OLD FRENCH ROMANCES DONE INTO ENGLISH BY WILLIAM MORRIS

INTRODUCTION

Many of us have first found our way into the Realm of Romance, properly so called, through the pages of a little crimson clad volumeof the Bibliotheque Elzevirienne. {1} Its last pages contain thecharming Cante-Fable of Aucassin et Nicolete, which Mr. WalterPater's praises and Mr. Andrew Lang's brilliant version have madefamiliar to all lovers of letters. But the same volume contains fourother tales, equally charming in their way, which Mr. William Morrishas now made part of English literature by writing them out again forus in English, reproducing, as his alone can do of living men's, thetone, the colour, the charm of the Middle Ages. His versions haveappeared in three successive issues of the Kelmscott Press, whichhave been eagerly snapped up by the lovers of good books. It seemeda pity that these cameos of romance should suffer the same fate asMr. Lang's version of Aucassin et Nicolete, which has been swept offthe face of the earth by the Charge of the Six Hundred, who werelucky enough to obtain copies of the only edition of that littlemasterpiece of translation. Mr. Morris has, therefore, consented toallow his versions of the Romances to be combined into one volume ina form not unworthy of their excellence but more accessible to thoselovers of books whose purses have a habit of varying in inverseproportion to the amount of their love. He has honoured me by askingme to introduce them to that wider public to which they now maketheir appeal. 

I. 

Almost all literary roads lead back to Greece. Obscure as stillremains the origin of that genre of romance to which the tales beforeus belong, there is little doubt that their models, if not theiroriginals, were once extant at Constantinople. Though in no singleinstance has the Greek original been discovered of any of theseromances, the mere name of their heroes would be in most casessufficient to prove their Hellenic or Byzantine origin. Heracles, Athis, Porphirias, Parthenopeus, Hippomedon, Protesilaus, Cliges, Cleomades, Clarus, Berinus--names such as these can come but from onequarter of Europe, and it is as easy to guess how and when they cameas whence. The first two crusades brought the flower of Europeanchivalry to Constantinople and restored that spiritual union betweenEastern and Western Christendom that had been interrupted by thegreat schism of the Greek and Roman Churches. The crusaders camemostly from the Lands of Romance. Permanent bonds of culture beganto be formed between the extreme East and the extreme West of Europeby intermarriage, by commerce, by the admission of the nobles ofByzantium within the orders of chivalry. These ties went onincreasing throughout the twelfth century till they culminated at itsclose with the foundation of the Latin kingdom of Constantinople. InEuropean literature these historic events are represented by theclass of romances represented in this volume, which all trace back toversions in verse of the twelfth century, though they were done intoprose somewhere in Picardy during the course of the next century. Daphnis and Chloe, one might say, had revived after a sleep of 700years, and donned the garb and spoke the tongue of Romance. 

II

The very first of our tales illustrates admirably the general courseof their history. It is, in effect, a folk etymology of the name ofthe great capital of the Eastern Empire. Constantinople, so runs thetale, received that name instead of Byzantium, because of theremarkable career of one of its former rulers, Coustans. M. Wesselovsky has published in Romania (vi. 1. Seq. ) the Dit del'empereur Constant, the verse original of the story before us, andin this occur the lines -

Pour ce que si nobles estoitEt que nobles oevres faisoitL'appielloient Constant le nobleEt pour cou ot ConstantinnobleLi cytes de Bissence a non. 

From which it would appear that we are mistaken in thinking of thecapital of Turkey as the "City of Constantine, " whereas it is ratherConstant the Noble, and the name Coustant is further explained as"costing" too much. Constantinople, therefore, is the city thatcosts too much, according to the prophetic etymology of the folk. 

The only historic personage with whom this Coustant can be identifiedis Constantius Chlorus, the father of Constantine the Great and thehusband of St. Helena, to whom legend ascribes the discovery of theHoly Rood. But the Coustans of our story never lived or ruled onland or sea, and his predecessor, Muselinus, is altogether unknown toByzantine annals, while their interlaced history reads more like apage of the Arabian Nights than of Gibbon. 

But such a legend could scarcely have arisen elsewhere than atConstantinople. It is one of those fables that the disinherited folkhave at all times invented to solace themselves for theirdisinherison. The sudden and fated rise of one of the folk to theheights of power occurs sufficiently often to afford material for theday dreams of ambitious youth. There is even a popular tendency toattribute a lowly origin to all favourites of fortune, as witness thelegends that have grown up about the early careers of Beckett, Whittington, Wolsey, none of whom was as ill-born as populartradition asserts. Yet such legends invariably grow up in thecountry of their heroes, which is the only one sufficientlyinterested in their career, so far as the common people areconcerned. Hence the very nature of our story would cause us tolocate its origin on the banks of the Bosphorus. 

But once originated in this manner, there is no limit to the travelsit may take. Curiously enough, the very legend before us in all itsdetails has found a home among the English peasantry. The Rev. S. Baring-Gould collected in Yorkshire a story which he contributed toHenderson's Folklore of the Northern Counties, and entitled The Fishand the Ring. {2} In this legend a girl comes as the unwelcome sixthof the family of a very poor man who lived under the shadow of YorkMinster. A Knight, riding by on the day of her birth, discovers, byconsultation of the Book of Fate, that she was destined to marry hisson. He offers to adopt her, and throws her into the River Ouse. Afisherman saves her, and she is again discovered after many years bythe Knight, who learns what Fate has still in store for his son. Hesends her to his brother at Scarborough with a fatal letter, orderinghim to put her to death. But on the way she is seized by a band ofrobbers, who read the letter and replace it by one ordering theBaron's son to be married to her immediately on her arrival. 

When the Baron discovers that he has not been able to evade thedecree of fate he still persists in his persecution, and taking aring from his finger throws it into the sea, saying that the girlshall never live with his son till she can show him that ring. Shewanders about and becomes a scullery-maid at a great castle, and oneday when the Baron is dining at the castle, while cleaning a greatfish she finds his ring, and all ends happily. 

Now on the east wall of the chancel of Stepney Church there is amonument erected to Dame Rebecca Berry, wife of Thomas Elton, ofStratford, Bow, and relict of Sir John Berry, 1696. The arms on themonument are thus blazoned by heralds . . . . "Paly of six on a bendthree mullets (Elton) impaling a fish, and in the dexter chief pointan annulet between two bends wavy. " The reference in the impalementof the blazon is obvious. A local tradition confidently identifiesDame Berry as the heroine of the Yorkshire legend, though of courseit is ignorant of her connection with the etymology ofConstantinople. 

Now this tale, or the first half of it, is but a Yorkshire variant ofone spread throughout Europe. The opening of the twenty-ninth storyof the collection of the Brothers Grimm, and entitled The Devil withthe Three Golden Hairs, is exactly the same, and in their Notes theygive references to many similar European folk-tales. The story isfound in Modern Greece (Von Hahn, No. XX. ), and it is, therefore, possible that the story of King Coustans is the adaptation of a Greekfolk-tale for the purposes of a Folk Etymology. But the letter, "Ondelivery, please kill bearer, " is scarcely likely to have occurredtwice to the popular imagination, and one is almost brought to theconclusion that the romance before us was itself either directly orindirectly the source of all the European Folk-tales in which theletter "To kill bearer" occurs. And as we have before traced theRomance back to Constantinople, one is further tempted to trace backthe Letter itself to a reminiscence of Homer's [Greek text whichcannot be reproduced]. 

I have said above that no Greek original of any of these Romances hashitherto been discovered. But in the case of King Coustans we can atany rate get within appreciable distance of it. As recently as 1895a learned Teuton, Dr. Ernst Kuhn, pointed out, appropriately enoughin the Byzantinische Zeitschrift, the existence of an Ethiopic and ofan Arabic version of the legend. He found in one of Mr. Quaritch'scatalogues a description of an illuminated Ethiopic MS. , oncebelonging to King Theodore of Magdala fame, which from the accountgiven of several of the illustrations he was enabled to identify asthe story of "The Man born to be King. " His name in the Ethiopicversion is Thalassion, or Ethiopic words to that effect, and theGreek provenance of the story is thereby established. Dr. Kuhn wasalso successful in finding an Arabic version done by a CopticChristian. In both these versions the story is told as a miracle dueto the interference of the Angel Michael; and it is a curiouscoincidence that in Mr. Morris' poetical version of our story in the"Earthly Paradise" he calls his hero Michael. Unless some steps aretaken to prevent the misunderstanding, it is probable that someTeutonic investigator of the next century will, on the strength ofthis identity of names, bring Mr. Morris in guilty of a knowledge ofEthiopic. 

But for the name of the hero one might have suspected these Orientalversions of being derived, not from a Greek, but from an Indianoriginal. Mr. Tawney has described a variant found in the Kathakosa{3} which resembles our tale much more closely than any of theEuropean folk-tales in the interesting point that the predestinedbride herself finds the fatal letter and makes the satisfactorysubstitution. In the Indian tale this is done with considerableingenuity and vraisemblance. The girl's name is Visha, and theoperative clause of the fatal letter is:

"Before this man has washed his feet, do thou with speedGive him poison (visham), and free my heart from care. "

The lady thinks (or wishes) that her father is a bad orthographist, and corrects his spelling by omitting the final m, so that the letterreads "Give him Visha, " with results more satisfactory to the younglady than to her father. This variant is so very close to our tale, while the letter incident in it is so much more naturally developedthan in the romance that one might almost suspect it of having beenthe original. But we must know more about the Kathakosa and aboutthe communication between Byzantium and India before we candecisively determine which came first. 

III

Amis and Amil were the David and Jonathan, the Orestes and Pylades, of the mediaeval world. Dr. Hofmann, who has edited the earliestFrench verse account of the Legend, enumerates nearly thirty otherversions of it in almost all the tongues of Western and NorthernEurope, not to mention various versions which have crept intodifferent collections of the Lives of the Saints. For their peerlessfriendship raised them to the ranks of the martyrs, at any rate, atMortara and Novara, where, according to the Legend, they died. Theearliest of all these forms is a set of Latin Hexameters by oneRadulfus Tortarius, born at Fleury, 1063, lived in Normandy, and diedsome time after 1122. It was, therefore, possible that the story hadcome back with the first crusaders, and the Grimms attribute to it aGreek original. But in its earliest as well as in its present form, it is definitely located on Romance soil, while the names of theheroes are clearly Latin (Amicus and AEmilius). It was, however, only at a later stage that the story was affiliated to the Epic Cycleof Charlemagne. On the face of it there is clearly stamped theimpress of popular tradition. Heads are not so easily replaced, except by a freak of the Folk imagination. It is probably for thisreason that M. Gaston Paris attributes an Oriental origin to thelatter part of the tale, and for the same reason the BenedictineFathers have had serious doubts about admitting it into the ActaSanctorum. On the other hand, the editors of the French text, thetranslation of which we have before us, go so far as to conjecturethat there is a historic germ for the whole Legend in certainincidents of the War of Charlemagne against Didier. But as the wholeconnection of the Legend with the Charlemagne Cycle is late, we neednot attribute much importance to, indeed, we may at once dismisstheir conjecture. 

These disputes of the pundits cannot destroy the charm of the Legend. Never, even in antiquity, have the claims of friendship been urgedwith such a passionate emphasis. The very resemblance of the twoheroes is symbolic of their similarity of character; the very name ofone of them is Friend pure and simple. The world is well lost forfriendship's sake on the one side, on the other nearest and dearestare willingly and literally sacrificed on the altar of friendship. One of the most charming of the Fioretti tells how St. Francisovercame in himself the mediaeval dread at the touch of a leper, andwashed and tended one of the poor unfortunates. He was but followingthe example of Amil, who was not deterred by the dreaded sound of the"tartavelle"--the clapper or rattle which announced the approach ofthe leper {4}--from tending his friend. 

Here again romance has points of contact with the folk tale. The endof the Grimms' tale of Faithful John is clearly the same as that ofAmis and Amile. {5} Once more we are led to believe in somedependence of the Folk-Tale on Romance, or, vice versa, since anincident like that of resuscitation by the sacrifice of a child isnot likely to occur independently to two different tellers of tales. The tale also contains the curious incident of the unsheathed swordin bed, which, both in romances and folk-tales, is regarded as acomplete bar to any divorce court proceedings. It is probable thatthe sword was considered as a living person, so that the principlepublico was applied, and the sword was regarded as a kind ofchaperon. {6} It is noteworthy that the incident occurs in Aladdinand the Wonderful Lamp, which is a late interpolation into theArabian Nights, and may be due there to European influence. Butanother incident in the romance suggests that it was derived from afolk-tale rather than the reverse. The two bowls of wood given tothe heroes at baptism are clearly a modification of that familiarincident in folk-tales, where one of a pair leaves with the other a"Lifetoken" {7} which will sympathetically indicate his state ofhealth. As this has been considerably attenuated in our romance, weare led to the conclusion that it is itself an adaptation of a folk-tale. 

IV

The tale of King Florus--the gem of the book--recalls the early partof Shakespeare's Cymbeline and the bet about a wife's virtue, whichforms the subject of many romances, not a few folk-tales, and atleast one folk-song. The Romance of the Violet, by Gerbert deMontruil, circa 1225, derives its name from the mother's mark of theheroine, which causes her husband to lose his bet. This was probablythe source of Boccaccio's novel (ii. 9), from which Shakespeare'smore immediately grew. The Gaelic version of this incident, collected by Campbell (The Chest, No. Ii. ), is clearly not of folkorigin, but derived directly or indirectly from Boccaccio, in whomalone the Chest is found. Yet it is curious that, practically, thesame story as the Romance of the Violet is found among folk-songs inmodern Greece and in Modern Scotland. In Passow's collection ofRomaic Folk Songs there is one entitled Maurianos and the King, whichis in substance our story; and it is probably the existence of thisfolk-song which causes M. Gaston Paris to place our tale among theromances derived from Byzantium. Yet Motherwell in his Minstrelsyhas a ballad entitled Reedisdale and Wise William, which has the betas its motive. Here again, then, we have a connection between ourromance and the story-store of European folk, and at the same timesome slight link with Byzantium. 

V

The tale of "Oversea" has immediate connection with the Crusades, since its heroine is represented to be no other than the greatgrandmother of Saladin. But her adventures resemble those ofBoccaccio's Princess of Babylon (ii. 7), who was herself taken fromone of the Greek romances by Xenophon of Ephesus. Here again, then, we can trace back to Greek influence reaching Western Europe in thetwelfth century through the medium of the Crusades. But the talefinds no echo among the folk, so far as I am aware, and is thuspurely and simply a romance of adventure. 

This, however, is not the only story connected with the Crusades inwhich the Soudan loves a lady of the Franks. Saladin is credited bythe chatty Chronicle of Rheims with having gained the love ofEleanor, wife of Louis VII. , when they were in Palestine on theSecond Crusade. As Saladin did not ascend the throne till twentyyears later, chronology is enabled to clear his memory of this pieceof scandal. But its existence chimes in with such relations betweenMoslem and Christian as is represented in our story, which wereclearly not regarded at the time with any particular aversion by thefolk; they agree with Cardinal Mazarin on this point. 

