In that of Bertha Broad-Foot we find one of the first and finest examples of extended character analysis in Western secular literature. Bertha’s arduous physical and mental sojourn in the forest of Maine ‘epically’ transforms her character, and is described at such length by its medieval author precisely because of its central position in achieving this era’s new ideological purpose for ‘epic writing’. For the first time in the chansons de geste, a genre conceived on the battlefield in celebration of physical, male prowess, the poetic labours of Bertha Broad-Foot deliver not a single blow, from hero nor foe – but a brand-new, ‘bright’ and true heroine.

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THE SONG OF BLANCHEFLOR Prologue

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I’LL TELL YOU NOW a truly wondrous tale Of olden France – but well beyond the day When Oliver and Roland had been slain – About a Mayence knight, in truth a knave, Whose treachery slew many worth the name: MACAIRE was his who set this trick in train. So listen, lords, remembering again That centuries before or since his reign There never breathed a monarch half as great In all the world as mighty Charlemagne, Nor one that bore such suffering and pain To glorify and guard the Christian Faith. He brought to heel the Pagan tribes and made His power feared by every other race. He never let a fool’s advice prevail, And lived beyond two hundred years of age, When William and Bertrand took the reins. He had a wife of highest rank and rate – A princess from that mighty city named Constantinople, or so we say today. Her name was Blancheflor, both fair of face And character, and full of wisdom’s grace – But hear from me, by John the blessed saint, How fair can fall! God help us all, I say! 1. How Charlemagne held high court in Paris KING CHARLEMAGNE, one day, was holding court In Paris, in his finest, highest hall, And many sons were there of vavasours, With princes, counts and noble dukes galore, 238

The Song of Blancheflor Duke Naimon one, his wisest counsellor. A better man than he was never born, Or one who loved so faithfully his lord, Or sacrificed or suffered for him more. Exceeding all in heeding duty’s call, He gained from God, Who made us each and all, In Heaven high his glorious reward. To his good wife four gallant sons were born, Who all were Peers and Paladins in war – And perished all in woe at Roncesvalles At Roland’s side, that worthy count of yore, When Ganelon betrayed them to the Moors Of King Marsile, the evil Almanzor. Foul Ganelon paid shamefully henceforth When judged to die the way that traitors ought.

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2. How Lord Macaire sought to deceive Charlemagne KING CHARLEMAGNE was holding court most high, With princes, counts and barons highly prized. Exceeding all were Duke Naimon the wise And Ogier the Danish thane alike. Lausanne’s Macaire was also at his side: The evil knave had laboured hard with bribes Of bezant coins and deniers to rise In favour with the King and court alike. He sat with Charles at meals and over wine, And had become his intimate in time. Now hear the plan this villain had contrived To trick the King and shame him with his wife, Then force on her his lecherous desires. The feast-day of St Riquier was nigh, And Blancheflor had gone to pass some time With other maids inside a grove of pines. Before them lay a minstrel with his lyre, Who played to them and sang for their delight, When suddenly the knave Macaire arrived In company with sundry other knights. But only he began to flirt and sigh: “Your Ladyship, you could, without a lie, Lay claim to be the fairest Queen alive: A fairer one I couldn’t think to find. And truly, it’s a mortal sin, a crime, 239

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That you are wed to someone past his prime! If you and I were partners, day or night You wouldn’t find a lover more inclined To treat you well and kiss and hold you tight!” On hearing this, she stared at him a while, Then, with a laugh, she made him this reply: “My lord Macaire, you are so fair a knight I have to think your flattery’s designed To test my heart and give my honour trial!” “Then think again!” Macaire at once replied: “For there is none, my Lady fair and fine, On land or sea who loves you more than I – And there’s no pain or threat I’d not abide To earn your heart and turn your mind to mine.” On hearing this, she knew he hadn’t lied, And she was blunt when straightaway she cried: “My lord Macaire, you do not know my mind! I’d sooner lose my arms and legs, or die In agony upon a flaming pyre, My ashes thrown or wind-blown far and wide, Than ever act against the King with guile! If ever hence you hail me in this wise, Or speak of this behind my back in spite, I’ll tell my lord at once what you have tried. You wicked wretch, how dare you thus conspire Or speak this way against your noble Sire? If he should hear, no wealth you could acquire From anywhere would ever save your life: He’d hang you high, for all to see your crime! Now, leave at once, and vanish from my sight! This speech of yours, or anything its like To me henceforth, must not be spoken twice!” On hearing this, Macaire, with sullen eyes, Strode off – abashed, but seething with despite. 3. How Blancheflor’s grief began THE QUEEN HERSELF returned at once towards The palace steps and back inside the hall, Her heart oppressed by sad and angry thoughts. Macaire’s despite grew hotter till it boiled: Unless he had his way with her in all, 240

The Song of Blancheflor He wouldn’t think his manhood worth a coin. He thought of this, and her, from night till morn, Until, at last, his evil mind had wrought A tricky plan to trap Queen Blancheflor. There was, at court, a cunning, hump-backed dwarf, A ribald rogue who entertained the court. Approaching him, Macaire’s address was short: “My little friend, your lucky day has dawned! If you’re prepared to play the tune I call, I’ll pay you now so many shiny coins That you and yours need nevermore be poor.” The man replied: “Just name the tune, my lord! My pipe’s prepared to play it, rest assured!” Macaire replied: “Then here it is, in short: When next you sit beside Queen Blancheflor, Impress on her how handsome I am thought, And how, if she would open her heart’s door To me, she’d see what passion’s fashioned for!” The dwarf replied: “My lord, say nothing more! When next I sit beside her I’ll perform This paean in your praise, and many more!” “God bless you!” said Macaire. “You may be small, But you will gain such stature in reward Your little clan will soon be standing tall!” The dwarf replied: “No fear of that, my lord!” And left Macaire, gigantic in his joy. The fiend Macaire returned to bed and board At lodgings there in happy vein and voice. The cunning dwarf went straightaway to court.

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4. How the dwarf spoke THE CUNNING DWARF departed very briskly And spent his time throughout the day in thinking How best he could address the Queen as bidden. No matter where he saw Macaire, the villain Kept urging him to get about his business, To make a start so he could make a finish! The morrow came, the feast day of St Riquier, And Blancheflor was in her solar, sitting With waiting-maids in good and cheerful spirits. Before them, on his lyre, performed a minstrel, 241

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And many maids were dancing to his rhythms. The cunning dwarf soon made his way amidst them. At first he sat beside the Queen, then wriggled Beneath her cloak and lay there like a kitten: As was his wont, he purred and flirted with her. The Queen, who knew, but thought no evil in him, Just stroked her furs, and as he purred, she listened. But he began the “grrrh!” that he’d been given: “I am amazed how such a youthful mistress Can love a man as ancient as the King is! He’s not a man to satisfy young women! And you, my Queen, are so petite and pretty Your loveliness defies a fit description! If you would like, then I could help a little, By bringing you in secrecy, well-hidden, A man unmatched for handsomeness of figure: My lord Macaire – a paragon of vigour! He is a man of more than moneyed riches: You’d never tire of what his love could give you! And you could boast, inside your heart, of winning The best of men in this or any kingdom.” On hearing this, she sought and caught his visage: “Be silent, fool! Don’t sing me such a lyric, Or you will pay beyond your little limits!” But he pursued: “My lady, reconsider! I’m sure of this: if you would let him kiss you Just once, I know you’d change your way of thinking.” He pressed the point, and others in addition, Until the Queen, at last, grew so indignant She seized the rogue, despite his best resistance – For she was young and he was not the biggest – And threw him down her solar-steps so quickly He hit his head in many spots and split it: “Be gone,” she cried, “be gone, you little villain! Learn other tunes before you come to visit!” Now Lord Macaire, his villainy unfinished, Was standing there when down the dwarf came spinning! He picked him up and sent for a physician To bind his skull with bandages of linen. A week or more the cunning dwarf, bed-ridden, Was missed at court, who thought his loss a pity: The King himself asked why the rogue was missing, And Lord Macaire kept running there and thither 242

The Song of Blancheflor To tell them all about the fall he’d witnessed: “He fell and struck his head against a pillar. He lies a-bed, but soon he will be risen To please the court with all his merry mischief!”

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5. How the dwarf suffered ATTENTION, LORDS! Be certain that the geste Of Mayence was an evil breed of men, Whose arrogance forever caused distress: Renaut of Montauban felt their contempt. Their treachery sold Oliver to death With Roland and his Peers and many French. And now the Queen was prey to one of them – Macaire! And he was out to try his best To shame the name of Charlemagne himself. For seven days the dwarf remained in bed, And when he went among the court again, His head was swathed so thick with bandages That everyone made jokes about his head And even Charles laughed heartily himself. The cunning dwarf – who wasn’t short on sense – Told not a word to anybody else About what he or Blancheflor had said. He kept himself, from then on, with the men And never saw or spoke with her again. He knew her rage, and certainly her strength, And wasn’t one for tempting Providence! The Queen indeed would ask for him – and yet He kept away – his head was not that dense! Though all the gold that gilds the Orient Were offered him, he swore he’d never hence Address the Queen or bow to her behests. Now he as well was filled with spite, and spent His days and nights in plotting some revenge – Lord God above confound the little wretch! He found a way, all right, to trip her step: As you will hear, if you will but attend!

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THE FIEND MACAIRE, that evil-scheming man, Approached the dwarf to broach another plan: “My little friend,” he said, “I’m very sad To see the pain and shameful time you’ve had. But if you’ll act a part I know you can, You’ll have revenge upon the Queen’s attack: You’ll see her burn until she turns to ash!” The dwarf replied: “I ask no more than that! If in her death my hate can play its hand, In all my life I’ll not have been so glad. When I recall the way my head was banged Down all her steps, it almost drives me mad! I cannot wait till I can pay her back!” Macaire replied: “Be brave with one more act, And so much gold and silver you shall have From my resource you will enrich your clan. I’ve sought and thought of a befitting trap, Wherein the Queen shall fall upon her back!” “Reveal it all,” the dwarf replied, “and add My will to do whatever you command, Except to talk again – I won’t do that: I fear her tongue as much as any asp’s!” Macaire replied: “I have a wiser plan: It’s Charles’s wont, this paragon of Franks, To rise from bed for Matins and for Mass Before it’s light, when still the night is black. When both are sung the Emperor goes back To bed again and any sleep he can. For your revenge you’ll have to act with tact, So none can see or hear what you’ll be at – Which is to slip behind his door so fast No living soul can see you take your stand!” 7. How Macaire spoke on

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MACAIRE SPOKE ON: “To gain the end we’d like, I have a plan, and this is my advice: As best you can you must contrive to hide Inside their room, completely out of sight. When Charlemagne arises in the night 244

The Song of Blancheflor To hear the Mass and Matins sung alike, Then straightaway you also shall arise, Undress yourself before their bed and slide Your little limbs beside the Queen his wife’s! She’ll never know – so slim you are and slight! Then when the King returns at last to find You in his bed, beside his lovely bride, Though hate for you will surely fill his mind, His hand will baulk at hurting one your size. He’ll call instead for witnesses outside. And when he calls on you to own the crime, Then you must say, without a moment’s fright, That it was she who made you come inside, Not only then but many former times!” “I’ll think it through,” the cunning dwarf replied, “And so improve your trickery with mine! There’s nothing more I covet or desire Than my revenge upon her royal spite!” “Act fearlessly,” Macaire replied, “for I Shall be at hand to guarantee your life.” The dwarf replied: “For that I’d be obliged! Now, say no more – I’ll do the deed tonight: I understand exactly what’s required!” Macaire replied: “Your profit will be high, And none the risk upon this enterprise: For when the King accuses you, reply Unflinchingly, that Blancheflor required Your presence there and has at many times. King Charlemagne, to save his honour’s pride, Will burn the Queen upon a hawthorn fire.” The dwarf replied: “There’s nothing more I’d like.” Within the hall he stayed till fading light. When Count Macaire and all the other knights Went off to rest in bedrooms left and right, The cunning dwarf slipped straightaway behind The royal door to hide and bide his time. When Matins rang the Monarch did arise, And just as soon as he was out of sight The cunning dwarf was anything but shy: He reached the bed, and, sitting on one side, Took off his clothes and little shoes alike. He laid them out upon a bench and climbed Inside the bed, right next to Charles’s wife! 245

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THE KING HAD LEFT as soon as Matins called, And gone to Mass inside his chapel’s stall Without a thought of any ill in store – But in his bed there lay the cunning dwarf! With Mass and Matins sung in proper form, The King returned, like every time before. But when he walked inside his bedroom door And looked towards his marriage bed he saw Upon a bench, the clothes the dwarf had worn. On seeing these, he wondered in his thoughts, And then he saw the visage of the dwarf – For it was large, although the rest was small. The Emperor, at first, said naught at all: He couldn’t speak, he felt so overwrought. His senses reeled, his sorrow was so raw. He left the room, he lurched across the floor And made his way inside the marbled hall – To find Macaire already there, of course, With other knights, some seven men or more, And well aware of what was to befall. On seeing them, the King exclaimed: “My lords! Come with me now to witness and record My honour’s fall, and that of all my joy With Blancheflor, whom I had so adored: She’s shamed my name by sleeping with the dwarf! Belie your doubts by seeing what I saw!” On saying this, he led them to his door And showed them first the midget, well installed! On seeing this, the barons gasped in awe, At which the Queen began to wake and yawn. She saw them there, and stared with dropping jaw: She couldn’t speak in her defence at all. “Advise me, lords!” cried Charlemagne, distraught. The first to speak was Lord Macaire – of course! “Fine King,” he said, “I have to speak my thoughts. The Queen must die in fiery torment, or 246

The Song of Blancheflor Both you and we forever and by all Will be reproached and your disgrace assured.” The evil count continued what he’d launched By striding forth and questioning the dwarf: “You little wretch, don’t lie to me,” he roared: “How dared you lie beside Queen Blancheflor? How dared you try? Whose will was this but yours?” The dwarf replied: “Without a lie, my lord, I’d not have crossed the threshold of this door, Nor slipped or slept inside this bed at all If I had not been summoned here and sought To do the things the Queen had asked me for, Not just tonight, but many nights before!” The dwarf replied the way that he’d been taught By vile Macaire, that evil-scheming lord – God damn his soul, Who judges each and all! The Emperor, before his liegemen, swore To burn the Queen upon a pyre of thorns. In her defence the Queen could utter naught – She hung her head in shame and self-remorse: “Alas,” she wailed, “that I was ever born!”

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9. How Blancheflor was arrested WHEN BLANCHEFLOR saw everyone inside, And Charles himself so woebegone and wild, With Lord Macaire beside him, hard as iron In his resolve to make the King decide That nothing else but death would suit the crime, She let herself be carried by a tide Of cruel hands, and privately confined Inside a cell, as was the dwarf alike. The news of Blancheflor spread like a fire Through Paris streets among the low and high, And everyone deplored her sorry plight, For she was fair and sensible and kind: She’d helped the poor and needy many times, She’d soothed the woes of many landless knights, And given clothes to clad their needy wives. Each one of those prayed fervently to Christ That He would spare so good a one the vile And awful death of being burnt alive. 247

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The King himself was sorry for the wife He’d truly loved with all his heart and mind. But the reproach and taunts he feared would fly From everywhere if she were spared her life, Convinced the King that she would have to die. And Lord Macaire, with all his kith and kind, Was always there to fan the flames of strife, And stoke the fire of Blancheflor’s demise. He urged the King to bring the Queen to trial And punish her the way the law required: “Be sure,” he swore, “if you are slow to strike, Your countrymen will think your honour slight. Both strong and weak will hold you in despite.” 10. How Macaire accused Blancheflor

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WHEN CHARLEMAGNE heard every baron railing Against the Queen – above the rest the hateful And wretched geste of Ganelon the traitor, Who sought her death with no alleviation – He wept for her, and so did worthy Naimon. But when he saw no compromise was able To please one man and not offend his neighbour, He told them all the Queen would face arraignment. The Emperor did as he should, by naming As judges men of rank and reputation: And most were fair, like Richier and Naimon, But some were there, like Lord Macaire, through favours. May God above, Who suffered so to save us, Confound the man and all the clan of Mayence, Whose days on earth were spent in wreaking chaos! They all arrived to judge the Queen’s behaviour. The vile Macaire spoke naught but defamation Against the Queen, so fair of deed and gracious. He said to Charles: “My logic tells me plainly That everyone who loves you now will blame you If you delay the punishment dictated! If you should heed the pleading of Duke Naimon, There’s nobody in France who won’t disdain you! In every street each vagabond and vagrant Will twitter songs that ridicule and shame you!” On hearing this, old Naimon almost fainted: 248

The Song of Blancheflor His body lurched as sorrow overcame him. But then he spoke, to vent his indignation: “My noble lord, attend to me!” he quavered. “May God above, Who suffered so to save us, Send me to Hell if what I say’s mistaken! You seek advice – but there are those whose hatred Towards the Queen will doggedly persuade you To pay no heed to anything I’m saying. They want her death – their grudge is such a great one– And give no thought to her noblesse and station. If they could think more thoroughly how gravely Their grudge might end, perhaps they’d be less hasty To urge this trial until they know the nature Of the response her royal father favours. If we can prove that truly she’s betrayed you, Then she should die; but what if proof should fail us Or prove us wrong? We must reprieve my Lady.”

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11. How Naimon spoke “FINE EMPEROR,” said Naimon, “do not heed The words of one who speaks in anger’s heat And cannot know the storm he may release! For Blancheflor, your lovely wife and Queen Is daughter of a mighty king indeed – Constantinople’s lord he is, and liege Of many lands around the Eastern seas, And many men to muster in his need! When news of this is carried and he hears The shameful fate his daughter has received, His love for you will turn to hate; and he Can harm you, Sire, and cause our kingdom grief! I say again, the Queen should be reprieved Till word from you can reach her father’s ears, And he’s aware of what has happened here. He cannot then reproach the judgement reached.” With this the King was ready to agree Most happily, when Lord Macaire the fiend Sprang up at once to challenge Naimon’s speech: “Fine Emperor, my lord,” he intervened, “How can you heed such counsel? It appears To come from one who holds your honour cheap! 249

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Why else would he advise you to reprieve A criminal of crime that is so clear To everyone except himself, it seems? If any man denies what we have seen, I challenge him to arm and fight with me!” When this was heard by all the men convened To counsel Charles, there wasn’t one of these Who dared defy Macaire in word or deed: And so, when none replied or tried to speak, The King could see no other way to deal With this except to prosecute the Queen. When Naimon saw Macaire’s resolve succeed, He spurned the group and turned his back, aggrieved. He held his tongue, but as he made to leave The voice of Charles forbade him to proceed. 12. How Charlemagne spoke

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WHEN NAIMON HEARD King Charlemagne’s decision, He felt at once the madness that was in it, Yet knew as well the folly of resisting. He turned to leave, but Charlemagne insisted That he should stay, then tenderly petitioned Him not to spurn or scorn Macaire’s position, But to remain and see how things would finish. Macaire, of course, whose fiery rage was kindled Against the Queen – who never once was wicked, But had refused to do as he had bidden – As soon as Charles had shown that he had given The rogue his wish to have the Queen committed, He hustled forth her sad and silk-clad figure. On seeing her, the King was filled with pity And wept aloud, as all his barons witnessed. 13. How Blancheflor spoke BEFORE THE KING the Queen was hustled forth, Arrayed in silk with rowels richly wrought. Her face, as fair as summer’s rose, was fraught And frail with woe, its pallid features drawn. As she appeared, her husband’s tears were sore, 250

The Song of Blancheflor And, seeing this, she raised her lovely voice: “You do me wrong! How could you think me false? Whoever’s lies have led you on, my lord, And set your eyes upon this wicked course, Cares not at all what havoc may be caused! Lord God above, Who sees and judges all, Knows very well I’ve never played you false In word or deed, in feeling or in thought.” The King replied: “And I know what I saw! In mortal sin tonight you have been caught So clearly that your protests count for naught. My lady, think to save your soul henceforth: Your mortal days are done, your end assured: The fire awaits all traitors to their lord.” “You do me wrong,” cried Blancheflor once more. Macaire spoke up: “My lord, your honour stalls Each moment that you hinder it with talk!” Old Naimon’s head shook slowly with remorse: “How dearly paid,” he said with lowered voice, “This judgement made will prove for us henceforth! Alas the day, I say, that ever brought This wicked clan of Ganelon’s to court!”

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14. How Charles lamented THE EMPEROR who governed France the sweet Was sad at heart for Blancheflor the Queen, Whom he had loved with all his heart indeed. But by the law he couldn’t but proceed To implement the punishment decreed, However he or anyone might feel. And so he asked his chamberlain to lead The Lady forth, for everyone to see Her dressed in black and bound as one who meets The bitter fate of traitors to their liege. Upon the square before the hall they heaped A pyre of wood with brambles in between That, lit, became a spitting spire of heat. Throughout the town of Paris, west to east, Like fire itself the news of this increased Until there was no lady worth the least, No mounted knight or merchant on the street, 251

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No man at all, who didn’t come to see. And everyone began to shed a tear When Blancheflor was hustled forth to reach The palace-square and face the fiery heat. At sight of it, she fell upon her knees, Exhorting God, Who governs all and each, To not forget the wrong committed here On her – who’d done no wrong, not in the least – And to avenge her death with every speed, So high and low should know the truth, and weep! My lords, and you, good people, lend an ear To what Macaire did next, the evil fiend: He came right up towards the pyre and seized The cunning dwarf, uplifting him with ease, While roaring forth this question in his ears: “Now, little squeak, speak out to far and near: At any time, have you lain with the Queen?” “Indeed,” he cried, “a hundred times I’ve been With Blancheflor, in bed or where she pleased.” At once Macaire hurled forth the little sneak Upon the fire before them all and screamed: “You dare to boast of shaming Charles, you beast?!” The midget begged, the traitor spurned his pleas And burned the dwarf to prove he loved his liege – Although, in truth he acted thus to seal The midget’s lips from telling of his scheme. When high and low observed the sudden deed They praised the Lord for such a show of zeal. The Queen looked on, her face a mask of grief. She wrung her hands and with a wail beseeched Almighty God, the Lord of all, to teach Her soul His will and pardon it with peace. 15. How Charles addressed Blancheflor

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THE QUEEN WAS LED to Charlemagne directly. She stood in tears, her face a mask of terror, And prayed to God, the Lord of Earth and Heaven, To take her soul and teach it to be better And fitting for the glory of His presence. Then, facing Charles, she lovingly addressed him: “My noble lord, for Jesu’s sake, I beg you: 252

The Song of Blancheflor Bring forth a priest – a good and wise confessor To hear my sins and help my soul’s redemption.” The King replied: “With willing heart and ready.” So, weep or not, the Abbot was requested At once from Saint-Denis – the best of prelates. 16. How the Abbot of Saint-Denis spoke KING CHARLEMAGNE was just to all and each. The Abbot came at once from Saint-Denis At his command, and stood before the Queen. “Do you desire to make confession here?” He asked of her, and she replied: “Indeed.” She fell at once before him on her knees, And then confessed each sinful act and speech She could recall committing through the years, Omitting none, the largest to the least. When this was done, she also told the priest That in her womb there lay a child conceived Of Charlemagne, her husband and her liege. The Abbot, who was good and wise, beseeched Her then to tell, as well, and not conceal, The sinful act whose fact had been agreed. The Queen replied: “You’ll hear the truth indeed: May I be damned if I should use deceit! Indeed, my lord, there is more to reveal! When I had gone, one day, to take my ease Within a grove, a devil did tempt me – His name Macaire! That day the evil fiend Began to speak a lover’s words and seek Such things from me against all honour’s creed. But I refused so firmly and made clear With my rebuke and anger that if he Should ever speak that way again to me, I would report his name to Charles my liege. But do you know the web he chose to weave? He sent the dwarf to ply me with the speech He would have tried himself, and had indeed. But I repulsed his spider with such speed It banged its head and bled in bed a week! So then Macaire devised another scheme That used the dwarf, whom one night he concealed 253

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Inside the room where I was fast asleep. When Matins rang and Charles made haste to leave Our bed, the dwarf instead stole in unseen! When Charles returned he found him next to me. When I awoke I couldn’t speak for fear At seeing Charles before me with his Peers! Without a trial they’ve seized and dragged me here To die by fire for what they thought to see – Whereof, I swear, I’m charged most wrongfully. I swear to God I’ve spoken truthfully. For pity’s sake, lord Abbot, I beseech Your mercy on the sins I’ve done indeed, But not for this, of which my soul is free.” The Abbot heard and paid her manner heed – The way she spoke, her honest face and mien Before the fate they’d judged her to receive – And knew at once each word was true and real. A learned man, of sense and judgment deep, He told the Queen, at once, to dry her tears, And blessed her, as she started to repeat The list of sins whose pardon she did seek. When this was done the Abbot took his leave Of Blancheflor and headed for her liege, With firm intent to speak up for the Queen. 17. How the Abbot addressed the King

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A LEARNED MAN, of judgement and of sense, The Abbot knew, from what the Queen confessed, And from her mien, that she was innocent Of any sin whose act could warrant death. He took his leave and went at once instead To see the King and meet his closest friends – Duke Naimon, whom he held in great respect, And Ogier, so praised for his prowess. To counsel Charles he summoned other men He knew were born of good and noble geste – Not one of them was of the clan Mayence. “You know it’s true, my lords,” the Abbot said, “That when a man or woman nears their end They do not hide the sinful lives they’ve led, But cleanse their breast of every breath misspent. 254

The Song of Blancheflor Now I’ve just heard our noble Queen confess Her sins in life most truly and at length. From every word and way they were expressed I’m sure we’ve laid a crime upon her head She never did or ever would intend. There’s something more that speaks in her defence: Inside her womb the seed of Charles has bred! And so, my lords, be very careful, lest In killing her our guilt should be no less Than his whose charge laid Jesus Christ Himself Upon the Cross to suffer in our stead.” Duke Naimon heard, and nodded his old head. The Abbot’s words not only made good sense To him, but proved what he himself had felt: That Blancheflor had wrongly been condemned With sinful haste – the guilt lay somewhere else.

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18. How Naimon spoke to Charles “BOLD EMPEROR,” said Naimon, old and stalwart: “If you will act as I advised beforehand, I’ll say again that to proceed with caution Will earn you praise today from every quarter – And nobody in future times will fault you. If Blancheflor’s with child, it would be awful To put the pair unfairly so to slaughter. Agree to this my counsel, I implore you: Assign the Queen to someone’s watch and wardship, Whose task will be to faithfully escort her Beyond your realm to bide in foreign borders. Forbid you wife, from this day on and always, To show her face in any land you’re lord of.” The King replied: “Your judgement is a sure one, And one my heart and head can best accord with. With every speed its needs shall be supported.” And so they spared our heroine and brought her Away that day from what had lain before her – And everyone, except Macaire, applauded. The King approached and said to her, forlornly: “My lovely Queen, I truly did adore you! But what you’ve done has made our marriage forfeit. I’ll spare your life, I’m glad to, I assure you, 255

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But you must leave for foreign lands this morning And show your face, your lovely face, no more here. An escort will attend you and support you Until you cross each border that I’m lord of.” On hearing this, his wife was weeping sorely, But still he spoke: “Return now to your quarters. Prepare yourself and ready all you ought to. Take wealth of mine to serve your need henceforward.” The Queen replied: “I’ll do as you have ordered. I will obey; I have obeyed you always.” And so she turned, her face a mask of mourning. The Emperor then did as he had sworn to: He summoned forth a young and gallant Norman, From Rivier, a kinsman of Sir Morant: His palace held no paladin more courtly, More caring of the honour of his order, Or capable in any task it called for. The name of this fine courtier was Aubri. No knight of Charles then living was more loyal. As he approached, the voice of Charles exhorted: “Sir Aubri, come! I have a mission for you: Prepare to take Queen Blancheflor on horseback As far away as will fulfil my order That she must live outside my lands henceforward. Report to me upon your task’s performance.” Young Aubri said: “Your will shall not be thwarted. Most willingly and well I shall enforce it.” The loyal lad had no desire to loiter. He got his squire to saddle up his courser, While he himself was girding on a sword-blade. Upon his wrist he set his hunting falcon, And straightaway his greyhound ran towards him! He helped the Queen to mount upon a palfrey, Then led her forth – reprove him or applaud him. He started out upon the road before him, And everyone, on foot or horse, was mournful – Old Naimon, and her royal husband also.

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The Song of Blancheflor 19. How Sir Aubri left WHEN AUBRI LEFT at Charlemagne’s behest, Both high and low bemoaned his sorry quest. The King himself wept softly in regret, As Aubri rode then disappeared ahead. When Lord Macaire had judged the moment best He turned and ran towards his lodge again. May God who made old Moses curse the wretch! Because of him the Queen had been bereft Of everything; and now he armed himself And swung astride a palfrey horse he kept. He seized a shield and hung it round his neck, Then grasped a spear of sharp and fearsome crest. He left the town, in sweet and high content, To take the road that Aubri’d taken thence. Beside the Queen the noble youth had left, Without a thought of anyone but them. King Charlemagne, alas, knew nothing then Of all Macaire still plotted in his head! Young Aubri’s course continued till at length He saw a fount beside a slope that led Inside a wood of wondrous charm and breadth. Queen Blancheflor admired the scene as well And spoke up for the first time since they’d left: “Sir Aubri, lord, I bid you, nay I beg Of you to take me to that stream ahead! I need to drink and take a moment’s rest.” The youth replied: “Of course, my Lady, yes!” So from his mount the gallant youngster stepped Towards the Queen’s and in one movement swept Her in his arms and set her down against A tree beside the water’s grassy edge. Her thirst was great, and so she drank, and then She washed her hands and then her face; but when She raised her head she saw with sudden dread The fiend Macaire come spurring through a cleft With armour on, and weapons right and left! At sight of him her fright returned again, And she began to wail in her distress: “Sir Aubri, see what evil dogs our step! I see again Macaire the evil wretch Whose wicked charge has chased me from the French!” 257

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The youth replied: “My Lady, never fret! I’ll fight for you with every ounce of strength.” As this was said Macaire himself addressed The gallant youth in tones of fierce contempt: “You’ll never lead this haughty Lady hence! Both you and she will yield to my prowess!” “ Oh no we won’t!” the noble youngster said: “I’ll make you feel my weapon’s zeal instead!” 20. How Sir Aubri addressed Macaire

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YOUNG AUBRI SAID: “Be sure of this, my lord: You will regret you followed in our course To seize the Queen my task is to escort. When fearsome Charles discovers this henceforth, And Naimon, and Duke Ogier, then all Your wealth will count for nothing anymore: You’ll hang, my lord, for this attempt of yours. Turn back and seek to right the wrong you’ve wrought. What you intend will end in less than naught!” “You’ll not defend her now!” the villain roared, “And if you try, then you may rest assured That you will die much sooner than you ought!” But Aubri stayed between him and his ward, And, seeing this, Macaire let fly his horse: The youth was brave, both swift of limb and thought: He drove his mount and raised his cutting sword. If Aubri had had armour on, I’m sure He could have matched the knight Macaire, and more! Their mounts approached with growing speed and force, And Aubri raised his burnished blade towards Macaire, as fierce as any savage boar. Macaire himself held forth his lance’s point Of sturdy steel and spurred without remorse. The fiend was armed from top to toe for war, But Aubri there had nothing but his sword: How could he bear or fairly fight his cause In such a joust where compromise was scorned? An unarmed man’s not worth the smallest coin Against a knight well clad and armed withal. A fatal blow was fated soon to fall – And so it did: the spear Macaire employed 258

The Song of Blancheflor Drove front to rear in such a fierce assault It threw the youth and slew him on the sward. The Queen, when she had seen the battle joined, Had watched the fight until her escort’s fall. On seeing that, she turned aside, distraught, And ran away, inside the wood, to thwart Macaire’s desire to have her in his thrall. She prayed to God, Whose Judgment comes to all, For Aubri’s life – whose death she never saw.

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21. How Blancheflor escaped Macaire’s clutches THE QUEEN, WHEN she had seen the fight develop, Was filled with fear, and, as her body trembled, Her voice invoked the King of kings to help her, And called alike upon the Queen of Heaven. In tears of woe she fled to hide and headed Inside the wood, where cover was the densest. When foul Macaire had slain her gallant escort He turned for her and looked in all directions, But vainly so, to his extreme displeasure And growing shame at where his lust had led him. He left the youth laid out upon the meadow Beside the fount, whose waters shimmered gently. He turned his steed to Charles’s court directly, And hoped his deed would never be detected. The Queen escaped, her face a mask of terror. Inside the wood she hid, with great lamenting. May God, Who tends the smallest flower, protect her! We’ll soon return to Blancheflor’s adventures, But first I have a wondrous fact to tell you.

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22. How Sir Aubri’s death was discovered YOUNG AUBRI LAY upon the meadow, dead. His palfrey grazed upon the grass, content, But by his side his hound had laid its head And stayed three days, to hunger’s calling deaf. No mortal man was ever born and bred Who greater grieved upon his master’s death Than did that dog for Aubri there and then. 259

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But when three days and nights had run their length Its hunger pangs at last grew so intense It couldn’t stay a moment more, and left. It headed straight for Paris, though, and kept Upon its road until its goal was met: At Charles’s hall it bounded up the steps. The hour it came was when the boards were spread With food for Charles and his assembled men. No sooner had the greyhound entered, when It looked around at every one of them. And when it saw Macaire was there, it went Straight up to where the villain sat content. At once it leapt upon the board and clenched Its jaws around Macaire’s enormous neck! It sank its teeth completely in his flesh. Then, with a howl, it seized his bread instead! When shouts rang out it turned about and went Directly back towards the track that led To where its lord was slain and lain in death. Macaire remained just where he was, and bled. Around him most were filled with wondrous dread, But there were some who’d watched the greyhound well And they began to ask among themselves If Aubri, he with whom King Charles had sent His wife away, had come back home again – The hound so looked like one of those he kept. At length Macaire went back to where he slept. A doctor came to dress his wound, and when This task was done Macaire addressed his men: “If in the least you love me, lords,” he said, “When I go back to Charles’s palace next, Take each in hand a cudgel to prevent That devil-dog from hounding me again, If it returns and shows the same intent!” His men replied: “Most willingly and well We’ll arm ourselves to do as you direct.” The dog, meanwhile, had trotted back and then, At Aubri’s side, it finished off the bread. Three further days it stayed and never left. Then, once again, when hunger drove it thence, It took the road that led to Paris, when It knew the boards would once again be spread. Macaire was there when in again it stepped, 260

The Song of Blancheflor His head and neck now swathed in bandages. He’d shown his face at table to prevent Suspicious talk about him from the rest. The greyhound looked, then once again it sped Without delay towards Macaire the wretch! His clan at once drew forth their weapons, bent On beating it as soundly as they’d pledged – But it was off! Across the boards it leapt! It snatched some bread, then with a bound it fled To Aubri’s side, devoured the bread and slept! The court was stunned, and wondered what it meant.

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23. How Naimon addressed Charlemagne DUKE NAIMON CALLED King Charlemagne aside: “Attend to me,” said he, “my noble Sire! I’ve never seen a wonder of this kind. If you will heed, I’ll give you this advice: Let all prepare, both citizens and knights, To follow it, when next this hound arrives, For it’s a sign whose meaning we must find!” “God will it so!” the Emperor replied. The dog indeed appeared another time: When hunger urged it left its master’s side And came to town the way I first described. It made for court, it sought the palace high, Then, stepping in, observed from left and right To see if it could find Macaire inside! His clansmen there again prepared to strike With club in hand, when good Naimon the wise Forbade their blows; with ringing voice he cried: “Don’t touch that dog – or you will lose your eyes!” Content or not, they let the dog retire, Then Charlemagne, with Duke Naimon alike, And Ogier the Dane, and other knights, Bestrode their steeds with every speed to ride Behind the hound and keep its goal in sight. They followed well, not wasting any time, Until a smell of rotting flesh beside The wood contrived to halt them in their stride: The dog bestrode the body of a knight! On seeing this, they drew back, horrified, 261

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Heroines of the French Epic Then searched the field for any further sign. They found a horse. And when they recognised Just whose it was, how heavily they sighed! 24. How Sir Aubri’s corpse was found

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WHEN CHARLEMAGNE began to search he sighted The palfrey horse that Aubri had been riding, And knew at once the hound was Aubri’s finest. With ringing voice the courtiers were crying: “Ah, noble King – what evil here is hiding?” The King at once called Naimon up beside him: “I beg of you, old counsellor, advise me!” The Duke replied: “Our sign has been deciphered. The dog itself has done its best to guide us: The man it bit in hatred is indicted! Arrest Macaire, without delay, Your Highness. He knows the truth and soon he shall confide it! But let us first bear Aubri’s corpse in silence To Saint-Denis and honour it most highly. Then justice must be sought and wrought entirely.” The King replied: “Your counsel is the wisest. I’ll nevermore contest your gallant guidance.” Macaire was seized, when this had been decided, And, with a word, to sturdy hands confided. But no one’s hand would touch the man who’d died there, Till fragrant reeds were found in which to bind him. As best they could they bore the corpse behind them To Saint-Denis and buried it most finely. What tears were shed by common folk and mighty, By youthful peers, young girls and matrons likewise! When all was done to bury Aubri rightly, The King returned, with Naimon close beside him, To Paris, where they heard the cry arising From everyone to start a full enquiry. Macaire was brought to Charlemagne in private, Who challenged him about the rumours flying: “I hear my Peers and everyone indict you For Aubri’s death, my young and gallant fighter. I see as proof his hound’s resolve to bite you! If this is so, where is my wife, confided To Aubri’s care in search of far asylum 262

The Song of Blancheflor From France and me, whose honour she had slighted?” Macaire replied: “Enough of this, Your Highness! The charge is false. I totally deny it. In deed or thought I never dealt so vilely. If any man accuses me of lying, My sword and I are ready to defy him!” The villain spoke with confidence, relying Upon his skill and on his clan’s reprisals. Duke Naimon saw and heard his power silence The courtiers, and heartily despised him. He said to Charles: “Release him now, Your Highness, Then take advice from knights you can rely on! The fiend deserves at least to face a trial! If out of fear you do not even try him, You don’t deserve a monarch’s crown or title.”