VI

So much for the origin of our tales. Yet who cares for originsnowadays? We are all democrats now, and a tale, like a man, iswelcomed for its merits and not for its pedigree. Yet even democracymust own, that pedigree often leaves its trace in style and manner, and certainly the tales before us owe some of their charm to theirlineage. "Out of Byzantium by Old France" is a good strain by whichto produce thoroughbred romance. 

Certainly we breathe the very air of romance in these stories. Thereis none of your modern priggish care for the state of your soul. Mentake rank according to their might, women are valued for their beautyalone. Adventures are to the adventurous, and the world is full ofthem. Every place but that in which one is born is equally strangeand wondrous. Once beyond the bounds of the city walls and noneknows what may happen. We have stepped forth into the Land ofFaerie, but at least we are in the open air. 

Mr. Pater seems to regard our stories as being a premonition of thefreedom and gaiety of the Renaissance rather than as especiallycharacteristic of the times of Romance. All that one need remarkupon such misconception is that it only proves that Mr. Pater knewless of Romance Literature than he did of his favourite subject. Thefreshness, the gaiety, the direct outlook into life are peculiarneither to Romance nor Renaissance; their real source was the espritGaulois. But the unquestioning, if somewhat external, piety, theimmutability of the caste system, the spirit of adventure, thefrankly physical love of woman, the large childlike wonder, these areof the essence of Romance, and they are fully represented in thetales before us. Wonder and reverence, are not these the parents ofRomance? Intelligent curiosity and intellectual doubt--those arewhat the Renaissance brought. Without indulging in invidiouscomparisons between the relative value of these gifts, I would turnback to our stories with the remark that much of the wonder whichthey exhibit is due to the vague localisation which runs throughthem. Rome, Paris, Byzantium, form spots of light on the mediaevalmap, but all between is in the dim obscure where anything may occur, and the brave man moves about with his life in his hands. 

We thus obtain that absence or localisation which helps to give thecharacteristic tone to mediaeval romance. Events happen in a sort ofsublime No Man's Land. They happen, as it were, at the root of themountains, on the glittering plain, and in short, we get news fromNowhere. It seems, therefore, peculiarly appropriate that theyshould be done into English in the same style and by the same handthat has already written the annals of those countries of romance. Writing here, in front of Mr. Morris's versions, I am speaking, as itwere, before his face, and must not say all that I should like inpraise of the style in which he has clothed them, and of itsappropriateness for its present purpose. I should merely like torecall the fact that it was used by him in his versions of the Sagasas long ago as 1869. Since then it has been adopted by all whodesire to give an appropriate English dress to their versions ofclassic or mediaeval masterpieces of a romantic character. We maytake it, I think, that this style has established itself as the onlyone suitable for a romantic version, and who shall use it with easeand grace if not its original inventor?

If their style suits Mr. Morris, there is little doubt that theirsubject is equally congenial. I cannot claim to be in his confidenceon the point, but it is not difficult, I fancy, to guess what hasattracted him to them. Nearly all of them, we have seen, are on theborderland between folk-tale and romance. It is tales such as thesethat Mr. Morris wishes to see told in tapestry on the walls of theMoot-Hall of the Hammersmith of Nowhere. It was by tales such asthese that he first won a hearing from all lovers of Englishliterature. The story of Jason is but a Greek setting of a folk-taleknown among the Gaels as the Battle of the Birds, and in Norse as theMaster Maid. Many of the tales which the travellers told one anotherin the Earthly Paradise, such as The Man Born to be King (itselfderived from the first of our stories), The Land East of the Sun andWest of the Moon, and The Ring given to Venus, are, on the face ofthem, folk-tales. Need I give any stronger recommendation of thisbook to English readers than to ask them to regard it as a sort ofouthouse to that goodly fabric so appropriately known to us all asThe Earthly Paradise?

JOSEPH JACOBS. 

THE TALE OF KING COUSTANS THE EMPEROR

This tale telleth us that there was erewhile an Emperor of Byzance, which as now is called Constantinople; but anciently it was calledByzance. There was in the said city an Emperor; pagan he was, andwas held for wise as of his law. He knew well enough of a sciencethat is called Astronomy, and he knew withal of the course of thestars, and the planets, and the moon: and he saw well in the starsmany marvels, and he knew much of other things wherein the paynimsmuch study, and in the lots they trow, and the answers of the EvilOne, that is to say, the Enemy. This Emperor had to name Musselin;he knew much of lore and of sorceries, as many a pagan doth even yet. 

Now it befell on a time that the Emperor Musselin went his ways anight-tide, he and a knight of his alone together, amidst of the citywhich is now called Constantinople, and the moon shone full clear. 

And so far they went, till they heard a Christian woman who travailedin child-bed in a certain house whereby they went. There was thehusband of the said woman aloft in a high solar, and was praying toGod one while that she might be delivered, and then again anotherwhile that she might not be delivered. 

When the Emperor had hearkened this a great while, he said to theknight: "Hast thou heard it of yonder churl how he prayeth that hiswife may be delivered of her child, and another while prayeth thatshe may not be delivered? Certes, he is worser than a thief. Forevery man ought to have pity of women, more especially of them thatbe sick of childing. And now, so help me Mahoume and Termagaunt! ifI do not hang him, if he betake him not to telling me reasonwherefore he doeth it! Come we now unto him. "

They went within, and said the Emperor: "Now churl, tell me of asooth wherefore thou prayedst thy God thus for thy wife, one whilethat she might be delivered, and another while that she might bedelivered not. This have I will to wot. "

"Sir, " said he, "I will tell thee well. Sooth it is that I be aclerk, and know mickle of a science which men call Astronomy. WithalI wot of the course of the stars and of the planets; therefore saw Iwell that if my wife were delivered at the point and the hour whereasI prayed God that she might not be delivered, that if she weredelivered at that hour, the child would go the way of perdition, andthat needs must he be burned, or hanged, or drowned. But whenas Isaw that it was good hour and good point, then prayed I to God thatshe might be delivered. And so sore have I prayed God, that he hathhearkened my prayer of his mercy, and that she is delivered in goodpoint. God be heried and thanked!"

"Well me now, " said the Emperor, "in what good point is the childborn?"

"Sir, " said he, "of a good will; know sir, for sooth, that thischild, which here is born, shall have to wife the daughter of theemperor of this city, who was born but scarce eight days ago; and heshall be emperor withal, and lord of this city, and of all theearth. " "Churl, " said the Emperor, "this which thou sayest can nevercome to pass. " "Sir, " said he, "it is all sooth, and thus itbehoveth it to be. " "Certes, " quoth the Emperor, "'tis a mightymatter to trow in. "

But the Emperor and the Knight departed thence, and the Emperor badethe Knight go bear off the child in such wise, if he might, that noneshould see him therein. The Knight went and found there two women, who were all busied in arraying the woman who had been brought tobed. The child was wrapped in linen clothes, and they had laid himon a chair. Thereto came the Knight, and took the child and laid himon a board, and brought him to the Emperor, in such wise that none ofthe women wotted thereof. The Emperor did do slit the belly of himwith a knife from the breast down to the navel, and said withal tothe Knight, that never should the son of that churl have to wife hisdaughter, nor be emperor after him. 

Therewithal would the Emperor do the Knight to put forth his hand tothe belly, to seek out the heart; but the Knight said to him: "Ah, sir, a-God's mercy, what wouldst thou do? It is nought meet to thee, and if folk were to wot thereof, great reproach wouldst thou getthee. Let him be at this present, for he is more than dead. And ifit please thee that that one trouble more about the matter, I willbear him down to the sea to drown him. " "Yea, " quoth the Emperor, "bear him away thither, for right sore do I hate him. "

So the Knight took the child, and wrapped him in a cover-point ofsilk, and bore him down toward the sea. But therewith had he pity ofthe child, and said that by him should he never be drowned; so heleft him, all wrapped up as he was, on a midden before the gate of acertain abbey of monks, who at that very nick of time were singingtheir matins. 

When the monks had done singing their matins, they heard the childcrying, and they bore him before the Lord Abbot. And the Abbot sawthat the child was fair, and said that he would do it to benourished. Therewith he did do unwrap it, and saw that it had thebelly cloven from the breast down to the navel. 

The Abbot, so soon as it was day, bade come leeches, and asked ofthem for how much they would heal the child and they craved for thehealing of him an hundred of bezants. But he said that it would bemore than enough, for overmuch would the child be costing. And somuch did the Abbot, that he made market with the surgeons for four-score bezants. And thereafter the Abbot did do baptize the child, and gave him to name Coustans, because him-seemed that he costedexceeding much for the healing of him. 

The leeches went so much about with child, that he was made whole andthe Abbot sought him a good nurse, and got the child to suckle, andhe was healed full soon; whereas the flesh of him was soft andtender, and grew together swiftly one to the other, but ever aftershowed the mark. 

Much speedily waxed the child in great beauty; when he was sevenyears old the Abbot did him to go to the school, and he learned sowell, that he over-passed all his fellows in subtilty and science. When he was of twelve years, he was a child exceeding goodly; so itmight nought avail to seek a goodlier. And whenas the Abbot saw himto be a child so goodly and gentle, he did him to ride abroad withhim. 

Now so it fell out, that the Abbot had to speak with the Emperor of awrong which his bailiffs had done to the abbey. The Abbot made him agoodly gift, whereas the abbey and convent were subject unto him, forthe Emperor was a Saracen. When the Abbot had given him his goodlygift, the Emperor gave him day for the third day thence, whenas heshould be at a castle of his, three leagues from the city of Byzance. 

The Abbot abode the day: when he saw the time at point to go to theEmperor, he mounted a-horseback, and his chaplain, and esquire, andhis folk; and with him was Coustans, who was so well fashioned thatall praised his great beauty, and each one said that he seemed wellto be come of high kindred, and that he would come to great good. 

So when the Abbot was come before the castle whereas the Emperorshould be, he came before him and spake to and greeted him: and theEmperor said to him that he should come into the castle, and he wouldspeak with him of his matter: the Abbot made him obeisance, and saidto him: "Sir, a-God's name!" Then the Abbot called to him Coustans, who was holding of his hat while he spake unto the Emperor; and theEmperor looked on the lad, and saw him so fair and gentle as neverbefore had he seen the like fair person. So he asked of the Abbotwhat he was; and the Abbot said him that he wotted not, save that hewas of his folk, and that he had bred him up from a little child. "And if I had leisure with thee, I would tell thee thereof finemarvels. " "Yea, " said the Emperor; "come ye into the castle, andtherein shalt thou say me the sooth. "

The Emperor came into the castle, and the Abbot was ever beside him, as one who had his business to do; and he did it to the best that hemight, as he who was subject unto him. The Emperor forgat in nowisethe great beauty of the lad, and said unto the Abbot that he shouldcause him come before him, and the Abbot sent for the lad, who camestraightway. 

When the child was before the Emperor, he seemed unto him right fair;and he said unto the Abbot, that great damage it was that so fair alad was Christian. But the Abbot said that it was great joy thereof, whereas he would render unto God a fair soul. When the Emperor heardthat, he fell a-laughing, and said to the Abbot that the Christianlaw was of no account, and that all they were lost who trowedtherein. When the Abbot heard him so say, he was sore grieved; buthe durst not make answer as he would, so he said much humbly: "Sir, if God please, who can all things, they are not lost; for God willhave mercy of his sinners. "

Then the Emperor asked of him whence that fair child was come; andthe Abbot said that it was fifteen years gone since he had been foundbefore their gate, on a midden, all of a night-tide. "And our monksheard him a-crying whenas they had but just said matins; and theywent to seek the child, and brought him to me; and I looked on thebabe, and beheld him much fair, and I said that I would do him to benourished and baptized. I unwrapped him, for the babe was wrapped upin a cover-point of vermil sendel; and when he was unwrapped, I sawthat he had the belly slit from the breast to the navel. Then I sentfor leeches and surgeons, and made market with them to heal him forfour-score bezants; and thereafter he was baptized, and I gave him toname Coustans, because he costed so much of goods to heal. So wasthe babe presently made whole: but never sithence might it be thatthe mark appeared not on his belly. "

When the Emperor heard that, he knew that it was the child whosebelly he had slit to draw the heart out of him. So he said to theAbbot that he should give him the lad. And the Abbot said that hewould speak thereof to his convent, and that he should have him withtheir good-will. The Emperor held his peace, and answered never aword. But the Abbot took leave of him, and came to his abbey, andhis monks, and told them that the Emperor had craved Coustans of him. "But I answered that I would speak to you if ye will yea-say it. Say, now, what ye would praise of my doing herein. "

"What!" said the wisest of the convent; "by our faith, evil hast thoudone, whereas thou gavest him not presently, even as he demanded ofthee. We counsel thee send him straightway, lest the Emperor bewrath against us, for speedily may we have scathe of him. "

Thereto was their counsel fast, that Coustans should be sent to theEmperor. So the Abbot commanded the Prior to lead Coustans thereto;and the Prior said: "A-God's name!"

So he mounted, and led with him Coustans, and came unto the Emperor, and greeted him on behalf of the Abbot and the convent; and then hetook Coustans by the hand, and, on the said behalf, gave him to theEmperor, who received him as one who was much wrath that such arunagate and beggar churl should have his daughter to wife. But hethought in his heart that he would play him the turn. 

When the Emperor had gotten Coustans, he was in sore imagination howhe should be slain in such wise that none might wot word thereof. And it fell out so that the Emperor had matters on hand at the outermarches of his land, much long aloof thence, well a twelve days'journey. So the Emperor betook him to going thither, and hadCoustans thither with him, and thought what wise he might to do slayhim, till at last he let write a letter to his Burgreve of Byzance. 

"I Emperor of Byzance and Lord of Greece, do thee to wit who abidestduly in my place for the warding of my land; and so soon as thouseest this letter thou shalt slay or let slay him who this lettershall bear to thee, so soon as he hast delivered the said letter tothee, without longer tarrying. As thou holdest dear thine own properbody, do straightway my commandment herein. "

Even such was the letter which the fair child Coustans bore, and knewnot that he bore his own death. The lad took the letter, which wasclose, and betook him to the road, and did so much by his journeysthat he came in less than fifteen days to Byzance, which is nowadayscalled Constantinople. 

When the lad entered into the city, it was the hour of dinner; so, asGod would have it, he thought that he would not go his errand at thatnick of time, but would tarry till folk had done dinner: andexceeding hot was the weather, as is wont about St. John's-mass. Sohe entered into the garden all a-horseback. Great and long was thegarden; so the lad took the bridle from off his horse and unlaced thesaddle-girths, and let him graze; and thereafter he went into thenook of a tree; and full pleasant was the place, so that presently hefell asleep. 

Now so it fell out, that when the fair daughter of the Emperor hadeaten, she went into the garden with three of her maidens; and theyfell to chasing each other about, as whiles is the wont of maidens toplay; until at the last the fair Emperor's daughter came under thetree whereas Coustans lay a-sleeping, and he was all vermil as therose. And when the damsel saw him, she beheld him with a right goodwill, and she said to herself that never on a day had she seen sofair a fashion of man. Then she called to her that one of herfellows in whom she had the most affiance, and the others she made togo forth from out of the garden. 

Then the fair maiden, daughter of the Emperor, took her fellow by thehand, and led her to look on the lovely lad whereas he lay a-sleeping; and she spake thus: "Fair fellow, here is a rich treasure. Lo thou! the most fairest fashion of a man that ever mine eyes haveseen on any day of my life. And he beareth a letter, and well Iwould see what it sayeth. "

So the two maidens drew nigh to the lad, and took from him theletter, and the daughter of the Emperor read the same; and when shehad read it, she fell a-lamenting full sore, and said to her fellow:"Certes here is a great grief!" "Ha, my Lady!" said the other one, "tell me what it is. " "Of a surety, " said the Maiden, "might I buttrow in thee I would do away that sorrow!" "Ha, Lady, " said she, "hardily mayest thou trow in me, whereas for nought would I uncoverthat thing which thou wouldst have hid. "

Then the Maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, took oath of heraccording to the paynim law; and thereafter she told her what theletter said; and the damsel answered her: "Lady, and what wouldestthou do?" "I will tell thee well, " said the daughter of the Emperor;"I will put in his pouch another letter, wherein the Emperor, myfather, biddeth his Burgreve to give me to wife to this fair childhere, and that he make great feast at the doing of the wedding untoall the folk of this land; whereas he is to wot well that the lad isa high man and a loyal. "

When the damsel had heard that, she said that would be good to do. "But, Lady, how wilt thou have the seal of thy father?" "Full well, "said the Maiden, "for my father delivered to me four pair of scrolls, sealed of his seal thereon; he hath written nought therein; and Iwill write all that I will. " "Lady, " said she, "thou hast said fullwell; but do it speedily, and haste thee ere he awakeneth. " "So willI, " said the Maiden. 

Then the fair Maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, went to hercoffers, and drew thereout one of the said scrolls sealed, which herfather had left her, that she might borrow moneys thereby, if so shewould. For ever was the Emperor and his folk in war, whereas he hadneighbours right felon, and exceeding mighty, whose land marched uponhis. So the Maiden wrote the letter in this wise:

"I King Musselin, Emperor of Greece and of Byzance the city, to myBurgreve of Byzance greeting. I command thee that the bearer of thisletter ye give to my fair daughter in marriage according to our law;whereas I have heard and wot soothly that he is a high person, andwell worthy to have my daughter. And thereto make ye great joy andgreat feast to all them of my city and of all my land. "

In such wise wrote and said the letter of the fair daughter of theEmperor; and when she had written the said letter, she went back tothe garden, she and her fellow together, and found that one yetasleep, and they put the letter into his pouch. And then they beganto sing and make noise to awaken him. So he awoke anon, and was allastonied at the fair Maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, and theother one her fellow, who came before him; and the fair Maiden, daughter of the Emperor, greeted him; and he greeted her again rightdebonairly. Then she asked of him what he was, and whither he went;and he said that he bore a letter to the Burgreve, which the Emperorsent by him; and the Maiden said that she would bring him straightwaywhereas was the Burgreve. Therewith she took him by the hand, andbrought him to the palace, where there was much folk, who all roseagainst the Maiden, as to her who was their Lady. 

Now the Maiden demanded the Burgreve, and they told her that he wasin a chamber; so thither she led the lad, and the lad delivered theletter, and said that the Emperor greeted him. But the Burgreve madegreat joy of the lad, and kissed the hand of him. The Maiden openedthe pouch, and fell a-kissing the letter and the seal of her fatherfor joy's sake, whereas she had not heard tidings of him a greatwhile. 

Thereafter she said to the Burgreve that she would hearken the letterin privy council, even as if she wotted nought thereof; and theBurgreve said that that were good to do. Then went the Burgreve andthe Maiden into a chamber, and the Maiden unfolded the letter andread it to the Burgreve, and made semblance of wondering exceedingly;and the Burgreve said to her, "Lady, it behoveth to do the will of mylord thy father, for otherwise we shall be blamed exceedingly. " TheMaiden answered him: "And how can this be, that I should be weddedwithout my lord my father? A strange thing it would be, and I willdo it in no manner. "

"Ha, Lady!" said the Burgreve, "what is that thou sayest? Thy fatherhas bidden thus by his letter, and it behoveth not to gainsay. "

"Sir, " said the Maiden, (unto whom it was late till the thing weredone) "thou shalt speak unto the barons and mighty men of this realm, and take counsel thereof. And if they be of accord thereto, I am shewho will not go against it. " Then the Burgreve said that she spakewell and as one wise. 

Then spake the Burgreve to the barons, I and showed them the letter, and they accorded all to that that the matter of the letter must beaccomplished, and the will of the Emperor done. Then they wedded thefair youth Coustans, according to the paynim law, unto the fairdaughter of the Emperor; and the wedding endured for fifteen days:and such great joy was there at Byzance that it was exceeding, andfolk did no work in the city, save eating and drinking and makingmerry. 

Long while abode the Emperor in the land whereas he was: and when hehad done his business, he went his ways back towards Byzance; andwhenas he was but anigh two journeys thence, came to him a message ofthe messengers who came from Byzance. The Emperor asked of him whatthey did in the city; and the varlet said that they were makingexceeding good cheer of eating and drinking and taking their ease, and that no work had they done therein these fifteen days. 

"And wherefore is that?" said the Emperor. "Wherefore, Sir! Wot yenot well thereof?" "Nay, forsooth, " said the Emperor, "but tell mewherefore. "

"Sir, " said the varlet, "thou sentest a youngling, exceeding fair, tothy Burgreve, and badest him by thy letter to wed him to thy daughterthe fair, and that he should be emperor after thee, whereas he was aman right high, and well worthy to have her. But thy daughter wouldnot take that before that the Burgreve should have spoken to thebarons. And he spake to all them, and showed them thy letter; andthey said that it behoved to do thy commandment. And when thydaughter saw that they were all of one accord thereon, she durst notgo against them, but yea-said it. Even in such wise hath thydaughter been wedded, and such joy has been in the city as none mightwish it better. "

The Emperor, when he heard the messenger speak thus, was allastonied, and thought much of this matter; and he asked of the varlethow long it was since the lad had wedded his daughter, and whether orno he had lain by her?

"Sir, " said the varlet, "yea; and she may well be big by now; becauseit is more than three weeks since he hath wedded her. " "Forsooth, "said the Emperor, "in a good hour be it! for since it is so, itbehoveth me to abide it, since no other it may be. "

So far rode the Emperor till he came to Byzance, whereas they madehim much fair feast; and his fair daughter came to meet him, and herhusband Coustans, who was so fair a child that none might better be. The Emperor, who was a wise man, made of them much great joy, andlaid his two hands upon their two heads, and held them there a greatwhile; which is the manner of benison amongst the paynims. 

That night thought the Emperor much on this marvel, how it could havecome about; and so much he pondered it, that he wotted full well thatit had been because of his daughter. So he had no will to gain-sayher, but he demanded to see the letter which he had sent, and theyshowed it unto him, and he saw his seal hanging thereto, and saw theletter which was written; and by the manner whereby the thing hadbeen done, he said to himself that he had striven against the thingswhich behoved to be. 

Thereafter, the Emperor made Coustans a knight, even his new son whowas wedded unto his daughter, and he gave and granted to him all thewhole land after his death. And the said Coustans bore him well andwisely, as a good knight, and a valiant and hardy, and defended himfull well against his enemies. No long time wore ere his lord theEmperor died, and his service was done much richly, after the paynimlaw. Then was Coustans emperor, and he loved and honoured much theAbbot who had nourished him, and he made him his very master. Andthe Emperor Coustans, by the counsel of the Abbot, and the will ofGod the all mighty, did do christen his wife, and all they of thatland were converted to the law of Jesus Christ. And the EmperorCoustans begot on his wife an heir male, who had to name Constantine, who was thereafter a prudhomme much great. And thereafter was thecity called Constantinople, because of his father, Coustans, whocosted so much, but aforetime was it called Byzance. 

Here withal endeth the Story of King Coustans the Emperor. 

The said story was done out of the ancient French into English byWilliam Morris. 

THE FRIENDSHIP OF AMIS AND AMILE

In the time of Pepin King of France was a child born in the Castle ofBericain of a noble father of Alemaine who was of great holiness. 

The father and the mother promised to God, and Saint Peter and SaintPaul, whereas they had none other child, that if God gave it life, they would bear it to Rome to baptism. At the same time came avision to a Count of Alverne, whose wife was big with child, wherebyit seemed that the Apostle of Rome was baptizing many children in hispalace and confirming them with chrism. 

So when the Count was awaken he sought of many wise folk what mightsignify that which he had seen in the dream. And when his vision wasuncovered, a wise man and ancient bespake him by the counsel of God:"Make great joy, Count, for there shall be born to thee a son full ofgreat prowess and of great holiness; and him thou shalt let bear toRome and let baptize him by the Apostle. "

Thereof great joy made the Count, and he and his folk praised thecounsel of the elder. 

The child was born and dearly fostered, and when he had two years, and the father after his purpose was bearing him to Rome, he came tothe city of Lucca. And therein he found a noble man of Almaine whowas wending Romeward and bearing his son to baptism. They greetedone the other, and each asked other who he was and what he sought, and when they found themselves to be of one purpose they joinedcompany in all friendliness and entered Rome together. And the twochildren fell to loving one another so sorely that one would not eatwithout the other, they lived of one victual, and lay in one bed. 

In this wise the fathers brought them before the Apostle at Rome, andspake to him: "Holy Father, whom we know and believe to be in theplace of Saint Peter the Apostle, the Count of Alverne, and a nobleknight of Bericain the Castle, beseech your Holiness that ye woulddeign to baptize their sons which they have brought from far away, and that ye would take their little offering from their hands. "

And the Apostle answered them: "I hold your gifts for rightacceptable, but they are not to me of much necessity; give them tothe poor, who have need thereof. The infants will I baptize with agood will, that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost may embracethem in the love of the Holy Trinity. "

Forthwith then the Apostle baptized them in the Church of the HolySaviour, and laid for name on the son of the Count, Amile, and on theson of the Knight, Amis; and many a knight of Rome held them at thefont with mickle joy, and raised them aloft even as God would. Andthe office of Baptism done, the Apostle bade bring two hanaps of treedight with gold and precious stones, side and wide alike, and of likefashion, and gave them to the bairns and said: "Take these gifts intoken that I have baptized you in the Church of the Holy Saviour. "Which gifts they took joyfully and thanked him much, and betook themthence home in all joyance. 

To the child of Bericain did God give so great wisdom, that one mighttrow that he were another Solomon; and when he was of the age ofthirty years a fever took his father, and he fell to admonishing hisson in such like words: "Fair son, well beloved, it behoveth mepresently to die, and thou shalt abide and be thine own master. Nowfirstly, fair son, keep thou the commandments of God; the chivalry ofJesus Christ do thou. Keep thou faith to thy lords, and give aid tothy fellows and friends. Defend the widows and orphans. Uphold thepoor and needy: and all days hold thy last day in memory. Forgetnot the fellowship and friendship of the son of the Count of Alverne, whereas the Apostle of Rome on one day baptized you both, and withone gift honoured you. Ye be alike of beauty, of fashion, andstature, and whoso should see you, would deem you to be brethren. "

So having finished these words, and received his Saviour, he departedin our Lord, and his son did do bury him, and did do render him hisservice, even as one should do for the dead. 

After the death of his father evil folk bore envy against him, anddid him many a scathe, and grieved him sorely; but he loved them alland suffered whatsoever they did to him. What more may I tell you, save that they cast him and his folk out of the heritage of hisfathers, and chased him forth out of his castle. So when hebethought him of the commandment of his father, he said to them whowent in his company: "The wicked have wrongfully cast me forth outof mine heritage: yet have I good hope in our Lord that he will helpme; go we now to the Court of the Count Amile, who was my friend andmy fellow. May-happen he will make us rich with his goods and hishavings. But if it be not so, then shall we go to Hildegard theQueen, wife of King Charles of France, who is wont to comfort thedisinherited. "

And they answered that they were ready to follow him and do hisbidding. 

Therewith they went their ways to the Court of the Count and foundhim not there, because he was gone to Bericain to visit Amis hisfellow, and comfort him of the death of his father. And when hefound him not, he departed sore troubled, and said to himself that hewould not betake him to his own land till he had found Amis hisfellow; and he sought him in France and in Almaine, where soever heheard tell that his kindred were, and could find no certainty of him. 

Therewithal Amis together with his folk, ceased not to seek hisfellow Amile, until they came to the house of a noble man where theywere guested. Thereat they told by order all their adventure and thenoble man said to them: "Abide with me, Sir Knights, and I will givemy daughter to your lord, because of the wisdom that I have heard ofhim, and I will make you all rich of gold and of silver, and ofhavings. "

That word pleased them, and they I held the bridal with mickle joy. But when they had abided there for a year and a half, then said Amisto his ten fellows "We have done amiss in that we have left seekingof Amile. " And he left there two of his sergeants and his hanap, andwent his ways toward Paris. 

Now by this time had Amile been a-seeking for Amis two years pastwithout ceasing. And whenas Amile drew nigh to Paris he found apilgrim and asked if he had seen Amis whom men had chased out of hisland; and that one said nay, he had not. But Amile did off his coatand gave it to the pilgrim and said: "Pray thou to our Lord and hisHallows that they give me to find Amis my fellow. "

Then he departed from the pilgrim, and went his ways to Paris, andfound no-whither Amis his fellow. 

But the pilgrim went his ways forthwith, and about vespers happenedon Amis, and they greeted each the other. And Amis said to thepilgrim, had he seen or heard tidings in any land of Amile, son ofthe Count of Alverne. And the pilgrim answered him all marvelling:"Who art thou, Knight, who thus mockest a pilgrim? Thou seemest tome that Amile who this day asked of me if I had seen Amis his fellow. I wot not for why thou hast changed thy garments, thy folk, thinehorses, and thine arms. Thou askest me now what thou didst ask meto-day about tierce; and thou gavest me this coat. "

"Trouble not thine heart, " said Amis, "I am not he whom thou deemest;but I am Amis who seeketh Amile. " And he gave him of his silver, andbade him pray our Lord to give him to find Amile. And the pilgrimsaid: "Go thy ways forthright to Paris, and I trow that thou shaltfind him whom thou seekest so sore longing. " And therewith Aims wenthis ways full eagerly. 