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25. How Charlemagne took counsel THE EMPEROR did not delay at all, But brought to court his barons and his lords, The best he had, a hundred knights and more. Inside his hall, beneath its soaring vaults, He gathered them – regret it or rejoice! “My lords,” he cried, “I won’t conceal my thoughts: A plot’s been laid by one who’s played me false. In shame it’s claimed my wife Queen Blancheflor, And Aubri’s life – which fills me with remorse. Advise me now, and never fear the force Of any man’s revenge for speaking forth.” But when his men had heard the case and cause, Be damned if one would even raise his voice: They all deferred before Macaire in court – So much they feared his power and support. 26. How Duke Naimon spoke DUKE NAIMON STOOD – the only one who did so: “My lord,” he said, “unlike the rest within here, I shall not keep my true opinion hidden. I know full well why none of them is willing To take the floor: they fear the wrath they’d kindle 263

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In Lord Macaire and his revengeful kindred: I’ll tell you what each one of them is thinking: ‘The Mayence clan’s a powerful and big one: In Germany their allies have no limit. No man alive in any Christian kingdom Would fight by choice with such a host of villains!’ But I believe injustice to be wicked, And stand prepared to give a firm opinion: None here or hence shall censure my commitment! Arrest Macaire, on treachery’s suspicion! Remove his furs and in his gown equip him With just a rod, three feet in length; and bring him Inside the lists set up before this building. Bring there Macaire, and then let loose within it Young Aubri’s hound that saw its master’s killing, And by its hate for Lord Macaire has striven, It seems to me, to indicate who did it! If Lord Macaire defeats the dog, acquit him. But if the hound defeats him or submits him, He should at once be recognised as guilty, And put to death like any wicked brigand.” When Charles’s men assembled there had listened To Naimon’s speech, they each approved its wisdom, And all agreed to back its imposition. He sought their word and no one failed to give it. The King himself was pleased with the decision, As were indeed the men Macaire had with him: They didn’t think, not even for a minute, That any hound could win against their kinsman. 27. How Macaire fought against the hound

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THE MEN MACAIRE had with him of his house Rejoiced to hear Duke Naimon’s words announced. They thought as one: they never had a doubt Their man would win against Sir Aubri’s hound. The Emperor, King Charlemagne, allowed No time to pass ere this was carried out. Before the keep, upon a square of ground, A palisade was raised upon a mound Of beaten earth, enclosing it all round. A ban was cried: if any man was found 264

The Song of Blancheflor Inside the lists, he would be hung, without The least reprieve, like any thieving lout. But all would watch – without a stir or sound. The King was keen to end the matter now. They seized Macaire and then they stripped him down Till he was dressed in just an under-gown. They placed a rod, three feet from base to crown, Within his hand, but that was all allowed For his defence, to parry with or pound. When this was done they led the villain out, And then the dog – whoever grins or growls! When both were in the judgement place the hound Beheld Macaire and charged him with a bound!

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28. How the hound charged Macaire WHEN AUBRI’S HOUND beheld Macaire ahead, It bared its teeth and bit him as it leapt! It sank its fangs well in the wicked wretch, Who raised his pole and in his turn commenced To flay the beast’s whole body, right and left. The hound held on, to tear and pare more flesh. The fight was like no other witnessed yet, And everyone who lived in Paris went At once to watch the judgement God would send. With one accord they roared aloud and said: “St Mary, lend the righteous one your help! Reveal the truth today of Aubri’s death. For Aubri’s sake, and ours, display your strength!” The fight was like no other seen of men, And fiercer far than any, now or then! When those Macaire had with him there beheld How close it was, they said: “We were misled! Are we to see a dog defeat our geste?” When this was said one clansman climbed the fence And would have run to help his kinsman, when The cry went up to place him in arrest And hang him high where he had dared to tread! On hearing this, he turned to flee instead!

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Heroines of the French Epic 29. How the duel claimed its first victim

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THE CLANSMAN FLED – in truth, he sped away! But when he did, King Charlemagne proclaimed That anyone who brought him back would gain A thousand pounds to pay him for his pains. When news of this was cried through every lane, A villager, who’d come to town that day To buy some shoes, was quick to stake his claim: He saw the rogue run right across a square, And with his staff of apple-wood he chased Straight after him and bailed him up, like hay! He packed him back, like that, to Charlemagne, And never earned a better harvest’s wage: The King himself approved the crop and paid A thousand pounds without the least delay. At Charles’s word the rogue was bound and haled Right back to where he’d made his life’s mistake: And there they strung and hung him straightaway, Then flung his corpse as fodder for the flames! His clansmen felt a sorrow mixed with hate, But didn’t dare to show it on their face. The duel went on, its cruelty too great For anyone to rightfully relate. It raged all day until the evening came, And then again upon the following day. 30. How the duel was done and won

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THE FIGHT WAS FIERCE– as fierce as it was long! No man alive saw enmity so strong! The greyhound leapt, its fangs securely locked Upon Macaire, who rained his heavy rod Upon its head that bled and battled on. The clan Maience lamented in its wrath: How willingly they would have brought a stop To what they saw with ransom-gold or -stock, But Charles, he swore by God and good St John, That all the gold they had, or ever was, Would never save Macaire, if there he lost, From death by fire or in the hangman’s knot, Whichever fate his barons might allot. 266

The Song of Blancheflor So, on they fought, in deadly combat locked. The hound attacked so fiercely and so long That in the end Macaire’e resistance dropped – His shoulders drooped, his strength of limb was gone. In vicious haste the greyhound leapt upon And bit his face so hard it carved right off The villain’s cheek and crunched the bone beyond. His jowl released a howl of pain aloft: “Where are you all, my clansmen fair and fond, When now I need your help against a dog?” The King replied: “I’ve sent your kinsmen off! You will regret you ever saw or wronged My wife, and left young Aubri’s corpse to rot!” The dog, meanwhile, increased the gain he’d got: With all its rage it lunged again and knocked Its foe to ground – so firmly did it lock Its noble jaws he couldn’t move a jot! At this, Macaire cried mercy there and sobbed: “Ah, noble King, almighty Emperor, Don’t let me die so awfully, by God! Bring forth a priest! Release me from this dog And I’ll confess to all my wicked plot.” The King rejoiced, on hearing this response, And summoned forth the worthy Abbot from Great Saint-Denis, who gladly came anon.

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31. How the Abbot spoke to Macaire THE EMPEROR did not delay or dither: From Saint-Denis he called the Abbot thither Who came anon, with rapid step and willing. Charles led him out between the line of pickets, Where Lord Macaire was still restrained so grimly He couldn’t move a muscle, toe or finger. His voice was low – so wounded he and winded – The Abbot knelt beside him there to listen And ascertain if it was his decision To tell the truth, at last, with naught omitted. “Beware, Macaire! The Queen herself has given The truth to me, when she besought forgiveness!” “The fault is mine,” the swine Macaire admitted: “Attend my sins and help me seek remission, 267

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For I know well my life on earth has finished – My wealthy clan, I know, can help me little.” “You speak the truth, at last, in my opinion,” The Abbot said: “You truly have been wicked. Yet I believe that if you show contrition And own to all, the King will show you pity, Because your rank is high within his kingdom, And I myself shall urge him not to kill you. But I insist that when you bear true witness To what’s occurred, the Monarch must be with us, Duke Naimon too, with other Peers and bishops. If they are not, you will not be forgiven, Nor shall this hound release you for a instant – For God has wrought His wondrous purpose with it, By letting it survive you and submit you! He willed it so to show beyond suspicion, Before the world, the truth of who was guilty!” Macaire replied: “I’ll gladly do your bidding.” The Abbot thus invited Charles to listen, Duke Naimon too, that paragon of wisdom, And many more, of high and low condition, As Lord Macaire prepared to own his mischief. Attend, my lords, the way the traitor did it – Alas, I say, that some are born so wicked! The Abbot said: “Begin at the beginning, And speak the truth, with nothing false or hidden, For I know all about this sorry business. Queen Blancheflor, before my lord dismissed her, Revealed to me your part from start to finish.” Macaire replied: “I shall not try to trick you. Call off this hound, I beg you, as a Christian!” The King replied: “It knows your sins committed, And will remain until their stain is lifted!” So Lord Macaire described in full, as bidden, The sorry path of treachery and killing His lust had laid, and he himself had ridden. 32. How Macaire made confession AND SO MACAIRE revealed his course of crime: How first he’d gone to see the Queen inside The budding grove, and then how he had tried 268

The Song of Blancheflor To woo her heart and speak of his desire – Which she had spurned, to his offended pride. And then he told how with his gold he’d hired The cunning dwarf, at first, to take his side In speech with Blancheflor, but then to hide Inside her room, then later on to climb Inside her bed, for so they had designed To ruin her and be revenged alike. How then he’d tossed the midget in the fire To stop their plot from coming hence to light. He then confessed that when he saw her ride Away from court with Aubri at her side, It angered him that he’d not seen her die, And so, well-armed and clad in iron to fight, He’d ridden forth in hot pursuit to find The Queen again and do what he desired. When Aubri’d tried to stop him he described How, with his sword, he’d taken Aubri’s life. He didn’t know, he said, what had transpired With Blancheflor, who’d fled when he arrived. “She wasn’t there to see or find,” he cried: “She ran inside a forest deep and wide, And I returned, not caring to abide: The deed I’d done weighed sorely on my mind. God damn my soul if it was otherwise.” “You’ve stung me so, I swear,” the King replied, “By what you’ve done to my beloved wife, That I shall wear no more this crown of mine, Nor eat or drink a thing again till I Have seen you pay your treason’s proper price! Naimon!” he cried, “This traitor has defiled My noble wife by his deceitful lies. He’s also slain a youth we all admired. Your wisdom’s truth shall be my only guide.” The duke replied: “Then this is my advice: First, drag the rogue through Paris, tied behind The biggest steed and fastest you can find. Then burn what’s left upon a raging fire! If any man of Mayence clan decries This judgement made, then let him share the plight!” Each person cried: “These words are good and wise.” The dog still gripped the villain’s throat so tight He couldn’t move a muscle, left or right. 269

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Heroines of the French Epic But when the King, for love of God on High, Besought the dog, in gentle tones and mild, To let him go, the dog at once complied. Like any man of understanding mind The dog obeyed and did as Charles required. Because the dog had done its task assigned, It let him go – and ere the priest retired, He shrove Macaire and prayed for him to Christ. 33. How Macaire was punished 1240

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ATTEND, MY LORDS, what Charlemagne did next, On the advice that Naimon’s wisdom lent. Macaire was seized immediately and then Was dragged behind a steed of nimble strength Around the town and through it east to west. On foot and horse, behind the courser, swept The Paris crowd, small children, youths and men, Who hurled abuse upon all sides and said, Each one of them: “This villain’s due for death! He planned the shame of Blancheflor and left Sir Aubri dead, who was indeed the best Young knight in town for honour and prowess!” They ragged him thus and dragged him all the length Of Paris, then upon the square again. And there they lit a mighty fire to spend What little wealth the villain’s health had left! His kinsmen there stood helpless to the end, And when that came, they buried what was left, Their hearts aglow with anger and distress. Now let us leave Macaire to burn in hell, Where sinners reap the evil seed they spread! Brave Charlemagne remained in Paris, vexed Most sorely for the fate his wife had met, And for the lad he’d loved so long and well – And for Macaire: his man, when all was said. But let us turn to Blancheflor’s distress. When she had seen the blow Macaire had dealt To Aubri, which had thrown the youngster dead, The Queen had fled inside the forest’s depths. What misery she’d had to suffer then – And she with child, a prince that Charles had bred. 270

The Song of Blancheflor But on she’d gone, and struggled every step, Till suddenly she saw a man ahead! 34. How Blancheflor met the woodsman Varocher SHE’D STRUGGLED ON, though every step was bitter, And she herself was filled with dreadful pity For Aubri’s sake, whose slaughter she had witnessed. She didn’t know the woeful fate inflicted Upon Macaire, the foul dissembling villain – For had she known, it would have raised her spirits. She fled so far she reached the woodland’s limit And, in a field of lofty grass, distinguished A woodsman, who was striding to her briskly. Upon his back he bore a stack of timber His axe had cut – for thus he earned a living To feed himself, his wife and two young children. He saw the Queen, and hailed her, striding thither: “My Lady fair, it is most injudicious To walk alone and keep no escort with you. Dear God! Aren’t you the Queen? Highness, forgive me! What brings you here? Have you been robbed or injured? Your Highness, speak, and I shall seek prescription!” “Good friend,” said she, “my pain’s beyond your physic! But, if you wish, I’ll tell you my affliction. I am the Queen, indeed, of Charles’s kingdom. But I have been a cursèd traitor’s victim, Accused by him in court of sin so wicked It’s riven me from Charles and driven hither! I beg of you, good woodsman, brave and willing, If you indeed could lend me such assistance As would ensure that I could safely visit My parents’ home, Constantinople city, If you did this, you’d be rewarded richly: The load you bear forever would be lifted!” Said Varocher, for so was named the villein: “For all my life my services I’ll give you! Now follow me, fair Queen, and I shall bring you Inside my hut, which lies ahead a little, And you shall meet my wife and sturdy striplings! We’ll go from there when I have told them whither.” The Queen replied: “I’ll do as you have bidden.” 271

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When this was said the pair of them continued Until they reached the hut and went within it. 35. How Varocher took leave of his wife

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SO VAROCHER returned to his own dwelling, Laid down his load, and bade the Queen to enter. “My love,” he said, “attend! Do not expect me Back home again until the month has ended.” His wife replied: “My lord, what journey beckons?” And he replied: “Wherever God directs me. I know no more of my return to tell you.” He seized his club, a mighty, spiky weapon – For he was strong, his body long and heavy, His forehead large, his lengthy hair dishevelled: You never saw, I’m sure, so strange a fellow – He seized his club, he took his leave, and left there, With Blancheflor the Queen in his protection. Through all of France she travelled, unmolested, Then through Provence, unrecognised by any, Then all the way through Lombardy the wealthy And on and on, from morning light to vespers, Until at last they reached the port of Venice And took a ship across the sea together. And all who saw big Varocher made merry – Behind his back – and mocked the burly peasant. They journeyed on, through mountain-pass and headland, Through border-posts, through valley-field and meadow, Until they came to Hungary and rested In lodgings of a well respected tenant, Whose wife alike was of the highest merit: She loved the poor and always sought to help them. Her daughters too were beautiful and gentle. The host himself was true of heart and temper: Named Primerain, this man was well respected By everyone, the greater and the lesser. But even he, to see Varocher enter, With shaggy hair and features fierce of mettle, A club in hand, as rough as it was ready, Began to think the man had lost his senses! And so he asked good Varocher to tell him His land of birth and present earth of dwelling! 272

The Song of Blancheflor Said Varocher: “My wife and I have ventured From far beyond your lofty mountains’ echo!” On hearing this, the host was well contented And bade his wife to spare herself no efforts With Blancheflor in any way whatever. His wife obeyed, with every skill and pleasure.

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36. How Blancheflor fared in the hostel HOW WELL THEY SERVED fair Blancheflor that day! Whatever thing she needed or she craved, With willing heart the hostess did or gave, And Blancheflor with grateful heart repaid. The hostess saw her swollen womb and waist, And knew at once the peril of her state. She pitied her and asked about the knave Who never once set down his wooden mace: Was he in health, or were his wits astray? The Queen replied: “He’s always been that way. Don’t challenge him or goad him into rage, For his is not an easy head to tame. But he’s my lord, and he has kept me safe.” The hostess said: “For that, may God be praised! We’ll serve him too, the very best we may.” So, more from fear than any friendship’s sake, They did their all for fearsome Varocher, Although they thought his senses were deranged! And then, upon the third night of their stay, The Queen gave birth to a most handsome babe. The hostess held the child aloft; she bathed Its body well and swathed it in a drape. Whatever thing the Queen required or bade The hostess did or gave to her that day. She served her with no less or more a grace Than if she’d been her sister born and raised. The Queen indeed was grateful for her aid, And Varocher’s, as up and down he paced, His mighty club clenched in his hand, in case Some kidnapper or thief should try to take The child away as booty or as bait! Its mother stayed in bed a week, as safe As other queens behind their city-gates! 273

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And when the end of her confinement came, The host approached as Blancheflor engaged His worthy wife in talk that mothers make. He said: “My dear, may I congratulate You on the birth of such a son and heir! When you decide on his baptismal date, I’d like to be godfather, if I may.” “Much thanks for this,” she answered straightaway: “In your good hands I know my son is safe. And you may choose, at will, your godson’s name.” “I’ve thought of that!” the host replied in haste: “When he’s baptised and at the font is laid With holy oil to foil the Devil’s claim, Then let him live and serve the Christian Faith With, if you will, my own name – Primerain!” 37. How Primerain took the baby to church

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FOR SEVEN DAYS the Queen remained confined. Then Primerain approached her and inquired If she would give the child to him a while To take to church so it could be baptised. Most graciously and gladly she complied. So in his arms he took the little child, And, wrapping it inside his coat, he plied His way to church, not wasting any time. No others went where he was bent, besides Good Varocher, who skipped along behind, Still brandishing his club at shoulder-height! But ere the pair arrived and went inside, The country’s king rode up before the shrine With many knights whose fealty he prized. He recognised old Primerain, and cried: “Such haste, my man? What precious bundle lies Beneath the cloak you’re clinging to so tight?” “A handsome child!” old Primerain replied, “New-born to one most lovely and refined Who’s lodging here with me and my good wife. I’m bound to church to name the child for Christ. Its father is that man who’s just arrived.” The barons laughed at what came into sight: A man who seemed a nothing in their eyes. 274

The Song of Blancheflor They each agreed: “He looks a vicious type! He has to be some criminal in flight!” When this was said, the king came closer by And raised the baby’s cloak, for he desired To see the child and satisfy his mind. And when he did, he saw a Cross’s sign Upon the baby’ shoulder, marked in white. He marvelled much to see the blessed sight And knew at once the child was nobly sired. “Proceed,” he said, “and have no fear, for I Shall go with you to see the child baptised.” “God’s will be done!” good Primerain replied: “So help me God, this fills me with delight!”

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38. How the Magyar king had the baby baptised AT THIS THE KING, with no desire to dawdle, Rode on to church as Primerain kept walking. The king arrived and called the abbot forward. He said: “My man, we bid you and exhort you, For love of us, who know that you are loyal, To give this child a baptism accorded To only those of lineage most royal, In whom the blood of mighty kingship courses. And when you sing the service due, perform it With lusty lungs, in all its pomp and glory!” The abbot said: “I will, Sire, I assure you!” At this the king dismounted from his warhorse, As every knight attending him did also, And went inside to swell the happy chorus! The abbot’s arms received the child, in order To bless its soul with holy oil and water. But when it came to naming it, he faltered. He asked aloud: “My lord, how shall I call him?” “As I am called!” the king responded warmly. The abbot said: “I will, Sire, I assure you!” Thus LOUIS was the name he was awarded. When this was done, the king was loath to loiter, And hailed the host beneath the church’s portals: “Good man,” he said, “I urge you and exhort you, Whatever care the infant’s mother calls for, Provide it well, in every part and portion.” 275

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And then he tossed a pocketful of coinage To Varocher, the father, as he thought him, So he would have the money to support them. No need to ask if Varocher was joyful At such a gift, when in his hand he caught it: He trotted off, his visage smiling broadly. When he returned, old Primerain reported To Blancheflor: “My lady, happy fortune Has blest your son! At baptism this morning Our king was there and his largesse accorded Your son the name that he himself was born with: The royal name of Louis is his forename, A peerless name, the fame of which is lauded! And to the man you say that he was born to, The monarch gave a purse of money also!” The Queen was thrilled and filled with great rejoicing. And now the host, his wife and lovely daughters Were keener still to help the Queen because of The wealth she’d gained and what it could afford her. And thus it stayed, for so did they, a fortnight, Until the king called Primerain before him, Who gladly came as soon as he was sought for. The king began: “Address your lovely boarder On my behalf! When you return inform her That I would like to see her and my godson.” The host replied: “I will do, I assure you.” He left the king, with no desire to loiter, And, coming back to Blancheflor, exhorted Her tenderly to dress and welcome shortly The king himself, her patron, who was calling To speak with her on something of importance! The Queen replied: “I would not disappoint him. I share his wish to have this meeting also.” So while the Queen dressed up in such adornment As best she found, bereft of her own wardrobe, The host, at once, to Louis’ joy, informed him That Blancheflor herself was looking forward To meeting him that very day and talking. On hearing this, the king was loath to loiter, And, by a few in retinue escorted, He hastened back with Primerain, on horseback. When Blancheflor beheld him on the forecourt She rose at once and bowed her head before him: 276

The Song of Blancheflor “Most welcome here,” she said, “my royal warden!” The king replied: “I welcome you, most warmly!” Then both retired, most courteously withdrawing Inside a room to find a quiet corner Upon a seat, where soon they were discoursing. “I was amazed by what I saw most surely Upon your son whom I baptised this morning. His shoulder bore a mark on it no mortal Except a prince of highest rank is born with. Because of this, fair lady, I implore you, As godparent to parent, where accordance Should always reign, and there should be no falsehood, For the love of God, who dwells above, inform me Where you are from, and what it is that’s forced you, With such a man, to cross our lofty border?” At this, the Queen, with teardrops gently falling, Began to tell a little of her story.

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39. How Blancheflor addressed the Magyar king THE QUEEN BEGAN to tell her tale a little: “My lord,” she said, “the truth should not be hidden From such as you, if you’ve an ear to listen. I am the wife of Charlemagne fierce-visaged, The best of kings this mortal world has in it. But he was tricked and I, a liar’s victim, Was meant for death, most wrongfully convicted, Then sent instead in exile from the kingdom. God knows the truth – that I was never guilty In deed or thought of any crime so wicked. But as the King had judged me so, they kindled A flaming fire to burn me as a sinner. An abbot came to hear my sins’ admission, And when I owned to those I had committed, He sought my lord and wrought my death’s remission. Charles took advice, and, heeding what was given, He told a knight to guide me to the limits Of lovely France, from which I was forbidden. But when we’d left the town a little distance, The very fiend whose treachery had tricked me Rode up again, well-armed but evil-driven! He charged the knight assigned to travel with me 277

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And slew him as he drove his weapon in him. I filled with dread to see the evil killer And fled away to hide among some thickets. This man you see attending me’s a villein I chanced to meet emerging from a spinney, Who, ever since, has lent me his assistance. He’s led me here, to such a noble kingdom That I am served respectfully and richly – And all of this is due to your good kingship! In Jesu’s name, because of this, I bid you To let me stay within your jurisdiction Until my fate is known in my own kingdom. My father thought he’d sent me to distinction: He’ll bring me back on learning that he didn’t! I’ve told you now the truth of my position.” The Magyar king was shocked by her admissions, But knew at once the truth had been unhidden: She was a Queen! The Empress of the Christians, Whose father ruled Constantinople city! He bowed to her, in courteous submission, And said: “Fair Queen! Your wishes are my bidding. You shall reside in chambers more befitting The honour you are due, and will be given, While messengers of mine convey a missive That will inform your father well and swiftly.” 40. How the Magyar king honoured Blancheflor

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THE MAGYAR KING was very wise and gallant: The wife of Charles was honoured there as grandly As she could wish and his resource imagined. He led her first away from town and tavern To buy her robes of many different fashions Befitting one of noble state and stature – Then did the same for Varocher her vassal! He led her then to lodge inside his palace, And asked his wife to serve as her companion. Whatever thing she craved he gave her gladly, And everything she sought was brought exactly! If you had seen good Varocher’s apparel, You’d not have thought him anything but handsome! When he himself beheld his dress, he swaggered 278

The Song of Blancheflor Among the rest and mingled with the barons! The Magyar king was neither loath nor laggard. Without delay he sent away a galley With four of his best men aboard to carry The Queen’s report across the Eastern channel. The Emperor deserved to know exactly How Blancheflor, his daughter fair and gallant, Had had to flee so wretchedly from Paris, Charged wrongfully of such outrageous actions That Charlemagne, her husband, in his anger Had cast her forth, from France and from their marriage. How she was now in Hungary, and anxious To know his will and how she should enact it. The envoys left and sped across the fathoms Without a halt until the galley anchored Inside the port that Constantine established. When this was done, they hastened down the gangway To find a lodge where they could leave their baggage. The Emperor, on hearing men had travelled From Hungary to see him on a matter Of urgent need, sent welcome to them gladly. He summoned them at once inside his palace, So he could hear exactly what had happened.

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41. How the envoys addressed Blancheflor’s father The Emperor bade welcome to the four, And straightaway besought them to report The tidings that had brought them to his shores. Without delay the envoys raised their voice: “You are to know, fine Emperor, my lord: A lying tongue at Charles’s court has forced Your daughter thence, the fair-faced Blancheflor. The charge was such it left her lord no choice: Though great with child, she had to leave his court, With just one knight to guide her and assure She safely left the realm of France and all Her husband’s lands, thence banned for evermore. But then, my lord, the liar who had brought Your daughter down, pursued her on his horse Until he slew her escort with his sword. Inside a wood she sped from his assault 279

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And fled as far as Hungary before She found a lodge and gave birth to a boy. Her host was kind and bore the infant forth To be baptised in church for Christ the Lord. But fortune sent our monarch there, who saw A cross of white the baby’s shoulder bore, And knew at once the child was nobly born. Because of this King Louis made quite sure The service took the highest royal form. He then addressed your daughter, who informed Him straightaway from start to end of all The injuries and wrongs that she had borne. On learning this, he led her forth and saw Her nobly dressed and taken to his hall. My lord, she is so honoured at our court That everything her will desires is brought. But now our king is keen to know your thoughts: What you intend he’s ready to support. Your daughter calls upon you and implores Your Highness not to leave her lost and lorn.” On hearing this, especially the call Of anguish from his daughter Blancheflor, The king was moved – as you would be, I’m sure. But first he asked the envoys to record His grateful thanks for all their king had wrought, And honoured them with very rich rewards. 42. How the Eastern Emperor summoned his men

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THE EMPEROR, on learning of the pain His daughter bore, so fair of hair and face, Was angered sore – as you would be, in faith! With every step he wept about her fate, But then he said: “Our answer shall not fail! I shall select ambassadors to sail Back home with you and bring her home again With honour that befits her high estate! King Charlemagne shall not escape my rage For having brought my daughter such disgrace.” When this was said the king made no delay, But summoned forth, from those he cherished, eight Who, to a man, were of his clan and race, 280

The Song of Blancheflor The best of men his royal geste contained. “My lords,” he said, “I bid you all make haste To bring my daughter home, alive and safe! Her husband Charles has sent her forth, in shame, Not just from France but all of his domains. May I lose mine and never rule again If I should fail to punish Charlemagne For banishing a worthy wife this way And setting her on such a shameful trail!”

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43. How Blancheflor was summoned home THE EMPEROR’S was not a heart for daunting – Though sadder then than anytime beforehand, To hear the fate of his exquisite daughter. He loved her so, with tender heart and loyal, His heart was low – as I am sure would yours be! But, calling eight of his best kinsmen forward, He bade them sail to bring her home escorted. Those messengers, the four who’d crossed the waters To speak with him at royal Louis’ orders, He honoured much with noble clothes and horses: He gave to each a stately, Eastern palfrey. The Magyar king would also be rewarded: He promised him fine gold and silver also, And choice of lands within his lengthy borders. Beside the eight their potentate appointed, The Magyars left, with happy hearts and joyful. They sailed the sea to Hungary, where shortly They disembarked and hastily rode forward. On seeing them, the king embraced the former And honoured them with tokens rich and royal. They answered him by thanking him most warmly For all he’d done to help their monarch’s daughter. No words of mine could honour as they ought to The welcome that those envoys were accorded By him, and Blancheflor, who when she saw them, With laughing face came running up towards them. She knew them all, as kinsmen and as courtiers, And asked at once about her father’s fortunes, Her mother’s too, for truly she adored them. They said at once: “They grieve at your misfortune, 281

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Heroines of the French Epic And say, through us, that they will soon restore it! So, with your child, come home with us and join them!” “Most willingly,” said Blancheflor, rejoicing. 44. How Blancheflor left the Magyar king

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THE MAGYAR KING was chivalrous and wise. The messengers, as soon as they arrived, Were welcomed like his closest kin and kind, While Blancheflor, to celebrate the time, Received a robe of sendal silk design, As did indeed the woodsman by her side, Determined still to guard her with his life! Then, when the time arrived to say goodbye, The king ensured their ship was well supplied With everything they needed or desired To eat and drink – good meat and bread and wine. To honour her the Magyar king assigned An escort too, composed of four brave knights From his own court, most splendidly attired, Who joined the ship at its departure time. Queen Blancheflor, with courtesy of mind, Besought the king and Magyar queen alike To grant her leave upon the heaving tide. She also hailed good Primerain and plied Her host with wealth, and presents for his wife, Then told them both of her sincere desire: To take with her which daughter they should like And make of her a happy, wealthy bride, By finding her a husband to be prized. With this agreed, fair Blancheflor, beside Good Varocher, departed from their sight. Let us, in turn, depart from them a while, And tell again of Charles, the fierce of eye, And Naimon too, of wisdom true and bright. 45. How Charlemagne had informed Blancheflor’s father KING CHARLEMAGNE, upon that fateful morn He’d found his wife in bed beside the dwarf, Had stayed his hand, at worthy Naimon’s call, 282

The Song of Blancheflor From punishing in full fair Blancheflor Till messengers could tell her father all About the crime his daughter there had wrought: How she had held her husband’s name at naught, And shamed her own by acting like a whore. Her father’s shame would surely not be small! So, at that time, he’d called an envoy forth, A count of France, to carry this report – Bérart of Montdidier this knight was called – The King had said: “Bérart, you must abroad On my behalf! I want you to inform Constantinople’s king, the Emperor, That I have caught his daughter, like a whore, In bed, not with a prince or duke what’s more, But, to my shame, with a misshapen dwarf! My vengeance won’t be little, rest assured! I cannot let her conduct be ignored, Nor can my knights endure the country’s scorn!” Bérart replied: “I’ll tell him all, my lord, When I arrive, God willing, at his court.” On saying this, he’d hastened to the port, Then boarded ship to reach the Eastern shores. Arriving there, he’d found the king installed Beside his wife, with noble lords galore Assembled there to keep a festival. And this, my friends, was what he’d told them all:

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46. How Charles’s envoy had spoken in Constantinople “FINE EMPEROR, my lord, I bid you listen! King Charlemagne, the best of Monarchs living In Christendom and any other kingdom, Has given me this message to deliver To both of you –although I’m loath to give it – For, hearing it will anger and afflict you. Before I do, I must assure you quickly That none before who wore a crown has witnessed More honour than your daughter has been given By Charlemagne, so valiant of visage. But she has made to him the poor remittance Of cuckoldry, by sleeping with a midget – Adultery to which the king was witness. 283

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Because of this I’m sent upon this mission, Lest you should be amazed to learn, unwitting, That judgement has been passed on her as fitting.” On hearing this, the Eastern king was stricken With disbelief at such a proposition. But she who’d raised so tenderly and strictly The child herself, and knew her daughter’s spirit, The queen, I mean, addressed the envoy swiftly: “The charge is mad, and madder those who bring it! Good messenger, a mother knows her issue, And what you say can’t even be considered. For all God’s gold there is no way my infant Would ever think, or let herself be driven, To wrong her lord or do a thing so sinful. It’s she who’s wronged, if he has found her guilty, And that’s the truth – my daughter is the victim! No Christian land has wife more loyal in it! To think her not, the King is wrong, and wicked!” The king spoke up: “I’m so enraged in spirit That Charlemagne could entertain suspicion Against my child for this, and with a midget, I tell you now, my anger strains its limits! When you return to Charlemagne I bid you To tell your lord from me and all my kingdom: That he must shield my girl from further insult Or injury connected to this business. If he can prove one wrong she has committed, Then have him send her back to me this instant, So I may hear the sin and she admit it. And if she does, she’ll wish her life were finished! But speak no more about my daughter sinning. Her virtue is, to me, above suspicion, And any charge against her is the vicious, Malicious lie of a most wicked villain! That’s my response: do not forget to give it!” 47. How the Emperor of Constantinople had responded “GOOD MESSENGER, do not forget your task! On my behalf inform the King of France That I’ve no doubt my daughter’s wrongly charged. I urge him, thus, to halt his judgment’s cast 284

The Song of Blancheflor And send her here to tell me what has passed. If he is right, and she’s dishonoured Charles, I’ll punish her as such a crime demands. But tell your King from me, in equal part: If she is harmed before I’ve had the chance To learn the truth from her own honest heart, My honour’s hurt will never lose its smart. And I shall wield the strength at my command In swift revenge on my and her behalf!” “The King of France is wise,” replied Bérart. “He will not set his course on folly’s path. I’ll leave at once to tell him what you ask.”

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48. How Charlemagne had answered the Emperor’s request BERART HAD SAID: “Fine monarch, I assure you That every word you’ve said shall be reported.” And then he’d left, when leave had been accorded. But long before he’d reached his native border, He’d heard the news about Macaire and Aubri, The evil lord and noble lad he’d slaughtered, And, hearing it had made him very thoughtful. But on he’d gone, returning ever northward To Paris, where he’d found himself some quarters. Then straightaway, without a moment pausing, He’d gone to court with the request and caution The Emperor had made in his rejoinder. He’d said to Charles the moment that he saw him: “My lord, I’ve seen the Eastern king, as ordered, And with your words addressed him and his courtiers. And every word I said to him that morning, His wife heard too, for she was present also. The king was stunned to hear the news I brought them, And naught I said in any way could alter His firm belief that Blancheflor was faultless. He cautions you to not prejudge his daughter But send her home for him to see and talk to, So from her lips themselves he hears the story. He’ll know, he says, if she has acted falsely, And if she has, he gives you an assurance His punishment will be direct and awful: ‘The world’ he said, ‘will shudder at her torment.’ 285

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But if he thinks your charge is false, he warns you Against the wrong of punishing her falsely Upon the word of an ill-willed informer.” Imagine, lords, King Charlemagne’s annoyance! He looked at once to Naimon and implored him: “My noble lord, how mighty a misfortune That wretched rogue, the fiend Macaire, has wrought us! He laid this trap my wife and I are caught in! Advise me now, my best and wisest stalwart: What can I tell the Emperor to stall him, Or let him know what’s happened to his daughter?” The duke had said: “The truth, Sire, as you ought to: He must be told of everything you’re sure of: That you had sent your wife from court, escorted By Aubri, both a gallant knight and courtly. But Lord Macaire, an evil-scheming fraudster, Rode after them, against your strictest orders, And slew the knight with his malicious sword-blade. You do not know her whereabouts thenceforward, Because Macaire, before his life was shortened, Could not say where he’d left the Queen your daughter – For she had fled through foreign woods and water.” The King had then approved this speech , exhorting That not a word be left unsaid or altered. 49. How Naimon had comforted Charles

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THE DUKE HAD SAID – no weakling he of spirit – “My royal lord, be confident, and listen! It would have been a terrible decision If Blancheflor had wrongly been convicted And slain because Macaire had falsely witnessed: There never was a serpent-tongue more stinging– May God, Who made old Adam, curse the villain! But you are King, above all monarchs living In any realm outside the Holy City. So tell this king, who also is your kinsman, That you’ve no news of Blancheflor to give him Since she set forth from your demesne as bidden, Except the deaths of Aubri and his killer, Who has been found and to the flames committed, Against the will of all his kith and kindred.” 286

The Song of Blancheflor And Charles had said: “No man of greater wisdom Than yours abides outside the Holy City! Whoever minds the counsel that you give him Will always find a shield against affliction! Of all the wise you are the wisest living! In you the Church would have a fine Archbishop To point the way to any straying Christian!”

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50. How Naimon had continued speaking “MY NOBLE LORD,” Duke Naimon then had said: “A judgement can be made with good intent By anyone, but prove to be misled: A judgement which the judge might first expect To win him praise can earn him blame instead. Fair Blancheflor has proved to be the best And wisest soul that’s dwelt in human flesh Since Solomon the ancient king – and yet She was misjudged through one man’s wickedness. Who would have thought that Lord Macaire back then, A man you helped and treated as a friend, Would plot and plan such treasonable steps, And Aubri’s death, without a cause except His lust to have fair Blancheflor himself? We do not know, in truth, which way she went, Or, since she left, what fate she may have met. But in my heart I feel and I suspect That we shall see her safe and sound again. If you would like, let’s wait until we get Some news of her – alive and well, or dead – Before we meet the Eastern king’s request.” And Charles had said: “I’ll do as you suggest.” 51. How Naimon had finished speaking “MY NOBLE LORD,” the duke had said again: “An added thought occurs to me, in faith, Which, if pursued, would suit the present case. You could send forth an envoy straightaway To tell this king the honest part you’ve played And mean to still, although you’ve been betrayed. 287

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He cannot blame the judgement that you made To send your wife, fair Blancheflor away. But tell him that you’ve made her Judas pay, The knave Macaire, whose treachery’s to blame For all of this, her exile and her fate. You have no means to help this king reclaim His daughter, as you don’t know what became Of Blancheflor since fleeing from the knave. And if this king seeks reparation, say That you’re prepared to pay him, for her sake, In gold or coin or any riches’ rate.” “This plan I like,” the King had said that day, And asked which man should go for them again. The duke had said: “You should assign the same As went before, Bérart of Montdidier.” So once again, when called by Charlemagne, Bérart had come and willingly obeyed The order made: “Once more I bid you sail To see the king of Constantine’s domain! This time there’s more that I would have you say: Although I still don’t know his daughter’s fate, I’ve slain the fiend whose witness wronged her name: His bones are ash, his ashes blown away. So bid this king to pardon my mistake And let me make amends as best I may: In gold or coin, or any riches’ rate.” Bérart had said: “These words I’ll gladly take! Pray give me leave to sail without delay.” And Charles replied: “Most gladly, straightaway!” And so Bérart, as soon as he had made Himself prepared for all the trip entailed, Had sailed again for Constantine’s domain. But this time, ere he’d breached the Eastern waves, Queen Blancheflor had reached there, having sailed From Hungary, and told them all her tale: How Charles the King had sent her from his gates, With just one knight to guard her on her way, And how Macaire, in his malicious hate, Had wrought her fall and brought the King disgrace. She also told of Aubri’s wretched fate – Cut down, unarmed, by Lord Macaire’s own blade – And how she’d fled through woodlands to evade His wicked lust; and how, with Varocher 288

The Song of Blancheflor As guard and guide, she’d reached the Magyar state. How there a host, his wife and daughters twain Had sheltered her, and shown to her such grace. How finally the Magyar king, whose praise They all should sing, had given her his aid, Had honoured her so nobly he’d arranged For her new-born to be baptised and saved. If you had seen the queen and her embrace! Bérart did not – but soon thereafter came. Before he’d stepped inside the town that day A guard had sped to tell the king his name. And when he knew, the Eastern king forbade All mention of his rescued daughter’s name. He did not want Bérart to know, or take, A single word of Blancheflor’s escape.