Now on the morrow Amile was already departed from Paris, and wassitting at meat with his knights hard by the water of Seine in aflowery meadow. And when they saw Amis coming with his fellows allarmed, they rose up and armed them, and so went forth before them;and Amis said to his fellows: "I see French knights who come againstus in arms. Now fight hardily and defend your lives. If we mayescape this peril, then shall we go with great joy to Paris, andthereto shall we be received with high favour at the Court of theKing. "

Then were the reins let loose and the spears shaken aloft, and theswords drawn on either side, in such wise that no semblance was therethat any should escape alive. But God the all mighty who seeth all, and who setteth an end to the toil of the righteous, did to holdaback them of one part and of the other when they were now hard oneach other, for then said Amis: "Who are ye knights, who have willto slay Amis the exile and his fellows?" At that voice Amile knewAmis his fellow and said: "O thou Amis most well beloved, rest frommy travail, I am Amile, son of the Count of Alverne, who have notceased to seek thee for two whole years. "

And therewith they lighted down from their horses, and embraced andkissed each other, and gave thanks to God of that they were found. And they swore fealty and friendship and fellowship perpetual, theone to the other, on the sword of Amile, wherein were relics. Thencewent they all together to the Court of Charles, King of France; theremight men behold them young, well attempered, wise, fair, and of likefashion and visage, loved of all and honoured. And the King receivedthem much joyously, and made of Amis his treasurer, and of Amile hisserver. 

But when they had abided thus three years, Amis said unto Amile:"Fair sweet fellow, I desire sore to go see my wife whom I have leftbehind; and I will return the soonest that I may; and do thou abideat the Court. But keep thee well from touching the daughter of theKing; and above all things beware of Arderi the felon. " Amileanswered him: "I will take heed of thy commandment; but betake theeback hither so soon as thou mayest. "

Thuswise departed Amis. But Amile cast his eyes upon the King'sdaughter, and knew her so soon as he might; and right soon forgat hethe commandment and the teaching of Amis his fellow. Yet is not thisadventure strange, whereas he was no holier than David, nor wiserthan Solomon. 

Amidst these things Arderi the traitor, who bore him envy, came tohim and said: "Thou wottest not, fellow, thou wottest not, how Amishath robbed the treasure of the King, and therefore is fled away. Wherefore I require of thee thou swear me fealty and friendship andfellowship, and I will swear the same to thee on the holy Gospel. "And so when that was done Amile doubted not to lay bare his secret toArderi. 

But whenas Amile was a-giving water to the King to wash his handswithal, the false Arderi said to the King: "Take thou no water fromthis evil man, sir King: for he is more worthy of death than oflife, whereas he hath taken from the Queen's Daughter the flower ofher virginity. " But when Amile heard this, he fell adown allastonied, and might say never a word; but the benign King lifted himup again, and said to him: "Rise up, Amile, and have no fear, anddefend thee of this blame. " So he lifted himself up and said: "Haveno will to trow, sire, in the lies of Arderi the traitor, for I wotthat thou art a rightwise judge, and that thou turnest not from theright way, neither for love nor for hatred. Wherefore I pray theethat thou give me frist of counsel; and that I may purge me of thisguilt before thee, and do the battle against Arderi the traitor, andmake him convict of his lies before all the Court. "

So the King gave to one and the other frist of counsel till afternones, and that then they should come before him for to do theirdevoir; and they came before the King at the term which he had giventhem. Arderi brought with him the Count Herbert for his part; butAmile found none who would be for him saving Hildegarde the Queen, who took up the cause for him, and gat frist of counsel for Amile, onsuch covenant that if Amile came not back by the term established, she should be lacking all days of the bed of the King. 

But when Amile went to seek counsel, he happened on Amis, his fellow, who was betaking him to the King's Court; and Amile lighted down fromhis horse, and cast himself at the feet of his fellow, and said: "Othou, the only hope of my salvation, evilly have I kept thycommandment; for I have run into wyte of the King's Daughter, and Ihave taken up battle against the false Arderi. "

Then said Amis, sighing: "Leave we here our folk, end enter intothis wood to lay bare our secret. " And Amis fell to blaming Amile, and said: "Change we our garments and our horses, and get thee to myhouse, and I will do the battle for thee against the traitor. " AndAmile answered: "How may I go into thine house, who have noknowledge of thy wife and thy folk, and have never seen them face toface?" But Amis said to him: "Go in all safety, and seek wisely toknow them: but take good heed that thou touch not my wife. "

And thuswise they departed each from his fellow weeping; and Amiswent his ways to the Court of the King in the semblance of Amile, andAmile to the house of his fellow in the semblance of Amis. But thewife of Amis, when she saw him betake him thither, ran to embracehim, whom she deemed was her husband, and would have kissed him. Buthe said: "Flee thou from before me, for I have greater need tolament than to play; whereas, since I departed from thee, I havesuffered adversity full sore, and yet have to suffer. "

And a night-time whenas they lay in one bed, then Amile laid hissword betwixt the two of them, and said to the woman: "Take heedthat thou touch me in no manner wise, else diest thou straightway bythis sword. " And in likewise did he the other nights, until Amisbetook him in disguise to his house to wot if Amile kept faith withhim of his wife. 

Now was the term of the battle come, and the Queen abode Amile allfull of fear, for the traitor Arderi said, all openly, that the Queenshould nevermore draw nigh the bed of the King, whereas she hadsuffered and consented hereto, that Amile should shame her daughter. Amidst these words Amis entered into the Court of the King clad inthe raiment of his fellow, Amile, at the hour of midday and said tothe King: "Right debonaire and loyal judge, here am I apparelled todo the battle against the false Arderi, in defence of me, the Queen, and her daughter of the wyte which they lay upon us. "

And the King answered benignly and said: "Be thou nought troubled, Count, for if thou vanquishest the battle, I will give thee to wifeBelisant my daughter. "

On the morrow's morn, Arderi and Amis entered armed into the field inthe presence of the King and his folk. And the Queen with muchcompany of virgins, and widows and wedded wives, went from church tochurch making prayers for the Champion of her daughter, and they gavegifts, oblations and candles. 

But Amis fell to pondering in his heart, that if he should slayArderi, he would be guilty of his death before God, and if he werevanquished, it should be for a reproach to him all his days. Wherefore he spake thuswise to Arderi: "O thou, Count, foul redethou hast, in that thou desirest my death so sorely, and hastfoolishly cast thy life into peril of death. If thou wouldest buttake back the wyte which thou layest on me, and leave this mortalbattle, thou mayest have my friendship and my service. "

But Arderi, as one out of his wit, answered him: "I will nought ofthy friendship nor thy service; but I shall swear the sooth as itverily is, and I shall smite the head from off thee. "

So Arderi swore that he had shamed the King's Daughter, and Amisswore that he lied; and straightway they dealt together in strokes, and fought together from the hour of tierce right on till nones. AndArderi was vanquished, and Amis smote off his head. 

The King was troubled that he had Arderi; yet was he joyous that hisdaughter was purged of her guilt. And he gave to Amis his daughter, and a great sum of gold and silver, and a city hard by the seawherein to dwell. And Amis received the same with great joy. Thenhe returned at his speediest to his hostel wherein he had left Amilehis fellow; but whenas Amile saw him coming with much company ofhorse, he deemed that Amis was vanquished, and fell to fleeing: butAmis bade him return in all safety, for that he had vanquishedArderi, and thereby was wedded for him to the King's Daughter. Thence then did Amile betake him, and abode in the aforesaid citywith his wife. 

But Amis abode with his wife, and he became mesel by the will of ourLord, in such wise that he might not move from his bed; for Godchastiseth him that He loveth. 

And his wife, who had to name Obias, had him in sore hate, and many atime strove to strangle him; and when Amis found that, he called tohim two of his sergeants, Azones and Horatus by name, and said tothem: "Take me out of the hands of this evil woman, and take myhanap privily and bear me to the Castle of Bericain. "

So when they drew nigh to the castle, folk came to meet them, andasked of them who was the feeble sick man whom they bore; and theysaid it was Amis, the master of them, who was become mesel, andprayed them that they would do him some mercy. But nevertheless, they beat the sergeants of Amis, and cast him down from the cartwhereon they were bearing him, and said: "Flee hence speedily if yewould not lose your lives. "

Then Amis fell a-weeping, and said:

"O Thou, God debonaire and full of pity, give me death, or give meaid from mine infirmity!" And therewith he said to his sergeants:"Bring me to the Church of the Father of Rome, whereas God mayperadventure of His great mercy purvey for my poverty. "

When they came to Rome, Constantin the Apostle, full of pity and ofholiness, and many a knight of Rome of them who had held Amis at thefont, came to meet him, and gave him sustenance enough for him andhis sergeants. 

But in the space of three years thereafter was so great famine in thecity, that the father had will to thrust the son away from his house. Then spake Azones and Horatus to Amis, and said: "Fair sir, thouwottest how feally we have served thee sithence the death of thyfather unto this day, and that we have never trespassed against thycommandment. But now we may no longer abide with thee, whereas wehave no will to perish of hunger: wherefore we pray thee give usleave to escape this mortal pestilence. "

Then Amis answered them weeping: "O ye fair sons, and not sergeants, my only comfort, I pray you for God's sake that ye leave me not here, but bear me to the city of the Count Amile my fellow. "

And they who would well obey his commandments, bore him thitherwhereas was Amile; and there they fell to sounding on theirtartavelles before the Court of Amile, even as mesel folk be wont todo. And when Amile heard the sound thereof he bade a sergeant of histo bear to the sick man of bread and of flesh, and therewithal hishanap, which was given to him at Rome, full of good wine: and whenthe sergeant had done his commandment he said to him when he cameagain: "By the faith which I owe thee, sir, if I held not thinehanap in my hand, I had deemed that it was even that which the sickman had; for one and the same be they of greatness and of fashion. "Then said Amile: "Go speedily and lead him hither to me. "

But when he was before his fellow he asked of him who he was, and howhe had gotten that hanap. Said he: "I am of Bericain the Castle, and the hanap was given me by the Apostle of Rome, when he baptizedme. "

And when Amile heard that, he knew that it was Amis his fellow whohad delivered him from death, and given him to wife the King'sDaughter of France; straightway he cast himself upon him and fell tocrying out strongly, and to weeping and lamenting, and to kissing andembracing him. And when his wife heard the same, she ran thereto alldishevelled, and making great dole, whereas she had in memory of howhe had slain Arderi. And straightway they laid him in a very fairbed, and said to him: "Abide with us, fair sir, until that God shalldo his will of thee, for whatsoever we have is for thee to dealwith. " And he abode with them, and his sergeants with him. 

Now it befel on a night whenas Amis and Amile lay in one chamberwithout other company, that God sent to Amis Raphael his angel, whosaid to him: "Sleepest thou, Amis?" And he, who deemed that Amilehad called to him, answered: "I sleep not, fair sweet fellow. " Thenthe angel said to him: "Thou hast answered well, whereas thou artthe fellow of the citizens of Heaven, and thou hast followed afterJob, and Thoby in patience. Now I am Raphael, an angel of our Lord, and am come to tell thee of a medicine for thine healing, whereas Hehath heard thy prayers. Thou shalt tell to Amile thy fellow, that heslay his two children and wash thee in their blood, and thence thoushalt get thee the healing of thy body. "

Then said Amis: "Never shall it be that my fellow be a manslayer forthe healing of me. " But the Angel said: "Yet even so it behoveth todo. "

And when he had so said, the Angel departed; and therewith Amile, asif a-sleeping, heard those words, and awoke, and said: "What is it, fellow? who hath spoken unto thee?" And Amis answered that none hadspoken: "But I have prayed to our Lord according to my wont. " ThenAmile said: "Nay, it is not so; some one hath spoken to thee. "Therewith he arose and went to the door of the chamber, and found itshut, and said: "Tell me, fair brother, who hath spoken to theethese words of the night?"

Then Amis fell a-weeping sorely, and said to him that it was Raphaelthe Angel of our Lord who had said to him: "Amis, our Lord biddeththat thou tell Amile that he slay his two children, and wash theewith the blood of them, and that then thou wilt be whole of thymeselry. "

But Amile was sore moved with these words, and said to him: "Amis, Ihave given over to thee man-servant and maid-servant and all mygoods, and now thou feignest in fraud that the Angel hath spoken tothee that I slay my two children!" But forthwith Amis fell a-weeping, and said: "I wot that I have spoken to thee thingsgrievous, as one constrained, and now I pray thee that thou cast menot out of thine house. " And Amile said that he had promised that hewould hold him till the hour of his death: "But I conjure thee bythe faith which is betwixt thee and me, and by our fellowship, and bythe baptism which we took between me and thee at Rome, that thou tellme if it be man or Angel who hath said this to thee. "

Then Amis answered: "As true as it was an Angel who spake to me thisnight, so may God deliver me from mine infirmity. "

Then Amile fell to weeping privily, and thinking in his heart: "Thisman forsooth was apparelled before the King to die for me, and whyshould I not slay my children for him; if he hath kept faith with meto the death, why keep I not faith? Abraham was saved by faith, andby faith have the hallows vanquished kingdoms; and God saith in theGospel: 'That which ye would that men should do unto you, do ye evenso to them. '"

And Amile without more tarrying, went to the chamber of his wife, andbade her go hear the service of our Lord; and the Countess gat her tothe church even as she was wont. 

Then the Count took his sword, and went to the bed where lay hischildren, and found them sleeping, and he threw himself upon them, and fell to weeping bitterly and said: "Who hath heard ever of afather who of his own will hath slain his child? Ah, alas mychildren! I shall be no more your father, but your cruel murderer!And therewith the children awoke because of the tears which fell onthem from their father; and the children, who looked on the face oftheir father, fell a-laughing. And whereas they were of the age ofthree years or thereabout, their father said to them: "Your laughtershall be turned into weeping, for now shall your innocent blood beshed. "

When he had so said he cut off their heads and then laid them outbehind the bed, and laid the heads to the bodies, and covered themover even as they slept. And with their blood which he received, hewashed his fellow, and said: "Sire God, Jesus Christ, who commandestmen to keep faith upon the earth, and who cleansest the mesel by thyword, deign thou to cleanse my fellow, for the love of whom I haveshed the blood of my children. "

Then was Amis cleansed of his meselry, and they gave thanks to ourLord with great joy and said: "Blessed be God, the father of ourLord Jesus Christ, who healeth them that have hope in him. "

And Amile clad his fellow in his own right goodly raiment; andtherewith they went to the church to give thanks there, and the bellsby the grace of God rang of themselves. And when the people of thecity heard that, they ran all together toward that marvel. 

Now the wife of the Count when she saw them both going together, fellto asking which of the two was her husband and said: "I know wellthe raiment of these twain, but I wot not which is Amile. "

And the Count said: "I am Amile, and this my fellow is Amis, who iswhole. " Then the Countess wondered, and said: "I see him all whole;but much I desire to know whereby he is healed. " "Render we thanksto our Lord, " said the Count, "nor disquiet us as to how it may be. "

Now was come the hour of tierce, and neither the father nor themother was yet entered in to their children; but the father sighedgrievously for the death of his babes. Then the Countess asked forher children to make her joy, and the Count said: "Dame let be, letthe children sleep!"

Therewith he entered all alone to the children to weep over them, andhe found them playing in the bed; but the scars of their woundsshowed about the necks of each of them even as a red fillet. 

Then he took them in his arms, and bore them to their mother, andsaid "Make great joy, dame, whereas thy sons whom I had slain by thecommandment of the Angel are alive again, and by their blood is Amiscured and healed. "

And when the Countess heard it she said: "O thou, Count, why didstthou not lead me with thee to receive the blood of my children, and Iwould have washed therewith Amis thy fellow and my Lord?"

Then said the Count: "Dame, let be these words; and let us be at theservice of our Lord, who hath done such great wonders in our house. "

Which thing they did even unto their death and held chastity. 

And they made great joy through that same city for ten days. 

But on the selfsame day that Amis was made whole, the devils bore offhis wife; they brake the neck of her, and bore away her soul. 

After these things Amis betook him to the Castle of Bericain and laidsiege before it; and abode there before so long, that they of thecastle rendered themselves to him. He received them benignly, andpardoned them their evil will; and from thenceforth he dwelt withthem peaceably and he held with him the elder son of Amile, andserved our Lord with all his heart. 

Thereafter Adrian, Apostle of Rome, sent word to Charles, King ofFrance, that he come help him against Desir, the King of theLombards, who much tormented the Church; and Charles was as then inthe town of Theodocion. Thither came Peter, messenger of theApostle, who said to him that the Apostle prayed him to come defendHoly Church. Thereupon King Charles sent to the said Desirmessengers to pray him that he give back to the Holy Father thecities and other things which he had taken from him, and that hewould give him thereto the sum of forty thousand sols of gold in goldand in silver. But he would give way neither for prayers nor gifts. Thereon the good King bade come to him all manner folk, Bishops, Abbots, Dukes, Princes, Marquises and other strong knights. And hesent to Cluses certain of these for to guard the passage of the ways. Amongst the which was Albins, Bishop of Angier, a man full of greatholiness. 

Then the King Charles together with many warriors, drew nigh toCluses by the Mount of Sinense, and sent Bernhart his uncle, and amany with him, by the Mount of Jove. And the vanward said thatDesir, together with all his force, was already at Cluses, the whichhe had do dight with bulwarks of iron and stone. 

But whenas Charles drew nigh to Cluses, he sent his messengers toDesir, praying him to give back to the Holy Father the cities whichhe had taken; but he would nought for the prayer. Again Charles badehim that he send three of the children of the judges of Lombardy inhostage, until such time as he had given back the cities of theChurch, and that he would betake him to France with all his host, without battle and without doing any scathe. But he neither forthat, nor for aught else would blench one whit. 

Now when God the almighty had seen the hard heart and malice of thisman; and that the French were sore desirous to get them aback home, he set so great fear and so great trembling in the hearts of theLombards, that they turned to flight all of them, although nonechased them, and left there behind them their tents and all theirgear. When that saw Charles and his host, they followed them andthrust forth into Lombardy French, Almaines, English and all othermanner of folk. 

Of that host were Amis and Amile, who were the first in the court ofthe King, and every way they heeded the works of our Lord, infasting, in praying, in alms-doing, in giving aid to widows andorphans, in often times appeasing the wrath of the King, in sufferingthe evil, and consoling the realm of the Romans. 

Now whenas Charles had much folk in Lombardy, King Desir came to meethim with his little host; for whereas Desir had a priest, Charles hada bishop; whereas that one had a monk, the other had an abbot; whereDesir had a knight Charles had a prince; the one had a man afoot, theother a duke or a count. What should I say, where that King had oneknight, Charles had thirty. So the two hosts fell to blows togetherwith great cries and banners displayed; stones and darts flying hereand there, and knights falling on every part. 

And the Lombards fought so mightily for three days, that they slew ofKing Charles a very great infinity. And after the third day'swearing Charles called to him the most mighty and the strongest ofhis host, and said to them: "Either die ye in battle, or gain ye thevictory. "

So the King Desir and the whole host of the Lombards together fledaway to the place hight Mortara, which in those days was called Fair-wood, whereas thereabout was the land delectable: there theyrefreshed them and took heed to their horses. 

On the morrow morn King Charles and his host came thither, and foundthe Lombards all armed, and there they joined battle, and a greatmultitude of dead there was on one side and the other, and because ofthis slaughter had the place to name Mortara. 

Moreover, there died Amis and Amile, for even as God had joined themtogether by good accord in their life-days, so in their death theywere not sundered. Withal many another doughty baron was slain withthem. But Desir, together with his judges, and a great multitude ofthe Lombards, fled away and entered into Pavia; and King Charlesfollowed after them, and besieged the city on all sides. Withal hesent into France for his wife and his children. But the holy Albins, bishop of Angier, and many other bishops and abbots gave counsel tothe King and the Queen, that they should bury the dead and make therea church: and the said counsel pleased much the King, and there weremade two churches, one by the commandment of Charles in honour of St. Eusebius of Verceil, and the other by the commandment of the Queen inhonour of St. Peter. 

And the King did do bear thither two arks of stone, wherein wereburied Amis and Amile; and Amile was borne into the Church of St. Peter, and Amis into the Church of St. Eusebius; and the othercorpses were buried here and there. But on the morrow's morn thebody of Amile, and his coffin therewith, was found in the Church ofSt. Eusebius hard by the coffin of Amis his fellow. 

Now hear ye of this marvellous fellowship which might not be sunderedby death. This wonder wrought for them God, who had given such mightto His disciples that they had power to move mountains and shiftthem. But because of this miracle the King and the Queen abode therethirty days, and did do the service of them that were slain, andworshipped the said churches with great gifts. 

Meanwhile the host of Charles wrought for the taking of the citywhich they had besieged; and our Lord tormented them that were withinin such wise that they were brought to nought by great feebleness andby mortalities. And after ten months from the time when the city wasbesieged, Charles took Desir, and all them who were with him, andlaid the city and all the realm under his subjection. And King Desirand his wife they led into France. 

But Saint Albins, who by that time had raised the dead to life, andgiven light to many blind folk, ordained clerks, priests, and deaconsin the aforesaid Church of St. Eusebius, and commanded them that theyshould without ceasing guard and keep the bodies of those twofellows, AMIS and AMILE, who suffered death at the hands of Desir, King of Lombardy, on the fourth of the ides of October. 

Reigning our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth without endwith the Father and the Holy Ghost. AMEN. 

THE TALE OF KING FLORUS AND THE FAIR JEHANE

Here telleth the tale of a king who had to name King Florus of Ausay. A full good knight was he and a gentleman of high lineage. The saidKing Florus of Ausay took to wife the daughter of the Prince ofBrabant, who was a woman very gentle, and of great line: and a rightfair maid was she when he wedded her and dainty of body and fashion;and saith the tale that she was but of fifteen years when the KingFlorus took her, and he but of seventeen. A full good life theylived, as for young folk who loved together dearly: but King Florusmight have no child of her, whereof he was sore grieving, and shealso was exceeding heavy-hearted thereat. Much fair was this lady, and much she loved God and Holy Church, and therewith was so goodalmsgiver and so charitable that she fed and clad poor people andkissed their feet. And to mesel folk both carles and queans was sheso kind and careful, that the Ho]y Ghost dwelt in her. Her Lord KingFlorus went often to tournays in Alemain and France, and in manyother lands whereas he wotted of them, when he was without war: muchgood he expended thereon and much honour he gained thereby. 

But now leaveth the tale to tell of him and taketh up the word of aknight who dwelt in the marches of Flanders and Hainault. This saidknight was full valiant and hardy, and right trusty, and had to wifea full fair dame of whom he had a much fair daughter, who had to nameJehane and was then of the age of twelve years. Much word there wasof this fair maiden; for in all the land was none so fair. Hermother spake often to her lord that he should give her in marriage;but he was so given up to the following of tournays, that he wasnowise hot on the wedding of his daughter, and his wife everadmonished him thereof when he came home from his tournays. 

Now this knight had a squire who had to name Robin, and was thevaliantest squire to be found in any land, and by his prowess and hisgood fame oft he bore away the prize for his lord from the tournaywhereas he wended. Whereon it befel that his lady thus bespake him:"Robin, my lord is so given up to these tournays that I know not howto speak with him, whereof I am sore at heart, for I would well thathe should lay pain and care to the wedding of my daughter; whereforeI pray thee, for the love of me, that whenas thou seest the pointthou say to him that he doth very ill and is sore blamed that heweddeth not his fair daughter, for there is no knight in the land howrich soever he be who would not take her with a good will. " "Lady, "said Robin, "ye have said well; I will say it right well; sinceforsooth he troweth me of many things, and so will he hereofmeseemeth. " "Robin, " said the lady, "I pray thee of this businessfor all guerdon. " "Dame, " said Robin, "I am well prayed hereof; andwot ye that I will do to my power herein. " "It is enough, " said thelady. 

No long while after the knight betook him to wending to a tournayafar from his land, and when he came there he was retainedstraightway of the fellowship, he and the knight of whose mesney hewas, and his banner was borne into the hostel of his lord. Thetournay began, and the knight did so well by means of the good deedsof Robin, his squire, that he bore off the praise and prize of thetournay from one party and the other. On the second day the knightbetook him to wending to his own land, and Robin put him to reasonmany times and blamed him much in that he gave not his fair daughterin marriage, and many times he said it to him, till at the last hislord said to him: "Robin, thou and thy lady give me no peace aboutthe marrying of my daughter; but as yet I know and see no man in myland unto whom I would give her. " "Ah, sir, " said Robin, "there isnot a knight in thy land who would not take her with a good will. ""Fair friend Robin, they are of no avail, all of them; and to none ofthem shall I give her; and forsooth to no one would I give her asnow, save to one man only, and he forsooth is no knight. " "Sir, tellme of him, " said Robin, "and I shall speak or let speak to him sosubtilly that the marriage shall be made. " "Certes, Robin, " said theknight, "from the semblance that I see of thee thou willest well thatmy daughter should be wedded. " "Sir, " said Robin, "thou sayestsooth, for it is well time. " "Robin, " said the knight, "whereas thouart so eager that my daughter should be wedded, she shall be weddedright soon if thou accord to the said wedding. " "Certes, sir, " saidRobin, "of a good will shall I accord thereto. " "Wilt thou give methy word herein?" "Yea, sir, " said Robin. "Robin, thou hast servedme exceeding well, and I have found thee a valiant man, and a loyal, and such as I be thou hast made me, and great gain have I gotten bythee, to wit, five hundred pounds of land; for it was but a littlewhile that I had but five hundred, and now have I a thousand, and Itell thee that I owe much to thee: wherefore will I give my fairdaughter unto thee, if thou wilt take her. " "Ha, sir, " said Robin, "God's mercy, what is this thou sayest? I am too poor a person tohave so high a maiden, nor one so fair and so rich as my damsel is; Iam not meet thereto. For there is no knight in this land, be henever so gentle a man, but would take her with a good will. " "Robin, know that no knight of this land shall have her, but I shall give herto thee, if thou will it; and thereto will I give thee four hundredpounds of my land. " "Ha, sir, " said Robin, "I deem that thou mockestme. " "Robin, " said the knight, "wot thou surely that I mock theenot. " "Ha, sir, neither my lady nor her great lineage will accordhereto. " "Robin, " said the knight, "nought shall be done herein atthe will of any of them. Hold! here is my glove, I invest thee withfour hundred pounds of my land, and I will be thy warrant for all. ""Sir, " said Robin "I will nought naysay it; fair is the gift since Iknow that is soothfast. " "Robin, " said the knight, "now hast thouthe rights thereof. "

Then the knight delivered to him his glove, and invested him with theland and his fair daughter. 

Then rode the knight so far by his journeys, that he came into hisland, and when he was come thither, his wife, who was a much fairlady, made him right great joy, and said to him: "Sir, for God'ssake think of thy fair daughter, that she be wedded. " "Dame, " saidthe lord, "so much hast thou spoken hereof that I have wedded her. ""Sir, " said the lady, "unto whom?" "Forsooth, dame, I have given herto such a man as shall never lack of valiancy: I have given her toRobin my squire. " "Robin! Alas!" quoth the lady; "Robin hathnought, and there is no knight so mighty in all the land, but willtake her with a good will; of a surety Robin shall never have her. ""Yea, but have her he shall, dame, " said the knight, "and I haveinvested him with four hundred pounds of my land; and all that Iought to warrant him, warrant him I will. " When the dame heard that, she was much sorry, and said to her lord that Robin should have hernever. "Nay, dame, " said the lord, "have her he shall, wilt thou orwilt thou not; for even so have I made covenant and I will hold tothe same. 

When the lady heard her lord, she entered into her chamber and fella-weeping and making great dole; after the dole which she made shesent to seek her brothers and her nephews and her cousins germain, and showed them that which her lord would do; and they said to her:"Dame, what will ye that we do? We have no will to go against thylord, for he is a knight valiant and hardy and weighty withal: andon the other hand he may do with his daughter according to his will, and with his land which he hath gotten withal. So wot thou well thatwe will not hang shield on neck herein. " "Nay? alas, then!" said thedame, "so shall my heart never have joy if I lose my fair daughter. At least, fair lords, I pray you that ye show him that if he doesthus he will neither do well nor according to his honour. " "Dame, "say they, "this setting forth will we do with a good will. "

So they came unto the knight, and when they had showed him theirbusiness he answered them right courteously: "Fair lords, I willtell you what I will do for the love of you; if it please you I willput off the wedding in this wise as I shall tell you; to wit:Amongst you ye be rich and of great lands; ye are nigh friends of myfair daughter, whom I love much. If ye will give her four hundredpounds of land I will set aside the wedding, and she shall be weddedelsewhere according to your counsel. " "A-God's name, " quoth they, "we be nought fain to lay down so much. " "Well, then, " said theknight, "since ye will not do this, then suffer me to do with mydaughter as I list. " "Sir, with a good will, " said they. 

So the knight sent for his chaplain, and brought thither his fairdaughter, and let affiance her to Robin, and set a day for thewedding. But the third day thereafter, Robin spake to his lord, andprayed him make him a knight, whereas it was nought meet that heshould take to him so high a wife and so fair before he was a knight. His lord had great joy thereof, and the next day he was made knight, and the third day wedded the fair maiden with great feast andjoyance. 