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52. How Bérart’s second embassy was received SIR BERART STEPPED inside the city’s streets And took a room inside a hostelry. Not wasting time, he hastened forth to greet The Eastern king inside his hall and speak This second word from Charlemagne the fierce. On hearing it, the king’s response was bleak: “Your message, friend, offends me much indeed. Return at once to Charlemagne your liege With this reply for him to hear and heed: My Blancheflor was his to love and keep. If neither suits, then send her back to me! How could he think, or, thinking it, believe That he could swap my daughter with such ease, For all the gold in Christendom’s demesne? He drives her out of all his lands and fiefs, Exposed to death, the prey of savage beasts, And now he looks to me for sympathy? How could he make the least indemnity For Blancheflor with any gold or fee? That’s why I say to you: re-cross the sea, And when you’re back again, in France the sweet, Tell Charlemagne and all his famous Peers, I challenge him with this, my firm decree: Unless he sends my daughter to us here, 289

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We’ll come to him, in force, within twelve weeks!” On hearing this, Bérart was most aggrieved, And, sad at heart, turned round again to leave. The Eastern court said nothing to reveal Her presence there – to Blancheflor’s relief. The envoy sailed, his face a mask of grief, And reaching France and Paris, ran to see The King, who sat with Naimon, at his ease, To hear the news expected from the East. On hearing it, the pair was shocked indeed. Said Naimon first: “We’ve blundered here, I fear! The Eastern king’s a man of mighty means, With many knights who owe him fealty, And gallant kin to help him in his need. It was in truth an ill-conceived idea To send away his daughter with such speed. We neither know, in truth, where she can be, Nor if she’s safe, or even lives and breathes. If war ensues, we’ll feel his anger’s heat: He’ll burn to ground our cities and our keeps; His blazing grief will raze our lovely fields!” The King replied: “God save us, all and each!” 53. How Naimon spoke on

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“FINE EMPEROR,” the noble duke repeated, “It was in truth an ill-conceived idea To send away so innocent a creature As Blancheflor! You always were too eager To give the clan of Ganelon a hearing, Who in the past have many times deceived you. If you’re attacked, we’ll all defend you fiercely – Though you’re at fault and he is not, believe me. God save us all, Who bore the Cross’s treason. There is no more that I can say with reason.” 54. How the Eastern king was advised LET’S LEAVE AGAIN King Charlemagne’s dilemma In land of France with Naimon and their envoy, And see the king whose Eastern lands extended 290

The Song of Blancheflor From Constantine’s own town in all directions. His daughter’s fate had stirred his angry temper To self-contempt unless it could avenge her. Each time she spoke about her misadventures His anger rose and almost froze his senses! At last he called his men of liege together And said: “My lords, attend the scorn reflected Upon us all by Charlemagne the Frenchman, Through Blancheflor my daughter, whom he wedded. Accusing her most falsely of transgression, He’s thrown her out, as though she were a felon! Without revenge my honour’s flame will perish! Advise me, lords, upon my course of vengeance.” One Florimont was first with his suggestion, A knight of sense and eloquent of sentence, Whose ringing voice bespoke a man of credit: “True Emperor, we must display our mettle! Your kingdom’s large, its regions vast and many, Its fighting men of great renown and merit. You’ve knights galore and infantry a-plenty, And every right to ask King Charles directly To send you back, with no excuse attempted, Your daughter Blancheflor whom he’s rejected. If he does not, then we shall set his penance!” The king replied: “God guide us all and bless us!”

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55. How the Eastern king was advised further ANOTHER KNIGHT stood up to have his say. His fame was high – and Saladin his name. His voice was clear, his manner bold and brave: “Lord Emperor, your knights, in love and faith, Should counsel you with wisdom, unafraid Of any threat, however fiercely made, Or obstacle that’s mounted in their way. I say that you should send away again, Through someone here who’s clever with a phrase, Your ultimate request to Charlemagne: He must return your daughter straightaway. If he cannot, he certainly must pay – To make amends, until such time he may – Her weight in gold, and only then in grains 291

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Of purest gold, and only then the praised And finest sort, from Aragon in Spain! Should he refuse, then make it very plain That your revenge will charge a higher rate! Inform him so, then gather, while you wait, A force of men some fifty thousand great.” The king replied: “Your plan I will obey. But who will bear its brunt to Charlemagne?” “Send Florimont,” he answered straightaway, “But send with him Gerart and Renier, And Godfrey, who is bold and fierce the same.” The king replied: “No better four remain. Prepare them all, and do it straightaway. I’ve no desire for any more delays!” And so, all four were readied and arrayed As suited men of such a potentate, Then started out upon their lengthy way. They didn’t stop until at last they came To France itself and found a place to stay In Paris, where King Charlemagne remained, With Naimon and the noble Garnier, Duke Anseïs and Ogier the Dane, And many more of well attested fame. They found themselves good lodgings, as I say, And after rest from journey’s stress and strain They made their way to Charles’s hall of state. 56. How the Eastern envoys greeted Charlemagne

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INSIDE THEIR LODGE the envoys rested briefly, Then made their way to Charles’s hall to see him. They found the King in angry mood and grieving For Blancheflor, whom he had cherished dearly And lost when she was wrongly charged with treason. The envoys, though, were not afraid, and, reaching His royal throne, beheld his fearsome features, But greeted him in manner fair and fearless: “Almighty God save Charlemagne and keep him From hurt or harm, together with his people!” King Charles replied: “We welcome you, sincerely! But tell me, lords, on whose behalf you greet me.” The envoys said: “Of your good friend in Jesus, 292

The Song of Blancheflor The Emperor whose power holds in seizin Constantinople’s wealth and the adherence Of many men, both common born and regal.” The King replied: “I’m very glad to see you.” 57. How the Eastern envoys spoke their monarch’s challenge THE ENVOYS SAID: “Lord Emperor most fine, Our Emperor, through us, bids and requires That you return his daughter, whom erstwhile He gave to you to be your royal bride. He asks you this with loving heart and mind, But adds that if you still cannot comply, Then estimate his daughter’s weight and buy Her forfeiture with gold that weighs alike – The finest gold, moreover, from the mines Of Aragon, the purest you can find.” “But neither can be done!” the King replied. “I neither know where Blancheflor resides, Nor how he thinks that I can soon acquire The sum and sort of gold that he desires.” The envoys said: “If that’s your answer, Sire, Then be prepared to pay the price in lives – For you have stung our Eastern monarch’s pride By what you’ve done, and we are authorised To say from him that war is now the price!” King Charles replied: “Let Heaven’s King decide! I have the right to bargain, and the might!” At this exchange Duke Naimon stood and cried: “Good messengers, I will not lie or hide The fact I think your king is wrong this time! The moment that a man has wed his wife, Her parents have no hold upon her life. And he who’s wed this woman in God’s sight, Can deal with her however he desires. While she’s alive, he is her guard and guide – Unless she breaks the vows she’s said and signed, For which, indeed, her death is justified. So tell your king that this is my advice: Let him no more demand to see his child: Alive or dead, he doesn’t have the right! Nor should he dare to think we should supply 293

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Heroines of the French Epic Her forfeiture with fees of any kind! If he comes here to fight with Charles, he’ll find A wealth indeed – of good and gallant knights Without a peer beneath the lofty skies For striking well and winning fields of fight.” 58. How the Eastern envoys departed 2170

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THE MESSENGERS were firm but finely mannered: They listened well to Charlemagne, whose anger And iron will were equally apparent – And Naimon’s too, whose eloquence was matching: No wealth of gold would be exchanged or gathered, No wife returned, since nobody in Paris Knew where she was: alive or dead, she’d vanished! The envoys left, but not before the challenge Their king had made was said again exactly. But Charles replied: “And I return the challenge, Though I regret, and so will he, his action. I know your lord: he’s good and full of valour, And I’ll be sad if it should come to battle: Although I see that this time that will happen.” The envoys said: “May Jesus mend this matter!” They sought their leave and, gaining it, they tackled Their journey home, with no desire to tarry. They climbed the hills, they clambered down the valleys, And had their fill of woes that come with travel. Back home again, as soon as they had anchored, They sought their king and found him in his palace, Together with one hundred of his barons, Both brave and wise, in one assembly gathered. 59. How his envoys reported back to the Eastern king THE MESSENGERS were men of hardy ilk: Through hill and vale they journeyed on until They reached their town that Constantine had built, And found their king with all his baronage. His heart was glad – because he had and hid His daughter there, alive and well with him! If mighty Charles the King had known of this, 294

The Song of Blancheflor He would himself have breathed a sigh of bliss: He loved her more than any living thing. The envoys said: “Fine Emperor and king: We’ve spoken with King Charlemagne and with His counsellor Duke Naimon, who of wit Must truly be the wisest man there is! The King refused to send the gold you wish. He didn’t fear your threat of war one bit, And met your charge, at once, by saying this: ‘My land is filled with heroes to the brim! With them in hand I’m not in fear of his!’ On hearing this, the Eastern monarch quipped: “Before too long, if God will let me live, King Charles will know without a doubt, I think, Which hand of ours may claim the stronger grip!”

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60. How the Eastern king assembled his forces THE EASTERN KING, on hearing from his envoys The fierce response that Charlemagne had sent him, Was most dismayed, but not afraid whatever. Advised at once by all of those attending, He called to arms the forces of his empire. No fortresses or cities were exempted From sending forth their full amount of levies. Within a month already he’d assembled Some sixty thousand men, well-armed and ready. If all advanced on Charlemagne, God help him!

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61. How the Eastern king prepared for war THE EASTERN KING, with no delaying, sent His call to arms across his mighty realm. No fortresses or cities were exempt From sending forth their levied complement. In helms of green, his liegemen, kin and friends Surrounded him – some sixty thousand men, With palfreys and swift-running destriers. The king did more: fair Blancheflor was dressed At his decree to look her regal best, As was indeed her little son as well. 295

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With all astir, good Varocher himself Could not for long contain his wish to help, And made himself a weapon there and then That filled his heart, and hand, with great content: A mighty club, all gnarled from end to end, A pounding pole of fearsome weight and length He carried hence no matter where he went! The Eastern king arranged his ranks and left For lovely France with anger in his breast. God help the French and Charlemagne, who yet Was caught inside the trap Macaire had set! 62. How the Eastern king advanced on Paris

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THE KING WHO HELD Constantinople’s shore And every shire, advanced his army north. He took with him his daughter Blancheflor, Together with her handsome little boy And Varocher who, no way overawed By any there, was many’s peer and more! The army rode, and, zealous in their cause, Arrived in France before they called a halt Upon the fields outside the city walls Of Paris, and erected tents galore. On seeing this, King Charles the Emperor Wept bitterly from dusk to early dawn. He summoned then the duke his counsellor: “Naimon,” he sighed, “my heart is sad and sore To see myself embroiled in such a war! Alas my eyes e’er saw you, Blancheflor! Ah, Lord Macaire, so fawning and so false, Alas the day I welcomed you to court! You paid me back with treachery and scorn That reft from me a wife, her honour shorn, And Aubri’s life, so wrongfully cut short!” Duke Naimon cried: “You sound surprised, my lord, And yet you knew how many times before The clan Mayence had robbed and cheated yours, And brought your plans and many a man’s to naught! May God above rain curses on them all!”

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The Song of Blancheflor 63. How Naimon spoke out DUKE NAIMON SPOKE, without the slightest smile: “True Emperor,” he cried, “are you surprised? The clan Mayence and those to them allied Have put us in so deep a hole this time I do not know, in truth, what to advise! We tripped ourselves and now we’re trapped inside A pit so deep my wits can’t see the light! We’re caught in here, surrounded by such knights Who should befriend and help us out, by rights, Yet sit around to watch us starve and die! And if we don’t, they’ll give us such a fight As France before has never had to bide. May God above and blessed Mary shine Their wisdom’s light, for I have failed with mine! When I recall that all my geste alike Were brought to naught by treachery and lies, My anger’s such it drives my reason blind! So help me God, a man in such a mind Should not be asked to offer counsel, Sire!”

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64. How Naimon continued to speak out THE DUKE SPOKE ON, his face a mask of anguish: “Lord Emperor, nor I or any baron Can see a way out of this sombre matter. When I recall how justice was miscarried With Blancheflor, his daughter, in this palace, How much she bore in sore alarm and sadness, I’m not surprised her father is so angry He’ll not relent or take a penny’s ransom. No better route remains for us to travel Than out of here, prepared as best we can do To save our lives upon the field of battle. I’d rather strive in sunlight than in shadows!” Said Charlemagne: “I’m with you there, good vassal!” On saying this, he called to arms his barons, And knights galore bestrode their horses’ saddles, As he bestowed the Oriflamme, his standard, On Ysoré, and Ogier and Fagon, And Beliant of Besançon, his captains. 297

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Heroines of the French Epic He ordered these to carry forth his banner And fly it high before the Eastern magnate. 65. How Charlemagne armed his men 2310

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THE KING HIMSELF had no desire to wait. He set his ranks and armed them straightaway – Some thirty thousand men on destriers – And gave his flag, the famous Oriflamme, To Isoré, Naimon and Ogier. The bars were raised to open up the gates, And then they left, whoever wept or wailed. On learning this, the king beneath whose sway The Eastern See and all its cities lay, Bade all his knights to saddle up the same: Ten thousand more he had than Charlemagne! You’d like to know, I’m sure, of Varocher: Well, he was not too badly off, I’d say. He had no mount, no mare or destrier, But followed in the infantry’s brigade, His mighty club held closely all the way. And as he looked upon the hosts arrayed, He thought at once about his home again – About his wife and children left that day He’d found the queen inside a woodland-glade, Then risked his life to guide and keep her safe. Though, if you’d seen his swinging pole upraised, He would have seemed more Satan-like than saint! He didn’t ride, in front, beside the great, But strode behind with all the squires, and made Himself their lord and warden well-obeyed! As such, he did one wondrous thing that day: He knew the tracks and how to find his way Both back to town and all around the plain Where Charles’s knights of greatest might were placed. And so, at dawn, when morning still was grey, In squire’s disguise he swiftly slipped his way Inside the camp where Charles himself was lain, Right up to where their richest tents were placed, And where he knew the finest horses grazed. Upon the best he slipped a leading-rein And led it off, whoever wept or wailed! 298

The Song of Blancheflor And then, when back among his rank again, He cried aloud: “Mountjoy, young knights and brave!” With ringing voice he roused them all awake: “You slugabeds! Come rise and shine today! For I’ve just been to Charles’s camp and claimed For my delight his finest destrier! Now Charles himself won’t have the choice you may!” On hearing this, the squires were most amazed Until they rose and saw the plunder gained! If you had seen those youngsters rise and race To seize their arms and steal a horse that they Could spur against the ranks of Charlemagne! So when the King prepared himself that day, Not only his but every destrier Of highest worth had gone without a trace! Duke Naimon spoke, to vent his own dismay: “So many times I’ve told you, Charlemagne: The clan Mayence has brought you naught but pain! The only clan we trusted well, in faith, Was that of him whom now you stand against! He wants the Queen his daughter fair of face, So you must strive to give him what he craves– If not, the price that France will have to pay Will be so high we’ll die before it’s raised!” The King replied: “What measures can we take So peace and love may be restored again?” Duke Naimon said: “Our peril is so grave I do not know, in truth, what will avail.”

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66. How the battle started KING CHARLEMAGNE was filled with bitter anguish: His face a mask of wild regret and anger, He dressed himself and armed himself for battle, As Naimon did and all the Frankish vassals Among the ranks that both of them had gathered. And those who fought beneath the Eastern banner Bestrode alike their rested steeds and rapid. The fight began amidst a mighty clamour Of gallant knights defending and attacking With cutting swords or lances that they brandished. 299

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The Eastern knights were nothing loath or lacking, And Charles himself showed unremitting valour, Duke Naimon too and Ogier the gallant. Amid the press an Eastern baron galloped, A daring knight of great prowess and stature, A nephew, and the most beloved clansman Of him who ruled Constantinople’s allods, And of the Queen, whose tender heart he gladdened. Well-known to all as noble Floriādas, The Eastern realm contained no finer baron. He joined the fray, in angry mood and manner, To strike a Frank so viciously he battered His shield apart and tore his mail to tatters. He thrust his spear from midriff through to backbone And flung him dead, to Charles’s bitter sadness, Who’d loved the man, as clansman and companion. 67. How the battle raged

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THE EASTERN KNIGHT was full of fierce prowess: A mighty man, of rampant ruthlessness, Adept at war and every art of death. On bringing down the knight from Blois, he yelled To all his clan: “What are you doing, men? Come, join me in fair Blancheflor’s revenge, Whom Charlemagne defamed with such contempt!” And so they did, at his abrupt behest. How fierce a din you would have heard, my friends, If you had been between those forces then! And you’d have seen enormous blows that reft So many knights of helmets and of heads! Alas the day that Charlemagne’s largesse Gave welcome to that false, benighted geste The clan Mayence, and all it ever bred, Who brought him naught but sorrow and regret! Thank God the Lord they gathered in the end The crop of shame their evil seed had spread: The best of them endured the worst of deaths! The first of them was Ganelon, the wretch Who sold the lives of twenty thousand men At Roncevaux, the day that Roland fell With Peers Twelve to overwhelming strength. 300

The Song of Blancheflor But now Macaire had done his share so well That Christendom was fighting with itself – And nobody in all the world could help! 68. How Ogier the Dane met Floriādas in battle THE FIGHT WAS HUGE, the fighting full of spite. If you had seen that vast array of knights Who’d boldly left their Eastern realm behind And come to fight for what they thought was right, By striking blows with swinging blades of iron! The man they struck had little need, or time, To beg for his or for his horse’s life! If you had seen young Floriādas fly To meet head-on with Ogier, the fine And gallant Dane who never shunned a fight. When both arrived such fierce intent combined It shattered shields and battered hauberks white, Though both were strong and neither’s mail was sliced. With lances snapped, they passed each other by On speedy steeds that never halted stride. As angry then as savage boars they plied Both rein and spur to meet again and strike. With brandished swords, whose hilts were gold-incised, They bartered blows of such enormous might Upon their helms that sparks began to fly – But not, thank God, the heads that lay inside! The shields of both, in quartered fields designed, Were struck to ground and shattered through the splice In such a duel between two Christian knights As none could tell or well enough describe! Without a doubt one surely would have died, If Charlemagne the brave had not arrived To help his man, with Duke Naimon the wise, And then a band of gallant Eastern knights, Who rushed to save young Floriādent’s life. Both parties dragged their champions aside. The battle’s heat, around them, grew so high That no one’s skill could tell how high it climbed! Fair Blancheflor, the Queen so bright of eye, Was in a lodge, where, at her father’s side, She wept and wailed in great distress of mind. 301

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As she beheld so many barons die Whom she had known and ruled as Charles’s wife, She turned her head and with a heavy sigh She said: “My lord, how terrible a price Your men exact from many guiltless knights Who were my friends and still are friends of mine!” “It can’t be helped!” the Eastern king replied: “I must avenge the shame our name abides From him to whom I gave you as a bride. So, do not grieve for what must be, my child. For Charlemagne to shame you so and drive You out of France, your dower-land by right, Is an offence that no expense can buy!” 69. How the Eastern King spoke to his daughter

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“I CAN’T FORGET,” the Eastern king continued, “That Charlemagne so shamed you, you were driven Away from France to live a chance existence, Not like a queen, but some discarded mistress! That’s an offence that no expense can limit!” Said Blancheflor: “But nonetheless, consider That Charlemagne still thinks that I am missing. He doesn’t know that I am safely with you – For, if he did, I’m sure that his contrition At wronging me would strongly be admitted, And speed him forth to plead for your forgiveness.” The king replied: “But I shall never give it Before he’s paid a price I deem sufficient!” On hearing this, his daughter ceased her bidding. 70. How Varocher took two horses to the king WHILE IN THE LODGE this dialogue took place, Outside it came a breathless Varocher, Who led in hand two Spanish destriers, The best of those possessed by Charlemagne! He saw the king and handed him the reins. “My lord,” he said, “accept this find I made Inside the tents that Charlemagne has raised. I’m not a knight, I’m just a country knave: 302

The Song of Blancheflor But, if you girt a sword about my waist, A sword of steel, and called me by the name Of noble knight, like all your baronage, I’d champion and fight for you against The best of knights that Charles’s host contains.” “With all my heart!” the Eastern king exclaimed. Said Blancheflor: “And rightly so, I’d say! No finer man exists than Varocher! When I recall how nobly, for my sake, He left his home, his wife and sons the same, To be my guard and guide when I escaped To Hungary, I cannot stint his praise.” The king replied: “I know it well, in faith. And you should know my gratitude won’t fail.” He summoned dukes and barons straightaway. The Queen herself, so beautiful of face, Was also keen to act without delay, And with her maids and ladies there she bade Good Varocher to strip, then dress again In flowing robes made out of silk brocade! At this, King Clarien – for so was named The Eastern king – laced on his waist a blade, While Pons, a duke, attached his spurs in place. The woodsman swore, by Simeon the saint, That he would trim some royal limbs that day!

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71. How Varocher was made a knight WHEN ON HIS WAIST was placed a sword of steel And Varocher was raised to knighthood – he Who’d spent his life in forests cutting trees – He looked the part with all his heart indeed! Her face a mask of fair delight, the Queen Gave Varocher a hauberk double-seamed And then a helm whose golden circle gleamed. When this was done and everything complete, SIR Varocher bestrode a rapid steed, Received a lance, whose tip was made of steel, And grasped a shield of shining ivory. If you had seen him ride across the field, A country knave is not what he’d have seemed, 303

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But quite the knight of noblest chivalry! “Just look at Varocher!” they all agreed: “How well he turns that destrier at speed! His sturdy arm will sever more than trees!” Some fifty score were so convinced indeed That they could gain by making him their liege, That’s what they did! They swore him fealty, Which Varocher accepted with a speech: “Now listen well! I want to make it clear: If you agree to join my company, I’ll claim no grain of any gains we reap! But you must go wherever I may lead, Prepared to fight where death awaits the weak – For that is where the greatest gains will be, The wealth, the arms, the stallions you seek. You’ll get much more than you expect with me!” No wonder then, on hearing such a speech, That each of them bowed humbly at his feet! Said Varocher: “Now go and get some sleep, And then at dawn, before the light appears, We’ll ride away, and, side by side, succeed.” Without delay they did as he decreed. 72. How Sir Varocher led his troops

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GOOD VAROCHER was an impressive figure: He neither looked nor acted like a villein. So when, at dawn, his men returned as bidden, He greeted all with rousing voice and ringing: “My lords,” he cried, “I want you all to listen! The only thing I ask of you is simply To show no fear – for death awaits the timid – But fight your best and with complete commitment. By doing this you’ll win yourselves great riches, And, what is more, make all your kinsmen richer! Don’t ride ahead – just follow and I’ll bring you By ways I know to Charlemagne’s position, The mighty lord who rules the Western kingdoms. It’s there we’ll find the stallions you wish for – And ambling mules and palfreys will be with them, And, need I say, a treasure-trove of riches!” His men replied: “We’re ready and we’re willing!” 304

The Song of Blancheflor When this was said Sir Varocher moved swiftly. He mounted steed, and, as their leader did so, His rank of men alike bestrode their stirrups, Then, all of them, in fine array and spirit, Slipped out of camp both quietly and quickly. They uttered naught, to comrade or to kinsman, As stealthily they neared the French positions Along a road that ran beside a hillock, A sloping span one furlong from the city. They crossed their lines and trotted on within them Until they reached King Charlemagne’s pavilion. They raised a cry, but only one that mimicked The cry ‘All clear!’ of sentries in the distance. The Frenchmen stirred, but none responded, thinking That what they heard was just the sound of pickets. And thus it was that Varocher’s contingent Went calmly where their finest steeds were hidden And, to a man, took any mount they wished to, Exchanging poor for stronger steeds or quicker. They stole from Charles his favourite – a sprinter He liked to ride when rallying divisions. They stole the steed Duke Naimon would have ridden, And many more whose owners found them missing! They left behind their own, whose worth was little, In barter for the better ones or bigger – And not a squire among the Frenchmen witnessed! If any knight was sound asleep, they stripped him Of any arms and other fine equipment, Like scabbards and the worthy weapons in them, And more besides – like golden coins and silver. Some Frenchmen there had gone to sleep as rich men, Who, when they woke with sunlight on their visage, Were shocked to see they scarcely owned a shilling! There wasn’t one whose wealth was undiminished!

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73. How Sir Varocher returned to camp THE ROYAL TENT was totally despoiled: When Varocher decided to withdraw, He led away the Monarch’s finest horse – But left his own in place of it, of course! Then, just before he left the tent, he saw 305

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The treasures of King Salemon of yore: The precious cups, so beautifully wrought, The haubergeons, the flashing silver swords: He took the lot, whatever wares were stored, And no one there saw anything at all! No Frenchman would have entertained the thought That any thief would ever have the gall To venture near, for fear of being caught! But Varocher and all his gallant force Had dared the deed and now returned in joy To join their ranks before the day had dawned. When those encamped beheld the booty brought, And saw the wealth each single soldier bore On noble, strong and nimble steeds of war, They roared: “What’s this? And why are you abroad? And where’ve you been to glean such rich rewards?” Said Varocher: “Why such surprise, my lords? We’ve brought this wealth from where it could be sought – From Charles’s camp – where there is plenty more!” They roared again: “Now that’s a rank to join!” And so they did: another twenty score Swore secretly to go with him henceforth – And Varocher accepted them, of course! And then he went to see his own liege lord, The Eastern king, and gave him first of all The destrier of Charles the Emperor, And then a share of all the other spoils. The share that should have gone to him he brought And gave it all to lovely Blancheflor, And Louis too, the little heir she’d borne. She wept to see the Frankish treasures pawed And clawed about, then given out like toys To greedy hands, and not the needy poor, To some whose deeds had not deserved reward. Whate’er the case, when Charles arose that morn He quickly saw that all the wealth he’d stored, With every steed, was simply there no more! He shook his head, he dropped his bearded jaw In mute dismay before he found his voice: “Naimon!” he cried “Whose crime was this? Whose fault?” The duke replied: “As little mine as yours! What you have lost, I too have lost, my lord – My finest horse has also been purloined!” 306

The Song of Blancheflor And some there were who lost the smiles they wore At others’ woe, when they were missing swords, Or haubergeons and shields that they had brought – For Varocher and all his band had borne The lot away without the slightest noise! King Charles himself knew none of this, and thought The thieves had come from countryside or court: A thousand men were wrongly sought and caught!

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74. How both Christian forces met GOOD VAROCHER and all his band had made A swift retreat with all the plunder gained From Charles’s camp – including, to his rage, His finest steed, from Aragon in Spain. The Eastern king, on seeing this, made haste To arm his knights and all his baronage, Some thirty thousand men, the records states, On horses brought from Aragon in Spain For this attack upon King Charlemagne. Without a sound they crossed the ground that day, While Blancheflor, so fair of form and face, Remained in camp, and loudly wept and wailed, Distraught to think such enmity should reign Between two lords for whom her love was great: Her father rode in wounded pride against Her husband’s side, deplore it as she may. What noise there was as the alarm was raised And Charlemagne and Naimon seized their blades, With noble Fulk and gallant Ysoré, Duke Bérart too, lord of Montdidier, And Sanson– these were first, the geste maintains, To face the charge and raise the Oriflamme. So fierce it was, the fracas and the fray, That there were none among the young or aged Whose silken cloaks weren’t soaked in bloody stains! The noise of war, its awful roar, was great, And sore the cost, deplore it as you may That friend and foe were all of Christian faith! Accursed the hour – nay thrice accursed I say, That saw the birth of Lord Macaire, the knave Whose wicked lies and evil plotting claimed 307

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A thousand men and more, so cruelly slain Because of him amid that bitter fray! Yet even he, when he confessed, was saved By God the Lord and His redeeming grace. 75. How the battle raged

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THE BATTLE RAGED with ever-growing heat, As rank on rank was stacked upon the field! So many knights were flung from flying steeds They hit the ground and perished there in heaps. Good Varocher outran his vanguard’s speed, Well-armed upon his peerless battle-steed. He no way looked as once he had appeared When he had lived among the woodland streams And dressed in cloth, like any of his peers, And led a mule upon a sturdy leash To win his bread by cutting down the trees. Now he possessed the best of battle-steeds, And he was dressed as chivalry should be! He held a lance, its shaft of apple-tree, And round his neck he bore a quartered shield. No need to ask if his prowess agreed: I tell you, friends, that neither Roland’s deeds Nor Oliver’s displayed more bravery Than Varocher’s upon that battlefield. Along a track amid the meadow-green He came across Duke Naimon and released A mighty blow upon that noble Peer: He split his shield as if it were a leaf, But couldn’t slit the sturdy mail beneath – Although the blow he rendered was so fierce It threw the duke upon his saddle’s rear So forcefully he almost lost his seat! He stayed astride, but all his senses reeled: “Sweet Mary!” cried the stricken duke in fear. “That’s not a man – he’s more a living fiend! No mortal hand drove such a spiteful spear!” On saying this, he drew his sword of steel, And when he did Sir Varocher could see How old he was – and let him hold the field. He turned his steed and let his victim be. 308

The Song of Blancheflor Still Charlemagne rode up, his visage fierce. Duke Naimon said: “Behold that burly beast! I truly think he’s sprung from devil’s-seed! So fierce a blow he gave me with his steel Upon my helm the villain made me keel Upon the bow of my good saddle’s rear! The hand of God was all that intervened!” “So vile a fiend earns no respect from me!” Said Charlemagne, “What’s more, I do believe From what I see, unless I’m much deceived About the horse he’s riding off, that he’s The very rogue who’s robbed me of my steed! I tell you this: if he and I should meet, This sword of mine will bring that lord to grief!” But Varocher felt not one bit of fear, As back and forth he ranged the battle’s reach! Along a track amid the meadow-green He met Bérart, the lord of Montdidier, And with his sword he dealt a blow so fierce Upon his helm, whose surface glowed and gleamed, That every stone upon its cone was sheered: God’s hand alone saved flesh and bone beneath! A second blow succeeded though to sweep The good Bérart right off his rapid steed! He had no choice, or voice, as he was seized By Varocher, who led him, on his feet, Towards the tent of him who ruled the East. He brought the lord to Blancheflor the Queen, Who when she saw the prisoner appear, Knew straightaway he was her man of liege. Bérart disarmed, then from her hand received Rich robes of silk befitting his degree. The Queen herself assisted him with these. While doing this, Bérart could not but see Just who she was; and when the truth was clear, His joy was more than any gold redeems, And down he fell before her on his knees. But Blancheflor, she raised him to his feet Without delay, and bade him take a seat Beside her own, beseeching him to speak Of Charlemagne, her married lord and liege. Bérart replied: “His heart is filled with grief At losing you, whom truly he believes No more alive for him to love and keep!” 309

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BERART spoke on, his joy beyond all measure To see again the Queen alive and healthy. Not all the gold the Orient possesses Could then have wrought or bought him equal pleasure! “My lady fair,” he said to her, however, “I am amazed that you support this venture, Where men of yours in countless scores will perish! Indeed, if God the Lord had failed to help me, This villain’s sword already would have cleft me!” Said Blancheflor: “This man is brave of mettle. No man alive below the vault of Heaven Has honoured me or served my father better! When Aubri died, who’d guided me in exile Till he was slain by Lord Macaire the felon, Through forest land I ran away in terror – And he was first to aid and give me shelter. He’s left behind his wife and sons to help me, And proved himself a brave and kind attendant. His honesty and loyalty have led him, On my behalf, to suffer much already. When first I met him in the woods, this fellow Was dressed in rags and had no noble weapon – He was indeed a working-man, a peasant Who spent his days along the forest-edges Collecting wood to earn his daily pennies.” Bérart replied: “He doesn’t look a beggar! I’ve never seen a knight in finer fettle! Good Blancheflor, if Charlemagne the Frenchman Could just be told that you were well and present, He would rejoice, at once, and more than any! Please God above, let someone go and tell him!” The Queen replied: “He cannot know my presence! He must a while endure this public penance For judging me so meanly and in error, Then sending me so meagrely defended – Alone, except for one young knight’s protection – Away from home to face a world of peril! Yes, I am sad – most gladly I confess it – To see our men endure this bitter melee: My father’s pride, no other’s, cries for vengeance! He seeks redress for the disgrace extended 310

The Song of Blancheflor To all of us by Charles’s indiscretion!” When this was said Sir Varocher directly Returned to join the battle’s bitter frenzy And leave Bérart and Blancheflor together. 77. How the battle raged on THE BATTLE RAGED with ever-growing spite, Each monarch bent on proving he was right! This angered Naimon much, whose heart alike Was filled with grief to hear of Bérart’s plight. King Charlemagne approached in little time The Eastern king surrounded by his knights. With Naimon and Isōré by his side, Sir Morant too, and one called Salatri, He raised his blade, whose surface was incised, And struck his foe with every show of pride. The Eastern king might well have lost the fight, When all the force of Hungary arrived, Ten thousand men in fearsome mood of mind, And Varocher himself not far behind! The battle raged with such unheard of spite No page of words could tell its rage aright! Both parties stoked the battle’s heat so high It never waned till night itself was nigh. Then Charles’s voice resounded with a cry That urged the king who ruled the Eastern clime To meet him, with his guards, that very night. And so they did; Charles drew him to one side And wisely said: “True Emperor and fine, I am amazed at your abrupt desire To undergo the suffering required To travel here besieging me and mine! I too lament your daughter’s sorry plight, And, if she’s dead, I have avenged her life: I’ve slain the wretch who lied about her crime. If more’s required to pay your honour’s price, Then you shall have as much as you desire, In silver, gold, or wealth of any kind.” “You were the wretch,” the Eastern king replied, “Who was prepared to punish her with fire! Had you not had some abbot who was wise 311

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Enough to know the truth amid the lies, When she confessed that she was great with child, You would have burnt fair Blancheflor alive! And then, what grace did you allow your wife? You threw her out of France itself, consigned To face the world, the ward of one young knight, Whom vile Macaire tracked down and robbed of life! Charles, you and I cannot be reconciled Till honour’s breach is mended by a trial Of champions in combat, yours with mine!” “Then so be it!” King Charlemagne replied. “Stay here, and I shall have my men retire. And then, at dawn, as soon as day is light, Prepare your man, your champion, and I Shall choose alike a champion of mine. And this I pledge: if mine should yield or die, The right is yours – in all I will comply: You may command whatever prize or price Your honour seeks for Blancheflor’s demise. But if your man should yield the field or die, Then you must leave with willing heart and plight Your word to be our friend in Christ allied.” “I well agree!” the Eastern king replied. Charles bowed at this, as deeply as he sighed. Each honoured much his counterpart in Christ, Before they turned and both their hosts retired. Then Charlemagne called Naimon to his side, Count Ogier and many other knights. He told them all about the compromise The pair had reached to end their bitter strife. Each man of Charles agreed that this was wise, And straightaway Count Ogier applied To fight for Charles –a right that none denied Was his to claim, but theirs to ratify – Which soon they did, and Charles’s glove assigned. Across the field the king who ruled by right The town and realm of ancient Constantine, Told all his men that they were to abide By what he’d pledged, to put an end to strife: Two champions would meet in single fight. “Who shall be ours?” with ringing voice he cried. “Strong Varocher!” they answered in a trice. “I well agree!” Sir Varocher replied. 312

The Song of Blancheflor So did the king, to everyone’s delight. But Blancheflor, when she had been apprised Of what had passed – how Varocher would fight With Ogier, the mighty Danish knight, To end the war – her mind was filled with fright. For well she knew – by word as well as sight – That all the world contained no finer knight Than Ogier, with whom no mortal vied For strength of arm and courage of all kinds. And you, my friends, must know by now alike How dear she held the man who’d saved her life. And so, at once she sent a youth to find Sir Varocher, who willingly arrived.

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78. How Blancheflor addressed Varocher WHEN VAROCHER was summoned and appeared, Fair Blancheflor at once began to speak: “You’re not as wise as once you were, it seems! You’ve volunteered, against my will, to meet A knight whose name you neither know or heed! You couldn’t find, in all of France, I fear, A stronger man of courage more esteemed, A braver knight to fight with in the field, A loyal man more cherished by his liege Than Ogier the mighty Danish Peer!” Said Varocher: “I’m not afraid. Indeed I beg of you, if ever in the least I’ve aided you and you have cared for me, Allow me now to show what I can be! If Roland and Count Oliver were here To fight for Charles, I still would volunteer!” With this Bérart, his prisoner, agreed: “He’s strong enough, my lady, to succeed! I’ve never felt a blow like those he deals! But if he is to fight for you, then he Must be well armed and strongly clad in steel, For Ogier the Danish captain wields Cortain, a sword that’s so well made and sleek Its blade can part what nothing else can pierce! Through stone or steel it passes with more ease Than any scythe cuts meadow-grass or wheat.” 313

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The Queen replied: “Your counsel I shall heed.” Said Varocher: “And quickly, I beseech, For I am keen to fight immediately.” At this, Bérart was moved again to speak: “Sir Varocher, though laudable your zeal, This saying too is true: ‘More haste, less speed.’ Too many men pay dearly when they seek Too bold a price or hold another’s cheap! You do not know Count Ogier, it seems. In all the world, in any land or fief Of Pagandom or Christendom’s demesne, No knight exists who fights as well as he.” Said Varocher: “My lord, so I believe. But still I fear him not one penny-piece! I want you all to know one thing of me: Since I was dubbed a knight by my good liege, My self-esteem has climbed to such a peak That when it sees below it all those trees I used to fell and carry with more ease Than any horse of war, however fleet, I will no more be burdened like a beast! So help me God, I want the world to see My working days in woodland ways have ceased! I used to rove in peasant-clothes and wield A staff of wood I’d cloven from a tree. But now I’m clad in noble knighthood’s gear And furnished with a sword of burnished steel. When I see this, my heart takes such a leap It fears no man, so joyfully it beats! I used to creep and tread with savage beasts, But now I sleep in beds with silken sheets, To which I’m led by servants, if I please!” Said Blancheflor: “Your spirit is so keen I’ve no desire to blunt it with my speech! The thoughts you have and all the words you speak Are so upright my apprehension yields! I’ll pray for you, and hope my wishes reach Lord Jesus Christ, Who judges all and each: May He defend your noble soul, and keep Its mortal frame from death or injury!” Said Varocher: “To help your prayers succeed, Procure me arms sufficient to my need.” The Queen replied: “I will, most willingly.” 314

The Song of Blancheflor 79. How the Queen armed Varocher QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR, whose face with beauty shone, Was full of care for Varocher hereon, And commandeered the finest arms they’d got! She dressed him first in a well-padded cotte, Then in a coat of mail so sleek it shone! She fixed his spurs, she girt his sword-blade on, Then laced a helm that was King Faraon’s: No weapon yet had damaged it a jot! He mounted horse, a steed from Aragon, And then the Queen, whose face with beauty shone, Brought forth a shield, a round and sturdy one He hung about his gallant neck at once. He gripped a lance and held its gonfalon, To show his foe the glowing blade on top. “Fair Queen, I go in your good name, and God’s!” Said he, and she: “Our blessings keep you strong!” When this was said he spurred his steed across The camp to speak with good King Clarien: “My noble lord, I go to right a wrong, And, if I can, redeem your honour’s loss.” “God bless you, sir!” replied King Clarien: “If I return to my own realm, by God, I swear you’ll have more golden coin and plots Of lovely land with castles, tofts and crofts And wooded streams, than you could ever want!” Said Varocher: “I’ll gladly have the lot, In fealty to you and yours hereon.” The Eastern king then blessed him with a cross, And then he left: he spurred his courser off More wroth of look than lion in its wrath! He raced along, without a stay or stop, To Charles’s tent, where, drawing rein, he rocked Upon his mount and raised his voice aloft: “Lord Emperor of royal France and Laon, Where is, I pray, your chosen champion? Is he prepared to fight with me, or not?” When Naimon heard, and Charles, the challenge tossed, They said, as one: “It’s him, that ruffian! No stranger clod has ever changed his cloth!” Count Ogier was in the tent and shot Like bolt from bow to go towards the spot. 315

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And when he heard the insults being swapped, His honour burned, and, running to his lodge, He seized the arms his liegemen helped him don: His coat of mail, his spurs and haubergeon. About his waist he placed Cortain the strong, Then laced his helm, with heart and hands a-throb. He mounted horse, a steed from Aragon, And hung his shield, whose field was echeloned. He seized a lance and held its point aloft, As, saying naught– according to the song – He spurred to meet Sir Varocher head-on. King Charlemagne called out as he rode off: “Behold the Dane! His zeal is burning hot! We’ll see a fight whose like there never was!” Duke Naimon said: “Let right prevail – and God Provide an end that mends this broken bond Of love and peace among His Christian flock!” 80. How Ogier the Dane addressed Varocher

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WHEN OGIER saw Varocher on horseback, He loosed his tongue and vigorously called him: “Most truly, sir, I’m sorry you’ve forestalled me By riding here in battle-gear before me! Are you so keen to prove yourself in warfare – Or have you come to yield the field in forfeit?” “You must be mad,” good Varocher retorted, “To think I’m here for you to merely sport with, To sing a song or bring you some enjoyment! I’m here to fight for justice with my sword-blade. If you possess the courage fame accords you, Then you alike are here for battle also.” The Dane replied: “Of that I can assure you!” They wheeled their mounts; one arrow’s range they walked them Before they turned and spurred them hotly forward. They lowered lance and gripped their handles staunchly: If only you had seen how they employed them! The shields of each were shorn aside, like cornstalks Before the scythe, as lances battered hauberks. My worthy lords, their common strength was awesome, And either’s spear a peerless wand of warfare – Yet sturdy mail saved both of them from slaughter. 316

The Song of Blancheflor My worthy lords, if you had seen that tourney, You would have felt its wonder, I assure you! At such a speed their impact was enormous: Their steeds were rocked and staggered, almost falling. Their sturdy spears were splintered, and their horses Were on their knees – yet neither fighter faltered!