But when master Robin was made knight he spake thus to his lord:"Sir, ye have made me knight; and true it is that against the perilof death I vowed me to the road unto Saint Jamesward on the morrow ofmy knighting; wherefore I pray thee take it not in dudgeon if to-morrow morn I must needs go my ways so soon as I shall have weddedthy fair daughter; whereas in nowise will I break mine oath. ""Forsooth, master Robin, if thou leave thus my fair daughter and thuswise go your ways, ye shall be much to blame. " "Sir, " said he, "Ishall come back right soon if God will; but this wayfaring I needsmust perforce. " Whenas a certain knight of the court of the lordheard these words he blamed Sir Robin much, whereas he was leavinghis fair wife at such a point, and Sir Robin said that he needs mustdo it. "Certes, " said the knight, who had to name Raoul, "if thougoest thus to Saint James without touching thy fair wife, I will makethee cuckold before thine home-coming, and when thou comest home Iwill give thee good tokens that I have had share of her. Now I willlay my land thereto against thine, which our lord hath given thee, for I have well four hundred pounds of land even as thou hast. ""Forsooth, " said Sir Robin, "my wife is not come of such blood asthat she shall misdo against me, and I may not believe in it nowise:I will make the wager with thee, if it please thee. " "Yea, " said SirRaoul, "wilt thou pledge thee thereto?" "Yea, verily, " said SirRobin, "and thou?" "Yea, and I also. Now go we to my lord and makerecord of our covenant. " "That will I well, " said Sir Robin. Therewith they go unto the lord, and the wager was recorded, and theypledged them to hold thereto. On the morrow betimes Sir Robin weddedthe fair maiden, and straightway after mass was said, he departedfrom the house and left the wedding, and took the road for St. Jakem. "

But now leaveth the tale to tell of him and telleth of Sir Raoul, whowas in great imagination how he might win his wager and lie by thefair lady. And saith the tale that the lady held her much simplywhile her lord was on pilgrimage, and was going to the minster with agood will, and prayed God that he would bring back her lord. But SirRaoul pained him on the other hand how he might win his wager, forgreat doubt he had to lose his land. He spake with the carline whodwelt with the fair lady, and said to her, that if she could so bringit about that she might set him in place and at point that he mightspeak privily with my lady Jehane, and have his will of her, he wouldgive her much good, so that there would be no hour when she shouldnot be rich. "Sir, forsooth, " said the carline, "thou art so fair aknight, and so wise and courteous that my lady should well ought tolove thee par amours, and I will put myself to the pain herein to theutmost of my might. " Then the knight drew out straightway a fortysols, and gave it to her to buy a gown. The carline took them with agoodwill, and set them away surely, and said that she would speakwith the lady. The knight departed from the carline, and the carlineabode and took her lady to task when she came back from the minster, and said to her: "In God's name, lady, tell me true! My lord, whenhe went to Saint Jakem, had he ever lain by thee?" "Wherefore dostthou say this, dame Hersent?" "Lady, because I trow that thou be yeta clean maid. " "Certes, dame Hersent, so am I verily; for of nowoman wot I who would do such a deed. " "Lady, " said dame Hersent, "great damage it is; for if ye wotted how great is the joy that womenhave when they be with a man who loveth them, ye would say that thereis no joy so great; and for this cause I marvel much that ye love notpar amours even as these other ladies who all love. But if itpleaseth thee the matter is ready to hand; whereas I wot of a knight, fair and valiant and wise, who will love thee with a good will; amuch rich man is he, and fairer by far than the coward recreant whohath left thee. And if ye dare love ye may have whatso ye dare ask;and so much joy shall ye have as never lady had more. " So much spakethe carline by her words that the needle of nature stirred somewhat. The lady asked who the knight might be. "Who is it, lady? A-God'sname! I may well name him. It is the lovely, the valiant, the hardySir Raoul, who is one of the mesney of thy father; the kindest heartmen wot of. " "Dame Hersent, " said the lady, "thou wert best let suchwords be; for I have no desire to misdo of my body, of no such bloodam I come. " "Dame, " said the carline, "I wot well. But never shaltthou know the worthy joy when a man wendeth with a woman. "

Thuswise abode the matter. Sir Raoul came back to the carline, andshe told him how she had talked with the lady, and what she hadanswered. "Dame Hersent, " said the knight, "thus wise should a goodlady answer; but ye shall speak with her again, for one doeth not thebusiness at the first stroke: and hold, here be twenty sols to buythee a cloth to thy surcoat. " The carline took the silver, and spakewith the lady often, but nought it availed. 

Wore the time till at last they heard news that Sir Robin was wendingback from Saint Jakem, and that he was already hard on Paris. Soonwas known the tidings, and Sir Raoul, who had fear of the losing ofhis lands, returned to the carline, and spake with her; and she saidthat she might not bring the business to an end: but that she woulddo so much for the love of him, if she should earn her service, thatshe would so bring it about as that there should be none in the housesave he and this lady: and then he might do his will on her, willshe nill she: and he said that he asked for nought else. "Then, "said the carline, "ye, my lord, shall come within eight days, and Iwill do my lady to bathe her in her chamber, and I will send all themesney out of the house and out of the castle; then can ye come toher bathing in the chamber, and may have your desire of her, eitherwith her good will or maugre. " "Ye have well said, " quoth he. 

Abode matters thus till Sir Robin sent word that he was coming tohand, and would be at the house on the Sunday. Then the carline letbathe the lady the Thursday before, and the bath was in her chamber, and the fair lady entered therein. But the carline sent after SirRaoul, and he came. Thereafter she sent all the folk of thehousehold out of the house. Sir Raoul came his ways to the chamberand entered therein, and greeted the lady, but she greeted him notagain, but said thus:

"Sir Raoul, thou art nowise courteous. Whether wottest thou forsooththat it is well with me of thy coming? accursed be thou, villainknight!" But Sir Raoul said: "My lady, mercy, a-God's name! I ambut dying for grief of thee. For God's sake have pity of me!" "SirRaoul, " said she, "I will have no mercy in such wise that I will everbe thy darling. And wot thou well that if thou leave me not in peaceI will tell my lord, my father, the honour thou requirest of me: forI am none such as that. " "Nay, lady, is it so, then?" "Yea, verily, " said she. 

Therewith Sir Raoul drew nigh to her, and embraced her in his arms, which were strong enow, and drew her all naked out of the bath andbore her toward her bed; and so soon as he drew her forth of the bathhe saw a black spot which she had on her right groin hard by hernatural part; and he thought therewithal that that were a good tokenthat he had lain by her. Thus as he bore her off to her bed, hisspurs hooked them into the serge at the bed's edge toward the footthereof, and down fell the knight, he and the lady together, he belowand she above; but she rose up straightway and caught up a billet ofwood, and smote Sir Raoul therewith amidst the face, and made him awound both deep and wide, so that the blood fell to earth. So whenSir Raoul felt himself hurt he had no great desire to play, whereforehe arose and got him gone out of the chamber straightway: he did somuch that he came to his hostel, where he dwelt a good league thence, and there he had his wound dealt with. But the good dame enteredinto her bath again, and called dame Hersent, and told the adventureof the knight. 

Much great array made the father of the fair lady against the comingof Sir Robin, and he summoned much folk, and sent and bade Sir Raoulto come; but he sent word that he might not come, for that he wassick. On the Sunday camel Sir Robin, and was received right fairly;and the father of the fair lady went to seek Sir Raoul and found himwounded, and said that now for nought might he abide behind from thefeast. So he dight his face and his hurt the best wise he might, andwent to the feast, which was great and grand day long of drinking andof eating, and of dancing and carolling. 

When night was come Sir Robin went to bed with his wife, who receivedhim much joyously as a good dame ought to her lord; so abode they injoy and in feast the more part of the night. On the morrow great wasthe feast, and the victual was dight and they ate. But when it wasafter dinner, Sir Raoul bore on hand Sir Robin, and said that he hadwon his land, whereas he had known his wife carnally, by the token, to wit, that she had a black spot on her right thigh and a pearlethard by her jewel. "Thereof I wot not, " said Sir Robin, "for I havenot looked on her so close. " "Well, then, I tell thee, " said SirRaoul, "by the oath that thou hast given me that thou take heedthereof, and do me right. " "So will I, verily, " said Sir Robin. 

When night was, Sir Robin played with his wife, and found and saw onher right thigh the black spot, and a pearlet hard by her fair jewel:and when he knew it he was sore grieving. On the morrow he went toSir Raoul, and said before his lord that he had lost his wager. Heavy of heart was he day long, and when it was night he went to thestable, and set the saddle on his palfrey, and went forth from thehouse, bearing with him what he might get him of silver. So came toParis, and when he was at Paris he abode there three days. But nowleaveth the tale to tell of him, and taketh up the word concerninghis wife. 

Here saith the tale that much sorrowful was the fair lady and heavyof heart, when she called to mind how she had cast her lord out ofhis house. Much she thought of the wherefore thereof and wept andmade great dole; till her father came to her, and said that he werefainer if she were yet to wed, whereas she had done him shame and allthem of his lineage; and he told her how and wherefore. When sheheard that, she was sore grieved and denied the deed downright; butnought availed. For it is well known that shame so sore is contraryto all women, that if a woman were to burn all, she would not betrowed of such a misdoing, once it were laid on her. 

On the first hour of the night the lady arose, and took all penniesthat she had in her coffer, and took a nag and a harness thereto, andgat her to the road; and she had let shear her fair tresses, and wasotherwise arrayed like to an esquire. So much she went by herjourneys that she came to Paris, and went after her lord; and shesaid and declared that she would never make an end before she hadfound him. Thus she rode like to a squire. And on a morning shewent forth out of Paris, and wended the way toward Orleans until shecame to the Tomb Isory, and there she fell in with her lord SirRobin. Full fain she was when she saw him, and she drew up to himand greeted him, and he gave her greeting back and said: "Fairfriend, God give thee joy!" "Sir, " said she, "whence art thou?""Forsooth, fair friend, I am of old Hainault. " "Sir, whither wendeththou?" "Forsooth, fair friend, I wot not right well whither I go, nor where I shall dwell. Forsooth, needs must I where fortune shalllead me; and she is contrary enough; for I have lost the thing in theworld that most I ever loved: and she also hath lost me. Withal Ihave lost my land, which was great and fair enough. But what hastthou to name, and whither doth God lead thee?" "Certes, sir, " saidJehane, "I am minded for Marseilles on the sea, where is war as Ihope. There would I serve some valiant man, about whom I shall learnme arms if God will. For I am so undone in mine own country thattherein for a while of time I may not have peace. But, sir, meseemeth that thou be a knight, and I would serve thee with a rightgood will if it please thee. And of my company wilt thou be noughtworsened. " "Fair friend, " said Sir Robin, "a knight am I verily. And where I may look to find war, thitherward would I draw fullwillingly. But tell me what thou hast to name?" "Sir, " said she, "Ihave to name John. " "In a good hour, " quoth the knight. "And thou, sir, how hight thou?" "John, " said he, "I have to name Robin. " "SirRobin, retain me as thine esquire, and I will serve thee to mypower. " "John, so would I with a good will. But so little of moneyhave I that I must needs sell my horse before three days are worn. Wherefore I wot not how to do to retain thee. " "Sir, " said John, "benot dismayed thereof, for God will aid thee if it please him. Buttell me where thou wilt eat thy dinner?" "John, my dinner will soonbe made; for not another penny have I than three sols of Paris. ""Sir, " said John, "be nought dismayed thereof, for I have hard on tenpounds Tournais, whereof thou shalt not lack, if thou hast not tospend at thy will. " "Fair friend John, have thou mickle thanks. "

Then made they good speed to Montlhery: there John dight meat forhis lord and they ate. When they had eaten, the knight slept in abed and John at his feet. When they had slept, John did on thebridles, and they mounted and gat to the road. They went so far bytheir journeys that they came to Marseilles-on-sea; but of war theyheard no word there, whereof were they much sorry. But now leaveththe tale to tell of them two, and returneth to tell of Sir Raoul, whohad by falsehood gained the land of Sir Robin. 

Here telleth the tale that so long did Sir Raoul hold the land of SirRobin without righteous cause, for seven years' wearing. Then hetook a great sickness and of that sickness was sore beaten down, insomuch that he was on the point of death. Now he doubted much thetransgression which he had done against the fair lady the daughter ofhis lord, and against her husband also, whereby they were undone, both of them by occasion of his malice. Exceeding ill at ease was heof his wrongdoing, which was so great that he durst not confess it. 

Came a day when he was sore undone by his sickness, so he sent forhis chaplain whom he loved much, for he had found him a man valiantand loyal; and he said to him: "Sir, thou who art my father beforeGod, know that I look to die of this sickness, wherefore I pray theefor God's sake that ye aid me with your counsel, for great is my needthereof, for I have done an ill deed so hideous and dark that scarceshall I have mercy therefor. " The chaplain bade him tell it outhardily, and that he would aid him with counsel to his power; till atlast Sir Raoul told him all as ye have heard afore. And he prayedhim for God's sake give him counsel, so great as was his misdoing. "Sir, " said he, "be nought dismayed, for if thou wilt do the penancewhich I enjoin thee, I will take thy transgression on me and on mysoul, so that thou shalt be quit. " "Yea, tell me then, " said theknight. "Sir, " said he, "thou shalt take the cross far over sea, andthou shalt get thee thereto within the year wherein thou art whole, and shalt give pledges to God that thou shalt so do: and in everyplace where men ask thee the occasion of thy journey, thou shalt tellit to all who shall ask it of thee. " "All this will I well do, " saidthe knight. "Then, sir, give thou good pledge. " "With a good will, "said the knight; "thou thyself shalt abide surety for me, and I swearto thee on my knighthood that I shall quit thee well. " "A-God'sname, sir!" quoth the chaplain, "I will be thy surety. " Now turnedthe knight to amendment, and was all whole; and a year wore whereinhe went not over sea. The chaplain spake to him often thereof, buthe held the covenant as but a jest; till at last the chaplain saidthat but if he acquitted him before God of his pledge, he would tellthe tale to the father of the fair damsel, who had been thus undoneby him. When the knight heard that, he said to the chaplain thatwithin half a year he would set about the crossing of the sea, and soswore to him. But now leaveth the tale to tell of the knight, andreturneth to telling of King Florus of Ausaye, of whom for a greatwhile it hath been silent. 

Now saith the tale that a much good life led King Florus of Ausay andhis wife, as of young folk who loved each other; but much sorry andheavy-hearted were they that they might have no child. The lady madegreat prayers to God, and let sing masses; but whereas it was notwell pleasing to God, it might not be. But on a day came thitherinto the house of King Florus a good man who had his dwelling in thegreat forest of Ausaye in a place right wild; and when the queen knewthat he was come she came unto him and made him right great joy. Andbecause he was a good man she confessed to him and told him all herailing, and how that she was exceeding heavy of heart, because shehad had no child by her lord. "Ah, lady, " said the good man, "sinceit pleaseth not our Lord, needs must thou abide it; and when itpleaseth him thou shalt have one, or two. " "Certes, sir, " said thelady, "I were fain thereof; for my lord holdeth me the less dear, andthe high barons of this land also. Withal it hath been told to methat they have spoken to my lord to leave me and take another. ""Verily, dame, " said the good man, "he would do ill; it would be doneagainst God and against Holy Church. " "Ah, sir, I pray thee to prayto God for me that I may have a child of my lord, for great fear Ihave lest he leave me. " "Dame, " said the good man, "my prayer shallavail but little, but if it please God; nevertheless I will prayheartily. "

The good man departed from the lady, and the barons of the land andof the country came to the King Florus, and bade him send away hiswife and take another, since by this he might have no child. And ifhe did not after their counsel, they would go and dwell otherwhere;for in no case would they that the realm should be without an heir. King Florus feared his barons and trowed their word, and he said thathe would send away his wife, and that they should seek him another, and they trusted him therein. When the lady knew it she wasexeeeding heavy of heart; but nought durst she do, for she knew thather lord would leave her. So she sent for the hermit who had beenher confessor, and he came to her. Then the lady told him all thetale of the matter of the barons, who would seek for their lordanother woman. "And I pray thee, good father, that thou wouldst aidme, and counsel me what I should do. " "Dame, " said the good man, "ifit be so as thou sayest, ye must needs suffer it; for against thylord and against his barons ye may do nought perforce. " "Sir, " saidthe good lady, "thou sayest sooth: but if it please God, I were fainto be a recluse nigh unto thee; whereby I may be at the service ofGod all the days of my life, and that I may have comfort of thee. ""Dame, " said the good man, "that would be over strange a thing, whereas thou art too young a lady and too fair. But I will tell theewhat thou shalt do. Hard by my hermitage there is an abbey of WhiteNuns, who are right good ladies, and I counsel you go thither; andthey will have great joy of thee for thy goodness and thy highdignity. " "Sir, " said she, "thou hast well said; I will do all thatthou counsellest me. "

On the morrow King Florus spake to his wife, and said thus: "Needsmust thou and I sunder, for that thou mayst have no child by me. NowI say thee soothly that the sundering lies heavy on me, for nevershall I love woman as I have loved thee. " Therewith fell King Florusto weep sorely, and the lady also. "Sir, " said she, "a-God's mercy!And whither shall I go, and what shall I do?" "Dame, thou shalt dowell, if it please God, for I will send thee back well and richlyinto thy country to thy kindred. " "Sir, " said the lady, "it shallnot be so: I have purveyed me an abbey of nuns, where I will be, ifit please thee; and there I will serve God all my life; for since Ilose thy company I am she that no man shall go with any more. Thereat King Florus wept and the lady also. But on the third day thequeen went to the abbey; and the other queen was come, and had greatfeast made her, and great joy of her friends. King Florus held herfor three years, but never might have child of her. But here thetale holdeth peace of King Florus, and betaketh it again to SirRobin, and to John who were at Marseilles. 

Here telleth the tale that much sorry was Sir Robin when he came toMarseilles, whereas he heard tell of nought toward in the country; sohe said to John: "What do we? Thou hast lent me of thy moneys, whereof I thank thee: I will give them back to thee, for I will sellmy palfrey, and quit me toward thee. " "Sir, " said John, "if itplease thee, believe me, and I shall tell thee what we shall do. Ihave yet well an hundred sols of Tournay, and if it please thee, Iwill sell our two horses, and make money thereby: for I am the bestof bakers that ye may wot of; and I will make French bread, and Idoubt me not but I shall earn my spending well and bountifully. ""John, " said Sir Robin, "I grant it thee to do all as thou wilt. "

So on the morrow John sold the two horses for ten pounds Tournays, and bought corn and let grind it, and bought baskets, and fell tomaking French bread, so good and so well made that he sold it formore than the best baker of the town might do; and he did so muchwithin two years that he had well an hundred pounds of chattels. Then said John to his lord: "I rede thee well that we buy us a verygreat house, and that we buy us wine and take to harbouring goodfolk. " "John, " said Sir Robin, "do according to thy will, for Igrant it thee, and moreover I praise thee much. " So John bought ahouse, great and fair, and harboured good folk, and earned enoughplenteously; and he arrayed his lord well and richly; and Sir Robinhad his palfrey, and went to eat and drink with the most worthy ofthe town, and John sent him wine and victual, so that all they thathaunted his company marvelled thereat. So much he gained that inthree years' time he had gotten him more than three hundred pounds ofgarnishment, out-taken his plenishing, which was well worth fiftypounds. But here leaveth the tale to tell of Sir Robin and of John, and goeth back to tell of Sir Raoul. 

For, saith the tale, that the chaplain held Sir Raoul right shortthat he should go over sea, and quit him of the pledge he had laiddown; for great fear he had lest he yet should leave it; and so muchhe did that Sir Raoul saw well that he needs must go. So he dighthis journey, and arrayed him right richly, as he that hath wellenough thereto; and so he betook him to the road with three squires:and went so much by his journeys that he came into Marseilles-on-seaand took lodging in the French hostel, whereas dwelt Sir Robin andJohn. So soon as John saw him she knew him by the scar of the woundshe had made him, and because she had seen him many times. Theknight sojourned in the town fifteen days, and hired him passage. But the while he sojourned, John drew him in to privy talk, and askedof him the occasion of his going over sea, and Sir Raoul told him allthe occasion, as one who had little heed thereof, even as the talehath told afore. When John heard that, he held his peace. Sir Raoulset his goods aboard ship, and went upon the sea; but tarried so muchthe ship wherein he was that he abode in the town for eight days; buton the ninth day he betook him to go his ways to the holy sepulchre, and did his pilgrimage, and confessed him the best he might: and hisconfessor charged him in penance that he should give back the landwhich he held wrongfully to the knight and his wife. Whereon he saidto his confessor, that when he came into his own country he would dowhat his heart bade him. So he departed from Jerusalem and came toAcre, and dight his passage as one who had great longing to repair tohis own country. He went up on to the sea, and wended so diligently, as well by night as by day, till in less than three months he came tothe port of Aigues-mort. Then he departed from the port and camestraight to Marseilles, wherein he sojourned eight days in the hostelof Sir Robin and John, which hight the French house. Never did SirRobin know him, for on that matter he thought nothing. At the end ofeight days he departed from Marseilles, he and his squires, and wentso long by his journeys that he came into his own country, where hewas received with great joy, as one who was a knight rich in land andchattels. Thereon his chaplain took him to task, and asked of him ifany had demanded the occasion of his journey; and he said: "Yea, inthree places, to wit: Marseilles, Acre, and Jerusalem: and he ofwhom I took counsel bade me to give back the land to Sir Robin, if Ihear tidings of him, or to his wife else, or to his heir. " "Certes, "said the chaplain; "he bade thee good counsel. " Thus was Sir Raoulin his own country a great while in rest and good ease. But hereleaveth the tale to tell of him, and returneth to Sir Robin and John. 

Here saith the tale that when Sir Robin and John had been atMarseilles for six years that John had gotten to the value of sixhundred pounds, and they were come into the seventh year, and Johnmight gain eke what he would, and so sweet he was, and so debonairethat he made himself loved of all the neighbours, and therewithal hewas of good hap as he might not be of more, and maintained his lordso nobly and so richly that it was wonder to behold. When the end ofthe seven years drew nigh, John fell to talk with his lord Sir Robin, and spake thus: "Sir, we have now been a great while in thiscountry, and so much have we gained, that we have hard on six hundredpounds of chattels, what of money, what of vessel of silver. ""Forsooth, John, " said Sir Robin, "they be not mine, but thine; forit is thou hast earned them. " "Sir, " said John, "saving thy grace, it is not so, but they are thine: for thou art my rightful lord, andnever, if it please God, will I change. " "Gramercy, John, I holdthee not for servant, but for companion and friend. " "Sir, " saidJohn, "all days I have kept thee loyal company, and shall do fromhenceforth. " "By my faith, " said Sir Robin, "I will do what sopleaseth thee: but to go into my country, I wot not to say thereof:for I have lost so much there that hardly shall my scathe be rightedto me. " "Sir, " said John, "be thou never dismayed of that matter;for when thou art come into thine own country thou shalt hear goodtidings, please God. And doubt thou nothing, for in all placeswhereas we shall be, if it please God, I shall earn enough for theeand for me. " "Certes, John, " said Sir Robin, "I will do as itpleaseth thee, and where thou wilt that I go, thither will I. ""Sir, " said John, "I shall sell our chattels, and dight our journey, and we will go within fifteen days. " "A-God's name, John, " said SirRobin. 

John sold all his plenishing, whereof he had good store and goodly, and bought three horses, a palfrey for his lord, another for himself, and a sumpter horse. Then they took leave of the neighbours, and themost worthy of the town, who were sore grieved of their departure. 

Wore the way Sir Robin and John, insomuch that in three weeks' spacethey came into their country. And Robin made known to his lord, whose daughter he had had, that he was at hand. The lord was muchjoyful thereof, for he was deeming well that his daughter would bewith him. And she indeed it was, but in the guise of an esquire. Sir Robin was well received of his lord, whose daughter he haderewhile wedded. When the lord could have no tidings of hisdaughter, he was right sorrowful; nevertheless he made good feast toSir Robin, and bade thereto his knights and his neighbours; andthither came Sir Raoul, who held the land of Sir Robin wrongfully. Great was the joy that day and the morrow, and that while Sir Robintold to John the occasion of the wager, and how Sir Raoul held hisland wrongfully. "Sir, " said John, "do thou appeal him of treason, and I will do the battle for thee. " "Nay, John, " said Sir Robin, "thou shalt not do it. "

So they left it till the morrow, when John came to Sir Robin and didhim to wit that he would speak to the father of his wife; and thus hesaid to him: "Sir, thou art lord to my lord Sir Robin after God, andhe wedded thy daughter time was. But there was a wager betwixt himand Sir Raoul, who said that he would make him cuckold by then hereturned from St. Jakeme; whereof Sir Raoul hath made false report, whereas he hath had nor part nor lot in thy fair daughter. And hehath done disloyal treason. All which things I am ready to prove onhis body. " Then leapt forth Sir Robin and said: "John, fair friend, none shall do the battle save I; nowise shalt thou hang shield onneck herein. " Therewith Sir Robin reached his pledge to his lord;and Sir Raoul was sore grieving of the pledging, but needs must hedefend him, or cry craven; so he reached for this pledge rightcowardly. So were the pledges given, and day of battle appointed onthat day fifteen days without naysay. 

Now hear ye marvels of John what he did. John who had to name myLady Jehane, had in the house of her father a cousin germain of hers, who was a fair damsel, and of some five and twenty years. Jehanecame to her, and laid all the whole truth bare to her, and told herthe whole business from point to point, and showed her all openly;and prayed her much that she would hide all the matter until the timeand hour came when she should make herself known to her father. Wherefore her cousin, who knew her well, said to her that she wouldkeep all well hidden, so that by her it should never be discovered. Then was the chamber of her cousin dight for the Lady Jehane; and thesaid lady, the while of the fortnight before the battle should be, let bathe her and stove her; and she took her ease the best shemight, as one who well had therewithal. And she let cut and shapefor her duly four pair of gowns, of Scarlet, of Vair, of Perse, andof cloth of silk; and she took so well her ease that she came back toher most beauty, and was so fair and dainty as no lady might be more. 

But when it came to the end of the fifteen days, then was Sir Robinsore grieving of John his esquire, because he had lost him, and knewnot where he was become. But none the more did he leave to apparelhim for the fight as one who had heart enough and hardihood. 

On the morn of the day whenas the battle was appointed, came both theknights armed. They drew apart one from the other, and then theyfell on each other with the irons of their glaives, and smote on eachother with so great heat that they bore down each other's horses tothe earth beneath their bodies. Sir Raoul was hurt a little on theleft side. Sir Robin rose up the first, and came a great pace on SirRaoul, and smote him a great stroke on the helm in such wise that hebeat down the head-piece and drave in the sword on to the mail-coif, and sheared all thereto; but the coif was of steel so strong that hewounded him not, howbeit he made him to stagger, so that he caughthold of the arson of the saddle; and if he had not, he had fallen toearth. Then Sir Raoul, who was a good knight, smote Sir Robin sogreat a stroke upon the helm that he all to astonied him; and thestroke fell down to the shoulder, and sheared the mails of thehawberk, but hurt him not. Then Sir Robin smote him with all hismight, but he threw his shield betwixt, and Sir Robin smote off aquarter thereof. When Sir Raoul felt his strong strokes, hemisdoubted him much, and wished well that he were over sea, if hewere but quit of the battle, and Sir Robin back on the land which heheld. Nevertheless he put forth all his might and drew nigh, andfell on Sir Robin much hardly, and gave him a great stroke upon hisshield so that he sheared it to the boss thereof. But Sir Robin laida great stroke upon his helm, but he threw his shield betwixt and SirRobin sheared it amidst, and the sword fell upon the neck of thehorse, and sheared it amidst, and beat down straightway both horseand man. Then Sir Raoul leapt to his feet, as one who was in a stourexceeding heavy. Then Sir Robin lighted down, whereas he would notbetake him to his horse while the other was afoot. 

Now were both knights come unto the skirmish and they hewed in pieceseach other's shields and helms and haw--berks, and drew the bloodfrom each other's bodies with their trenchant swords; and had theysmitten as great strokes as at first, soon had they slain each other, for they had so little of their shields that scarce might they covertheir fists therewith. Yet had neither of them fear of death orshame: nevertheless the nighness of them to each other called onthem to bring the battle to an end. Sir Robin took his sword in bothhands, and smote Sir Raoul with all his might on the helm, andsheared it amidst, so that one half thereof fell upon the shoulders, and he sheared the steel coif, and made him a great wound on thehead; and Sir Raoul was so astonied of the stroke that he bent him tothe earth on one knee; but he rose up straightway and was in greatmisease when he thus saw his head naked, and great fear of death hehad. But he came up to Sir Robin and fetched a stroke with all hismight on what he had of shield and he sheared it asunder and thestroke came on the helm and cut into it well three fingers, so thatthe sword came on the iron coif, which was right good, so that thesword brake a-twain. When Sir Raoul saw his sword broken and hishead naked, he doubted much the death. Nevertheless he stooped downto the earth, and took up a great stone in his two hands, and cast itafter Sir Robin with all his might; but Sir Robin turned aside whenhe saw the stone coming, and ran on Sir Raoul, who took to flight allover the field; and Sir Robin said to him that he would slay him butif he cried craven. Whereon Sir Raoul thus bespake him: mercy onme, gentle knight, and ere my sword, so much as I have thereof, and Irender it to thee, and all of me therewith unto thy mercy; and I praythee have pity of me, and beg of thy lord and mine to have mercy onme and that thou and he save my life, and I render and give both thyland and mine. For I have held it against right and against reason. And I have wrongfully defamed the fair lady and good. 