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81. How both champions strove for victory BOTH CHAMPIONS were valiant of temper – Both horses too, who’d leapt aloft already To save their lords, whose courage never lessened. They came again, withdrew their swords and held them Erect, like tusks upon a charging elephant! Cortain was short, and with his longer weapon Sir Varocher struck Ogier’s bright helmet. The blow was strong, but didn’t even dent it, As God was there to lift His hand against it And turn the blade to strike the buckler’s edges. It severed those and everything it entered – It even lopped the lapping on his leggings! The Dane exclaimed: “Sweet Mary, Queen of Heaven, How sleek an edge this sword of his possesses! Its heritor must hate me with a vengeance!” With all his rage he faced the man who held it And struck his helm, a blow that, though tremendous, Could neither dent nor damage it whatever: So hard it was, with God to guard its metal, It made the blade to take a fierce deflection That split his shield and clipped one hundred meshes Right off his mail and flung them on the meadow – Wherein the blade was straightaway embedded! The blow itself had been so harsh and heavy The saddle-bow in front alone prevented Sir Varocher from falling off directly Upon the ground as he was hurled against it. He called aloud on all the powers of Heaven: “Dear God above, and blessed Mary, help me! My cause is just! Allow me to defend it!” The Dane replied: “Do you not know me, fellow? You cannot win! I urge you to surrender!” Said Varocher: “Your plea’s a wasted effort! 317

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Heroines of the French Epic You haven’t won. I’ll never yield, I tell you!” When this was said, again they came together And bartered blows of terrible intention. They didn’t prize each other’s right whatever, But plied their own with every might and measure. 82. How the duel raged 3110

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BOTH CHAMPIONS were wonderfully brave. They didn’t prize each other’s rightful claim But plied their own with every might and main, Exchanging blows that pitted speed with weight. Their helms alone, of all their armour, saved The flesh below – the rest was ripped away. “Sweet Heaven’s Queen,” cried Ogier the Dane, “I can’t believe the valour of this knave! I’ve never felt the strength that he displays! This champion is wonderfully brave.” With this in mind he questioned him again: “My noble lord,” the worthy Dane exclaimed, “Within the halls of him you serve, what name Is given you – I bid you, tell me straight!” The answer came: “My name is Varocher. I am a knight, but new to that estate. For I was born a villein and remained A villein long, in woodlands at my trade. But then I did a deed that was repaid Most handsomely by Clarien the great, Who raised me up to knighthood’s high estate. But I must hide one matter, which, betrayed To fearsome Charles beforehand, would have changed His hate for me to love, and would have saved Your journey here to fight for France’s fate, And your resolve to send me to my grave!” “My noble lord,” at once said Ogier, “If you could tell me here and now, in faith, This fact you hide, and have to hide, you say, Then you and I could put our arms away And fight no more, without remorse or shame – And this accord could seal our lords’ the same!” “If I reveal this fact,” said Varocher, “Then you must swear to keep its secret safe 318

The Song of Blancheflor From anyone until its part is played.” “I swear to this,” replied at once the Dane. “That’s good enough for me!” said Varocher. “Attend, my friend, and you shall hear a tale From start to end, wherein the sting remains! Do you recall, some time ago, how brave Sir Aubri took King Charles’s wife away From France’s court to exile, but was slain In woodland wild by lustful Lord Macaire? He paid the price; but she ran off, afraid, Till on a slope I met her face to face. She trusted me, and by my side escaped To Hungary, where for a while we stayed With loving hosts who treated her with grace: The very night, I tell you, that we came, She bore a son, whose baptism was made In royal arms: the king of that domain Gave his own name, of Louis, to the babe. He met the Queen, and in esteem conveyed His envoys to her father’s court in haste. He, in his turn, sent envoys straightaway To bring her home, across the ocean’s wave, Where all these ranks for her revenge were raised. Right now, my lord, I swear to you, in faith, That Blancheflor, and her most royal waif, Are in the tent her father raised today! Whoever seeks will find her straightaway – The wife of Charles is present, sound and safe!” When Ogier heard Varocher explain His part in all and how the matter lay, The joy he felt was brighter than the rays A world of gold in sunlight would have raised! He bowed at once before good Varocher, And to its sheath returned his shining blade: “Good Varocher,” he cried, “dear Varocher, By God above, in Whom all truth remains, I’ll joust with you no more, and ne’er again, But think of us as brothers of the Faith! No wealth of mine, no groat of it or grain, Shall not be yours to share in equal gain!” The Dane’s largesse with equal thanks was paid!

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WHEN OGIER had heard the secret told, He felt a joy he never yet had known: His heart lit up and gladness filled his soul. He thanked the Lord and blessèd Mary both, Then Varocher, again, in tender tones: “My joy,” he said, “at what you have disclosed, Is greater wealth to me than any gold! The hate I felt has melted like the snow! And so, to Charles, the lord of France, I’ll go, And tell him that your lance has laid me low!” 84. How Ogier continued speaking

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THE DANE SPOKE ON: “I tell you, nothing loath, The joy I feel at what you have disclosed – That Blancheflor is present, hale and whole – Is greater wealth to me, I swear it’s so, Than if I’d been proclaimed the lord of Rome! And so, to Charles, the lord of France, I’ll go – But not to tell this secret you have told. I have a plan, by means of which I hope To mend the breach between these monarchs both!” Said Varocher: “That truly would be gold! Delay no more! Go, do what you propose!” Count Ogier, the leave he sought bestowed, Turned round. to leave Sir Varocher alone And speed away towards the Frankish host. And when the men had gathered round to know How well he’d fared against their Eastern foe, He told them all that he had been laid low! Dismounting then, and dropping from his hold The arms he’d borne and changing into robes, He went to Charles and knelt before his throne: “Fine King,” he cried, “ I cannot hide my woe! I fought my best, but I was overthrown By the best knight in Christendom! And so, My noble lord, to keep at least our troth, I bid you, treat for peace in the true hope That he whose kin you are by marriage-oath And Christian faith, will honour what he owes.” 320

The Song of Blancheflor “I’d do it now,” said Charles, “if I supposed He’d pity me enough I could atone For Blancheflor, his daughter I exposed To dole and death upon a road of woe!” The Dane replied: “We’re finished if you don’t! Send off at least a messenger who knows The way to speak and spark some pity’s glow!” “I’ve thought of this,” said Charlemagne and groaned: “But where’s the Peer that clear of speech and bold?” The Dane replied: “Right here, my lord! Behold! Naimon the duke and I myself shall go!” The King replied: “My lord, it shall be so! No man could find a better pair, I own!” And so the duke went off to change his coat Of burnished mail for noble cloth and cloak. Count Ogier was playing still the role Of a contrite and beaten man, although He knew the truth that Varocher had told, And had to keep his happy heart controlled As both set off upon their common goal. They journeyed forth upon an empty road Until, guess who was there to join them both? Yes, Varocher! For he had planned it so With Ogier but little while ago! What courtesy and joy each other showed! Duke Naimon and Count Ogier enclosed His hand in theirs and, as a trio, rode Towards the tent of Clarien, who rose Upon his feet to welcome their approach. Upon his right he sat Naimon the old. Upon his left Count Ogier the bold Was asked to sit, and did so, nothing loath. Good Varocher stood just before them both. The Eastern lords beheld their Western foes And, to a man, admired the mien they showed. 85. How Duke Naimon spoke DUKE NAIMON WAS the first of them to speak: “True Emperor,” he said, “I do believe I speak the truth, and hope you will agree: Within this world there is no word or deed 321

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That once it’s said or done can ever be Rethought or wrought or any way retrieved. Since this is so, in God’s name I entreat You to forgive with Christian love the grief That Charles your kin has caused your house to feel. If you agree, then he and France the sweet Will make amends whatever way you please.” Said Clarien: “Your words are wise indeed – And let me say, with equal honesty, That when I wed my daughter to your liege, The love for him I felt, and the esteem, Were greater far than those for any Peer! But he has treated me most shamefully, And Blancheflor, my daughter, whom he deemed Should die in flames from lying claims that he, We know, believed at once, most wrongfully! We also know, which you do not, it seems, But now, I feel, it’s right that I reveal, The final fate of Blancheflor your Queen: So help me God, you’ll hear the truth from me: Sweet Blancheflor, my daughter, lives and breathes In perfect health – which, if you don’t believe, Then she herself will verify in brief!” His face aglow, to Varocher he leaned And said: “You are both brave and wise indeed! Betake yourself to Blancheflor and lead My daughter forth so that she may be seen At once by those whom Charles has bidden here.” Said Varocher: “I will, most willingly,” And left before another breath was breathed! Arriving soon inside a paved marquee Where she was with Bérart the detainee, Varocher said: “My lady, truthfully, I’m here to bring glad tidings to you each! The king has asked that both of you appear Before him now, and dressed as best can be, So nobody can say that, in his keep, You have been held in aught but high esteem! Your father wants two lords of yours to see With their own eyes that both of you are here.” What joy this was for Blancheflor to hear! She dressed her best and in her hair she wreathed A thread of gold that made her tresses gleam. 322

The Song of Blancheflor Then, with Bérart, she left her lodge to reach Her father’s tent as fast as foot can speed! Both barons there were full of words to speak – But, seeing her, their hearts gave such a leap With total shock their throats were blocked of speech! 86. How Duke Naimon finally addressed the Queen IMAGINE, FRIENDS, the joy and the delight Both barons felt to see their Queen arrive! They started up, at once, and, when outside, Knelt straightaway before her as they cried Aloud at last and greeted her with smiles. Said Naimon first: “My lady, if I might: Allow me now to speak my honest mind! King Clarien, who gave and saved your life, Has proved himself the wisest of the wise, By bringing you and springing this surprise. But, if he would permit his wit and mine To work as one, it is my great desire To see both kings conjoined again in Christ, And you, my Queen, if such is your desire, Returned to France and to your husband’s side. Bavarian and German lords alike Will serve your name with all their main and might!” “I am not sure,” fair Blancheflor replied: “I still recall the awful day and time Charles treated me so badly in his spite: With cruel haste he raised a blazing pyre To cast me in and watch me burn alive! No wonder I was numb and dumb with fright. The Abbot was the one who saved my life, When told by Charles to speak my dying rites! And even then, Charles drove me out, assigned To Aubri’s care, a brave and gallant knight Who, saving me, was slain before my eyes By vile Macaire, who’d followed us and tried To do with me whatever he desired! I saw him come, and ran away to hide Inside a wood, a forest wild and wide. He stalked me then for such a lengthy time, But having failed to find me, took to flight. 323

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And then I met this man, who saved my life! Sir Varocher deserves to be admired By all of you above all other knights! For me he left his wife and sons behind, And never once forsook me in my plight. He looked, then, what he was, a woodsman wild Who plied a trade he didn’t want to ply – And hasn’t, since my father dubbed him knight. He shows each day a prowess hard and high!” “He has no peer in that!” the Dane replied. “I can confirm that you will never find A man who strikes a harder blow all right!” 87. How peace was re-established

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“ATTEND TO ME,” said Blancheflor the Queen, “And rest assured that what I say I mean! My father’s will is all that matters here – And I shall do whatever he decrees. For it was he who took good care of me And for my child when I was forced to flee. I will return, with joy, if he agrees.” Duke Naimon said: “Your words are wise indeed.” Then, with a bow that reached down to his knees, He said aloud: “Fine ruler of the East, In Jesu’s name, I beg of you, make peace With Charlemagne, and let your daughter be United with her husband and her liege, For none henceforth to cleave or come between.” The king replied: “There’s wisdom in your speech, But let me say – and you be very clear – That I’m one breath from spurning what you seek, When I recall the shameful outrage wreaked On Blancheflor by Charles most wrongfully! You know full well I’m right – and so does he! Yet I’ll relent. My lords, you may proceed To end this feud whichever way you please.” On hearing this, that noble pair of Peers Bowed down before the Eastern monarch’s feet And rendered him most tender thanks and deep. You needn’t ask if Blancheflor was pleased: She hailed the duke with laughter through her tears! 324

The Song of Blancheflor “Naimon,” she cried, “as I do live and breathe, You shall receive much honour for this peace! Come, take my child, and bear him with all speed To Charles himself, whose eyes have yet to see This son and heir of ours and France the sweet!” Said Ogier: “A royal gift indeed!” Fair Blancheflor delayed not in the least, But took her son, Prince Louis, from his seat And handed him to Naimon tenderly. From king and court both envoys took their leave, With Varocher, who kept the infant near: He wouldn’t let another lead or feed The child he’d led and fed since it was weaned!

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88. How the envoys returned to Charles THE ENVOYS LEFT, not tarrying at all. They took with them young Louis in the ward Of Varocher, who watched him like a hawk! And when they came towards the Frankish force A crowd of men came forth, on foot and horse, To hear from them if peace was near, or war. They saw as well one big man with a boy Who looked more fair than Absalom of yore, With golden hair a peacock’s plume adorned! A finer youth was never seen, I’m sure! Approaching Charles, they heard the Monarch’s voice: “I see, my lords, that two have grown to four! “Where did you find this little lad, my lords, Upon the road or in the woods abroad? I’ve never seen a fairer one before!” Duke Naimon said: “And when I tell you all, He’ll gladden you, I’m certain, even more! Attend, my lord, the wonder God’s performed.” Before he could, the boy himself ran forth To Charlemagne and caught his beard of hoar: “My lord,” he said, “since I could walk and talk I’ve learned of how my mother fled your court! I am your son, of this you can be sure – And if you think that what I say is false, Compare the mark my shoulder bears with yours: A cross of white upon the right, my lord.” 325

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The King was stunned on hearing this and called Duke Naimon thus: “My mind’s a whirl of thought! Have I misheard this youngster’s childish talk? Who is this boy?Where was he bred and born?” The duke replied: “I’ll tell you all, my lord, And when it’s known your people will rejoice Across the land, the wealthy and the poor. In all of France there won’t have been such joy As folk will feel when you reveal this boy!” 89. How Duke Naimon spoke

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“FINE EMPEROR,” the noble duke exclaimed, “I bring to you such news that it will make Your heart rejoice in wonder and in praise! I swear to you the truth of what I say: This little boy on whom you fondly gaze Is your own son! And I have seen this day The Queen your wife – his mother, Charlemagne! Yes, noble lord! She is alive and safe Inside a tent her father’s guard has raised.” On hearing this, the King was more amazed Than ever yet in all his many days! He said at length: “I can’t believe, in faith, That, if she lives, my wife would watch and wait As men of hers were set at odds and slain!” The duke replied: “I tell you, Charlemagne, I’ve seen your wife! She let me have my say, And we’ve agreed that peace can be arranged!” The King replied: “Too long it’s been delayed!” When this was said, he studied once again The youngster’s face and asked him straightaway: “My lovely boy, what is your mother’s name, And that of him your father – as she claims?” The lad replied: “I will not hide their names: My mother’s called Queen Blancheflor the chaste. My father is King Charlemagne the brave – That’s what I’ve heard my mother always state.” The King arose, at once, and kissed his face: “Fine son,” he sighed, “my love for you is great! When I am dead, then you shall take my place As King of France and all of my domains.” 326

The Song of Blancheflor Duke Naimon said: “God help us, that can wait! Right now it’s time for sovereign peace to reign, And us to bring your wife back home again!” The King replied: “I’ll let you take the reins Of this affair – your wisdom knows the way!”

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90. How Duke Naimon continued to speak DUKE NAIMON SAID: “Fine Emperor, my lord, I’ve seen the Queen your wife this very morn. I know her mind, my lord – she’s told me all. It is her wish that West and East should talk, Away from all the rest one arrow’s draw, And with good will arrange a fair accord, For Heaven’s sake and hers you both adore.” Said Charlemagne: “My will’s the same as yours!” Duke Naimon then, and Ogier, rode forth Without a fuss or argument towards King Clarien the Eastern Emperor. On seeing him, Duke Naimon raised his voice And said aloud: “Fine Emperor, my lord, In Charles’s name I greet you and report His heartfelt wish for peace to be restored – With Blancheflor, who’s still his wife by law! He’ll pay, he says, for every hurt he’s caused.” Said Clarien: “Most willingly, my lords. The sooner done, the better for us all.” On hearing this, the duke, without a pause, Sent word to Charles that the accord he sought Could now be sealed if he would meet them all. And when the news reached Charlemagne, he swore To God and to St Simon and St Paul, That in the world there’d never been before, And never would be hence, so fine a lord As Naimon was for counsel and resource. 91. How Charlemagne went to the Eastern king WHEN CHARLEMAGNE, by whom all France was governed, Received the news, his heart and he leapt upward! Without delay his noblest Peers were summoned. 327

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Arrayed in silk of Eastern cut and colour, He swung astride a noble mule and hurried, With all the speed that such a mount could muster, To meet the king who ruled Constantinople. And when that king saw France’s monarch coming, He strode to him, as did more than a hundred. With right good will each monarch hailed the other, And just as both were judging what was justice, Queen Blancheflor arrived to interrupt them! What joy for Charles to see her so recovered! She said at once: “Fine king, although my troubles Were caused by you, who so unjustly judged me To pain and shame, I bring or bear no grudges. It was Macaire, the evil lord you trusted, Who played you false, and me, for whom he lusted And slew with sword my lord Aubri the youngster. Your hand and land, I know, has had him punished. My hand is yours. I want no other husband. If you want me, restore the peace you sundered!” Duke Naimon said: “To yours my wit is nothing! Let hatred yield to one so wise and lovely!” King Charles himself sprang up, in loving wonder, To speak his mind with courtesy and courage: “Fine emperor,” he said, “neither my country Nor I myself want more dissent among us. Whatever grief I’ve caused and you have suffered I am prepared and willing to make up for. I can’t do more. On you and God above us Peace now depends. I used to be your brother, And would be still if Blancheflor still loves me.” The Queen replied: “I want no other husband. But let me make it clear to you in public: Don’t try again to treat me so unjustly!” 92. How Charles made peace with King Clarien

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ATTEND, MY LORDS, this truth of history: King Charlemagne, our monarch, was indeed The greatest king this world has ever seen. He never loved deceit or tyranny, But justice and the rule of law for each! My tale is done: King Clarien and he 328

The Song of Blancheflor Made peace that day and let all anger be. What joy there was when this accord was reached! Both armies rode to Paris, steed by steed, Where Blancheflor, her laughing face a-gleam, Returned to take her rightful place as Queen. Inside the court they held a joyous feast Where matrons wheeled and maids wore out their feet In dancing rounds for more than two whole weeks! Then Clarien, the monarch of the East, With Louis, who, you know, ruled Hungary, Besought and wrought from Charlemagne their leave. With warm ‘farewells’, ‘God bless yous’ and ‘Godspeeds’, They left the court and Blancheflor the sweet With Charlemagne, her rightful lord and liege. From that day on they lived in love and peace, With courtesy and mutual esteem.

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93. How Varocher returned home KING CLARIEN returned to his own realm With all his host, his barons and the rest. King Louis, that most noble monarch, went Back home alike to Hungary his realm. In France itself their rapture knew no end: They’d never known such joy as then they felt To have their Queen back home alive and well, And Charlemagne upon his throne, content To see and be beside his bride again. And what, you say, became of Varocher, Who’d been away from his good wife as well As both his sons each day and night he’d spent Since leaving them, so long ago, to help Queen Blancheflor and then King Clarien? Well, when he saw how matters had progressed – How peace had come and all aggression fled – He met the Queen and asked for leave himself: “My Queen,” he said, “you know it very well, That on the day I met you and I left My wife and sons to help you on your quest, I left them to the humble life we’d led. But thanks to God, and to your own largesse, I’m now a knight with horses nobly bred 329

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And so well-off with coin and other wealth I’ll never live again in wretchedness. Your leave to go is all I ask for hence.” “Most willingly take that as well!” she said. “Good Varocher, God speed you and God bless! Take anything you like – a treasure chest! Do what you will. But when you are content With what you’ve done, come back to court again.” Said Varocher: “On that you can depend!” When this was said he took a few good men, Fourteen in all, then mounted horse and left. He knew the way by heart, as you’d expect, And when he neared the hut in which he’d dwelt, He saw his sons upon the road ahead, Their backs bent low, with wood-stacks to their necks, The very way he’d shown them worked the best. On seeing this, what pity filled his breast! He caught them up and gave their loads a wrench – Which only made them think some ill-intent Was aimed at them, so, swinging round instead, They aimed at him they thought made sport of them! They would have struck but their ‘assailant’ leapt Beyond their reach and cried: “Young twigs – well met! What’s up, my lads? Do you not know me yet? I’m Varocher, your father, home again With wealth I’ve gained from lifting up my head! Your backs, my boys, shall nevermore be bent: On rested steeds you’ll hold yourselves erect As noble knights of Charlemagne himself!” When both his boys beheld their father’s dress, I’m sure that you can guess their happiness! WHEN VAROCHER re-entered his old dwelling He saw no robes made out of silk or sendal, No bread or wine, no fish or meat whatever, And his wife had no cloak of fur or velvet, But, like his sons, wore clothing rough and wretched. Without delay good Varocher re-dressed them In robes of silk and cotton richly blended, Then asked his men to fill his tiny dwelling With everything a noble house possesses! He built, henceforth, a noble tower and belfry – While, back at court, his name became a legend! 330

The Song of Blancheflor And that, my friends, is all I have to tell you. May God above and Christ our Saviour bless you! ❦

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BERTHA BROAD-FOOT Prologue THE END IT WAS of April –a splendid time and sweet, When tender grass emerges to turn the meadows green, And every tree is urging its blossoms to appear – Exactly at that season of which you hear me speak I found myself one Friday in Paris, fancy-free. But since it was a Friday, my heart began to feel A great desire to visit and pray at Saint-Denis. Well, there I met a cleric, his name was Savari, And we became so friendly that soon he had agreed To let me see a book there that held the history Of Bertha and of Pepin, in which it was revealed How he had slain the lion and she had come to grief. Those muddle-headed minstrels and novices who glean Their tales from all and sundry and anywhere between Have ruined more this story than any I have seen. But I remained in Paris till Tuesday of that week, Until I knew the matter both truly and complete: How Bertha was abandoned inside a wood so deep She suffered long and wrongly a multitude of griefs. The tale I saw was written, I promise faithfully, To shame the ill-intentioned, the wicked and the mean, And fill the worthy-minded with good and happy cheer. THIS STORY I’VE BEGUN occurred within an era When lovely France was ruled by an intrepid leader, A King of great prowess, a Monarch who was fearless. His name was Charles Martel, ‘The Hammer’, and his dealings With Girart and Foucon, and all of their adherents Cut many souls adrift from bodies they had breathed in, Saw many hauberks slit and bucklers split to pieces, Great citadels destroyed, great settlements depleted, Before they sealed a pact with such a firm adherence That nothing more would crack the comradeship between them. 333

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The Vandals then attacked, a cruel and wicked people Who challenged Charles in hordes with hearts of sharpest evil Until The Hammer struck and flattened them completely! But let me tell the tale of quite another hero: Around St Jehan’s day, when roses blossom sweetly, Martel was in his hall of vaulted walls and ceiling, In Paris, with his knights, his family and liegemen: He only had two sons – that everyone agrees on – Called Carloman the one, a man of great achievement In four years as a knight of chivalry unequalled, Thereafter as a monk in service of St Peter. The second one was Pepin, and he, I swear by Jesus, Was five feet and a half in height – no more, believe me – But his prowess in fights was taller than a steeple! Well, as I say, one day The Hammer asked his people To eat with him outside at tables set for feasting. Prince Pepin sat at one, with other budding heroes. Not far away, a lion they all had reared was sleeping: In truth, when it was not, it was a fearsome creature. Well, on that day it woke and clawed its cage to pieces, Then, leaping forth, it gnawed and mauled to death its keeper. Across the lawn it plunged and lunging through the leafage It leapt towards them all, its jaws agape and bleeding From slaying on its way two lads of Lombardia Who’d ventured from their seats to frolic on the greensward. When Charles beheld the beast, he didn’t wait to greet it, But jumped up from his seat, and with his wife retreated. Indeed there wasn’t one whose hunger kept him seated! Young Pepin rose as well, but anger was his feeling: Not showing fear at all, he rushed within and seizing A spear inside a room he swirled and twirled it fiercely As, mad or not, he ran towards the roaring creature! WHEN PEPIN SEIZED the weapon he didn’t stand and wait But ran towards the lion without a moment’s waste. He openly attacked it, and with a perfect aim He struck its breast, directly below the shaggy mane, And drove the spear as far as the cross-point of the blade: The weapon went right through it and slew it straightaway. It fell upon the greensward and never rose again. Then everyone ran forward, admiring and amazed, The Hammer straight to Pepin, whom warmly he embraced. With happy tears his mother began to weep and wail: 334

Bertha Broad-foot “My lovely son,” she whimpered, “whatever made you brave So hideous a danger, so perilous a chase?” “My lady,” answered Pepin, “one shouldn’t be afraid Of any undertaking that isn’t to one’s shame!” I’ve heard that he was twenty when this event took place. But this is not the story I’ve come here to relate, And which I’ll now attend to, if you will do the same – A tale I’ll tell as quickly and slickly as I may! You know as well as I do that nothing born or made Can ever last forever, and all of us should make The best of life we can do and leave the rest to fate: Well, like us all, The Hammer went duly to his grave, As did his wife, who, living, was beauty’s very name. As Charles’s true successor young Pepin was proclaimed The King of France and married to add to his acclaim. The woman that he married was of the clan Lorraine, Of Gerer and of Garin and Malvoisin the brave – I’m sure that you have heard of the mighty war they waged On Fromont, with its slaughter of French and Bordelais, The fortresses it shattered, the citadels it razed, The trials and tribulations it caused in Pepin’s reign – And you should know their marriage did not produce an heir: The will of God denied it, which everything obeys. Their reign was long, however, and if I should relate The whole of their adventures I’d never start my tale! God rest her soul, this lady, his first wife, passed away, And since so many urged him to quickly wed again King Pepin called before him a council that was made Of barons whom he trusted to wisely nominate A woman who was suited to him and France the same. But nobody to start with had anything to say, Until one called Engerrant of Montacler exclaimed: “My lord, by good St Omer, I know of one, in faith! The Magyar monarch’s daughter is one I’ve heard acclaimed To be a peerless beauty; they say no land contains A maid as fair as Bertha – she’s called ‘The Debonair’!” “In that case,” answered Pepin, “ we have no time to waste, For she shall be my consort, as quickly as she may!” The King at once assembled a large and noble train Of lords, whose name and number I’ve no desire to state, To seek the Magyar monarch and ask him for the maid. They started forth, and riding through France and Alemayn, They passed through many places of changing scene and race 335

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Until they reached the Magyars, one Tuesday, at a place Called Esztergom – a city I’ve heard is very great, And there they found the monarch, a knight of noble fame. I’ll not repeat their speeches; suffice it here to say They asked him for the hand of his daughter, which he gave Most willingly, on learning on whose behalf they came. Queen Blancheflor then summoned her daughter straightaway, And when she introduced her King Pepin’s envoys hailed The princess with the honour befitting such a name: Her visage shone with beauty that dazzled every gaze As everyone was seated at tables richly laid. The king and queen made certain this embassy was paid Most courteous attention throughout the time it stayed – The embassy, however, was keen to leave again, And everyone was ready on the appointed day. The royals gave them riches and steeds to take away, But they refused politely the smallest private gain. BERTHA THE DEBONAIR, whose every thought was gracious, Farewelled her father there, who tearfully embraced her. “Adieu, my lord,” she sighed, “and say goodbye, I pray you, To my good brother, lord of Grodna on the Neman.” “Fair daughter,” said the king, “be as your mother made you: Not harsh towards the poor, uncaring or disdainful, But kind and debonair and generous and patient, So that to one and all you show your loving nature. Be true to one and all, and noble in behaviour, For only ill awaits the wicked and the craven. No Emperor or king has seen so fine a maiden! Fine daughter, go with God, Whose guidance never fails us, And He will guard your soul and body from all danger.” THIS TALE THAT I am telling, took place exactly when It was a common custom in German-speaking realms For every count and marquis or mighty lord of men To have some Frenchmen with him, at court or where he went, So that his sons and daughters could learn to speak in French. Fair Bertha and her parents, the histories attest, Could speak the French of Paris as well, in most respects, As if they had been natives of Saint-Denis itself. In fact, when he was little, King Flor himself was sent To Paris by his parents to learn there from the best. Alas, there was another who’d learnt to speak some French: 336

Bertha Broad-foot Aliste, a servant’s daughter, a maid whose evil hence Caused so much pain to Bertha – a curse upon the wretch! Back then the French and Germans were allies and good friends Who aided one another against the Saracens. Indeed King Charlemagne, who knew them very well, Considered German fighters to be among the best: Without them many Pagans would not have met their deaths! But I’m not here to tell you a tale of him or them, But of his mother Bertha, the flower of her sex. HOW NOBLE WAS her soul! So high it was and gentle That she was loved by all, both cherished and respected. So when the day arrived for her to leave forever, She knelt before the king her father to farewell him With teardrops in her eyes and everybody’s present. He face was like a rose of pink and creamy petals – A blush beyond compare from there to Piacenza. Her mind was so inclined to doing good, or better, That no one could recall an evil word or gesture: Yet evil would contrive to drive her into exile, And bide in woodland wild – as you will hear directly.

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The First Geste – Bertha wronged WHEN BERTHA LEFT her father, whose honour was her shield, Her heart was filled with sorrow, her lovely face with fear. Her countrymen and women alike were filled with grief – There wasn’t one, I’m certain, who didn’t wail or weep. “I’ll go with you, fair daughter,” said Blancheflor the queen, “As far as I am able, to keep you company. But you shall keep forever our servant, old Margiste, And fair Aliste her daughter, more dear to me indeed Because she is so like you in features and in speech. I’ll also give you Tybert, the cousin of Aliste: All three of them were bondsmen until I set them free. Because I paid the money that bought them their release, I trust them even more so to serve you loyally.” “My lady,” answered Bertha, “I too shall cherish each, And share my blessings with them and give them all they need. I’ll look to them for counsel in all that’s asked of me, And find the finest husband I can for fair Aliste.” “That would indeed delight me, good daughter,” said the queen. 337

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And so, one Monday morning, I tell you truthfully, Saw Bertha on a palfrey and sadly taking leave. I’ll not describe her journey more fully than I need: They passed the Saxon border, Duke Nicholas’s fief, Whose wife was Bertha’s sister – that little fact I gleaned While reading through the charters they hold at Saint-Denis, The chaff of which I winnowed and only kept the wheat – Said Blancheflor: “Fair daughter, it’s time for me to leave And show your loving father the love I know you feel. Prove worthy of your parents, or we shall die of grief! I’d like to have a keepsake: your finger-ring, my dear: My kisses and my teardrops will keep it tarnish-free!” “Let that be so,” wept Bertha, “for both the ring and me!” FAIR BERTHA took the ring, to not delay proceedings, And gave it to the queen, who said, as she received it: “May God, Who shines the sun on everyone, so teach you To love both rich and poor that all men will esteem you! If fortune smiles on you, be sure to share its greeting With everyone you meet, lest fortune change its features!” “Sweet mother,” Bertha cried, “my happy heart is bleeding With sorrow’s weeping wound, as if a knife had pierced it!” The queen replied, “My girl, then heal it and be cheerful, For you are off to France, and my own heart is eased by The knowledge that no land holds truer folk or sweeter.” At this farewell again the women started weeping, And Bertha swooned – upon a cloth as black as evil. WHEN BLANCHEFLOR departed, commended to the Lord, And Bertha swooned with sorrow upon the covered floor, Her sister caught her body and held it in support. Their mother gazed in horror – her noble heart was torn – But thinking of her husband, she kept her homeward course. The Frenchmen of King Pepin were keen to journey forth, And so, when she was ready to leave her sister’s court, Fair Bertha, very gently, was seated on her horse. Through Germany they journeyed, without delay or halt, And crossed the Rhine directly at Saint-Herbert of Deuz. Through the Ardennes they travelled, with no delay at all, Until at last they rested at Rostemont-sur-Meuse, Inside a lovely castle that sat upon a tor Between two noble rivers and overlooking shores Aligned with field or forest – you couldn’t ask for more! 338

Bertha Broad-foot Duke Naimon’s hands rebuilt it, with even stronger walls, And other things that made it much grander than before – And since the worthy Naimon was such a gallant lord, Both true and wise in counsel and valiant in war, They named it in his honour – we know it as Namur. Its owner then received them with courtesy and warmth: A count he was, and cousin of Hungary’s King Flor. On leaving, he was eager to give them wealth galore, But they refused politely the smallest gift or coin. From Rostemont departing, with happy heart, at dawn, They rode across Le Hainaut and all of Vermendois. I’ll not describe their journey except to say, in short, They came, upon a Sunday, so stipulates the source, Back home again to Paris as night began to fall. King Pepin came to meet them, his pleasure clear to all – One thousand seven hundred in entourage he brought, All men of mighty holdings within his mighty thrall. They went to welcome Bertha with courtesy and joy, And greeted her as grandly but humbly as the call Of duty and her beauty commanded that they ought. They said to one another: “By good St Clément’s corpse, How young and fair a lady we have to grace our court!” Each belfry of the city rang loudly in accord. I’ll not delay the story: suffice it to record That every street in Paris, of this I’m very sure, Was swathed in royal bunting that ran from south to north, And laid with tidy rushes bestrewn with spotless straw. To welcome her the women, dressed splendidly, spilled forth And filled the streets with dancing and singing of all sorts. The city shone with splendour and everyone rejoiced When Bertha reached the palace and, stepping from her horse, Was jostled every moment, outside and in the hall, By nobles keen to pay her the noblest court of all! I’VE NO DESIRE to lie: just following mid-August, Upon a day so fine no wind or rain could spoil it, King Pepin wed his bride, the lovely Bertha Broad-Foot. She wore an Eastern dress, a gown of great adornment, And on her head a crown that truly was a glory: One hundred thousand marks and more would not have bought it! Young Bertha was as fair as flowers in the morning – A fact that none denied and everyone applauded. When Holy Mass was said the wedding-party sauntered 339

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Its way outside to feast beneath a mighty awning, A hundred here, and there some twenty, thirty, forty. Young princes of the realm were eager to come forward And serve the Queen themselves, their youthful spirits soaring To show their handsome grace before a face so faultless! Young Bertha’s heart rejoiced: but soon it would be mourning: Margiste, the scheming crone, would deal with her so falsely And set her on a path of such unfair misfortune Her lovely face would run with tears of awful torment. A curse upon Margiste and fair Aliste, her daughter!

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WHEN ALL HAD finished eating, they cleared the cloths away. Three minstrels who were present prepared to ply their trade, Three very fine musicians whose skill was highly praised. They came towards King Pepin, without the least delay, Then stood before Queen Bertha to play and entertain. The first one played a fiddle, his name was Gautier. The second was a harpist, called master Garnier. The third displayed his talent upon the lute that day, Although – I’ll not deceive you – I do not know his name. I do know they delighted the palace with their play, Resuming, having done so, their due and proper place. King Pepin stood, however; he left when they had played, Though many stayed, carousing the wedding day away In dancing, led by ladies and merry-making maids! Queen Bertha was escorted by an admiring train Of dukes and counts and princes, towards her rooms again, To rest and to recover from such a mighty day. Most careful of her welfare, they left her straightaway. Not old Margiste, however – God rot her soul, I say – Some devil had possessed her, of jealousy and hate, To sow a seed of evil she wanted much to raise: She knelt before young Bertha, who on her bed was lain, And in her ear she whispered, with feeling that she feigned: “Alas for you, my lady, by good St Richier! A friend of mine, last evening, came up to me to say That since the day our Saviour was crucified by knaves, No man has been so brutal with woman when he lay Upon their bed of marriage as him you’ve wed today! When Pepin lies beside you this very night to take The marriage-rights a husband is justified to claim, So help me God, I’m frightened that you may die of pain! I knew his reputation, but hadn’t dared to state

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Bertha Broad-foot My fears until this moment, to keep your own at bay.” When Bertha heard this warning, the maiden wept and wailed, As thoughts of great foreboding went swirling through her brain. But old Margiste continued: “My lady, don’t dismay! For, by the Lord of justice, I’ve sworn to keep you safe. The abbots and the bishops will bless the bed of state The King and you will lie in – but when they’ve left again, I’ll clear the room completely, of everyone, and make Aliste, my faithful daughter, undress and hide away Inside the bed, to lie there with Pepin in your place! I’ve talked with her and made her agree to this exchange. I’d rather she should perish than you should suffer pain!” On hearing this, young Bertha held Margiste in embrace, Commending her to Jesus for such an act of grace, Worth more to her that moment than rich Montpellier! ON HEARING FROM Margiste this method of evading The pain of Pepin’s lust, she gratefully embraced her And thanked the Virgin Maid for sending such a saviour! The scheming servant left, and straightaway she hastened, Her evil face aglow, towards another chamber Within a grove to which the river was adjacent. Before a window stood, inside its wide embrasure, She found Aliste her child – the same who, since a baby, Had looked like Bertha’s twin more closely than a painting! The beauty of them both outshone all other maidens’ As meadowlands in bloom outshine a barren wasteland. The wicked crone approached, her wizened look elated, And kissed her daughter’s face as, locked in their embracing, They secretly discussed an evil undertaking: How Bertha could be tricked and Aliste could replace her! “Fair daughter,” said the crone, “I love you so, I’ll make you The Queen of France, if chance and God above will aid me!” “Good mother,” cried Aliste, “God prosper you, I pray Him! Let cousin Tybert know – for in this situation I’m certain his support and guidance will avail us! To bring him here in haste, provide this explanation: I need to have the purse I gave him when we came here.” The mother disappeared, as fast as any greyhound – She wasn’t slow at all when treason’s call was waiting! WHEN TYBERT HEARD the summons, and knew the reason why, He hastened to his cousin will unalloyed delight. 341

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As soon as he arrived there the others turned his mind, With very little effort, to sharing in their crime. And so the three together discussed it and devised With pleasure, at their leisure, a cunning way to prise The land of France from Bertha – and she from it alike! “Fair daughter,” said the mother, “it cannot be denied That climbers need more courage the higher that they climb, And you will have to suffer a little ere you thrive! In my own bed young Bertha shall spend her marriage-night, But then, when in the morning the sun begins to rise, I’ll send her to replace you at royal Pepin’s side. And that is when you’ll bury this dagger in your thigh, With such a force it causes your crimson blood to fly, And you to cry ‘God help me! My lord! A killer strikes!’ And that’s when I shall enter and seize our simple bride! Your part will then be over – I’ll do the rest required!” “Good mother,” said the maiden, “I’ll do as you desire.” And so they planned between them – and damned themselves thereby! That evening, after dinner, as darkness filled the sky, The clergy blessed the bedroom where Bertha was to lie, And old Margiste made certain, with courtesy and smiles, That everyone was happy to leave and go outside. To make the darkness deeper she took out all the lights, Then, turning down the bedclothes, she hid Aliste inside! The dagger that they needed to carry out their crime Was hidden by the bedside to wait its bidden time. MARGISTE WAS WELL content – her evil heart was smiling As to her room she went, where Bertha lay in hiding. “My lady, I have left my daughter much repining. We’ve served you very well, you must agree, your Highness!” Said Bertha: “Yes indeed. May God reward your kindness.” Margiste then bade her sleep – may God reward her slyness With all the pain He can – her daughter too, and Tybert– And told her how to play the part she was required to: “Remember, sweet: at dawn, be ready in your nightgown To go back to the King and gently lie beside him!” Bertha the debonair, whose heart was good and guileless, Replied: “My friend, I’ll do whatever you advise me. I’ve no desire to thwart your planning in the slightest.” She sat up in her bed, to pray and read the Bible, For Bertha was well read, and very skilled in writing.

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Bertha Broad-foot AND SO IT WAS, that evening, the King of France made love To Bertha’ scheming handmaid, who’d so betrayed her trust. And what is more, I tell you, their night produced a son, Prince Rainfroi – though he hardly was made of princely stuff. In time they had another, called Hardré – both of them Were schemers full of malice and false to everyone. Returning to my story: before the sun was up, Margiste sent word to Tybert that it was time to come, And so he did, the traitor, with willing speed enough. When Bertha woke, she also knew what her duty was, And went back to her chamber as softly as a nun, The way Margiste had told her the risk would best be run. But as she neared the bedside, Aliste the maid rose up From where she had been lying beneath the regal rugs And swiftly seized the dagger. She raised it and she plunged The blade against her thigh-bone and drove it, back to front, So firmly that directly the bed was spread with blood. But then she passed the dagger to Bertha’s hand at once, Whose fingers took it blindly and in all innocence Of trust in her old servant who must have planned it thus. A shriek of pain erupted from the young traitor’s lungs: “Ah, Pepin, royal husband! What trap is this I’ve sprung To slay me here beside you? Alas for me, and us!” King Pepin woke to witness the bloody dagger clutched In Bertha’s hands – or, rather, her servant’s, as he judged – And, starting up directly, his senses ran amuck! Margiste the crone, pretending a shock you know was none, Came rushing to her daughter and saw the streaming cut. When Pepin saw it also he swore to God above That, as she was the culprit, her daughter must be hung! “My lord,” the crone lamented, “I know indeed she must! For Heaven’s sake, I beg you, arrange for it at once! She is no more my daughter whose treachery is such!” At this she seized on Bertha and with a mighty cuff Across her face she thrust her outside the room at once, Where Bertha went, contented her plan required it thus – Although her eyes were streaming from how the blow was struck. But then, when Tybert seized her – a curse upon the thug – And dragged her by the mantle with ripping hands and rough, She cried: “So help me, Jesus, Who died for all of us, What’s happening? What evil have I been cast among?” Margiste arrived abruptly, but passing them, she rushed To reach a rope she’d left there to tie their captive up. 343

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They threw her down; they turned her to lie upon her front, And forcing her mouth open, against her will they stuffed A cruel rope inside it, just like the bit is thrust Inside the mouth of horses to bear the bridle’s brunt. She couldn’t make a whisper, she couldn’t feel her tongue: They tied the rope behind her so tightly it was numb. To villainy abandoned they bound her hands and flung Her down upon some bedding and covered her right up. May God, Who is all-seeing, reveal the evil done! WHEN BERTHA HAD been wrought beyond her strength to struggle– Her mouth so tightly gagged, she couldn’t even mumble, Face-down upon a bed, her body tied and covered – Margiste the evil crone leaned over her and muttered This warning in her ear, her voice a rasp of cunning: “If you dare make a sound, I swear by God above us, I’ll slit your pretty throat from one side to the other!” When Bertha heard her voice, its horror made her shudder. She knew she’d been betrayed by those she most had trusted, And fell into a swoon as terror swamped her courage. Her traitor turned away, without delay, instructing Young Tybert to remain and keep her undiscovered. Returning to the room where Pepin was, she uttered A cry of grief and rage, the both of which were humbug, While to her daughter’s feet she fell and pleaded humbly: “My Queen, for love of God, Who made the sky above us, If you could see the way I’ve had my daughter punished, You’d know I bear no blame for her insane presumption.” “Be silent,” cried the King, “you rancid, rabid mongrel! Your treachery is clear – the pair of you are culprit! You wanted Bertha dead – and she was your accomplice! Your daughter shall be hung! Your plea avails you nothing!” At this Aliste broke in: “I beg you, noble husband, Do not suspect Margiste of conduct unbecoming! From here to Iceland’s Sea there breathes no finer mother. Her daughter, sad to say, is known by us to suffer From madness, like the loon in moonlight full or bloodied. My lord, I beg a boon, this morning of our loving, The very first request I’ve made of your indulgence Since I became your wife. I came here at your summons, To wear the golden crown for you and for your country. I beg you, on the faith you swore to me in public, Please keep this sorry act a secret fact among us. 344

Bertha Broad-foot I would not have it said and spread to all and sundry! I brought this troubled maid to live in France the lovely, And would be too ashamed for all to know I’d done it. This very dawn, my lord, have three lieutenants summoned: Confide her to their guard and give them these instructions: She must be led, at once, by them to some far country, Then strangled by their hands, her body buried somewhere – I don’t care how she dies, provided that she does so!” “My lady,” said the crone, “I own that that is justice. Upon my soul, it’s true, the devil that corrupts her Must some way be expelled to hell with all its brothers!” The King heard their request, and in no mood to shun it, Agreed that every word they’d said would be accomplished. Aliste cajoled her way, with tenderness so stubborn, That soon she’d reconciled King Pepin with her mother So well he said that she should manage this abduction. Margiste was filled with joy, but as she bowed she furrowed Her brow in sham of woe and shame beyond her compass. How low a game she’d played – but, oh, how well she’d won it! UPON HIS FEET rose Pepin – he had no time to sit, As he was pressed to action by Margiste and Aliste, And went himself to summon three officers of his. He didn’t give a reason why only they were picked, But told them, as he led them back in to old Margiste, That they should do her bidding and do it to the hilt! “My lords,” she interrupted, “equip yourselves forthwith, While I prepare the mission that you are to fulfil. Return when you are ready, and learn your part therein.” She showed to them the chamber where Bertha languished still: “It’s here that I’ll be waiting. Be quiet, but be quick!” She too was in a hurry, as, with a sigh, she slipped Away from them and, sobbing, went back to see the King, Who truly thought that sorrow had robbed her of her wits. She urged the King, however, still weeping as she did: “Go back to bed, your Highness, and rest assured of this: You’ll never see henceforward the girl who was Aliste: She is no more my daughter. No child of mine shall live, Who dares to harm a hair of my Lady Bertha’s skin!” On saying this, she left him – a curse upon her tricks – And then her real daughter began to cry, as if She too was broken-hearted – she sighed up quite a wind! The King was most attentive and tried his best to give 345

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His lovely wife some comfort: “Don’t sorrow so, my chick! Forget about this servant – God rot the lunatic! Her mind was full of poison with power still to kill! Don’t hide the hurt you’ve suffered! How deep a wound is it?” “My noble lord,” she answered, “it’s nothing time won’t fix. The shock of it was more than the injury it did. If you will lock our bedroom, I’ll show you where she hit.” She said this to divert him from what was happening Outside, and give her mother more time to manage it. The mother and young Tybert made use of every bit: Upon a sumpter Bertha was very swiftly pitched And led off by the guardsmen amid the morning mist. Young Tybert made a fourth one – and God, I hope, a fifth Who’ll guard her from the others and save her from their sin! Before they left, the mother told Tybert, her young kin: “Bring back the heart of Bertha to prove that she is killed!” And then, again, she told him the task he should acquit, And how he should acquit it in all and everything – Because it was essential to seal young Bertha’s lips. “Good aunt,” he said, “don’t worry! I have the will and skill To do what I have promised – and do it well I will!” On saying this, he left her and they began their trip. THE MOON WAS STILL aglow as morning mist was lifting, And Bertha forced to go in woe most unremitting, Well hidden from the eyes of any passing witness – How underserved a plight for such a loving Christian! “Dear God on High,” she sighed, “from Whom no sight is hidden, I pay the heavy price of someone else’s sinning! Alas that I have dwelt in company so wicked! Has ever sweet before felt suddenly so bitter? Alas! I’ll see no more my good and noble kinsmen – The mother I adore, my father or my siblings! Defend, O mighty Lord, my body and my spirit!” WITHOUT A LIE, young Bertha was truly terrified. Not knowing where they led her or any reason why, She called on God to help her, our Governor and Guide. I don’t intend to tell you the details of their ride, Except that when they came to a hostel they confined Young Bertha in a solar, where she was out of sight Of everyone but Tybert – a curse upon his kind! When finally he brought her some food and drink at night, 346

Bertha Broad-foot He showed her very clearly the sharp edge of his knife, To plunge her spirits deeper and give her such a fright She wouldn’t dare to utter a single cry or sigh. And while she ate her supper he never left her side Until he’d wedged the rope back inside her mouth and tied Her hands again, the villain, to keep her pacified, And locked away from others until the morning light. And that is how they travelled, in truth, without a lie, For five whole days on horseback until they had arrived Inside a wood whose cover was heavy, high and wide. Its name was Mansel forest – so I have been apprised. They halted there, I’m certain, beneath an olive high, As Tybert said: “Companions, I swear by Jesus Christ, We have no need to journey a further day or mile!” “Thank God for that, young master!” the other three replied, And on the grass dismounted before he changed his mind. The sergeant, who was Mōrant, a good and honest type, With Renier and Godfrey, the soldiers by his side, Took Bertha from the sumpter – God help her in her plight! They’d never been so close to young Bertha all this time, For Tybert hadn’t let them, or any other, nigh. She wore a costly mantle upon her robe of white, And when they raised the blanket that hid and held her tight They saw so fair a captive the tears came to their eyes. Young Tybert, quick as lightning, withdrew his sword and cried: “Enough, my lords! Step backward! The task ahead is mine! The devil that’s within her shall soon be exorcised!” When Bertha saw the weapon a shudder shook her spine, And to the ground she crumpled in terror out of mind. She kissed the earth before them to supplicate the knights, For she could do no other to tell them of her plight – Her lovely mouth was stopped with the gag that he had tied. “Don’t touch her with your weapon!” the one called Mōrant cried: “I swear that if you do so, by God, the Lord of life, I’ll use my own on you, sir – though it should mean that I Must farewell France forever, for doing what was right!” THE DAY WAS BLEAK indeed. In driving rain and icy Upon the forest floor poor Bertha lay in silence. In dread of Tybert’s sword and how he meant to ply it, She prayed to Heaven’s Maid, the comfort of the righteous. Sir Mōrant said: “My lords, what craven knave could find it Within his heart to treat so fair a maid so vilely?” 347

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“By God, we have no choice, all four of us!” said Tybert: “She must be slain today, and left where none may find her, For me to do the task my cherished aunt assigned me!” “Your heart’s as hard as stone – and I, for one, defy it!” Said Mōrant, adding this: “I swear, upon the Bible, That if you harm this maid, no gold on earth shall buy you A better bed than here to lie in and to die in!” YOUNG TYBERT’S CHEEKS were glowing. They burned an angry red When his desire was thwarted to witness Bertha dead, And he unsheathed his sword-blade completely nonetheless. At once the others countered: they seized him, right and left. Upon his knees they forced him to drop his weapon, then Unsheathed their own to show him they meant what they had said. While two of them detained him, their sergeant, whose noblesse Now greatly pitied Bertha, untied her arms and legs, And freed her lovely mouth of the loathsome gag as well. “Run for your life, my lovely! Go on, at once!” he pressed: “May God in His great mercy defend and guide you hence!” So Bertha – who was certain she would have lost her head – Did what he said: still shaking, she spun around and fled. With thanks to God she vanished inside the forest’s depths And took her leave of Tybert , without his leave, or let! On seeing this, the youngster was more than sorely vexed: ‘My lords!” he cried in fury, “That’s something you’ll regret! When we return to Paris I’ll see you hang, I pledge!” THE DAY WAS COLD and wet, with icy rain and steady, As through the closest gap young Bertha fled in terror Till she was out of sight of Tybert, or of any! “My lords,” the sergeant cried, “I think that God in Heaven Will verify our stand! We’ve made a foolish error In travelling these miles for such a vile intention! That maiden seems to me of noble birth and temper. ‘Godspeed’ to her I say, and may the Lord protect her! This wilderness is full of savage bears and leopards, Who’ll make of her their prey if there is none to help her. We too have been as wolves instead of sturdy shepherds – Which burns my honest heart and makes my conscience heavy.” At this they mounted horse, the four of them, and left there. AMONG THE THORNY THICKETS young Bertha fled away. May God above protect her, in His most holy name, 348

Bertha Broad-foot For you and I must leave her to wander on afraid Until it’s time to find her and tell of her again: We’re going with the soldiers, who turned the way they came! “Companions,” said Mōrant, “I think it best we slay A pig and take its heart back to represent the maid’s, For old Margiste to witness, as surely she will crave. You know that we have promised to show the haughty dame A heart, as proof of slaughter, and, doing this, we may Acquit us of our duty and free ourselves of blame. And as for you, young master, in good St Simon’s name, I swear, if you don’t like it, it’s your heart we’ll exchange!” “My lords,” responded Tybert “what other course remains? Since Bertha has escaped us, let’s do the best we may. I fear much more than you do, I’m not afraid to say, The outcome of this journey, whichever course we take!” The word of each was given, and never with such haste, To do as Mōrant counselled and as you’ve heard me state. I’ll not prolong the matter – suffice it now to say They slew a pig near Paris, then passed the city gates. Margiste was very happy to hear her nephew say: “My dearest aunt, we bring you the token that you craved, In proof that we’ve accomplished the task upon us laid. In truth, here is the heart of the creature we have slain.” The crone replied: “Companions, our gratitude is great! There never was a daughter less worthy of the name!” THE SOLDIERS went away; as soon as they were able They hurried to their homes, dismounting, and dismaying. Young Tybert stayed behind, then with the crone he hastened To see the queen – I mean, the vixen who’d replaced her, Who beamed with joy to see the boy employed to aid her! “My lady,” said the youth, “enjoy your fortune’s favour! Fair Bertha is no more – our naked swords have slain her.” “The Lord be praised for that!” exclaimed Aliste the traitor. “Good Tybert, you have earned my great appreciation.” Those very words she said, with merry heart and gaily To Tybert for the part he’d played, and still was playing. There truly never was so wicked a betrayal Since Judas sold for coin the life of Christ our Saviour! May God above, Who bore the Cross’s bane to save us, Ensure these villains too receive their proper wages! King Pepin had received the Magyar delegation Most richly, and with gifts as rich as the occasion. 349

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So now, when all done, they went back full of praises For Pepin to their lord and land, with salutations From him and his new bride: God bring her to damnation, I’ve had enough of her until we meet her later! To Bertha I’ll return, for she remains forsaken Among the forest’s depths, in fear and trepidation, With every step she takes, beseeching God to aid her! She doesn’t know her way, and every moment takes her Still further from the spot where evil plot has placed her. The Second Geste – Bertha abandoned

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YOUNG BERTHA, IN the forest, wept bitterly and groaned With fear to hear the hooting of owls and howling wolves. The lightning was enormous, with heavy thunder-rolls, The sleeting rain was constant, the gusty wind was cold – A foul day for a lady abandoned and alone. She softly called on Jesus, and all His saints of old: “Almighty God in Heaven, I hold this to be so: That You were born of Mary, and when Your star arose It shone upon the Magi and led them by its glow, As any hence who follow Your shining Light will know, To witness God incarnate and worship at His throne: King Jaspar came with incense, King Balthazar with gold, King Melchior, the third one, with precious myrrh – and lo! You took their humble tokens and gave them Heaven’s hope! Dear Lord, as this is truly the truth I love and know, Take my despair and give me Your help to bear this load!” On saying this, she huddled inside her heavy coat And, with her faith in Jesus, went on through wood and wold. Ere long she saw before her a mighty valley’s slope, And called again on Jesus, our staff for any road, And on His Mother Mary, before she stepped below. Her bosom filled with sorrow, her spirit stilled with woe, She cried aloud: “How cruel a heart to me you’ve shown, Margiste, to so betray me and break your solemn oath! Alas for me, how wretched my royal life has grown – How little I resemble the heir to any throne! St Julian! Lord Jesus! Direct me where to go To save my feeble body from savage beast or foe! My faith in God is stalwart – I fear not for my soul!”

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Bertha Broad-foot HOW CRUEL WAS that day for one so fair and noble. No sumpter bore her trunk – she had no trunk or clothing, No hall of vaulted dome, no home at all to go to. Her heart was more adrift than Jonah in the ocean! No lady was as fair, from there to Thessalōny Or northern Wales – but now, her body’s strength was broken, Her tender face was worn and pallid with emotion: Of this you can be certain: her nimble step was slower. Her muddy robe was wet, impeding more her progress. She thirsted – and she found some water that was flowing: But dark it was as beer, and soon her throat was choking. FAIR BERTHA WANDERED onward in terror of her life. It’s surely little wonder her bosom heaved with fright: She hurried on, bewildered, not knowing where to hide, But always on the lookout for dangers, left and right, Before her and behind her, until her body tired. And every time she halted, most tenderly she cried And fell in supplication upon the path she plied, Or prostrate on the grasses, to offer prayer to Christ. She kissed the ground beneath her, for pity, countless times, And then, when she had risen, she filled the air with sighs. She thought about her mother, Queen Blancheflor the wise: “Ah madam,” she lamented, “if you could know the plight That I am in this moment, your wits would turn awry!” Then, with her hands together, she raised them to the sky: “Dear God, Who is our witness, from where You dwell on High, Protect me in this forest from all I must abide! And may Your loving Mother, direct my steps to find Some shelter for my body and comfort for my mind!” At last, her limbs exhausted, she sat beneath a pine, Invoking still St Mary and our Lord Jesus Christ, And wringing still, in worry, her lovely hands of white. FAIR BERTHA, GOOD and kind, within the wood abided. She strove as best she could to cross the slope and climb it, In great desire to reach the open fields beside it. But many were the paths, and all so narrow-winding She didn’t know at all if she had picked the wisest. “A curse on you, Margiste!” she cried, “You wicked liar! Why did you, with such speed and jealousy, consign me To such a savage place, in secrecy and silence, Where very soon, I’m sure, the woodland beasts will find me? 351

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QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR’S young daughter, that pearl of loveliness, Was lost inside the forest, her face a mask of dread. If noble Flor her father, a king of high prowess, Had known of her misfortune, he would have lost his head! Good Bertha had a sister, called Aalais, who had wed A Saxon duke, a marquis and royal count who held All Brandenburg, the townships and countryside as well – And so she was related by marriage and descent To emperors and princes and kings of noble geste: Was she, who’d grown so lovely – the rose and lily blent – To wither in the forest of criminal neglect? She wept as she succumbed to the weight of her distress: “Dear Jesus, shall I ever behold my friends again? I have become a victim of fortune’s cruel jests: Impoverished, abandoned, an object of contempt, When I had thought my honour had risen to its crest, To be the wife of Pepin, most powerful of men, And led in state to Paris, surrounded by the best. But now, I see it clearly: it seems that I was meant To journey to the highest, then plummet to the depths!” She raised her arms for pity, then crossed them on her breast. BENEATH A FOREST-PINE fair Bertha sat and rested. She wore a sleeveless coat above the shift she’d slept in, And over that a cloak of Eastern make whose edging And lining were of furs, both grey and white together. She looked of noble birth, in visage and in vestment, But they could not conceal a heart bereft and wretched. The driving rain and wind had used her so ungently, The hail and mud had soiled and made her clothes so heavy, She stumbled in a swoon beneath a rocky crevice. As soon as she awoke, she broke into lamenting. Invoking St Denis, she called upon the Heavens: “If Flor, my father, knew the wicked woe and peril To which he let me go, I know he’d lose his senses! His noble heart would mourn and, throbbing with a vengeance To know me lost and lorn, a victim of deception, 352

Bertha Broad-foot He’d gallop dusk to dawn to find me and to fetch me! But now I cannot see a way or means whatever To let him know my fate and bring him to my rescue! May God above, Who bore the Cross for our redemption, And knows my love is pure and reverent, protect me From the abusive claws and lust of lawless felons, And every foaming jaw that roams this wood and weather!” SHE SAT BENEATH a beech-tree, amid the wicked wold, Beside a little river they used to call Minclo – And now she had to cross it, by swimming through the flow: “To You, my Lord and Saviour, I do commend my soul, My body and my spirit, and all I am or own, As Your devoted servant forever and in troth.” She swam across, but hitting her foot against a stone, She holed her shoe and suffered a cut to her right toe. She bled as if a dagger had sliced her to the bone. “Ah, woe is me!” she whimpered, “I’d cry for help, although I fear the beasts around me would hear me and approach! There’s little good awaits me whichever road I go, And even in my mantle I’m dying from the cold. Whatever fate awaits me, my faith in God is whole. Ah, Pepin! Wife and husband should tread a common road, But you are safe in Paris, and here I bleed alone!” SHE LEANED UPON the ground, though hard it was and stony, And she the gentlest child, the loveliest and noblest, Most modest maid alive from Danube to the ocean! I do not know who made that nook upon the knoll there, But that was where she stopped: her tearful throat was choking: She’d limped there like a horse whose fetlock had been broken. The brambles, as she’d fled, had ripped her clothing open, And, as she lay, she tried to tie it up or hold it. Her features weren’t as soiled and spoiled as was her clothing: Her face was still as white as chalk beneath the hoer, As shining as a claw and blushing as a rose’s. A trailing branch had struck her cheekbone and her shoulder So painfully that now an ugly bruise had opened. Young Bertha swooned with pain, her body weak and frozen, But still her Faith was firm: she prayed with great emotion, Though, fearing beasts might hear, she kept her voice well lowered – She spoke because her woe would not remain unspoken: “Ah, destiny!” she groaned, “Your grinning face is gloating, 353

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As fortune spins her wheel to turn my fortunes over, To fling me from the heights and bring me to the lowest! A fish that swims the sea has more than I to hope for, For it is free, while I’m as trapped in here and hopeless As any finch or lark the hungry hawk approaches. Some bear or lion near – I fear it every moment – Will seize me in its claws or teeth and tear me open. Dear Jesus, as You know the truth of my devotion, Allow Your Mother’s love to fill my breast so wholly It keeps my heart afloat with hope until the moment Her loving arms themselves in Heaven are enfolding My soul – like many more from Satan’s clutches cloven!” UPON THAT DAY the weather was horrible and harsh, And Bertha wept, who bore it, and had for hours past, In pain and awful anguish; but with her loyal heart She bore it as a burden the will of God demands Of those who’d make the journey on Paradise’s path. “If only my good mother could know of what has passed, And how she’d lost her daughter in forest-land of Mans! How foolish or deceitful the counsel was that charged Margiste with my well-being and Tybert as my guard! May God allow these traitors, one day, to be unmasked In everybody’s presence and punished at the last! When at St Herbert’s abbey I crossed the Rhine for France, I didn’t think my lodgings would be so very dark!” IN FOREST-LAND of Mans young Bertha kept advancing, As night fell on the wood and she withstood its harshness. Her face and head were bare, or covered only partly, And she was numbed with cold, for she had reached a pathway Where only bushes stood against the blizzard’s blasting. She sheltered where she could, as, with her strength departing, She wiped her lovely face with lace upon her garment, And called upon the souls of both those blessed martyrs And saints who suffered so: St Catherine and St Barbara. They suffered many trials till their appeals were answered At Paradise’s door by God Himself thereafter. “Let me accept with Grace the suffering I’m asked to, This misery, this cold! But, oh, Eternal Father, Who know my soul is strong, defend its mortal armour From the attacking claws of beasts that seek to harm me, And every other foe this woeful forest harbours!” 354

Bertha Broad-foot BE PATIENT WITH my story, I beg of all of you! Its verses are well crafted and what they tell is true: Moreover, there are many who ought to hear it too, Because it really happened, and truly there are few Such worthy songs as this one, based only on the truth. At Saint-Denis in Paris is where you’ll find the proof, For there it’s plainly written for anyone to view. So – as the sun was setting, and in the growing gloom, Fair Bertha raced for shelter where trees more thickly grew, And found a spot where seven or eight of them had fused Their roots to form a hollow that savage beasts had used. But in her haste to shelter from such a wind that blew, She prayed to God our Saviour and rushed inside it too. Her head was numb and dizzy and soon began to droop. No wine was there to rouse her, no garnished dish or crude, No bread or cake or biscuit, no wheat or meat or stew, In truth, no mite or morsel of mortal joy or food To cheer the one whose body would bear such noble fruit As Charlemagne, who routed the Pagans by the roots! FAIR BERTHA WATCHED the wood grow ever dark and gloomy. She knew the night to come would give her bitter duel, And, shielded by the trees, prepared to battle through it. “Dear God above,” she cried, “how destiny can fool us! Alas! Where is the joy and comfort I was used to? This wood is bitter gall, this weather wild amusement! This nook, it seems to me, is not the work of humans, But looks the lurk of beasts – a lair of their collusion! I cannot see my fate as anything but gruesome! If they should find me here or whither they pursue me, My fate will be the same: their savage jaws will chew me As river-pike the trout, with raw delight and ruthless! So here I will abide – I cannot hide by moving! The God Who led me here knows well what He is doing. THAT NIGHT, in Mansel forest, Queen Bertha’s lodge was mean: She had no hall or solar, no house or room, indeed No cushion or a mattress, no pillow or a sheet, No comfort for her body, no carpet for her feet, No ladies to attend her, and none to guard her sleep. She called on God to help her, Who answers every need, And made herself a pallet of fallen olive-leaves To try to get some rest on, or just a little ease. 355

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And yet, if gentle Jesus, Who governs all and each, Deserts her for one moment, her respite will be brief: Returning from their evil, two merchant-robbing thieves Caught sight of her white tunic against the gloomy trees, And one of them rushed forward to seize what he had seen! Poor Bertha jumped in terror and trembled as she feared A beast was out to get her – and she was right indeed: On seeing such a beauty, he ran to seize the Queen! “Let go of her, you lecher!” his evil comrade screeched: “For she shall be my sweetheart – I swear that’s what she’ll be!”” “She shall,” replied the other, “but only in your dreams! You’ll sleep more than you wanted if you dispute with me!” On hearing this, his partner turned livid-lipped and seized The dagger he was wearing and drove it at his peer. The first one, with his sword-blade, returned a blow so fierce That soon the two were locked in a bloody rivalry! On seeing this, fair Bertha at once began to flee, While lifting up her dress-hem to give herself more speed. Along a narrow pathway she sped her weary feet Until she was exhausted and turned among the trees To hide inside a thicket of thorny evergreens Until the growing shadows had covered her retreat. When night was at its darkest she couldn’t help but weep: “How can I not be frightened of night so long and deep? And yet, with light of morning, without my Lord to lead, Shall I continue northward or turn to west or east? Whichever path I start on will surely end in grief. Whatever fate awaits me it must be one of three: I’ll either die of hunger, or perish as I freeze, Or in the early dawn-light become the prey of beasts. How poor a choice to ponder! How sore a destiny! St Mary, I implore you, as Mother, to beseech, Your loving Son, Lord Jesus, the Saviour of the weak, To guide me through this peril and help me in my need.” Then, as she knelt in prayer, she kissed the ground beneath: “St Julien, protect me!” she pleaded through her tears, And said the prayer that Jesus taught all of us to speak. Then, lying on her right side, her chin against her knees, She crossed herself and, calling on God and Mary each, While weeping still, God help her, young Bertha fell asleep. A CRUEL BED she had, beside a blighted heath-land Upon a slope that ran towards a river’s reaches. 356

Bertha Broad-foot Her pillow was a stone, her pallet was the leafage. Her only comfort lay in God and good St Peter, And Mary, Heaven’s Queen, the Mother of the needy, And Julien the brave, the Patron Saint of seekers. Her hand had bent some strands of bracken-fern to reach her And shield, as best they could, her tender face and features From all they had to bear in that benighted greenwood. She dreaded most the wind, both bitter cold and keening, And what is more, the thorns had torn her clothes to pieces. Young Bertha was as frail as dew upon the field-grass – A kind and clever maid, of manners and good breeding, Just sixteen years of age when that old crone, the scheming Margiste and her young kin – a curse upon such people – Had led her from her land, then planned their evil treason! Sweet Mary be their judge – and swiftly, I beseech you! WITH DANGER ALL around her, she bided in the wood: She would have been much safer inside the town Namur, Defended by her kinsman the gallant Count Glanzur, Whose golden shield emblazoned a lion of azure. He governed, through his marriage, the region of Saumur, But died in foreign pastures across the sea at Saur, In combat with the Pagans for Jesus and the Truth. No lady, I am certain, from Paris to Dafour, Was more in need than Bertha of rescue or of ruth. May Jesus in His mercy relieve her sorrow soon, For no one loved Him better or with a heart more true. She fell asleep, exhausted, and slept so deeply too, Against a small embankment beneath a shrub of yew, The striking of a tabor would not have made her move! UPON THE UGLY GROUND slept Bertha in her beauty. The night was very bleak, most frightening and gloomy, And very cold the wind that blew and blustered through it. Queen Bertha was ill-clad for anyone so youthful To thrive in or survive that wood and weather’s fury. But she was of a mind so finely bred and tutored To love and trust in God – to do her best and do it In knowledge that each breath we take, and every movement Is given at His grace and governed as He chooses – That even as her woes grew heavier she knew them To be the will of God and willingly endured them. And lo! At dead of night a little light illumined! 357

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THE WIND BEGAN to lessen towards the dead of night. Queen Bertha woke from slumber and heaved a heavy sigh As she began to tremble with cold again and fright. At last she looked around her, on each and every side, And thought the dawn had broken because the trees were bright. “Dear God, in what direction should I proceed,” she cried, “To find at least a morsel of food of any kind? My hunger is so pressing my wits are all awry!” On saying this, she started to weep and bring to mind The father and the mother whom she had left behind. “Alas, my gentle mother, so caring and so kind, And you, my loving father, who kissed and held me tight! We’ll not be reunited in all our mortal lives!” On bended knee and elbow she prayed to Jesus Christ: “Dear Lord in Highest Heaven, Who bore the Cross’s spite Upon this earth to offer our world eternal Life, What mortal wouldn’t praise You, in triumph or in trial? The lowliest who suffers shall know the greatest rise, Since the reward You offer Your servants is so high: I truly know that any who trusts You with their life Will share with You forever the crown of Paradise! If further trails of sorrow are destined to be mine, Then I shall ply them gladly and suffer any trials You set me – but, I beg you, please let me live a while! For love of You, Lord Jesus, this solemn vow I plight – A vow that I shall honour until the day I die: I shall reveal to no one, as long as I abide, That I was bred a princess and wed as Pepin’s bride. I swear I’ll tell to no one that I am Pepin’s wife – With this unique exception, if ever it applies: If any rogue should threaten my chastity and tries To take it, I shall tell him, to check his foul design. Let me preserve my virtue, of body and of mind, For virtue is a tribute that can’t be offered twice. From door to door I’ll wander and lead a beggar’s life. May God and His sweet Mother allow me to survive The pathway to their kingdom, where all is love and light.” When this was said a cloudburst wrought torrents from the sky, And Bertha kept in shelter until the pelting died. 358

Bertha Broad-foot QUEEN BERTHA WOKE from sleep in bitter pain and pining, For as the dawn approached the cold again was biting: “True Governor,” she sighed, “of everything abiding, My body and my soul are in Your hands entirely, For I have spent a night where both have been on trial, Great charges laid on both, and human aid denied them. Ah, wicked you, Margiste, and wicked you, young Tybert! How dearly must I pay for your deceitful lying! God, pity me and see their villainy requited!” Before the light of dawn had covered the horizon Queen Bertha rose again. The moon was shining brightly. ACROSS THE Mansel forest, as soon as it was dawn, Trod lovely Bertha Broad-Foot, not waiting any more, But urging God to guide her upon the path she walked. She sighted soon a fountain and drank from it with joy, But felt so cold thereafter she shivered all the more, And knew that she would perish unless she found some warmth. She saw a path much smaller than those she’d seen before, And struck along it boldly, determined not to pause. She followed it with courage, and at its end she saw A hermitage before her, both very old and small. But she rejoiced to see it and, praising God the Lord, She ran towards it quickly and knocked upon its porch By using a small mallet suspended on a board. At once the knocking summoned its kindly tenant forth, Who straightaway flung open a very tiny door. When Bertha saw the hermit she lifted up her voice: “Good hermit, let me enter, for God’s sake,” she implored, “Until my frozen body has had a chance to thaw And to revive a little from all that it has borne!” On seeing her so lovely, the hermit’s heart was fraught With fear at how her beauty would test his duty’s call. “Dear God,” he cried, “I pray You to strengthen my resolve! Let evil not bedevil my actions or my thoughts! Oh, why is such a creature within these woods at all? I’ve never seen such beauty in all my life before! The Devil’s out to catch me within his evil thrall – But he shall never match me, if God is my support!” He crossed his face, then asked her, in his most sober voice, If she believed in Jesus and heeded Christian Law. “Indeed I do,” she answered, “with every breath I draw!” Again he asked: “Now tell me, in truth, where you were born.” 359

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“My lord,” again she answered, “both lost I am and lorn. If you will let me enter, I swear I’ll tell you all There is to know about me and what I’m searching for.” “Fair lady,” said the hermit, “I can’t, for I have sworn To let no woman enter, however rich or poor! The leaders of our order demand that we conform To this proscription, prescribed in times of yore. I cannot let you enter or I shall be forsworn!” On hearing this, she whimpered, as weeping choked her voice. The hermit had some bread there and held a little forth – Bread neither soft or sifted, but dark and full of straw. Fair Bertha took it gladly and, blessing him, she sought To bite it, but her body and spirit were so worn She hardly ate a morsel, and tasted none at all. On seeing this, the hermit was even more distraught. He wept, he couldn’t help it, and sighed at what he saw: A noble-looking woman he pitied more and more. He would have let her enter, not left her out of doors, But he was so committed to what he’d pledged before, He feared that, if he did so, he would have been forsworn. “DO NOT DESPAIR, my dear,” the worthy man implored her, “For you shall not regret your coming here this morning. If you will heed my words, your search will be rewarded. Press onward to the house of Simon, called The Warden, Who lives there with his wife Constanzia, and daughters. They’re known by all around as honest folk and stalwart: You’ll find a bed with them and have a fire to warm you. Upon my soul I swear you’ll meet no finer mortals.” But Bertha cried: “My lord, I’m frightened to go forward, For I won’t know the way unless another points it!” “Allay your fear, my dear,” the worthy man exhorted, “ Just stay upon this path, unerringly and always!” “My lord, may God on High, Who made the sky, reward you. For I am very sure another night of torment Within this savage wood would kill me very surely. Its paths are full of pain. Its pains are full of portent. Had I a hundred lives, I swear on Mary’s altar, Not one would have survived the dangers that I courted!” The hermit, hearing this, unlatched and left his doorway To set her on her way and pray God to support her: He pitied her indeed and wept at her misfortune. And so she journeyed on, inside the woods before her, 360

Bertha Broad-foot But hardly had she gone a half a mile or quarter When from an open glen she heard a she-bear roaring That, with its jaws agape, came charging up towards her! On seeing it so near, sheer terror overbore her: “Dear God above,” she cried, “Whose spirit moves the waters, And dwells in Paradise, Your will be done henceforward!” At this, she swooned away, as terror overbore her. But lo! The monster turned, as if it had been ordered! It had the will, and skill, to kill so fair a morsel, But God and Mary’s hands defended her from slaughter, For that was not the end they’d planned for Bertha Broad-Foot. Reviving from her swoon, her mind was so disjointed She couldn’t find the path the hermit’s hand had pointed, But followed on a course it seemed that God was calling – As soon as she could see the animal’s had altered! She begged the Virgin Maid to aid her and support her, As, suddenly, she stopped, and slumped to ground exhausted: Her hunger and the cold had overborne her forces. If God had not resolved to help her, I assure you She couldn’t have survived a moment more, according To what I know she’d had of nourishment or water. And this was how she met with Simon, called The Warden! He’d strained his horse’s reins a blink or two beforehand, As pity claimed his heart to see a maid so mournful. Then – when he saw her cloak, with fur upon its borders, And noticed that her robe was torn at many corners From brambles and from thorns through which she must have drawn it, And yet the skin it bared was flower-fair and flawless – He wondered what or who had brought her there or forced her, And then, what border rare had grown so fair a daughter. When Bertha had revived she rose again, but halted As Simon came to her, and greeted her with caution. His greeting she returned, as courtesy had taught her: “God bless you, noble lord, and crown your soul with glory! Please show me, if you will, I earnestly exhort you, The way to Simon’s house, whose courtesy is lauded: For I am lost and lorn – a starving, frozen orphan Affrighted in these woods from yester-night till dawning. In Christian charity, please show me to his doorstep.” WHEN SIMON, CALLED the Warden, heard Bertha talking thus, He knew that she was noble and he was deeply touched: His bosom filled with pity and spilled in tears of love: 361

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“Who are you, gentle lady? I won’t betray your trust.” She answered him: “Good vassal, I’ll tell you who I was: My homeland is Alsatia; but there, as I grew up, A heavy war was raging, of which we bore the brunt. I am Sir Climent’s daughter, a wealthy vavasour Whose hall and lands were taken, with everything he’d won. My family and kinsmen were forced to leave at once And seek in foreign countries survival’s wretched crumbs. My step-mother was cruel – both sharp of hand and tongue – And she abused me daily from light of dawn to dusk, By slapping me or kicking until she’d drawn some blood – Until I couldn’t stand it and knew I’d had enough. The other day I left them – but, ever since, I’ve come To rue it, for I’ve suffered far greater on the run! A gentle hermit told me, this morning, at his hut, That if, by his direction and help from God above, I reached the house of Simon, I’d find a change of luck, For they were worthy people who’d welcome me with love. But I have lost my bearings, and all my hope is crushed. Good man, if you can tell me the path I should have struck, For God’s sake, I implore you, inform me so at once!” “Allay your fears,” said Simon, “and let your tears be done, “For I am warden Simon, most truly, lovely one!” On hearing this, young Bertha was dumb with joy, but flung Her arms towards the Heavens in thanks to God above, As Simon led her homewards, as gently as a dove. Arriving at his cabin, he hailed his wife at once, A woman of great virtue called Dame Constanzia: “ My love, I have a present for you to open up! I found her in the forest – it was a miracle! She tells a sorry story of how she’s come to us, But this I can assure you: she’s made of gallant stuff – She has survived the dangers of weather rude and rough, At night, inside the forest, and I for one am stunned That she’s escaped the jaws of its deadly denizens! She’s very weak from hunger, and shivering and numb: Look after her, I beg you. Revive her with your love.” “Your will, my lord,” she answered, “as always, will be done!” She took the hand of Bertha, with tenderness enough, But Bertha, hurt and frozen, still whimpered at the touch. Constanzia wept also, as tenderly they hugged. She led her to her bedroom and laid her on a rug Before the fire, exhorting her daughters then to rub 362

Bertha Broad-foot Her limbs and body gently, but well, to warm her up. The pair of them, for pity, wept also as they rubbed. When Bertha felt the comfort, she thanked the Lord above. IT’S TRUE, MY noble lords: although the house was humble It filled the Queen with joy, who thanked the Lord above us That she had found respite from fortune’s evil clutches. Constanzia was grieved to see how she had suffered, As were her daughters too, whose names I have discovered Were Isabelle the one and Eglantine the other. What winsome girls they were – good-hearted, young and lovely, Both kind of mind and true – the image of their mother. They all did what they could to help their charge recover: They brought her food and tried to make her swallow something. But in the woods she’d been so sorely hurt and troubled That more than thirty pains, in every limb and muscle, Had made her very weak and she could swallow nothing. “God’s mercy bless your soul, sweet hermit,” Bertha muttered, “For showing me the road that rendered me this comfort. My body was ill-used, my spirit sorely troubled Inside the freezing wood amid the rain and thunder.” She stretched before the fire and wept to feel so lucky. CONSTANZIA was moved by the tears that Bertha shed, As were indeed her daughters, each one of them possessed Of feelings that were tender and strong with good intent. Each one of them was eager to ease and please their guest: Good Simon built the fire up with laudable largesse. The women warmed her body with blankets, right and left, And placed some heated towels across her trembling breast. “Constanzia,” said Simon, “her body must be fed!” “By St Germain,” she answered, “I swear that’s coming next!” As Bertha too made answer: “This warming feeds me best, Although I’ve eaten nothing since yesterday – and yet The hermit did provide me a little of his bread: I simply couldn’t eat it, my heart was so distressed.” A MONDAY MORN it was, the working week commencing, When in the Mansel wood fair Bertha’s life was rescued From awful pain and strain, as well as mortal peril. But God – Who fills our hearts with happiness unending, And when we lose our way, is our eternal Shepherd – Had seen her on that day, alone and full of terror, 363

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Heroines of the French Epic And that is why He’d sent good luck in her direction! Good Simon left the room with everyone except for His daughters and his wife, who lovingly attended To Bertha, doing each their very best to help her. Like whitest wool her skin was paler white than ever. Her hair was blonder far than that of ancient Helen. 1280

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AMID THE SAVAGE forest Queen Bertha lay inside The house of worthy Simon, his daughters and his wife, Whose care displayed their pity; and it was clear alike That what they did for Bertha had saved her mortal life: She even ate a little when she had slept a while. “What happened to you, dearest?” Constanzia inquired: “What drove you to these woodlands without a guard or guide?” To this the Queen responded the way she had replied To Simon, with the story of her despairing flight. The wife replied: “My dearest, I have to say that I Do think you were mistaken to leave your father’s side And lose his love because of your new stepmother’s spite: For you are left with nothing, and that cannot be right.” “Good mother,” answered Bertha, “I know your words are wise, But I don’t think that either have missed me or have tried To search for me – or worried if I should live or die!” By saying this she managed to keep her vow and hide The truth from Simon’s household as long as fate conspired. She warmed herself with pleasure that day before the fire, And ate and drank at leisure, whenever she desired. “NOW, WHAT’S YOUR NAME, my dear?” Constanzia asked kindly: “Do not despair or fear – we welcome your arrival.” “I’m Bertha,” she replied, “I do not seek to hide it.” “Nor should you.” said the dame, “Your name could not be finer – For so is named our Queen, a maiden whom our Highness King Pepin’s made his bride and everyone delights in: Her beauty, so they say, and goodness are unrivalled.” On hearing this, the fear in Bertha only heightened: She groaned at her own name, and wished she had disguised it. Constanzia went on: “You have indeed been frightened! How long have you been lost or used the wood to hide in?” “Since yesterday at dawn I’ve wandered, lost inside it, And then I had to bide the terrors of its night-time, Alone, among the thorns, the brambles and the briars. My clothing has been torn, its stitches shorn to slivers. 364

Bertha Broad-foot My body has been pierced from top to toe entirely, As, like a frightened beast, my panic drove me blindly. But thanks to God above, and to St Mary’s kindness, I saw the dawn of day and met your husband Simon. God bless you for the love and care you have provided. You have restored my health and warmed my heart with kindness. My need was great indeed, for I was close to dying.” MOST EARNESTLY regretting that she had told her name, She wished that she had changed it when making up her tale. “Constanzia,” said Simon, “prepare a private place Where she may sleep a little or rest as best she may. Her night inside the forest was no delight, I’d say.” “My worthy lord,” said Bertha, “God bless you with His grace! Whatever fate awaits me I cannot now but praise The monk I met this morning who pointed out the way That I should go to find you – God bless him too, in faith! I would have died already without the hermit’s aid.” Then to herself she whispered, so none could hear her say: “May God, born of the Virgin in Bethlehem that day, Confound the scheming Tybert for a deceitful knave, And old Margiste, the servant by whom I was betrayed! I’m sure the king my father, whose heart is true and brave, Queen Blancheflor my mother, my sister too, Aalais, Would not have hailed my marriage if they had known its fate! If now they knew, I’m certain that many hearts would break With sorrow in their kingdoms, and many heads would shake!” At this, her courage faltered and Bertha wept again. CONSTANZIA spoke forth: “Do not despair, I pray you! Your stepmother was cruel to chide you so and chafe you, But, rest assured, God knows the wrongs she did against you And will reward in kind her most unkind behaviour. A bad stepmother’s love is little short of hatred. Forget the time that’s past, for better shall replace it. You’re safe within these walls; here nobody will plague you. Remain here for a month in liberty and safety. Of all that you require our household will avail you.” Said Bertha: “From my heart I thank you for this favour! All blessings on this house and on the hermit’s haven! May God, the Holy Ghost, and Jesus Christ our Saviour, Reward your souls today, and save them through the ages!”

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AMID THE MIGHTY forest of lofty firs galore, Inside the house of Simon and good Constanzia, Lay lovely, royal Bertha; with lowered head and voice She prayed and prayed that Jesus would joyfully reward The hermit who had shown her the pathway to their door. Constanzia attended her every need and call, As did indeed the daughters – may God reward them all. As one girl brought her chicken to eat, the other thought To thin her wine with water so she could swallow more, Before they wrapped her snugly in furs to keep her warm. Both night and day they watched her with every care and joy. God – if they’d been aware of just who that care was for! WITHIN THE COTTAGE walls of Simon, called ‘The Warden’, Inside a curtained room lay lovely Bertha Broad-Foot. If Simon’s wife had known she had the Queen before her, Whom treachery had seen abandoned like an orphan Inside the wood at night, affrighted and exhausted, I’m sure she would have shown great deference towards her. But Bertha, as she stayed each further day, was shortly So well beloved because she willingly and always, And with a graceful skill that still was meek and loyal, Did all that she was asked in any task’s performance. She also kept the vow of secrecy she’d sworn to, A vow she wouldn’t now, for anything, be false to. Constanzia herself loved Bertha like a daughter. Her calibre of mind endeared her even more so. CONSTANZIA’S two daughters were skilful artisans In thread of gold and silk-work –– I know this for a fact. Next day the honest Bertha was watching, as she sat Beside them at their labour, and said: “I would be glad To teach you a new pattern that you might like to add. My mother was a seamstress who came from near Alsace.” Said Isabelle: “Good Bertha, please teach us all you can!” And so, as it is stated in histories they have At Saint-Denis, the fame of Queen Bertha’s hand began, As one whose skill at sewing was peerless in the land: Said Eglantine: “My sister, the skills we thought we had Are naught, you must admit it, compared to Bertha’s hand! I shall at once tell mother – and make her understand That if good Bertha leaves us, we should be more than sad!” She ran off to her mother and straightaway began: 366

Bertha Broad-foot “By all my faith in Jesus and good St Nicholas, I’ve never seen a seamstress with skills that Bertha has! I swear, if she should leave us, you’ll never hold me back, Or Isabelle, from leaving to follow in her tracks!” “Enough of that, my lovely!” replied Constanzia: “I too would keep her with us and help her all I can To thrive, and help her marry, if she aspires to that. Until that time I’ll make her your close companion: You three shall sleep together inside the room I have.” Her daughter laughed with pleasure and gave her hands a clap: “Oh thank you, lovely mother, and God above,” she sang, “For giving us, in Bertha, the best companion! I love the summer roses – but none of those can match The graciousness of spirit and character she has!” CONSTANZIA, at once, returned to raise the matter With Eglantine, who glowed from head to toe with gladness! Fair Bertha was at work upon a wondrous pattern Most difficult to sew – but not for her to handle! Constanzia looked on, with tenderest compassion: “O Bertha!” she exclaimed, “There’s nothing that we have here Shall not be shared with you to make you well and happy! Remain within our care, away from danger’s harrow, And solemnly I swear I’ll never treat you badly.” “God bless you,” Bertha cried, “Whose sun dispels the shadows. Whatever is my share I’ll bear it well and gladly!” “I’LL GLADLY STAY, my lady, since you have asked me thus.” Said Bertha, and she added: “May God reward your trust! I bless the road that brought me to this abode of love!” And certainly, young Bertha was loved by all of them. But now I’d tell of others – then, when the moment comes To tell again of Bertha, you’ll know it well enough! She stayed there for a decade with kind Constanzia, And Simon, in whose friendship she found support at once. So peerlessly she served them she well deserved and won The keys that ran the household and lives of everyone! She always wore on Fridays the shirt that penitents Put on to honour Jesus, Who pardoned Longinus, And praise the Virgin Mary, who bore us such a Son! Each Saturday she fasted, on water and some crusts, But thought of Pepin daily, and called on God above To bless him in his lifetime, and when his days were done. 367

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She also missed the monarch her father very much, And Blancheflor her mother, that paragon of love: “Ah, mother dear, if only you knew the treason done By your entrusted servants, what heavy tears would run! The Lord to whom you gave me is rich and powerful – For it is God in Heaven, whose honesty is such He is the One and Only in Whom we all may trust. With all my heart I beg Him to guard you with His love And bless my noble father, the best of knighthood’s blood!” The Third Geste – Bertha vindicated

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LET’S TURN FROM Bertha now, who’s fled the woodland’s clutches Along a path that led to Simon’s house, the huntsman. There Simon and his wife, a worthy Christian couple, Lived sober, honest lives, and welcomed her among them. Before a dozen months, or even half that number, Both Simon and his wife, their children and all others Who knew them, also knew the treasure they’d discovered In Bertha – so refined, so high of mind but humble She called the wife ‘madame’, and Simon ‘worthy uncle.’ They cherished her for this, and showed they truly loved her By giving her respect, good company and comfort. Let’s turn to Pepin now, whose visage glowed with courage, And to that crone Margiste, who broke the faith entrusted To her and young Aliste – may both of them be punished! When Bertha had been seized from Pepin’s room and smuggled By Tybert and his men – abandoned then to struggle Alone in Mansel woods, where every step was trouble – King Pepin had remained in Paris, doubting nothing. Be sure of this, my lords: he was a lusty husband, Who never doubted once his wife was the beloved Young daughter of a crown and not a crowing humbug! And so, with Bertha gone, he wasn’t long becoming The father of two sons, of whom Aliste was mother. The elder one, Rainfroi, was full of evil cunning, While Hadré was a false and jealous younger brother: May God confound them both upon the Day of Judgement, For their desires condemned so many to destruction Through treachery they wrought and perjuries they uttered – As you will hear today, if I remain among you! The serving-maid Aliste, obeying the instructions 368

Bertha Broad-foot The crone, her mother crooned, soon ruined France the lovely Through many harsh decrees that made the people suffer: Through taxes and through tolls imposed on them abruptly, Which overwhelmed the poor and ruined any number, Destroying many lives or leaving them with nothing. In Paris, her ‘reforms’ have now become the custom: The city, from her spite, has never quite recovered – Its spirit’s not the same, they tell me, as it once was! The truth is, one can bind an evil thing to others That cannot be undone when legal strings have strung it! No priory there was, nor abbey in the country, From which she didn’t strip outrageous sums of money. And no one dared to stand against her grand injustice, For everybody feared her evil and her cunning. The more her daughter’s spite wrought havoc and corruption, The more it brought delight and pleasure to her mother. THE FIRST-BORN son of Pepin, conceived by evil plot, As you have heard already, received the name Rainfroi. The second-born was Hardré – and both were ill-begot! On both occasions envoys were speedily sent off To Bertha’s noble parents, the wise and courtly Flor, And Blancheflor, his consort, whose hair, they say, was blond. The envoys were rewarded with horses rare of stock, And other wealth, whatever they wished for or could want. They always left directly, without remaining long, Returning straight to Paris with laden cart and cottes. If only Flor had known that his daughter had been lost And left in Mansel forest, he’d not have been so fond! What’s more, another daughter, a duchess too she was, Grew sick, and died – then, truly, so did his only son, All this within a twelvemonth of Bertha having gone. King Flor had every reason to sorrow, did he not? His only other daughter was subsequently robbed Of every town and tower, and border-pass across Her dower-land by marriage – for she was heir thereof – When Saxony was seized by the Pagan Justamont, Who claimed his clan had ruled there in centuries bygone! King Witikind the haughty succeeded him anon, His son and heir, whose hatred for Frenchmen never stopped, But spurred his wish to crush them and take their armies on In England, France and Flanders, Champagne and Orléans. To far Cologne he journeyed, committing many wrongs. 369

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In Saxony, unchallenged, his Pagan reign was long, Until the French and Germans regained the land for God. In this they were assisted by knights from Hurepoix, Brabant and coastal Flanders, and gallant Ardenois: Enough of that, however, for that’s another song, And I must take you back to the one I started on! KING FLOR, you must agree, had every cause for sorrow: His elder daughter died, and then he lost Sir Godfrey, His son and heir, who held the mighty tower of Gossa. Young Bertha thus remained his only heir and offspring: God keep her safe, I say, wherever she may wander! My song returns to France, and wrongs imposed upon it, In everybody’s view, by Aliste the imposter, Who took its wealth by stealth, or stole it like a robber In taxes and in tithes on workers in the forest. But no one spoke a word or stirred a limb to stop her, In case some person near informed on them for profit. THE REIGNING ‘QUEEN’ was dreaded throughout King Pepin’s realm, And hated more the further her evil edicts spread. On every trading merchant a heavy tax was set, And anyone heard grumbling, I swear this is correct, Was seized upon by Tybert and his brigade of men, Then thrown inside a prison to languish, till at length He’d gladly pay the impost, so he could leave his cell. Indeed, the fate of many filled others so with dread They paid the money rather than run the risk instead Of dying in her prisons of torture or neglect. And so it was the traitors amassed enormous wealth – And Pepin let them do it, because he was obsessed With his beloved consort, and blinded to the rest. Indeed, whoever gazed on the one they thought he’d wed, Could not deny the beauty she outwardly possessed. But inwardly she rotted to such a foul extent She went to church no longer and held God in contempt. Both she and her old mother, God shame the pair of them, And Tybert – once they’d found him and wound him in their web Of treason, spun to capture sweet Bertha’s innocence And then to kill their mistress – all three of them since then Had never once been able to stay till Mass’s end: The Lord would not allow them to stay there unconfessed – Though God above lets many pursue their wicked bent, 370

Bertha Broad-foot He knows it, and He shows it in all its wickedness, For all the world to see it, before they meet their deaths, And, meeting with their Maker, are evermore condemned. ALISTE THE JEALOUS maid – may God repay her envy – Enforced her will on France and ruthlessly subjected The land to every tax her avarice suggested: On candle-wax and spice, on cumin seed and pepper, On harvest-wheat and wine, upon so much and many I couldn’t name a thing or person she exempted, Nor could I give the sum of money she collected. I know it killed the poor or filled them with resentment, Although she laughed to see each grain of gain collected: If she had had more sense, she would have wept, I tell you, For in the end her pain and loss were worse than any’s. ALISTE THE SCHEMING servant amassed her wealth in piles, From everywhere and any her avarice contrived, Destroying hearts and homesteads of humble folk and high. Her heart was set on riches, and all the time her mind Was filled with finding methods to prosper this desire, And any thought of honour was lost or tossed aside. So many evil taxes were loaded at this time On gentle France that many still burden people’s lives. In Hungary, however, upon one Sunday night, The Monarch Flor was sitting inside his fortress fine With Blancheflor, his consort, who filled the hall with sighs For Bertha, whom she longed for, her one surviving child. “Fair lady,” said her husband, “no heir of yours and mine Remains but lovely Bertha – and now that she resides So far from us, my spirits are often low alike. I’d like to see young Hardré, our grandson, so that I Can leave to him my kingdom and all our wealth besides. If God the Lord Almighty will let him live and thrive, He must be my successor – it can’t be otherwise. Let’s send a man to Pepin to see if he’ll comply. I’m sure the King will favour this wish of yours and mine.” “Your plan is good and cheering,” his noble wife replied. AND SO, ONE Tuesday morn – according to the writing – King Flor and Blancheflor sent off to France a rider: A man to whom they knew their task was well confided, An envoy tried and true, whose wits they could rely on 371

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To not become with drink so addled or so idle They’d lose the skill to think or to deliver rightly The speech they’d memorized, in full or even slightly! This man prepared to go both speedily and wisely: The swarthy mule he chose was strong of limb and lively: The road it wouldn’t go would have to lead to Iceland! The envoy made for France, and lost no time in finding, At Tours upon the Loire, the King of France abiding. THE ENVOY, having readied himself in every way, Went forth to speak with Pepin without the least delay. On seeing him, he hailed him with courtesy and grace, And handed him a missive in Bertha’s parents’ name. King Pepin broke its sealing and saw the scroll contained King Flor’s solicitation, and Blancheflor’s the same, To send to them Prince Hardré – for, as he’d find explained In documents they’d written to guarantee the claim, He now was their successor, the heir to their domains, Since all their own had perished, in truth, and none remained: Each one of them had gone to a very early grave, Except his daughter Bertha, so fair of form and face. When Pepin heard these tidings his sympathy was great, As, pondering his answer, he washed before he ate. His men led off the envoy to visit straightaway The queen, the proud pretender – a curse upon her game! To her again he stated the message he conveyed And gave her, as requested, the proofs that appertained. When she had read the charters and truly ascertained That Flor the Magyar monarch had no successor save Her so-called self as Bertha –whose love had only gained By all their other losses – then instantly she feigned To sigh and weep. Her mother, Margiste, alike bewailed With lying sighs the losses her homeland had sustained. But both of them, in private, enjoyed this turn of fate: Their hearts were void of honour of any kind, or faith. May God the Lord confound them, Whose Judgement Day awaits. They honoured much the envoy, and bidding him remain, They led him back to Pepin to dine with them in state. He stayed until the morning, and thought his aim attained. AT DAWN THE COMING morn, as soon as it was daylight, The envoy rose at once and went to join the faithful At great St Martin’s church, where Mass was celebrated. 372

Bertha Broad-foot He left the ‘queen’ Aliste, when she had risen later: Her mother, old Margiste, commended him and gave him A missive, sealed with wax, to take back to his patron. He left her as, again, she feigned her desolation, And then returned at once to Pepin, who was waiting. On seeing him, the King gave his decision, saying: “My friend, I wish you well and bid you travel safely. Convey to royal Flor and Blancheflor your lady, My greetings and my hope that better times await them, For, by the Virgin Maid, their troubles grieve me greatly – Although all things fulfil the will of God our Maker. But, as concerns my son, I cannot grant their favour: His mother will not brook one day of separation!” The envoy saw at once the King’s determination And knew that nothing he or Flor could do would change it. And so he took his leave – indeed, with such impatience He spurred the swarthy mule to spurn the least delaying. In Hungary he told King Flor at once and plainly That none of Pepin’s sons would ever rule their nation, And that he’d have to find another to replace them. On hearing this, the king was angry and frustrated, And Blancheflor the queen so sad and agitated, So stricken with distress, so sick at heart and taken With misery and loss she swayed and almost fainted. All Hungary indeed was very shocked and shaken. I KNOW YOU’VE HEARD it often – because it’s often said – That hidden crime and treason will surface in the end. Aliste and her old mother had plumbed corruption’s depth And caused their rightful mistress to suffer much distress. But God, Who is the provost and mayor of all offence, No longer could abide them, and moved to their arrest! Beware, my friends, of holding God’s judgment in contempt! Although our Lord lets many pursue their evil bent, He knows it and He shows them in all their ugliness For everyone to see them, and witness by their deaths That those who deal in evil will meet an evil end! QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR was born of a lineage unblemished, A woman firm in faith and full of good endeavour. One midnight, as she lay upon her bed, together With noble Flor, her lord, inside their royal bedroom, It seemed to her a bear approached her as she slept there, 373

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A bear that ate her thigh and right arm to the elbow! And then an eagle came and perched upon her bed-head! She woke up with a start, her heart and body trembling So hard she couldn’t quell her overwhelming terror. Her thoughts were so awry she almost lost her senses. WHEN BLANCHEFLOR had woken, her mind was most distraught, And so she told her husband the nightmare she had borne. “By God on High,” she added, “Whose word is never false, I beg this favour of you, for love of me, my lord: This Easter let me journey to noble Pepin’s court And see my lovely Bertha, the daughter I adore. If you do not allow me, my heart will break in four!” “My dear, by good St Rémi,” replied her husband Flor, “We two have never parted for anything before!” “For love of God, allow it!” his noble wife implored: “For eight years and a half now, indeed, for even more, Fair Bertha has not seen us, nor have we her at all. I fear we’ve little shown her our love or our support.” The king somewhat relented at this, and, as she talked, He finally consented to let her journey forth, Upon this one condition: that if it could be wrought, She would, upon returning, bring one of Pepin’s boys. “My noble lord,” she promised, “I’ll do as you exhort: I shall return with Hardré or Rainfroi from the North.” “Then what you ask is granted, my lady,” answered Flor. WHEN BLANCHEFLOR received the favour she had sought for, The chance to go to France, it filled her with rejoicing. “My lady,” said the king, “since nothing seems to daunt you When your resolve is made, then know that I implore you To go with noble knights as wardens and supporters. One hundred of our best, all sterling men and stalwart, The bravest men alive that bide inside our borders, Shall go with you to France. The sum should not be smaller, For Pepin rules a land where grandeur is important.” On hearing this, his wife was very glad and joyful. She wisely thanked her lord, as courtesy had taught her, Then readied for her quest with no desire to dawdle. Most wisely she prepared her journey in accordance With everything the king suggested or had ordered, And then, one day, she left as light of day was dawning, Escorted by her lord until the following morning. 374

Bertha Broad-foot When finally he turned, her husband kissed her warmly, Commending her to God, our ever-present Warden. Before they met again, her brain would be in torment, Her heart a blend of pain and anger for her daughter. Through many forest lands her party journeyed forward, Through many ancient woods and vessel-bearing waters, Until at last they came to mighty France’s border. When people heard the news – for soon it was reported That she was on the road – then no one blessed her for it! Indeed they wished to God some sickness would befall her That laid her in a tomb in some accursed corner And drove her soul to dwell in hell’s domain of torture: For she had borne a queen who’d turned their mirth to mourning, Whose wicked days and ways had made them suffer sorely And curse not only her but her whose womb had borne her. When Blancheflor was told, for soon it was reported That everybody loathed her daughter Bertha Broad-Foot, Her ears received a shock, the news was so appalling, And, heavy as a rock, her buoyant spirit faltered. “Dear God above,” she cried, “what evil has befallen My daughter, who was raised so graciously and surely By parents who themselves were born of noble forebears, Whose veins have always run with gallant blood and loyal? What evil drop of dross has blighted so our daughter’s It drives her now to bleed her people dry as corpses? From Syria to here there rules no other royal As fair to Peer and poor as is her father Floris. And I myself abhor all traitors and despoilers. My tongue is numb with shame, my heart with disappointment: And yet, ere I return, they’ll reprimand my daughter So hotly she’ll return each item she’s extorted And stolen from the poor to make them even poorer. How badly she’s repaid the wealth of love we bore her! SO BLANCHEFLOR rode onward, her heart, that God had made So noble, now so angry, on hearing the complaints Against her daughter Bertha she heard the people make: Like that of one poor peasant she met upon her way, Who saw her horse approaching and grasped it by the reins: “Forgive me, please – but Bertha, your daughter, is to blame! I only had one workhorse and used it every day To earn my bread and care for my honest wife Margain, And feed our little children, whose hunger now is great! 375

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I carry thatch to Paris, or logs of wood and hay, And bought my horse a year back with sixty sous I made. But now your greedy daughter has taken it away, And feeds herself this winter upon the crop I raised! Each evening and morning I curse Queen Bertha’s name, And God above will fashion the vengeance that I crave, As surely as from Adam He fashioned Eve his mate!” Queen Blanchflor was stricken with pity for his sake, And filled his hands with pennies – one hundred – straightaway. In joy he kissed her bridle and stirrups, and exclaimed: “God bless you, noble lady, for lessening my pain! By St Germain, I’ll never curse Bertha’s name again!” A MONDAY MORN it was – the day the week awakens – When Blancheflor the fair, God bear her every favour, Was on the road that goes to Paris on the Seine there. Arrayed she was in robes of rich and royal making, Although beneath the clothes her heavy heart was breaking, As everyone complained of Bertha’s exploitation. “Dear God above,” she cried, “Who sat at the Last Table, And you, the Queen of queens, His blessed mother Mary, How is it one more fair than Helen of the ancients Has far and wide contrived to make herself so hated? For when she left our land there lived no other maiden From here to Aquitaine so loving or so able. But now our noble blood has been forever tainted, And no more hated queen was ever seen in sable! Dear Jesus, guide my child back home to virtue’s haven!” QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR continued to Paris on the Seine, And soon to royal Pepin a messenger was sent To tell him Bertha’s mother was well inside his realm. On hearing this, King Pepin was overjoyed and sped To share the happy tidings – I’d say he went himself, With her his wife, the servant, whose face had served her well! On hearing what he told her, Aliste was very vexed, But falsely laughed, pretending that she was most content. The King, suspecting nothing, turned hastily and left, While she, in consternation, and full of heavy dread, Without delay requested her mother to attend, And Tybert too, her cousin – a curse upon the wretch! All three sat on the carpets with which the room was spread. “By St Denis, good mother,” Aliste the servant said, 376

Bertha Broad-foot “Queen Blancheflor is coming! Through Cambrai she has sped! Our plot will be uncovered – the lot, from start to end!” On hearing this, young Tybert began to shake and sweat, But old Margiste responded: “Good children, never fret, For I’ve a plan of action both subtle and direct! Aliste shall feign a sickness so deadly if it spreads That no one must disturb her while she’s confined to bed. If we frustrate this visit, with skill, and Heaven’s help, Until its purpose falters and Blancheflor is pressed To journey home, I promise, she’ll never come again!” “Good aunt,” replied her nephew, “God bless your cleverness! When any need arises your plans are always best! Our clan, without you in it, would not be worth an egg!” And so the three agreed on this counter-plan and went With every haste to ready the patient and her bed – Wherein she lay, God damn her, her face a mask of death! ALISTE TOOK TO her bed, the traitor, and pretended To be one breath from death, of something so infectious It seemed to make Margiste, her hardened mother, tremble: May God and St Denis both punish their deception! “Dear God,” exclaimed the crone, “Defender of the helpless, What evil hand has led the Queen in this direction? A curse on him whose word has stirred her so to venture And turn my daughter’s heart from rapture to repentance!” To comfort her she sat beside her on the bedstead, As every passing hour increased her daughter’s terror. “Good daughter,” said Margiste, “I’ve thought of something better! A Jewess taught me once the varied use of venoms, Until my skill therein was better far than any! I’ll poison Blancheflor with venom very deftly Concealed beneath the rind of juicy pears or cherries!” On hearing this, Aliste was more alarmed than ever! “THIS PLAN OF YOURS,” she answered, “is neither good nor wise! I think it would be better if we escaped tonight! I cannot lie here idly until the queen arrives. My naked feet will show her at once that we have tried To trick her and committed some crime against her child – For Bertha’s foot is fairer and wider far than mine: Your plans will come to nothing when this is recognised, And this is why I urge you to let us flee tonight On horseback, taking sumpters with gold and silver piled! 377

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My sons Rainfroi and Hadré can both be left behind Without remorse, for neither is party to our crime. Upon the hour of midnight, good mother, let us ride For Puglia, Calabria, or even to the isle Of Sicily, with Tybert, who is our kith and kind, And, having served us richly, deserves of us alike. We three, as money-lenders, can lead a wealthy life. I see no other option if we are to survive – For when they know our treason, I know we’ll burn alive!” “I swear, we’re going nowhere!”Margiste the crone replied. “Leave all to me! If need be, I swear to God that I Will poison Pepin also, if that is what’s required To face this situation and save our enterprise! Now, darken every doorway and every window’s light, Then lie here, still and silent, while I patrol outside So none may catch a glimpse of your lovely feet or eyes! I’m sure that in this manner we can conceal our crime.” Aliste replied: “Good mother, I’ll do as you advise. And in the name of Jesus, may God in Heaven High Allow us and assist us to lead our double lives! In truth, if we can manage to execute this guile Successfully, our daring, I’d say, deserves to thrive!” ABIDING BY this plan, exactly as decided, Margiste the crone arose and started to apply it By draping every door and window, and assigning Young Tybert to ensure that no one saw inside them. She hastened to the King, lamenting much and sighing, And, with a sign, besought to speak with him in private. Approaching her, the King could see that she was crying, And said: “Now, what’s amiss? I urge you, do not hide it!” “Your Highness,” she replied, “I carry dreadful tidings! Your wife is very ill! This moment she is lying So rigidly in bed that nothing can revive her! A sudden fit it was – I cannot else describe it. I fear that Blancheflor may be too late arriving.” On hearing this, the King was horrified, combining His sorrow with the crone’s, as she, alone retiring Within her daughter’s room, encouraged her, describing How much she’d pained the King but gained his full reliance! The news of Bertha spread through Paris like a wildfire: So sick she was it seemed their queen was close to dying! Alas, not one who heard was other than delighted, 378

Bertha Broad-foot And cursed to Heaven high whoever might be trying To give advice or skill that promised to revive her! “A curse on all,” they cried, “who led her here so lightly, Who laid so black a cloud upon our bright horizon By bringing her to wed King Pepin so unwisely! A curse upon the nest that nourished such a viper, And on the blighted geste that fathered such a tyrant! There never was a queen, or woman, quite as spiteful!” Let’s leave Aliste a while – her destiny will mind her – And see the envoy, sent from Blancheflor, arriving Before the King to say that soon her royal highness Would hear Mass at Montmartre, if he would care to find her. On hearing this, the King resolved at once to ride there, And did so straightaway, with both his sons beside him, Attended by a guard of France’s first and finest: Archbishops joined the train, whose bishops rode behind them, And princes, dukes and counts. The cream of France’s knighthood Rode forth to Blancheflor – whose sorrow will be mighty As soon as she finds out what Bertha has abided! THE NOBLE MONARCH Pepin, was angry and aghast To think his wife had lost him the love of all he passed, As on his way he hastened with all his entourage. They met the queen and hailed her with courtesy and charm, And she returned the greeting with all her noble heart. Approaching royal Pepin, she took him in her arms Most sweetly to embrace him, and then at once she asked: “But where’s my daughter Bertha, for whom I’ve travelled far?” “Fine lady,” answered Pepin, “since word arrived in France That you had come to see her, her pleasure was so vast It passed her strength to bear it: her heart was overcharged. She lies upon her sick-bed, and cannot rise, alas! But I am sure she will do, on seeing you at last!” On hearing this, her mother was stricken with alarm – She thought that it was Bertha – of course – who’d come to harm. THE QUEEN WAS stricken dumb – alarmed and broken-hearted, As every word was worse, of Bertha, than the last one! King Pepin took her hand – as pale as alabaster – And said: “My lady fair, do not despair, I charge you, Or rue your visit here! Be glad of heart and hardy: Your daughter will be well the moment that she marks you, The moment that your arms reach tenderly to clasp her.” 379

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At this, the Monarch’s sons rode up to join their father, Beneath a shady tree dismounting and advancing To greet Queen Blancheflor with courtesy most charming. “My lady, said the King, “here’s more to your advantage! Behold, your daughter’s sons, and mine: Rainfroi and Hardré.” On seeing them, she rose, but then she froze as sharply: She felt no warmth at all or love for either party! Her hand was loath and cold, although with sweat it sparkled. QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR, whose nature held nothing but goodwill, Looked hard at Pepin’s children, who both were youngsters still, And gave her hand, but coldly, with no embrace or kiss: She felt no love for either – and that’s the truth of it. But everyone around her resented her for this: They nudged each other slyly or, with a private wink Conferred with one another, agreeing as they did, That Blancheflor was evil: “No wonder, then,” they quipped, “Her daughter, our Queen Bertha’s as wicked as she is! The fruit of trees so blighted goes bad beneath the skin! A curse upon whoever brought Bertha to our King! We hear she’s on her sick-bed: if only death would bring One hundred thousand devils to end the pain she’s in!” The Monarchs stayed no longer; they left the church forthwith. The King and all his barons were dressed in rippled silk, As were the dukes and clergy, the counts and either prince. The queen, her men assisting, then mounted horse, and with King Pepin there beside her, rode onward, down the hill. My friends, I cannot hide it: the people cursed her still, Because they hated Bertha – although it was Aliste! Queen Blancheflor was stricken with grief and anger mixed: She knew that if her daughter had not been very sick, She would have come to meet her or sent some greeting wish. But, riding down to Paris, that city rare and rich, She still looked all around her – and every single thing Was lovely or astounding at every single glimpse. The queen was at Montmartre, and, riding down the hillside, She saw the length and breadth of that astounding city: The hundreds of its halls, the thousands of its chimneys, The mighty crenelled tower belonging to Montlhéry, The mighty river Seine, so very wide and pretty, And, planted on its sides, a plenitude of vineyards. Upon the plain she saw Pontoise, Melun and Poissy, 380

Bertha Broad-foot And Marly in the fields, Conflans and Montmorency, Dammartin-en-Goële, that citadel of buildings, And countless other towns that I’ll refrain from listing: But everything she saw enthralled her noble spirit. “Dear God above,” she cried, “Who made the world we live in, How lucky was my child to come to such a kingdom, To live here and be wed so nobly and so richly!” King Pepin, at her side, with courtesy continued To ask about King Flor, his welfare and his wishes: “Your Highness,” she replied, for she was wise and willing, “My husband, thank the Lord, is well and full of vigour. But if he knew I’d find my daughter on her sickbed, So ill and still of limb she has not even risen To welcome me, his joy would vanish in an instant – For he loves Bertha more than any person living!” “My lady, fret no more,” King Pepin said, “I bid you! Please God above, I’m sure that she’ll recover quickly. When you are at her door, her pain will vanish swiftly. On seeing you, her joy will banish all her sickness!” The town, as in they rode, looked very grand and pretty: Fine ladies, richly dressed, looked out from every window, And all the street was swathed in flags of silk or linen. On every side they gazed at whom their King had with him, And silently they raised a spate of maledictions Against her, out of hate for Bertha and her imposts! Before the marble hall dismounting from her stirrups, Queen Blancheflor was led, by Pepin’s hand, within it. Margiste ran up at once, with tears upon her visage: To feign her woe, her nails had scratched her cheeks a little, She darted up as one whom grief had driven witless, Then fell, as in a swoon, before her former mistress. The queen saw who it was and went at once to lift her. She held her in her arms, and, also weeping, kissed her: “Margiste, where is my girl? Please take me there this instant.” “Ah, woe is me, my queen,” the crone said, in a whisper, “That you should find my ward in such a sad condition! But ever since she heard the word about your visit, Because she has desired so long to have you with her, The tide of her delight has flooded so her spirits That it has overwhelmed her gentle body’s limits And cast her in a swoon from which she hasn’t risen. Please, let her rest in bed until it’s time for dinner.” On hearing this, the queen agreed to do as bidden. 381

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Heroines of the French Epic She left the hall and went to rooms most finely fitted– But she was so disturbed she took no pleasure in them. The crone returned at once, not waiting for a minute, Within the gloomy room that held Aliste well hidden By cloth of gold and silk suspended post to pillow!

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KING PEPIN TRIED his hardest to solace and to cheer The heavy heart that burdened the bosom of the queen. “By good St Vincent’s body,” she answered. “noble liege, “When I farewelled my husband we hoped and had agreed That I would try my utmost to bring back home with me A son of yours and Bertha’s, with your goodwill and leave, So while we lived the loss of our daughter would be eased, And when we died he’d govern as king of Hungary.” “My lady,” answered Pepin, “then do so, happily! If that is what would please you, then that’s what I’ll decree.” Said Blanchflor: “Your Highness, we thank you much indeed.” When this was said the tables were laid with every speed, And noble knights, four hundred, sat down with them to eat. The queen and her attendants were fêted at the feast, But she was keen to finish, and soon arose to leave, Then rushed to where her daughter, or so she thought, would be. At once Margiste jumped forward and seized her arm to speak: “By good St Clément’s body, my lady, if you please: I’ve told the queen your daughter that you would not be here Until the night had fallen, so she could rest in peace. Go back a while, I beg you – her sleep has been too brief!” The queen, who meant no trouble, replied: “Most willingly. I swear by God Almighty, I won’t disturb her sleep. But know that I shall stay here: I certainly won’t leave Until I’ve seen my daughter, who is so fair to see, And kissed her, very softly, upon her lovely cheek.” On hearing her intention, Margiste was far from pleased, And thought her heart would shatter, it pounded so with fear. May God, Who made the Heavens, confound her wicked scheme! SO, JUST OUTSIDE the room to which Aliste was keeping, Beneath a leafy tree, upon the lovely greensward, Sat Blancheflor the queen, and waited there to see her. With sorrow and with dread her heavy heart was beating. God! If she only knew the torment and the evil Her child had really borne, that good and gentle creature, At either servant’s hands, in their conniving treason, 382

Bertha Broad-foot And simple Tybert’s too, who, all this time, was seeking To quell the welling fear that young Aliste was feeling! May God above ensure they earn in full and equal The payment they deserve for all their double dealing! THE QUEEN SAT on the greensward, beneath a leafy ledge. She called the crone towards her – as hell will in the end! Margiste obeyed the summons with very hasty steps. “By St Marcel, I’m after the truth!” the monarch said. “Whose evil game has sullied my daughter’s name so well That young and old revile it throughout this noble realm? I am appalled to learn it, for you must know yourself That a detested woman is like a tarnished gem!” “I swear,” the crone responded, “that that is not correct! A curse on all and any who’ve said this of the best Of women on whose finger a wedding-ring is set! In all she does my Bertha is full of mirthful jest!” QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR herself was in no mood for jesting, And thought of something else that she had meant to question: “Where is your girl Aliste, as fair herself as Bertha?” “My lady, here’s the truth: my lovely daughter perished Quite suddenly one day when riding out for pleasure. Her jaw had ached a while, as if it were infected. If she had lived, she may have ended life a leper. You can be sure my heart was broken at her deathbed, For she was quick of wit and good of heart and merry. Beside an ancient church I had her body buried In secret, so that none should know the way she ended.” She told the queen this lie, by whom it was accepted – But it would not be long before the wrong was reckoned! Queen blancheflor was thwarted, for two whole days and nights, From visiting the daughter she thought was hers, inside, As old Margiste and Tybert, a curse upon their kind, Found one way or another of putting off the time. But then, as night was falling – the third since she’d arrived – Queen Blancheflor decided, whose patience had expired, That she must see her daughter, and wouldn’t be denied. And so, in spite of Tybert, on lookout all the time, A noble maid, whom Pepin had nurtured from a child, Obtained a key, God bless her, and led the queen inside. She also lit a candle to light their way a while, 383

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But, as she did, a cudgel attacked her from behind So viciously she bled on the bedroom’s shiny tiles: “Away with you, young hussy!” they heard its wielder cry, “The queen’s not finished sleeping, and cannot stand the light!” On hearing this, the maiden feared greatly for her life, And ran away as quickly, and far, as she could fly. She knew Margiste had spoken, and she had felt her spite! Queen Blancheflor was angry, but such was her desire To see at last her daughter she let the matter lie, And, coming to the bedside, put forth her hand of white. “Most welcome here, good mother!” she heard a voice reply, So feebly that she scarcely could hear as it inquired: “How does my noble father? God bless his worthy life!” “I left him well and happy,” Queen Blancheflor replied. She heard another whisper: “Thank God for that!” it sighed. “Alas, I cannot greet you as well as I would like – And that itself so hurts me it makes me want to die, Unless I can recover and welcome you aright!” ALISTE WAS FILLED with fear beyond my skill’s describing. She shook from head to foot, her look was far from smiling, As constantly she squirmed and tried her best to hide it. Said Blancheflor: “My heart is cleft apart inside me! I cannot see you well, yet dearly I desire to!” “Good mother,” said the girl, “my sickness has so blighted My skin that it’s so thin and sallow any lighting, So all the doctors say, will burn it up entirely! The best for me, they say, is total rest and silence. I dare not raise my voice, or visage, any higher! My heart goes out to you, and father, so contritely I don’t know what to do; I fear I may be dying. Good mother, let me rest! God bless you for your kindness!” QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR, on hearing this speech as it was made, Could see she wasn’t wanted – except to go away! The sorrow pierced her bosom and broke her heart in twain: “So help me, God Almighty, Who never lies,” she wailed, “This cannot be my daughter in this benighted place! By St Rémi, if Bertha had one foot in the grave, She’d rise up on the other and welcome my embrace!” On thinking this, she rose up, at once and in a rage, Flung back the heavy portal to Bertha’s room half-way, Then called upon her escort, still standing there in wait: 384

Bertha Broad-foot “Good men of mine, attend me! I swear upon my faith I haven’t found my daughter! Our trust has been betrayed – But now, by God Almighty, I’ll learn their lying game!” Beside the door, young Tybert himself was deathly pale As Blancheflor rushed forward without the least delay! Inside her daughter’s chamber, she tore down all the drapes, The cloths of gold and curtains in which the room was swathed: “For love of God, my lady,” Margiste the crone exclaimed, “Have pity on your daughter – she’s hasn’t slept for days!” The queen replied: “Be silent! I’ll not heed you again!” And flung the windows open with her companions’ aid. When Tybert and his kinsmen could see their cards were played, You don’t need me to tell you if they were sore afraid! The queen approached the bedside and scanned the maiden’s face. At once she seized the covers, with both her hands, and raked The sheets away, revealing the traitor where she lay. She saw her feet were normal – and thought her heart would break! Aliste snatched up a blanket and tried to run away, But Blancheflor caught hold of her golden hair that day And flung her to the floorboards before she could escape. Then everybody entered, on hearing the affray, And parted the combatants, which gave Aliste the space To find another bedroom – and kinder hands, I’d say! “O trickery most wicked!” Queen Blancheflor exclaimed. “This queen is not my daughter, alas and lackaday! This is Aliste, the daughter of old Margiste the maid! This pair has slaughtered Bertha, whose love for me was great!” The tidings sped to Pepin of what had taken place, And hearing them, he hurried to clarify the same, Attended very closely by every lord of state, Their faces clearly showing the shock they had sustained. THE FACE OF Blancheflor showed plainly more than anguish! As Pepin came in sight, with streaming eyes she stammered: “Fine monarch, where’s my child, so debonair of manner, So courtly and so kind? Her mind was bred and fashioned With every care to be the most refined and happy! I’ll lose my own, unless you’ve news of what has happened: The woman in this bed was not the one you married, Not Bertha, but Aliste, my serving-maid, God damn her! Pursue the beast at once, before she flees the palace, And make sure that Margiste, who bore the whore, is captured!” On saying this, she swooned, and Pepin moved to catch her, 385

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As in the vaulted room he wept in full compassion – For he could understand how the exchange was managed, How Bertha had been tricked, betrayed and made to vanish: The treachery was clear, the evidence was damning. The queen was in a swoon, and tended by her landsmen, While Pepin staggered too, in sadness close to madness. “Ah, Bertha mine!” he cried, “My debonair companion! How poor a lord I’ve been to leave you so abandoned! I swear, by Mary’s Son, that every malefactor Who has betrayed your trust, shall suffer for their malice! When Tybert took away the mad-girl with the dagger I’m sure now it was you, caught grabbing at its handle. Aliste deceived us both – but with her mother’s planning – And Tybert seized your life, by hunter’s knife or hanging! I swear, before they burn tomorrow’s compline candles, All three of them shall learn the folly of their actions.” THE KING WAS RED with anger, his body fit to burst, His heart so full of sorrow it drove his wits berserk. So much he pitied Bertha there’s nowhere on this earth He’d not have gone to find her, if knowing where to search. Four soldiers of his choosing he summoned with the words: “Arrest Margiste the traitor! By scrawny arm or skirt Deliver her before me! The best shall do his worst!” The angriest was happy when this command was served. “Old woman,” thundered Pepin, “whoever taught you first That cunning was a blessing, has made your name a curse! Whoever taught you treason made wicked cunning worse! By Jesus Christ our Saviour, I swear that you shall burn!” On hearing this, she shuddered – though terror held her firm! With this exchange he left her, and, striding forth, returned Inside the hall, where, calling in ringing tones, he urged Each baron that was in there to gather and confer. When all of them came forward King Pepin’s voice affirmed That it was fitting justice for Margiste to be burned. “Indeed,” agreed the barons, “but firstly we should learn What’s happened to Queen Bertha – who better knows than her? Was Bertha drowned, unburied, or murdered and interred?” “Yes, we must know,” said Pepin, “exactly what occurred.” Again the crone was summoned – with this they all concurred – And Pepin, as he saw her, bemoaned his pain and cursed Whoever first had chosen Margiste for Bertha’s nurse.

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Bertha Broad-foot MARGISTE, now she was caught, stood sullen, sad and nervous. The day itself was dark, with bolts of thunder bursting. The King stood in his hall, by walls of gold encircled. The crone stood there alone – at first – although I’m certain Aliste will join her soon, her daughter, known as Bertha Through all of France, although not in Valgiste, her birthplace! “Old woman,” cried the King, “for what benighted purpose Did you betray your ward, who never harmed or hurt you? You knew it was Aliste who lay with me, not Bertha! The weight of Satan’s hate lies heavy on your person: Why do you not confess and lessen thus its burden – So, with your body’s death, your soul may sojourn further! I’m sure you planned it all – the treason and the murder.”

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MARGISTE WAS CAUGHT already; her daughter followed soon, With Tybert, their young kinsman, until the evil news Of their most cunning treason was known the city through. “Dear God,” said all the people, “Why did You let them do Such wickedness and give them the pleasures of its fruit? And how could they have hidden so long the awful truth? Fine Monarch, make them suffer as much as each is due. If you show any pity, then who will pity you?” “You’re right, indeed,” said Pepin, whose heart was good and true. “Young Tybert’s back shall batter the stony highway smooth!”

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THE CRIMINALS surveyed the ruins of their future: As, thoroughly, the plot they’d planted was uprooted, They knew the payment due from everyone who grew it! “Old woman,” cried the crowd, “ how could you think to do it, To make your daughter queen by wicked substitution Of her for Pepin’s wife, of treachery for duty? You’ve slain our rightful queen and brought our land to ruin! Your punishment must plumb the depths of your collusion! Dear God, why did You not expose the traitors sooner? Queen Blancheflor, the flower of charity and beauty, Delivered them from thrall and poverty’s ill usage: How could they ever bite her loving hand so cruelly?”

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THE KING OBSERVED the women and Tybert at his feet. His heart, a-brim with nothing but hatred for all three, First overspilled its anger upon the crone Margiste: He told the guards to seize her and crush her thumbs beneath The screws, until the torment was such that she would plead 387

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To make a full a confession – and so it was indeed: “Ah Pepin, mighty Monarch, for pity’s sake,” she screamed, “Release me and I’ll tell you the whole of it in brief!” Without delay he ordered her thumbs to be released, And there, where all could hear it, her evil was revealed, The treachery, the treason, the trickery most mean That from the very outset she’d practised on them each. She also made confession of her intent and scheme To poison noble Pepin and Blancheflor the queen With venom that she’d purchased to put inside their meals. Her punishment, by burning, was justly set and sealed, As Tybert sprang before them and hastily appealed: “I swear by good St Vincent, my lord and king,” he squealed, “I did not murder Bertha – and that’s the truth, my liege! I could have, and I would have – I will not lie at least – But Sergeant Morant stopped me! He stayed my hand indeed.” Then Tybert told how Morant had swiftly intervened To stop him killing Bertha, and set the maiden free Inside the Mansel forest, alone among the trees. “I think she must have perished, for where we left her teemed With savage boars and lions, and bears that, so I hear, Attack in packs, devouring whatever they can see.” And then Tybert recounted how his three men and he Had cut a wild-pig’s heart out, and feigning this to be Fair Bertha’s own had shown it to Margiste and Aliste. He told them next how tightly and painfully the Queen Had been restrained and covered – so nobody would hear The many cries she uttered or heavy sighs of grief – And how she had been beaten and struck continually. He too confessed completely what his intent had been. On hearing this, for pity the court began to weep. And then Aliste came forward – a curse on her deceit! “My lord,” she said to Pepin, “I’m sure you clearly see That none of this was started or even done by me! Margiste, my evil mother, began it all, and we – Tybert and I, are victims of her insanity! Dear God, Who dwells in Heaven, made Hell for such as she!” FOR LOVE OF their true Queen, fair Bertha, all the people Within the town were sad, and, maddened by their grieving, Raised up a pyre themselves, of thorny wood and piercing, Whose smoking pile they poked to keep it burning fiercely Until Margiste could share the warmness of their feeling! 388

Bertha Broad-foot And she deserved to meet the fate that she was meted, For traitors shouldn’t live to profit from their treason, And she had laboured hard, and never loath, at evil. How many handsome youths were seen that morning weeping For lovely Bertha’s sake – and that’s the truth, believe me! They fetched the crone and cast the wretch who had deceived them Among the flames to scourge and purge the putrid creature. On seeing this, Aliste felt suddenly so fearful She fainted in a swoon upon the ground beneath her. WHEN OLD MARGISTE had perished, young Tybert, bound in cords, Was dragged along the high street till he was red and raw, Then strung upon a gibbet and swung at Montfaucon. King Pepin’s highest nobles had stepped aside to talk: “Your Majesty,” they chorused, “although the choice is yours, It cannot be disputed that kings must act for all. We think it would be wiser to spare Aliste, my lord, And so we would advise you to spare her from the sword And let her live as long as the will of God accords. For she remains the mother to princes of your loins: Their welfare is your duty: this cannot be ignored. But we are just as certain, although the choice is yours, That she should be forbidden to speak with you henceforth, Or live with you, or any but God and her remorse!” On hearing this, King Pepin began to sigh: “My lords! I swear, by good St Omer, the sin that she has wrought Is one that she should pay for by stoning till she falls! But I respect the justice and wisdom of your thoughts.” On hearing of their judgment, the maiden praised the Lord, And asked to be escorted to Pepin in the hall. As soon as she was taken, she saw him and implored: “For love of God in Heaven, please favour me once more, And send me to Montmartre, to spend my days employed In singing and in reading inside its convent-walls! You also owe me something, my noble, gracious lord, For love of your own children, the children I have borne. Allow me, then, a portion of all the wealth I’ve stored, And I shall see their marriage and future are assured. Make men of them, Your Highness, then knight them with your sword, For they are both your children – of that you can be sure!” The King did not refuse her, but granted what she sought – And so, I as I have told you, this matter ran its course. Aliste arranged for sumpters and wagons big and small 389

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Heroines of the French Epic To carry to Montmartre the wealth she had purloined, Of purest gold and silver. So mighty was the hoard, Increased with other riches beyond my knowledge or Beyond the wit of any to tally now, my lords, It took a week of labour to stack and pack it all!

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IN PEPIN BEAT a heart by nature very royal. No Emperor or king was more benign or loyal. The loss of his true wife oppressed him very sorely As he consoled the queen, whose spirit was in torment, Her mother’s heart distraught for her beloved daughter: “Alas, what will he say, your father, who adores you, Who sent you here so fair, so charming and so joyful, So careless of your wealth, so caring for the poorer! Now Flor has lost his son and both his daughters also: May God, if so He wills, Who governs mortal fortune, Direct your lovely souls to bide with Him henceforward. I shall return to Flor before the light of morning.” BY BLANCHEFLOR the Lady, so fair of hair and face, Sat Pepin, deep in sorrow and brooding thought the same. The people of his kingdom were angry that the maid Would not be made to smoulder or moulder in her grave. Queen Blancheflor, determined to leave for her domain, Prepared for her departure without the least delay. Whatever she requested King Pepin did or gave With courtesy and caring that nobody could blame. And so, the coming morning, with dawn about to break, Queen Blancheflor was settled upon a litter placed Between two harnessed palfreys of noble strength and race: She couldn’t ride, for sorrow had drained her strength away. What loud and heavy curses the population laid Upon Aliste the servant, whose evil had betrayed Their noble monarch Pepin and turned their happy state Into a land abandoned to poverty and hate. “The curse of God attend her each hour of every day, And fall upon her children, Prince Rainfroi and Hardré!” Queen Blancheflor left Paris through Saint-Denis that day: Until Senlis King Pepin attended her with grace, Then left her on the morrow, his bitter sorrow plain. QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR returned, her heart in desperation: “Ah, woe is me,” she cried, “dear Mother of our Saviour! 390

Bertha Broad-foot Bertha! My lovely child! How gentle was your nature, How sweet to one and all, how full of grace and favour! What awful news I bring! How ever shall I say it To him who’s loved you best since you were just a baby? I know he’ll tear away his beard of grey and sable. When he discovers who, and how they have betrayed you, There’ll be no sadder man from Frisia to Asia. My heart, stop beating now – – alas, you disobey me! By St Denis, I swear the joy in life you gave me Will not return until the Judgement Day awakes me. I’d rather die than live with woe there’s no escaping.” THE RETINUE continued, not wishing to abide. Through many lands they journeyed, through forests tall and wide, With Blancheflor to care for, whose sadness never died. With dogged steps they travelled from dawning day till night Until they reached their homeland upon the day assigned To celebrate St John’s Day, a holy day and high. They met the king, whose manner, as soon as they arrived And told him of his daughter, was altered in a trice. With tears upon their faces, the parents’ arms entwined, But neither spoke in greeting; so heavily they sighed They swooned upon the courtyard in sorrow out of mind. Their subjects ran towards them and helped the pair to rise. What grieving gripped the people, both young and old alike! “What curse has come upon us, dear God,” the monarch cried, “That we should thus be robbed of our one remaining child? Your will be done, however, Whose wisdom is Divine: My Lord, this heavy fortune is mine by Your design. I know and praise Your virtue. All powerful and kind, Your purpose will be patent when time and I are ripe.” WHEN BLANCHEFLOR returned with her unhappy tidings Of Bertha’s sad abuse, the news of it went flying Across the town and sent the people into riot: They tore their hair apart, they smote their bosoms wildly: Their king was so distraught they thought that he was dying, And Blancheflor their queen lay fever-struck beside him. The city streets were filled with weeping and repining. “If Bertha’s lost,” they sighed, “our loveliest and brightest, Dear God, this is a shock and shame beyond abiding! Before she left our land her loving hand had lightened The burdens of the poor, whom freely she provided 391

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Heroines of the French Epic With better clothes and shoes, from wealth she held in private. May God, Who moves the clouds, rain curses on the viper Aliste for what she’s done, and on Margiste and Tybert, Who’ve robbed us of the joy in which our land delighted. But may He bless the soul of Bertha, who was finer Than any other maid the world has every sighted!”

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IN HUNGARY the people were overcome with grief At losing lovely Bertha; so precious had she been, So kind on all occasions, so courteous and sweet That they had always called her ‘The Debonair’ indeed. I swear I couldn’t tell you, not in a day or week, How much the Magyar people were stricken and bereaved, Or the degree of grieving that everywhere was seen. Queen Blancheflor, in private, between her flowing tears, Told noble Flor the details, the wicked ways and means By which Margiste had managed her treacherous deceit. Omitting naught, she told him how she had placed Aliste In Bertha’s bed the night of King Pepin’s marriage-feast. How Bertha had been taken by Tybert, well concealed And bound: he’d even gagged her so hard she couldn’t speak. How he had planned to slay her in woodland dark and deep, And would have if good Morant and two more of his peers Had not restrained his weapon, God bless their chivalry! How in the Mansel forest they’d set fair Bertha free – But to the thrall and threat of its denizens of beasts. Each word he heard incited King Flor the more to weep And wail anew in pity and anguish unrelieved. Their hearts a-brim with sadness, it’s time for us to leave That grieving pair of parents, the Magyar king and queen, To cry and sigh with sorrow at Bertha’s destiny, While we return to Pepin, whose visage burned with zeal. When Blancheflor had left him, and he had left Senlis, With weeping eyes they’d parted and wishes of ‘Godspeed’, And he’d returned to Paris, that admirable seat. As soon as he’d arrived there he’d asked at once to see Good Morant and his comrades; he’d made it very clear That they should come directly; and so they had indeed, With willing hearts, for Bertha, whose plight had sorrowed each.

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Bertha Broad-foot The Fourth Geste – Bertha restored “Now, Mōrant, hear me out!” said Pepin to his liegeman. “You stood beside my wife when Tybert’s hand had seized her: I know she would have died if yours had not released her. I think she has become a victim of the greenwood, For if she were alive, by now we should have seen her. I want you nonetheless to breach again the reaches Of Mansel wood, and there to question all its people For any trace at all of Bertha having been there. Discover, if you can, if any chanced to meet her Or see her in the wood beyond the time you freed her. I swear, by Mary’s Son, if you could but retrieve me Some little part of her, some stitch of clothing even, I’d cherish it above all other wealth, believe me: Each morning and each night I’d kiss and hold it near me! By God, Who makes the sky and dew, I do beseech you To try your best in this, and I’ll reward you dearly.” All three of them replied: “We’ll do our best to please you.” Indeed, they left at dawn upon the morn succeeding. It didn’t take them long, so keen they were and eager To reach the very spot – a great ravine was near it – Where Bertha had been lost and they were last to see her. They found the very ground and fell upon it, weeping. They didn’t stay there long, but started round the region To seek for any clue of Bertha’s having been there. Soon everybody knew that Pepin’s men were seeking Fair Bertha, Queen of France, abandoned in their greenwood Some years ago, by hands that laboured now to greet her. They searched for fifteen days, but nothing brought them nearer To finding out the truth or proof of their bereavement. The word at last arrived in Simon’s little precinct, Who told his wife about this royal disappearance. Constanzia was shocked, and pondered on it deeply. “BY ALL THE FAITH I owe you,” Constanzia replied: “This was the very manner, in circumstance and time, That you discovered Bertha, my lord, – am I not right? Let’s speak to her about it, directly, you and I.” “With all my heart,” said Simon, “we’ll do as you advise.” And so they summoned Bertha, when no one else was nigh, To meet with them in private and speak with them a while. The honest man addressed her as soon as she arrived, 393

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And told her of the heartbreak, the cruelty and crime To which their monarch Pepin was victim and beguiled. “As clearly as I see you, right now, I know alike I saw you first the season that caused King Pepin’s plight. Fair Bertha, tell me truly if you are Pepin’s wife.” On hearing this, her conscience and heart were torn awry: “My lord,” she said, “I follow the logic of your mind, But I am not that Bertha; that truly I deny.” THE RUSE OF HER response filled Bertha with disquiet – But Simon’s sudden news was like a bolt of lightning. “Dear Jesus, help me now to keep the vow of silence I made in Mansel wood, when I was close to dying.” She prayed this to herself, before she said to Simon: “If I were Pepin’s queen, I would be mad to hide it! If only that were true – dear God, I’d be delighted! Who wouldn’t love to live in leisurely refinement Instead of in a wood? What folly you would find it If I were really Queen and wanted to deny it! What wisdom would there be in hiding from my title? How foolish I would be to spurn it or belie it!” The maiden was so strong and straight in her denial That Simon and his wife accepted it entirely. AGAIN WE’LL TURN from Bertha, so fair of face and form, And noble-hearted Simon and good Constanzia His wife, whose grace and favour may God above reward! The maiden spoke so strongly of this and that and more That her denial pleased them and satisfied their thoughts. I’ll tell again of Morant and those with whom he’d sought For any trace of Bertha at all around Le Mans. They’d searched across the region and questioned all they saw, But hadn’t found a button or learnt a thing at all. Eventually returning to Paris and the court, They found the Monarch waiting, his noble heart forlorn. On seeing them, King Pepin urged Morant to come forth. He readily approached him, but, shedding tears galore, He stammered: “By St Amant, I swear to you, my lord, We’ve looked for Lady Bertha with all of our resource! Around the Mansel forest no man of mother born Ignored our purpose thither or was by us ignored: No peasant at his labour, no knight upon his horse, No churl or charcoal-burner, no shepherd on the moors 394

Bertha Broad-foot Or in the wooded valleys with creatures in his ward, No churchman in his chapel, no traveller abroad. But all of which we’re certain is what we knew before!” King Pepin sighed in anguish, on hearing this report, And Morant and his comrades turned sadly from the hall. WHEN PEPIN plainly heard that naught had been reported Concerning Bertha’s fate, his noble face had fallen. Morant was so ashamed that, under Tybert’s orders, He’d left in Mansel wood the Lady Bertha Broad-Foot, That he and both his friends sought holy penance for it By going on Crusade across the ocean waters. Of those unhappy three the only one henceforward To come back home to France alive and well was Morant: The others perished there, of that I can assure you – May God, Who made the world, receive their bodies’ forfeit! Soon after this, the King prepared his men and horses To journey through Anjou to Angers and its fortress, Which he had seen but once, a wealth of years beforehand. And it was there and then – or so the geste records it – That Naimon first appeared in France’s gallant story: A youth of noble blood, in search of knighthood’s glory, He came to court with twelve companions from boyhood. Before the King he knelt, and, as he did, so also Did all the rest, to praise and greet him as they ought to. Duke Naimon raised his voice, as captain of their chorus: “Fine monarch, we are here to serve you with our sword-blades! From Germany we’ve come, beyond the Frankish border. My father is the duke of all its southern portion, And he has sent us here in search of knighthood’s glory! Before he’d let us go, he made us all assure him We’d only come to you, whose chivalry he lauded. Fine monarch, make us knights, this season, I exhort you, And each of us will strive to do you honour always.” On hearing Naimon speak, the Monarch praised him warmly And willingly agreed to keep them there as courtiers, And then, at Pentecost, to raise them in the hall of The city of Le Mans to knighthood’s honoured order. At this they all were thrilled and bowed again towards him. Duke Naimon never left the royal house henceforward. He proved himself so well in Pepin’s eyes that shortly He made him Peer of France, where everyone adored him. To Charlemagne henceforth his wisdom never faltered. 395

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Heroines of the French Epic At Pentecost therefore, King Pepin rode his warhorse Directly to Le Mans to do as he had sworn to: He knighted Naimon first, then each of his supporters, And then a hundred more of Germany’s most stalwart.

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AT PENTECOST Duke Naimon – to end what I began – Was knighted by King Pepin with many of his land. How loyal was Duke Naimon! What bravery he had! How many Moors henceforward were slaughtered by his hand, And thousands more outfought by the wisdom of his plans! King Pepin gave him honour, then pleasure after that By setting up a quintain amid a meadow grand: Duke Naimon, and the others, took lances up and rammed The target-shield with gusto in lusty, loud attacks! Beneath a shady pine-tree the King sat on a mat, Surrounded by his cronies, the closest friends he had: “My lord, by good St Rémi,” they asked him as they sat, “Why do you not remarry? We grieve to see you sad.” He answered them directly: “My lords, please understand: I loved and cherished greatly the first wife that I had, But God gave us no children – He willed it so, alas! And so I wed a second, whose fate was twice as bad: I’d hardly looked at Bertha when treachery most rank Destroyed our joy forever; I’ll nevermore be glad, Nor ever wed another, I guarantee you that. Please mention it no further, for here’s another fact: When I remember Bertha, my sorrow drives me mad! Yet God is our Good Shepherd, and we are all His lambs: If it achieves His purpose to set me on this track, I’ll follow where He leads me with gratitude and thanks.” On hearing Pepin’s answer, so noble and so frank, His friends thought they’d offended their monarch and they shrank From questioning him further about his royal plans. With supper fast approaching, their party headed back Without delay, and settled once more inside Le Mans, Where Pepin stayed till Wednesday, to rest and to relax. When Thursday came, his party rode out to hunt for stag, And stumbled on a large one that someone’s arrow tagged. On seeing it, King Pepin regained his old élan, And charging forth to bag it, his hunting horse outran Each man within the party and greyhound in the pack. KING PEPIN STOOD alone; beneath the ancient shadows Of Mansel wood he rode, bereft of friend or vassal – 396

Bertha Broad-foot Where we shall leave him too, a little while, to languish, While we return to Bertha where, bless her, she has tarried A decade in the home of Simon and Constanzia, As loved by them as both the daughters of their marriage, With whom she’s lived and worked as teacher and companion. Now, close to Simon’s house, beside a field, there happened To be an ancient church, a low and little chapel That hermits long ago had laboured to establish, Then placed within the hands and land-rights of an abbey. Four bowshots and a half it stood from Simon’s cabin, Who used it when he went to Mass with all his clansmen. Inside it now, indeed, knelt Bertha, who had vanished From all the rest to hide behind its little chantry. She prayed to Heaven’s Queen, and Him Who bore the Passion, That Flor and Blancheflor, her parents, might be happy, And, not forgetting him the King whom she had married, That Pepin might be saved from misery and malice: For she had heard the news of the undying sadness That Pepin felt for her, and how the folk in Paris And everywhere in France lamented what had happened. While she was doing this, the others in the family Had left the little church and, noting Bertha’s absence, Had thought she’d gone ahead, when actually she hadn’t! So there she was alone – alone, but not abandoned, Thank God, as even now came trouble to entrap her! INSIDE THE TINY chapel fair Bertha lingered still, But when she rose and noticed no other soul within, She held her book of hours and psalter firmly gripped, And, bowing to the altar, left hurriedly forthwith. But now behold King Pepin, whose haste was just as swift: He chased about the forest; he sought those men of his, But saw instead the maiden – and hailed her as he did! When Bertha saw him coming, she froze, in terror’s grip. He greeted her, however, with courtesy most fit, And she returned the greeting as graciously to him. “You have no need to fear me,” said Pepin, with a grin, “For I am in the party of noble France’s King! I’ve lost my way, however and soon I’ll lose my wits! Do you know if some household around here could assist My search? And, if you do so, please show me where it is.” “My lord,” responded Bertha, “most willingly I will. Just here is where the Warden called gallant Simon, lives, 397

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A man who’ll show you better than any can, I think.” “My lovely one,” said Pepin, “much thanks indeed for this.” When Pepin saw her visage, the blush and flush of it In lovely youth – a blossom of red and white and pink – His heart was filled with longing to touch it with a kiss! Dismounting from his hunter, with one swing of his hips, The King again addressed her with gallant-worded lips. The maiden answered calmly, for nothing seemed amiss, Responding very simply to Pepin’s clever quips, When suddenly he grasped her and held her in his fists. Her body filled with anguish, unable to resist, And she implored his mercy, and that of Heaven’s King. THE DAY WAS FINE and clear, not wet at all or windy. In Mansel wood the King had found a rose so pretty In all its youthful bloom, so perfectly exquisite His fingers couldn’t wait to fondle it and pick it: Fair Bertha was the rose; King Pepin’s were the fingers! He cried: “Return with me to France’s noble kingdom: It holds no precious gem within its royal limits That I’d not gladly buy to satisfy your wishes! I’ll find for you as well you a lovely house to live in, And nobody on earth shall ever harm you in it!” Fair Bertha didn’t prize these promises a thimble, And blamed herself with sighs for such a want of wisdom She’d shown to be alone and make herself a victim. King Pepin saw at once the depth of her affliction. IN DEEP AFFLICTION, truly, the lovely maid was sunk: “Release me,” she implored him, “for sake of God above: You have delayed my duty, good noble, long enough – For soon my uncle Simon must journey to Le Mans With food for royal Pepin and those with whom he’s come – And I must make a meal for my uncle ere he does.” “I’d like to know,” cried Pepin, “my lonely, lovely one, What sort of man allows you to roam the woodland thus?” “The fault was mine, no other’s,” the maiden sighed at once: “I came to Mass this morning, the same as everyone, Including uncle Simon, whose praises I have sung – We worship in that chapel you see in front of us. I went behind its chantry alone, beknown to none, Where I was left, forgotten, when Holy Mass was done.” When Pepin heard her speaking with such a gentle tongue 398

Bertha Broad-foot And face so bright it mirrored the shining of the sun – So clear it was and lovely, so radiant its blush – His bosom burned with longing and leapt aflame with lust. She looked just like the servant who’d so deceived his trust – Indeed he’d seen no other who looked like her so much – Except this one was fairer than ever that one was! At this point Pepin’s patience was broken in a flood Of ardour that demanded surrender to its rush: “My lovely one,” he urged her, “by good St Omer’s blood, Will you not let me love you? I swear, I’ll give you such A mass of wealth you couldn’t have dreamt of such a sum! To lovely France I’ll take you, where you will be beloved, For I am loved by Pepin as if we two were one! Without a lie, I’m Pepin’s most trusted officer, And rich enough to give you a world of wealth and love! So think no more about it – for I have thought enough: Whatever it may cost me, I’ll satisfy my blood!” At this, a sigh of sorrow from Bertha’s heart was wrung, And from her lovely eyelids the tears began to run: She saw no means of fleeing, and knew she must succumb To him, unless she told him the truth of who she was. “My lord,” she said, “I warn you, as now I know I must. In Jesu’s name, our Saviour, Who let Himself be hung Upon the Cross at Easter to save each one of us, Release the wife of Pepin from your unlawful touch! I am indeed the daughter of Flor and Blancheflor, The king and queen whose honour is known to God above!” On hearing this, the visage of Pepin quickly flushed. He couldn’t speak for rapture; he stood completely stunned. FAIR BERTHA SAID: “My lord! In God’s name and His Mother’s, Abandon your desire or stubborn plan to plunder My maidenhood, a good that cannot be recovered. My father is King Flor, let no one doubt or wonder. Queen Blancheflor the Fair of Hungary’s my mother, In whom all virtue’s seen, for she is mean in nothing, But kind and debonair and fair of mind and loving. My sister rules in Saxe; I also have a brother Who’s Poland’s duke and lord of Grodno port in Russia. And I am queen of France – for Pepin is my husband! So, in the name of God, the King of every country, Do nothing to me now whereby my name would suffer: I swear I’d rather die than live with honour sullied.” 399

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ON HEARING BERTHA tell him, most truthfully, that she Was Queen of France, he listened, with great delight indeed, But with a heart that pounded in great anxiety. He said: “If you are truly the one you claim to be, Then I would never harm you, for all the gold that gleams!” On hearing this, Queen Bertha gave thanks to him in speech, And to our Lord in silence, for such a great release, Then turned to Simon’s dwelling her lovely face and feet. Upon the way, King Pepin was very keen to hear The details of her story – but much she kept concealed, Determined just to tell him enough that would relieve The danger of his presence and meet her present need. She made a pledge in silence, most solemn and sincere, That she would never wander alone again indeed. She talked away to Pepin, however, till they reached The gallant Simon’s dwelling, his cabin by the trees. Constanzia and Simon were waiting as they neared The doorway, where their daughters were hovering in tears At Bertha’s lengthy absence, for whom their love was deep. Indeed, they would have sought her, and were about to leave, When, seeing one who brought her, they halted in relief. As Bertha came up closer they saw her face of fear And realised that something had made her much aggrieved. My lords, you can imagine the worried look of each! King Pepin, whose demeanour was courteous and sweet, Hailed Simon and Constanzia, and then fair Eglantine And Isabelle the sisters, and everyone could see That he indeed was someone of great nobility. He told them he was one of the Monarch’s royal suite, And that he’d lost his bearings beneath the many trees! They did him every honour when they had heard him speak, Then Pepin motioned Simon aside with him, for he Was keen to make inquiry of Bertha’s chastity, As one who had desired it so long and lovingly. THE MONARCH PEPIN stood, his face with valour gleaming, In Simon’s little house beside the leafy greenwood. When Simon saw the way the noble’s thoughts were leading, He called his wife at once to join them in their meeting. “My lady,” said the King, “inform me, if it please you, Just who this maiden is who’s led me here to see you.” “My lord, she is a niece who’s lived with us for years now, And through her honest ways has won our hearts completely. 400

Bertha Broad-foot God help me, my own girls are not as good as she is! But nor are you, it seems, who forced yourself, or nearly, Upon a helpless maid – which I consider evil! You’ve made her so upset that I can guarantee you, Upon my husband’s beard, if your indulgent liege lord Were other than the King, you’d pay for her mistreatment! If I would not be damned, I’d rather die, believe me, Than see you shame the name of such a blameless creature – I’ve never seen before so virtuous a being, Nor anyone who loved our Lord as much as she does.” When Pepin heard this speech, he stared upon its speaker: “My lady,” he replied, “since we are speaking freely, This maiden stopped me short by telling me one detail, Which, if it is the truth, can only place me deeper In debt to you for all the time you’ve been her keeper: She told me that her name was Bertha, then proceeded To say she was the wife of France’s King and leader. Please tell me straightaway if this is truth or treason – And please make very sure that you do not deceive me, Or you could find the debt you owe to me is deeper!” When Simon and his wife had heard his words, then neither Could hide the fear they felt, which dwelt upon their features: They’d said she was their niece – a lie that much aggrieved them. Good Simon said: “My lord, I beg of you to hear me! Since things have come to this, and for her own good reason She has revealed to you the Bertha she is really, Then we say ‘God be praised’ – we know at last her secret: We weren’t aware of this, I swear, by our Redeemer!” Then Simon told his guest about the day and season He’d found her so distressed, with dawn of day appearing. He told him of her woes: how she was lost and weeping With hunger and with cold, her body blue and bleeding. He told him how she’d tried to hide her name and breeding, By saying that Alsace had been her native region, And that some sort of war had forced her then to flee it Until she could no more, when tempests shook the greenwood. “I tell you truly, lord – for truly I believe it – Her heart-beat would have stopped if we’d not kept it beating. We’ve housed her ever since, and cared for her most dearly. We said she was our niece, and did so for this reason: We wanted every man and woman here to treat her With due respect and not to hold her honour cheaply: For I would have you know her character is peerless: 401

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Heroines of the French Epic So wise she is and good in deed and in demeanour That Pepin’s land contains no maid who is her equal.” On hearing this, the King was filled with happy feelings.

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“BY ALL THE FAITH,” said Simon, “I owe to you, sir knight, As being of the party of our beloved Sire, I welcome you most gladly inside this house of mine – The more so since your tidings have brought me a delight That passes any other I’ve had in all my life! I swear that we’ve known nothing about it all this time! I still cannot believe it – yet Bertha would not lie. But if she’s who you’re saying, I see no reason why She would have tried to hide it – I’m truly mystified, For she’s so honest-hearted, so virtuous and wise.” “Good Simon,” said his stranger, “then here’s what I would like: Let all of us confront her and speak our honest minds.” The warden answered swiftly: “We’ll do as you desire.” “MAY I SUGGEST this plan, my lord?” said worthy Simon: “There is a curtain here; if you could hide behind it While I go with my wife Constanzia to find her, We’ll talk to her alone, then, when her mind is quiet, We’ll bring her back in here, where you will be in hiding, And seek the truth of this; with trust she will confide it. This way’s the best I know, and so I would advise it.” The King said that to him it also seemed the wisest, And so, as he’d agreed, the matter was decided. The warden found the maid, and, with his wife beside him, Her took her by the hand to where King Pepin bided. “Good mistress,” Bertha said, “If I might dare inquire it: What has become of him, that nobleman out riding, Who stopped me on my way from chapel and decided To harass me so much that I am still affrighted?” “You won’t see him again,” Constanzia confided: “But something that he said both gladdened and surprised us – Indeed I am upset that you resolved to hide it!” Fair Bertha dropped her gaze, ashamed of her white-lying. When Simon sat her down, beside him, she was silent. “I SWEAR, BY GOOD St Rémi,” said Simon straightaway, “The knight who has this moment just vanished from our gaze, Revealed a truth about you, for which the Lord be praised: That you were wife to Pepin, the King of our domains. 402

Bertha Broad-foot You’ve kept this from us, always, and now we feel ashamed That we, not knowing better, dishonoured your estate.” “My lovely one,” his wife said, “don’t lie to us again, But please tell us the truth now, for our Redeemer’s sake.” On hearing this, what blushes beflooded Bertha’s face, But nonetheless she answered directly and with grace: “Some time ago, good mistress, you questioned me the same! If I had been Queen Bertha, I would have told you straight: Indeed I would have told you upon the day I came. The truth is, I could think of no other way to gain The mercy of that courtier who courted me today: I think, had I not said it, he would have had his way. By this deceit I managed to save myself from shame: I said I was the daughter of Flor, of high estate, And had been wife to Pepin before I’d been betrayed. This gallant knew the story of how a certain maid Had tricked the royal Bertha and had her hauled away And left inside a forest to perish or be slain – And stopped his game as soon as he heard me tell my tale. I saw no other method of keeping him at bay. I used a ruse against him which, thank the Lord, prevailed.” SEE BERTHA IN the room, that slender, gentle maiden, With Simon and his wife, that tender-hearted matron! Young Bertha didn’t know that Pepin too was waiting, When she was asked to give a truthful explanation Of all that she had said then contradicted later. But she had made a pledge to Mary and our Saviour To not reveal the truth – and trembled now to break it! Constanzia, at last, was moved enough to take her Away from this ordeal and to her daughters’ chamber. She then returned to where her husband was bewailing, And Pepin had appeared, in all of his frustration. She said to him: “My lord, I see your sorrow plainly. I don’t know what you think, but my confusion’s greater! In faith, if she were Queen, what purpose would it gain her To veil the truth – in truth, it would be mad to veil it! I don’t know what to say, or what to do to aid you.” The King stood up to go, his face a mask of failure, Farewelling them in woe, without delay or waiting. Good Simon showed his guest the best way that would take him Directly to Le Mans and not across the Chases – In truth, his taste for stag had fully lost its savour. 403

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WHEN PEPIN AND good Simon were distant from the house, The Monarch hailed the warden, whose virtue was his crown: “You do not know me, do you? So I shall tell you now: I am your monarch Pepin – and that’s the truth, I vow!” On hearing this, how happy the woodsman was! He bowed Directly, then, dismounted to kneel upon the ground. “My lord, a thousand welcomes,” good Simon cried aloud. “But I am so embarrassed, to learn it now, at how Not knowing this beforehand, my ignorance allowed Your honour to be wanting by such a want in ours.” “There is no want,” said Pepin, “This hour has done you proud – Although my search continues along a trail of doubt To find the heart I cherished and treason hunted down.” King Pepin spoke of Bertha until he had unwound The heavy coil of sorrow in which his heart was bound. “GOOD SIMON,” said the King, “please carry out my counsel: When I am in Le Mans and you are with your household, Say nothing more of this to anyone around you. Except to your own wife you must keep mum about it, For I am still convinced, by how my heart is pounding, That Bertha is my wife – your Bertha – never doubt it! I can’t imagine why she wants to disavow it!” “Your Highness, so think I! Denounce me as a scoundrel If that is not your wife inside my humble bower. How close to death she stood when in the wood I found her, Her bleeding body numb from cold and hunger’s hounding! Perhaps she made a vow, while still she had the power, To hide her name henceforth if she survived the hour. If such a vow were made, she’d never want to flout it For all the wealth of Rome – for it cannot be doubted, There never was a maid of virtue so astounding.” “Good Simon,” said the King, “your notion is a sound one: There is an answer here, and you, I think, have found it. But I’ve been tricked before by what a woman vowed me, And so, to be assured, beyond all doubt about it, I shall inform King Flor, her father wise and doughty, And noble Blancheflor, forgetting neither’s bounty, That Bertha has been found – a claim itself well founded – And one of them, I’m sure, will hurry here to sound it! The envoy who shall go to make them this announcement Will know his task tonight and by the morn be mounted. You’ll see me here again, as soon as time allows it, 404

Bertha Broad-foot But while I am away, don’t breathe a word about it. Commend me to your wife – for I commend her roundly – And honour my true wife, fair Bertha, more profoundly And soundly than before – your love for me accounting.” Said Simon: “Sire, I will – most willingly and proudly.” Again they took the road and wandered up and down it Until they saw his hounds and many of his houndsmen. The warden left at once, to Pepin’s duty bounden, Who blessed him as he left most sweetly and devoutly. The warden reached his house, called ‘Home among the Flowers’, And told his wife the truth of Pepin and their ‘foundling’. On hearing it, her joy and praises were unbounded: She kissed her husband’s cheeks, she flung her arms around him, As Pepin reached Le Mans and straightaway dismounted. Without a rest or pause he reach the hall and shouted His private chaplain forth, with parchment, ink and powder, To set his message down and with his seal endow it. That very day it lay inside the envoy’s pouches: God guide him on his way, Whose majesty surrounds us! THE MESSENGER departed at once, with every speed, For noble-hearted Pepin impressed on him the need, And pledged, on his returning, to make him rich indeed. The King himself departed, returning to his seat Of Paris, with Duke Naimon, for whom his love was deep, And whom he honoured greatly, with all his men of liege. The messenger continued until at last he reached And found inside his palace the king of Hungary, With Blancheflor beside him, that paragon of queens. The messenger approached them and, falling to his knees, He gave them Pepin’s greeting with every courtesy, Then handed them the parchment for both to see and read. The king himself unrolled it, unfastening its seal, And hadn’t finished reading before he called the queen In tones of great excitement: “Attend to this, my sweet, And give the Lord your praises for tidings such as these, Which rightly will delight you and everybody here!” He read from start to finish, omitting naught between, How everything had happened and what had intervened: How Pepin had gone hunting, and how he’d chanced to meet Fair Bertha in a forest where she had been for years. Then why, when having found her, he’d left and let her be – Although he was convinced of her true identity – 405

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Until King Flor could come there, or Blancheflor, and see This Bertha to assure him that it was truly she: They’d come if they loved Bertha one half as much as he: At this the royal couple could neither move or speak. They looked at one another, with joy bereft of speech. The tears of Flor were flowing, from joy and pity each; The queen fell in a fainting, her heart was so replete. Her husband’s arms enclasped her and helped her to her feet. As soon as she’d recovered she said that she would leave, And that no town or village would give her two nights’ sleep Until she’d kissed her daughter upon the mouth and cheek. She didn’t doubt one moment this maid’s identity: Her mother’s heart assured that this was truly she. “My lady,” said her husband, “don’t fret again to hear That someone must go with you, and that this man – who leaves At light of dawn tomorrow – is no one else but me!” On hearing this, how happy and thankful was the queen! King Flor, without delaying, commanded all to be Prepared for their departure as soon as dawn appeared. Before the whole assembly the messenger received A mother’s hug and kisses from Blancheflor the queen. The morrow, bright and early, saw Flor upon his steed And leading forth a bevy of barons through the streets. So steady was their progress, so ready was their zeal, That soon they came to Paris, where Pepin and his Peers Received them very warmly, with every joy and cheer And honour that befitted such regal royalty. WITH EVERY HONOUR’S grace and favour Pepin greeted The worthy Magyar pair, King Flor the hoary-bearded And Blancheflor his wife, whose character was peerless. They talked of many things before the queen entreated: “King Pepin, in the name of Jesus, I beseech you To speed us to the spot which is our journey’s reason!” “My lady,” he replied, “there’s nothing more would please me! Tomorrow, with the dawn, God willing, we’ll be leaving.” And so, they only stayed one night before proceeding Upon their way so well they reached the Mansel region At dinner time that day, or so the record teaches. The queen was so on edge, for Bertha’s sake, her feelings Would not let her partake in drinking or in eating: She simply wouldn’t rest until she knew, by seeing, If they had truly found her daughter in the greenwood. 406

Bertha Broad-foot While she was in this mind, good Simon came to meet them. He strode towards the King and greeted Pepin sweetly. As soon as Pepin looked, he knew the warden’s features And took him to one side to talk with him discretely. Good Simon said: “My lord, is Blancheflor the queen here?” “Indeed,” the King replied, “but she is so uneasy She cannot eat or drink, or think of rest or sleeping. Until she sees her child this mood will not release her. However, if this maid, whom you have cherished dearly, Is Blancheflor’s, and mine, your honour will be feasted!” “I wish I were as sure of my own soul’s redeeming As I am that the maid inside my house is really The Bertha that you wed!” the worthy man repeated. “Since you were here before I’ve questioned her and queried The things she told you then – and every time she freezes: She shivers and she shakes and seems to be so fearful Her colour drains away and she refrains from speaking. As truly as I trust in Jesus to redeem me Upon my death, I swear her virtue is unequalled.” On hearing this, the King rejoiced with all his being. “Whatever is the truth, this moment will reveal it,” He said, “for we shall take, at once, the road that leads us Through leafy Mansel wood to your abode beneath it. The shining goal we seek will bring us joy exceeding Our longest cherished hopes, God willing, when we reach it!” KING PEPIN WAS a monarch of wise, incisive thought: Without delay he summoned both Flor and Blancheflor, Who came to him directly, prepared to journey forth. With very little escort they left the city hall, And Simon led them forward, his virtue like a torch! Until the truth of Bertha’s identity was sure, King Pepin didn’t tell them, or anyone at court, That Simon was the worthy of whom she was the ward. And so they rode together, through Mansel trees galore, Until they reached his dwelling, without a single pause: On Blancheflor’s insistence they never slowed at all. Together they dismounted and went inside the door. Constanzia was waiting, and heard her husband’s call: “Good sister, where is Bertha, for she is much besought! King Pepin’s here beside me, and with him I have brought King Flor the Magyar monarch and good Queen Blancheflor!” At once his wife responded: “Good husband, thank the Lord! 407

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Heroines of the French Epic Fair Bertha’s in our bedroom. I know she is, my lord, Because she has been working with all her heart since dawn Upon our altar’s cover, which she discovered torn.”

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AS SOON AS THIS was heard by Simon, called The Warden, He called upon King Flor, whose flowing beard was hoary, Queen Blancheflor his wife, and Pepin, to come forward. He led them to his room, where from the open doorway They saw their debonair, fair Bertha by the altar. When she herself saw them, she rose and ran towards them. She knew her mother first, and knelt at once before her, As Blancheflor, with joy, fell swooning, so to join her! “So help me God,” said Flor, “and She Whose body bore Him, We’ve surely found again our lovely Bertha Broad-Foot! The grace of God has shone upon us and restored her!” As he had long desired, King Flor embraced her warmly. He hugged and held her tight. He kissed her face and forehead. Queen Blancheflor, revived, deprived him of his daughter With kisses that could not, for happiness, be halted. When people living near could hear the great rejoicing, And learned the reason why, they hurried forth to join it! The wood began to ring and sing with merry voices That none had ever heard before in Mansel forest. Cried Pepin: “Mighty Lord, Who brings the Light of morning, We praise You for the joy this day of Yours has brought us! For love of You, my Lord, I bore with my misfortune, And through Your loving grace my pain has been rewarded – For You have turned my loss to profit so enormous I never held a coin of happiness beforehand That isn’t now a horde two hundred times as joyous! May She Whose blessed womb once carried You and bore You, Be praised above all Maids, upon this day and always!” The tidings reached Le Mans, and when they were reported The courtiers ran forth, like madmen, from their quarters To ring the city-bells in one resounding chorus! WHEN BERTHA SAW her father, and mother there as well, Her joy was so astounding it took away her breath And she could scarcely utter a single word as yet. King Pepin went to Bertha without delay and said: “Please speak to me, I beg you, my dearest, sweetest friend, For I indeed am Pepin, the King who humbly begs Your pardon for the evil with which we both have met.” 408

Bertha Broad-foot On hearing this, fair Bertha was filled with awe again, But answered him directly and with a sweet respect. “If truly you are Pepin, then may the Lord be blest, Who, of the Virgin Mary, was born in Bethlehem!” Her parents rushed to greet her, their rapture more intense A hundred times than ever I’ll have the skill to tell – Though I’ve not heard another describe such joyfulness As reigned in Simon’s dwelling that day on Mansel edge! King Pepin summoned Henry, a sergeant of his men, With Thierry and Walter, his highest officers: “Go to Le Mans directly, without delay or let, And bring here, for my pleasure, pavilions and tents. I want to spend some time here, by St Rémi I pledge, Where I have found the riches I thought forever spent! So bring us worthy lodgings, a noble board and bed, And summon, at my order, Duke Naimon to attend.” With happy heart and willing the men appointed left To do as he had bidden. It was a Monday then. QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR once more was glowing with contentment. Upon that happy day she held her daughter gently, Fair Bertha, blond of hair, the debonair, the slender. She kissed her many times and hugged her as she held her. Good Simon and his wife came up to them, together With both their daughters too, whom Bertha greatly cherished. When Bertha saw them thus, she hurried to present them: “Fine mother,” Bertha cried, “in God’s name, let me tell you That this sweet lady here has shown me great affection! And here is my dear lord the Warden, Jesus bless him, Who found me in the wood, abandoned and imperilled. I would have been devoured or met some other death there, If he and God above had not been there to help me. Without them, you must know, I surely would have perished.” On hearing this, the queen stood up and went directly Towards them, as did Flor, the ruler of an empire, To thank with all their heart this family of peasants For all that they had done in Christian love for Bertha. The cheerful group was joined by happy-hearted Pepin And all of them sat down inside the room together. So small a room before was never filled so merry! INSIDE THE LOVELY forest – it was, without a lie – The joy in Simon’s dwelling could hardly be described. The tents that Pepin wanted were soon in large supply 409

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Erected all around it and filled with joy inside. They stayed, or so I heard it, for three whole days and nights, And Pepin lay with Bertha, his loyal, royal wife. She there conceived a daughter – this nobody denies – Called Gille, who was the mother of Roland in her time. King Charlemagne the mighty would be their second child. King Pepin gave to Simon and both his sons alike The armour and the weapons concomitant with knights: To each he gave a mantle of golden cloth, as fine And fitting and well sitting as any could desire. He gave Simon the title of ‘Counsellor Most High’. Duke Naimon placed their spurs on, while Pepin laced their sides With noble swords; then drawing his own one from its hide He touched them on each shoulder and then he kissed them twice. To see himself so honoured, and both his sons alike, The Warden offered thanks to our Saviour Jesus Christ, Then knelt before King Pepin, his children left and right, To show their obligation in everybody’s sight. They kissed his feet and ankles, his lower leg and thigh, Then Pepin held his hands out, assisting all to rise. “Good Simon, by the blessed St Richier,” he cried, “I love you very dearly, and your beloved wife, For by the grace of Heaven, and God Who rules the skies, You both have filled with gladness this empty heart of mine, By rescuing the life of my wife who would have died.” If only you had been there and seen the happy sight – Constanzia, her daughters, Queen Blancheflor the kind, Embracing and still weeping with pity and delight – You would have known, I’m certain, what proper joy was like! CONSTANZIA was wise and very noble-minded, A woman full of worth and charitable kindness. She saw the great delight of both her sons and Simon, At wearing cloaks of fur so fairly and so finely, And thanked St Peter’s aid and God the Lord Almighty: “Dear God above,” she cried,” Whose loving word is final, The honour you bestow is more than we’ve the right to! I thank Our Lady too, true Shepherd of the righteous, Who from the lowest heath can lead us to the highland! My prayers for all who’ve helped, in this our hope’s revival, Will never be remiss while I have breath inside me!” YOU’VE heard me tell already how noble Pepin gave Good Simon, whom he cherished, a knighthood and a blade. 410

Bertha Broad-foot He and his sons were given that noble accolade. But then he gave them also another gift as great: To Simon he presented a thousand-pound estate, Then two more of five hundred to either son the same. He said he’d wed the daughters to men of highest praise, And every year give either five hundred pounds the same. The Warden, truly thankful, came forward straightaway, And with his sons beside him fell on his knees again. His wife and their two daughters showed also no delay In kneeling down beside them with gratitude and grace, Then thanking him sincerely in our Redeemer’s name. They swore to be his liegemen, and kisses were exchanged. Then Pepin chose the emblems their coat of arms would take. The officer instructed was told that he should make The blazon field of azure, but mottled white a shade, And fleur-de-lys the emblem, in or. To differentiate, The elder son would carry five labels, gules, inlaid, The younger, labels, argent, with bezants overlain. For love of them King Pepin allowed them this display. May God, the King of Heaven, reward him for his grace. Sir Simon’s clan has sported that blazon to this day: They still display it proudly, and always will, I’d say. WHEN SIMON HAD been dubbed the way I have related, And given a domain that would maintain his status, He left his humble lodge, the one called ‘Flowerhaven’. How many sighs were heaved when final leave was taken By Bertha, Queen of France, who’d long enjoyed its safety: For nine years and a half, in truth, it was her haven. Since none of Simon’s clan were planning to remain there, Good Bertha showed her thanks in gifts to every neighbour And worker young and old, familiar and stranger. King Flor and Blancheflor were also not ungrateful: Soon no one poor before would ever be so later! So Simon and his wife departed ‘Flowerhaven’, Their sons and daughters too – not one of them remained there. And rest assured the doors upon that last occasion Were closed with sobs galore from all of their acquaintance, Who wrung their hands and rent their hair in their dismaying: “Adieu!” they cried, “Adieu! Godspeed you, gentle Lady! God bless you ever more, Whose glory lights the ages, And favour you in turn for all your loving favour!” Fair Bertha left in tears – God bless so dear a nature! 411

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Heroines of the French Epic Sir Simon’s wife and girls were by her side, delaying. “Constanzia,” she cried, “come home with me, I pray you, To noble France’s court, and nevermore forsake me! Your daughters there shall be my private maids-in-waiting: They’ll nevermore be poor while I have means to aid them!” Constanzia replied: “So let it be, my Lady. Your will be done – indeed, most gladly we’ll obey it!” 3260

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OF THIS YOU CAN be certain: upon a Tuesday morn A happy group of people left Mansel wood at dawn, For they had found their Lady so fair of face and form. To meet them many people came gladly from Le Mans And greeted Lady Bertha with courtesy and warmth. Upon her right Duke Naimon was riding with King Flor, While on the left her mother admired her more and more. How many spears that morning were split in joyful sports, How many city belfries rang out their happy noise! The clergy came to meet them, in fine procession all, Their orders in good order, and shining, as they walked, With relic-chests and censers of gold and silver wrought. The countryside was gleaming with cloth of gold galore. The citizens were gathered, the wealthy with the poor, Together with the nobles, the ladies and the lords, In one desire to witness their proper Queen once more. The city-gates were opened, and in the people poured! The streets were hung with bunting and banners by the score. The roads themselves were covered with newly-gathered straw, With tender grass and rushes at entrances and walks. The ladies at the windows were splendidly adorned In jewellery and dresses that would have held you awed – But I’ve no time to dwell on the fashions that they wore! At last the Queen dismounted before the city-hall, Duke Naimon and the nobles escorting her with joy. Her hand was in her mother’s, the loving Blancheflor. A week of feasting followed within the town, as all Across the happy kingdom the tidings spread abroad Of Bertha’s restoration, and everyone rejoiced. They thanked the Lord, and Mary, and every saint of yore! King Pepin and his party, departing from Le Mans, Rode joyfully for Paris, not wishing once to halt. NOT WISHING ONCE to halt, the happy kings rode forward, With happy Blancheflor and Bertha well escorted 412

Bertha Broad-foot By good Constanzia and Simon and their daughters. With all their troubles past, the party’s mood was joyous Upon the Paris road, that city rich and royal. Aliste, the wretched maid who’d made their lives a torment, Was told that they were near, and clearly this annoyed her: Her greed was dealt a blow, and this aggrieved her sorely, Her grief a mix of fear and jealous disappointment! She hated Bertha’s joy and Simon’s greater fortune: Her evil had no place for good to be rewarded – Base servant! Serve you right for trading yours so falsely! FROM ALL THE TOWNS and cities that Bertha’s party neared The folk poured out to meet her from every side and reach. In throngs and long precessions they honoured her as Queen. To God, Who from His Heaven sees everything beneath, They cursed Aliste the servant, wherever she might be, Together with the children her cunning had conceived, For Bertha’s disappearance and loss across the years. Throughout the happy nation such rapture was released At Bertha’s restoration through God and Simon’s deeds That everyone came running or riding there to greet Their proper Lady Bertha with loud and lusty cheers. The few who truly saw her were lucky folk indeed! You shouldn’t wonder greatly that they should want to see The living proof of tidings they all had longed to hear: A miracle that witnessed to God’s great Majesty. When Bertha passed before them they fell upon their knees And thanked the Lord in Heaven for her return as Queen! She thanked them in her manner – with wise humility. THE VIRTUE OF the Queen was truly like a beacon That shone on everyone and drew them all to see her. Her mother Blancheflor, now glad of heart and easy, Thanked Mary, blessed Maid and Mother, for her healing. They journeyed at their ease, not slow, or hasty either, With minstrels at their side who tried their best to please them, And knew, to see their joy, that they had well succeeded! How cruel was Margiste, that wicked crone whose evil Betrayed so fine a Queen with such deceitful scheming! God damn her daughter too, Aliste the wicked creature! Her road to Paradise will surely be a steep one, Unless she shows remorse as mighty as her treason.

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THE JOY OF ALL and sundry in lovely France was great. The intimates of Pepin rejoined him on the way And showed their joy at seeing their Lady once again, By thanking God in Heaven with many prayers of praise. At last the many belfries of Paris met their gaze, And then the lovely city, more lovely on that day Than ever with the pleasure its citizens displayed In blessed celebration of God Almighty’s Grace. The bearded and the balding, the children and the aged, The abbots and the brothers, the clergy and the lay, United in procession towards the city gates. How many mighty horses were raced through jousting-lanes, How many lances shattered on shields of sturdy grain! How many glances scattered on lovely Bertha’s face! HOW MANY happy folk in Paris scattered gazes Upon their Queen, so keen to see her reinstatement They led her through the streets with shouts of acclamation: “Dear God above,” they cried, “Sweet Mother of our Saviour, A plague upon the maid whose infamous betrayal Has robbed us for so long of such a lovely lady!” They gathered round the hall where she dismounted later. Queen Blancheflor was thrilled and filled with exultation To see her daughter now so cordially fêted And obviously loved by all the population. She thanked the Lord above, Who scatters every raincloud, And blessed Mary too, with many prayers and praises. In Paris they enjoyed a week of celebrations So noble no one hence remembered any greater. KING PEPIN WAS a monarch whose courtesy was large: He strove to please and honour King Flor with all his charm, And Blancheflor his consort, so worthy of the task. Now Morant on that Sunday returned to France, at last, And went to see King Pepin as soon as he’d the chance. If you recall, he’d travelled, in penance, far from France. The news he’d heard of Bertha had so rejoiced his heart That he could scarcely answer the questions Pepin asked: “My noble lord,” he stammered, “I’m glad with all my heart To see that my fair Lady, your Queen, is back at last. But, Sire, how dare I ever be seen by her, alas? I was, I cannot hide it, in charge of Tybert’s guard That took her to the forest to do her mortal harm.” 414

Bertha Broad-foot At this he started weeping; his tears came hard and fast. “From what I’ve heard,” said Pepin, “you played a noble part: You saved her life and helped her escape from Tybert’s grasp.” The word of Morant’s coming was quickly heard and passed To Bertha, who directly, without the least alarm, Rose up, all eyes upon her, and took him in her arms. “My lord,” she said to Pepin, “I have a boon to ask: I want you to love Morant with all your royal heart. I ask you too to raise him to knighthood’s noble caste And give him of your riches so generous a part That all of his descendants may live upon the grant. By all the saints, I swear it, when Tybert’s sword was grasped To slay me, Morant stayed it and gave my life a chance. In Simon and in Morant I trust with all my heart. Their word shall be my counsel in any future task.” The King could not refuse her in anything she asked, And granted Morant yearly two hundred silver marks. Good Morant, whose demeanour was laudable, advanced Towards the King, embracing his ankle and his calf, Then knelt before Queen Bertha and bowed his head, entranced. The next day Pepin dubbed him and gave him noble arms: And that is how Sir Morant became a knight of France. The Magyar monarchs gave him great wealth as well to mark The good thing he had done for their daughter at Le Mans. So, everyone, think always of doing good, not harm: However long it takes it, good triumphs at the last. “SIR MORANT,” SAID the Queen, “I felt my final heart-beat When Tybert drew his sword, of shining edge and sharpest, And raised it to my head to finish what he’d started. In yours I found a mind of kinder, higher casting. If you had thought like him, of personal advancement Through treachery to me and to the Lord’s Commandment, I never would have lived to see my mother Blancheflor, Or Pepin, King of France, or Flor my noble father. You acted like a friend, a loving brother rather, Whom I shall never shun to help when I’ve the chance to.” Sir Morant said: “May God, our Lord and Saviour, grant you Reward for this reward, today and ever after!” THE JOY DISPLAYED in Paris was lengthy and immense. King Flor was honoured greatly by Pepin and the French, Who cherished him most dearly, and Blancheflor as well. 415

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When Morant had been knighted by France’s King himself, King Flor remained for only a month in Pepin’s realm. My friends, I haven’t told you, for I could not attempt To tell you, of the riches with which his party left, That Pepin and Queen Bertha, in love and great respect, Had given either monarch and all their band of men. Upon a Tuesday morning, their preparations set, The Magyars rode from Paris, as many sighed and wept. Each citizen around them and everywhere they went, Both those of their acquaintance and those they’d never met, Commended them by saying: “Godspeed you, and God bless!” King Pepin and Queen Bertha, whose wisdom was her crest, Went with them to Saint-Quentin, where two more days were spent Together, child and parents, ere their farewells were said. IT IS A PROVEN TRUTH that it was at Saint-Quentin That Blancheflor once more farewelled the lovely Bertha And Flor embraced his child with all of his affection, Before they took their leave, commending her to Heaven. Their daughter swooned away for sadness when they left her, But Pepin raised her up and comforted her gently. The Magyar party rode in fine array and fettle Across the many realms and strange abodes that led them To reach their native land and spread their joyful message. How people praised the Lord, and Mary, Queen of Heaven! What’s more, that royal pair, before the year had ended, Were blessed again with child, a daughter whom expressly They named Constanzia, for love of her who’d cherished Good Bertha in their woods, as you have heard me tell you. This child became in time their country’s great defender As queen against the Danes who came in force against her: But that’s another song and mine’s too long already! The noble monarch Flor, of gallant mind and mettle, And Blancheflor, his wife and worthy queen, erected An abbey in their land, of noble plan and measure, In honour of our Lord, Whose glory lives forever, And love of Bertha, whom His mighty Hand had rescued And guarded and returned from such a pale of peril. The abbey was endowed with sixty nuns attendant, And still today is called the abbey of Valbertha. And there we’ll leave King Flor, of hoary beard and heavy, And Blancheflor the queen, God crown her soul in Heaven, For I must end this tale of gallant-visaged Pepin, 416

Bertha Broad-foot And Bertha, still in tears, I fear, at her farewelling Of parents so endeared, God comfort her and bless her! When all was said and done and everything was ready, They took the Paris road and headed there directly. KING PEPIN and his consort, the lovely Bertha, reached Their royal town of Paris as quickly as could be. Constanzia and Simon, for whom their love was deep, Were honoured there by Pepin, as they deserved indeed. He wedded both their daughters to knights of such degree That their prestige and riches were mightily increased. Aliste was in Montmartre, that traitor to the Queen, With Rainfroi and with Hardré, the princes she’d conceived And raised so very grandly and full of self-conceit. How many folk in future were cheated and deceived By these two with the power their riches let them wield: If one day you would listen, I ‘ll tell you what I mean. OF THIS YOU CAN be sure: the first of those conceived by Our blonde and slender Queen of Pepin was a female, A daughter who was wise and modest of demeanour: As wife of Miles d’Aiglant her fame was not a mean one, But it was greater far as mother of the hero Count Roland, whose prowess and bravery were peerless. Her next was Charlemagne, of visage bold and fearless, Who fought so many wars against the Unbelievers, And raised the Christian flag across so many regions. How many heathen lands he ravaged and defeated! How many heathen shields and helms he cut to pieces, How many coifs he slit to split the head beneath them! He struck with heart and soul so hard against the Heathens That even to this day their children’s children feel it! ❦

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Glossary Almanzor [al/mn/zor] Bezant [beznt] Blazon [blayzn] Bliaut [blee/o] Boss Buckler Byrnie [burnee] Caliph [ka(y)liff ] Carl Chain mail Chausses [fr.] Coif [coyf ] Cotte [cot] Denier [den/ee/ay] Destrier [des/tree/ay] Dromond [dromnd] Eme [eem] Emir [ameer] Esses Fealty Fief Geste [fr.] Gonfalon [gon/fa/lon] Haubergeon [haw/bur/jon] Hauberk [hawburk] Jennet Jongleur [fr.] Label Liege lord Liegeman Mangon [mangn] Matins Mewed

A Saracen chieftain. A gold coin of Byzantine origin. A coat of arms. A tunic. A round metal knob at the centre of a shield. A small round shield. A long knee-length garment of leather, upon which metal rings were sewn in various patterns; for the protection of the body and the thighs in battle. A Saracen civil and religious leader. A villain. Armour made of small metal rings linked together. Mail leggings. A skullcap worn under the helmet. 1. A coat 2. A gown 3. A tunic. A coin of little value; a penny. A war-horse; a charger. A flat-bottomed barge. An uncle. A Saracen prince or governor. Helmet adornments wrought in precious metal. A feudal tenant’s fidelity to his lord. An estate held in fee by a vassal (q.v.) from a superior. 1. A military exploit. 2. An epic narrative. 3. A clan 1. A banner with streamers. A sleevless coat of mail. 1.A long knee-length garment of chain mail (q.v.) for the protection of the body and the thighs in battle. A small docile horse. An itinerant musician. A narrow strip superimposed on a coat of arms by an eldest son during the life of his father. A feudal superior. A sworn vassal (q.v.). A faithful follower. A gold coin worth two bezants (q.v.). A canonical hour of the breviary, ending at dawn. Encaged; moulted. 419

Glossary

Michaelmas [mick/l/muss] Nielloed [nee/ell/ode] Olifant Oriflamme Paladin Palfrey [pawlfree] Rowel [raowul] Sardon Seizin [seazn] Sendal [sen/dl] Solar Squire Sumpter Surcoat Targe [targ] Tonsure[tonshur] Vassal Vavasour [va/va/sor] Ventail [ventail] Vespers Vièle [fr.] Villein [fr.] Wyvern [wivurn]

The feast of St. Michael (29th September). Enamelled black. An ivory horn. The sacred red banner of the abbey at Saint-Denis, Paris; traditionally handed to French kings upon the start of any war. 1. One of the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne’s court 2. A knight errant; a champion. A small docile horse. A spiked revolving disc at the end of a spur. A quartz stone containing layers of onyx and sard. The possession or the taking possession of land by freehold. A fine silk material. An upper chamber. A knight’s attendant. A beast of burden. A flowing garment worn over armour. A small round shield. A part of a monk’s or priest’s head left bare on top by shaving off the hair. A holder of land by feudal tenure. A vassal owing allegiance to a great lord and having other vassals under him. A flap of mail fastening across the mouth and lower face. A canonical hour of the breviary. Ending at dusk. A five-stringed, lute-shaped instrument, played with a bow. A peasant. A snake-shaped dart hurled by Saracen warriors.

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Suggestions for Further Reading Women in the Middle Ages Gies, Frances and Joseph. Women in the Middle Ages. New York 1978. Gold, Penny S. The Lady and the Virgin: image, attitude, and experience in twelfthcentury France. Chicago 1985. Rowling, Marjorie. Life in Medieval Times. New York 1973. Shaw, Margaret. Women and Gender in Medieval Europe: an encyclopaedia. New York 2006 Smith, Bonnie G. Medieval Women in Modern Perspective: Women’s History in a Global Perspective, Vol. 1 Ch. 14. Illinois 2005. Ward, Jennifer C. Women in Medieval Europe. Basingstoke 2003. Women in the Old French Epic Calin, William C. The Epic Quest: Studies in four Old French chansons de geste. Baltimore 1966. Comfort, William W. “The Character Types in the Old French Chansons de Geste.” PMLA 21(1906), 279–434. Amazon, rpt. on demand. Daniel, Norman. Heroes and Saracens: An Interpretation of the Chansons de Geste. Edinburgh 1984. De Weever, Jacqueline. Sheeba’s Daughters: Whitening and Demonizing the Saracen Woman in Medieval French Epic. New York 1998. Gaunt, Simon. Gender and Genre in Medieval French Literature. Cambridge 2005. Harrison, Ann T. “Aude and Bramimonde: Their Importance in the Chanson de Roland.” The French Review 54, 5 (April 1981), 672–79. Herman Gerald. “Aspects of the Comic in the Old French Epic.” Ph.D. Dissertation, Stanford University, 1967. Ann Arbor, MI: University Microfilms Inc. 1968. Hindley, Alan and Brian J. Levy. The Old French Epic: An Introduction. Louvain 1983. Jones, C. Meredith. “The Conventional Saracen of the Songs of Geste.” Speculum 17 (1942), 201–35. Kay, Sarah. The Chansons de Geste in the Age of Romance. Oxford 1995. Krause, Kathy. Reassessing the Heroine in Old French Literature. Florida 2001. 421

Further Reading

Poor, Sara S. and Jana K. Schulman. Women and Medieval Epic. London 2006. Ramey, Lynn T. Christian, Saracen and Genre in Medieval French Literature. New York 2001. Other Old French Epics available in English Translation Dass, Nirmal. The Crowning of Louis: A New Metrical Translation of the Old French Verse Epic. Jefferson and London 2003. A line-by-line prose translation. Edgington, Susan and Carol Sweetenham. The Chanson d’Antioche: An Old French Account of the First Crusade. Ashgate 2001. A line-by-line prose translation. Einhorn, Elsabe. Count William of Orange: Guillaume d’Orange. Ampersand, 2005. This ebook presents abridged prose translations of seventeen of the most important poems from the William cycle. Ferrante, Joan M. Guillaume d’Orange: Four Twelfth-Century Epics. New York and London 1974. Translated are Li Coronomenz Loois (with end-line assonance), La Prise d’Orange, Aliscans and Le Moniage Guillaume in line-by-line prose. Hartman, Richard A. and Sandra C. Malicote. Elye of Saint-Gilles: A Chanson de Geste. New York 2011. A line-by-line prose translation. Newth, Michael A. Aymeri of Narbonne: A French Epic Romance. New York 2005. A verse translation. _____. Fierabras and Floripas: A French Epic Allegory. New York 2010. A verse translation. _____. Heroes of the French Epic. Woodbridge 2005. Verse translations of six chansons de geste: Gormont and Isembart, The Song of William, Charlemagne’s Pilgrimage, Raoul of Cambrai, Girart of Vienne andThe Knights of Narbonne. _____.The Song of Aliscans. New York and London 1992. A verse translation. _____.The Song of Aspremont. New York and London 1989. A verse translation. _____. The Song of Roland. New York 2011. A verse translation available in hard copy, ebook, audio book (with music), and as a downloadable performance script for re-enactment. Many other line-by-line prose translations of this, the most famous Old French Epic, are available. Price, Glanville (ed.) William, Count of Orange: Four Old French Epics. London and Totowa, N.J. 1975. Prose translations of The Crowning of Louis, The WaggonTrain, The Capture of Orange and The Song of William. Rosenberg, Samuel N. and Samuel Danon. Amis and Amile: A Medieval Tale of Friendship, translated from the Old French. Ann Arbor,1997. A line-by-line prose translation.

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The epic tales of medieval France, called chansons de geste, or ‘songs of deeds’, provided the chief means of cultural and imaginative expression in the French language for over one hundred and fifty years (c.1100–1250), during one of the most significant periods of social change in the history of Western civilisation. Yet they remain largely unknown to most Englishspeaking readers of the twenty-first century. In Heroes of the French Epic (Boydell, 2005) Michael Newth translated a selection of the traditional militaristic narratives dominated by male heroes. This oral-based epic genre was increasingly influenced by the ethos of romance, and the present volume offers full English verse translations of six more of these songs, each chosen this time to illustrate the range of roles gradually accorded to women in these originally militaristic narratives. Four key narrative roles have been selected – woman as helpmeet, woman as lover, woman as victim, and woman as spiritual model – in order to illustrate some major changes in the social status of women that took place during the period of this popular genre’s existence. These poems are a key witness to the final stages of the chansons de geste before they were overtaken by the new fashion for the fictions of courtly romance. Apart from The Capture of Orange, which has never been translated into modern English verse, none of the poems have yet appeared in English translation. Cover illustration: Illumination from a manuscript of Christine de Pisan’s Book of the City of Ladies. British Library, MS Harley 4431, f. 323. (Reproduced by permission of the British Library.)

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