When Sir Robin heard this, he said that he had done enough, and heprayed his lord so much that he pardoned Sir Raoul of his misdeed, insuch wise that he was quit thereof on the condition that he should goover seas and abide there lifelong. 

Thuswise conquered Sir Robin his land and the land of Sir Raoul toboot for all his days. But he was so sore grieving and sad at heartof his good dame and fair, whom he had thus lost, that he could haveno solace; and on the other hand, he was so sore grieving for Johnhis esquire whom he had so lost, that marvel it was. And his lordwas no less sad at heart for his fair daughter whom he had thus lost, and of whom he might have no tidings. 

But dame Jehane, who was in the chamber of her cousin germain forfifteen days in good ease, when she wotted that her lord hadvanquished the battle, was exceeding much at ease. Now she had donemake four pair of gowns, as is aforesaid, and she clad her with therichest of them which was of silk bended of fine gold of Araby. Moreover she was so fair of body and of visage, and so dainty withal, that nought in the world might be found fairer, so that her cousingermain all marvelled at her great beauty. And she had been bathed, and attired and had ease at all points for the fifteen days, so thatshe was come into so great beauty as wonder was. Much fair was theLady Jehane in her gown of silk bended of gold. So she called hercousin to her and said: "How deemest thou of me?" "What, dame!"said her cousin, "thou art the fairest lady of the world. " "I shalltell thee, then, fair cousin, what thou shalt do: go thou tell somuch before my father as that he shall make dole no more, but be gladand joyful, and that thou bearest him good news of his daughter whois whole and well; and that he come with thee and thou wilt show him. Then bring him hither, and meseemeth he will see me with a goodwill. " The damsel said that she would well do that errand and shecame to the father of the Lady Jehane, and said him what his daughterhad said. When her sire heard thereof great wonder he wist it, andwent with the damsel, and found his daughter in her chamber, and knewher straightway, and put his arms about her neck, and wept over herfor joy and pity, and had so great joy that scarce might he speak toher. Then he asked her where she had been so long a while. "Fairfather, " said she, "thou shalt know it well anon. But a-God's sakedo my lady mother to come to me, for I have great longing to seeher. " The lord sent for his wife, and when she came into the chamberwhere was her daughter, and saw her and knew her, she swooned forjoy, and might not speak a great while, and when she came out of herswooning none might believe the great joy that she made of herdaughter. 

But whiles they were in this joy, the father of the fair lady went toseek Sir Robin and bespake him thus: "Sir Robin, fair sweet son, tidings can I say thee exceeding joyous us between. " "Certes, " saidSir Robin, "of joy have I great need, for none save God can set redeto it whereby I may have joy. For I have lost thy fair daughter, whereof have I sore grief at heart. And thereto have I lost theswain and the squire, who of all in the world hath done me most good;to wit, John the good, my squire. " "Sir Robin, " said the lord, "beye nought dismayed thereof, for of squires thou shalt find enough. But of my fair daughter I could tell thee good tidings; for I haveseen her e'en now; and, wot ye well, she is the fairest lady that maybe in the world. " When Sir Robin heard that, he trembled all withjoy and said to his lord: "Ah, sir, for God's sake bring me where Imay see if this be true!" "With a good will, " said the lord; "comealong now. "

The lord went before and he after, till I they were come to thechamber, where the mother was yet making great feast of her daughter, and they were weeping with joy one over the other. But when they sawtheir rightful lords a-coming, they rose up; and so soon as Sir Robinknew his wife, he ran to her with his arms spread abroad, and theyclipped and kissed together dearly, and wept of joy and pity; andthey were thus embracing together for the space of the running of tenacres, or ever they might sunder. Then the lord commanded the tablesto be laid for supper, and they supped and made great joy. 

After supper, when the feast had been right great, they went to bed, and Sir Robin lay that night with the Lady Jehane his wife, who madehim great joy, and he her in likewise; and they spake together ofmany things, and so much that Sir Robin asked of her where she hadbeen; and she said: "Sir, long were it to tell, but thou shalt knowit well in time. Now tell to me what thou couldest to do, and wherethou hast been so long a while. " "Lady, " said Sir Robin, "that willI well tell thee. "

So he fell to telling her all that she well knew, and of John hisesquire, who had done him so much good, and said that he was sotroubled whereas he had thus lost him, that he would make never anend of wandering till he had found him, and that he would bestirhimself thereto the morrow's morn. "Sir, " said the lady, "that werefolly; and how should it be then; wouldst thou leave me, then?""Forsooth, dame, " said he, "e'en so it behoveth me. For none didever so much for another as he did for me. " "Sir, " said the dame, "wherein he did for thee, he did but duly. Even so he was bound todo. " "Dame, " said Sir Robin, "by what thou sayest thou shouldst knowhim. " "Forsooth, " said the lady, "I should ought to know him well, for never did he anything whereof I wotted not. " "Lady, " said SirRobin, "thou makest me to marvel at thy words. " "Sir, " said thelady, "never marvel thou hereof! If I tell thee a word for sooth andfor certain, wilt thou not believe me?" "Dame, " said he, "yea, verily. "

"Well, then, believe me in this, " said she; "for wot of a verity thatI am the very same John whom thou wouldest go seek, and I will tellthee how. For I knew that thou wert gone for the great sorrow thouhadst for my misdoing against thee, and for thy land which thoudeemedst thou hadst lost for ever. Whereas I had heard tell of theoccasion of the wager, and of the treason Sir Raoul had done, whereofI was so wroth as never woman was more wroth. Straightway I letshear my hair, and took the money in my coffer, about ten pounds ofTournais, and arrayed me like an esquire, and followed thee away toParis, and found thee at the tomb of Ysore; and there I fell intocompany with thee, and we went together into Marseilles, and werethere together seven years long, where I served thee unto my power asmy rightful lord, and I hold for well spent all the service that Idid thee. And know of a truth that I am innocent and just of thatwhich the evil knight laid upon me; as well appeareth whereas he hathbeen shamed in the field, and hath acknowledged the treason. "

Therewith my lady Jehane embraced Sir Robin, her lord, and kissed himon the mouth right sweetly; for Sir Robin understood well that it wasshe that had so well served him; and so great joy he had, that nonecould say it or think it; and much he wondered in his heart how shecould think to do that which so turned to her great goodness. Wherefore he loved her the more all the days of his life. 

Thus were these two good persons together; and they went to dwellupon their land, which they had both wide and fair. Good life theyled as for young folk who loved dearly together. Sir Robin wentoften to tournays with his lord, of whose mesney he was, and muchworship he won, and great prize he conquered and great wealth, anddid so much that he gat him as much land again as he had had. Andwhen the lord and his lady were dead, then had he all the land. Andhe did so well by his prowess that he was made a double banneret, andhe had well four thousand pounds of land. But never might he havechild by his wife, whereof he was much grieved. Thus was he with hiswife for ten years after he had conquered the battle with Sir Raoul. 

After the term of ten years, by the will of God, to whom we be allsubject, the pain of death took hold of him, and he died like avaliant man, and had all his rights, and was laid in earth with greatworship. His wife the fair lady made so great sorrow over him, thatall they that saw her had pity of her; but in the end needs must sheforget her mourning and take comfort, for as little as it were. Muchabode the lady in her widowhood as a good dame and a holy, for sheloved much God and Holy Church. She held her much humbly and muchshe loved the poor, and did them much good, and was so good a ladythat none knew how to blame her or to say of her aught save greatgood. Therewithal was she so fair, that each one said who saw her, that she was the mirror of all ladies in the world for beauty andgoodness. But here leaveth the tale a little to speak of her, andreturneth to tell of the King Florus, of whom it hath been silent agreat while. 

For saith the tale, that King Florus of Ausay was in his own countrysore grieving, and ill at ease for the departure of his first wife. Notwithstanding the other was brought unto him, and was both fair anddainty, but he could not hold her in his heart like as he did thefirst one. Four years was he with her, but never child might he haveof her; and when the said time was ended the pains of death took thea lady, and she was buried, whereof her friends were sore grieving. But service was done unto her, as was meet to a queen. 

Then abode King Florus in widowhood more than two years, and he wasstill a young man, whereas he was not of more than five-and-fortywinters, wherefore the barons said to him that he behoved to marryagain. "Forsooth, " said King Florus, "so to do have I no greatlonging, for two wives have I had, and never child might I have byeither. And on the other hand, the first that I had was so good andso fair, and so much I loved her in my heart for the great beautythat was in her, that I may not forget her. And I tell you well thatnever woman will I wed but may have her as fair and as good as wasshe. Now may God have mercy on her soul, for she hath passed away inthe abbey where she was, as folk have done me to wit. " "Ha, sir, "said a knight, who was of his privy counsel, "there be many gooddames up and down the country side, of whom ye know not all; and Iknow one who hath not for goodness and beauty her peer in the world. And if thou knew her goodness, and saw but her beauty, thou wouldstsay well that happy were the king who held the danger of such a lady. And wot well that she is a gentle lady, and valiant, and rich, and ofgreat lands. And I will tell thee a part of her goodness so pleasethee. "

So the king said that he would well he should tell him. Whereforethe knight fell to telling how she had bestirred her to go seek herlord, and how she found him and brought him to Marseilles, and thegreat goodness and great services which she did him, even as the talehath told afore, so that King Florus wondered much thereat; and hesaid to the knight privily that such a woman he would take with agood will. 

"Sir, " said the knight, who was of the country of the lady, "I willgo to her, if it please thee, and I will so speak to her, if I may, that the marriage of you two shall be made. " "Yea, " said KingFlorus, "I will well that thou go, and I pray thee to give good heedto the business. "

So the knight bestirred him, and went so much by his journeys that hecame to the country where dwelt the fair dame, whom the tale callethmy Lady Jehane, and found her abiding at a castle of hers, and shemade him great joy, as one whom she knew. The knight drew her toprivy talk, and told her of King Florus of Ausay, how he bade hercome unto him that he might take her to wife. When the lady heardthe knight so speak, she began to smile, which beseemed her rightwell, and she said to the knight: "Thy king is neither so welllearned, nor so courteous as I had deemed, whereas he biddeth me cometo him and he will take me to wife: forsooth, I am no wageling ofhim to go at his command. But say to thy king, that, so please him, he come to me, if he prize me so much and loveth me, and it seem goodto him that I take him to husband and spouse, for the lords ought tobeseech the ladies, and not ladies the lords. " "Lady, " said theknight, "all that thou hast said to me, I will tell him straight; butI doubt that he hold not with pride. " "Sir knight, " said the lady, "he shall take what heed thereof may please him but in the matterwhereof I have spoken to thee, he hath neither courtesy nor reason. ""Lady, " said the knight, "so be it, a-God's name! And I will get megone, with thy leave, to my lord the king, and will tell him whatthou hast told me. And if thou wilt give me any word more, now tellit me. " "Yea, " said the lady, "tell him that I send him greeting, and that I can him much good will for the honour he biddeth me. "

So the knight departed therewith from the lady, and came the fourthday thereafter to King Florus of Ausay, and found him in his chamber, whereas he was speaking with his privy counsel. The knight greetedthe king, who returned the greeting, and made him sit by his side, and asked tidings of the fair lady, and he told all her message howshe would not come to him, whereas she was not his wageling to comeat his command: for that lords are bound to beseech ladies how shehad given him word that she sent him greeting, and could him goodwillfor the honour he bade her. When the King Florus had heard thesewords, he fell a-pondering, and spake no word for a great while. 

"Sir, " said a knight who was of his most privity, "what ponderestthou so much? Forsooth, all these words well befit a good lady andwise to say; and so, may help me God, she is both wise and valiant. Wherefore I counsel thee in good faith that thou look to a day whenthou canst be there; that thou send greeting to her that thou wilt bethere on such day to do her honour, and take her to wife. ""Forsooth, " said King Florus, "I will send word that I will be therein the month of Paske, and that she apparel her to receive such a manas I be. " Then said King Florus to the knight who had been to thelady, that within three days he should go his ways to tell the ladythese tidings. So on the third day the knight departed, and went somuch that he came to the lady, and said that the king sent word thathe would be with her in the month of Paske; and she answered that itwas so by God's will, and that she would speak with her friends, andthat she would be arrayed to do his will as the honour of a good ladycalled on her. After these words departed the knight, and came tohis lord King Florus, and told him the answer of the fair lady, as yehave heard it. So King Florus of Ausay dight his departure, and wenthis ways with a right great folk to come to the country of the fairlady; and when he was come thither, he took her and wedded her, andhad great joy and great feast thereof. Then he led her into hiscountry where folk made exceeding great joy of her. But King Florusloved her much for her great beauty, and for the great wit and greatvaliancy that was in her. 

And within the year that he had taken her to wife, she was big withchild, and she bore the fruit of her belly so long as right was, andwas delivered of a daughter first, and of a son thereafter, who hadto name Florence and the daughter had to name Floria. And the childFlorence was exceeding fair, and when he was a knight he was the bestthat knew arms in his time, so that he was chosen to be Emperor ofConstantinople. A much valiant man was he, and wrought much wrackand dole on the Saracens. But the daughter became queen of the landof her father, and the son of the King of Hungary took her to wife, and lady she was of two realms. 

This great honour gave God to the fair lady for the goodness of herand her loyalty. A great while abode King Florus with that fairlady; and when it pleased God that his time came, he had such goodlyknowledge that God had in him a fair soul. Thereafter the lady livedbut a half year, and passed away from the world as one good andloyal, and had fair end and good knowledge. 

Here endeth the tale of King Florus and the Fair Jehane. 

THE HISTORY OF OVER SEA

In years bygone was a Count of Ponthieu, who loved much chivalry andthe world, and was a much valiant man and a good knight. 

In the same times was a Count of St. Pol, who held all the country, and was lord thereof, and a man much valiant. He had no heir of hisflesh, whereof he was sore grieving; but a sister he had, a much gooddame, and a valiant woman of much avail, who was Dame of Dontmart inPonthieu. The said dame had a son, Thibault by name, who was heir ofthe country of St. Pol, but a poor man so long as his uncle lived; hewas a brave knight and a valiant, and good at arms: noble he was, and goodly, and was much honoured and loved of good folk; for a highman he was, and gentle of blood. 

Now the Count of Ponthieu, with whom beginneth this tale, had a wife, a much good dame: of the said dame he had a daughter, much good andof much avail, the which waxed in great beauty and multiplied in muchgood; and she was of well sixteen years of age. But within the thirdyear of her birth, her mother died, whereof sore troubled she was andmuch sorrowful. 

The Count, her father, wedded him right speedily thereafter, and tooka high lady and a gentle; and in a little while the Count had of thesaid lady a son, whom he loved much. The said son waxed in greatworth and in great goodness, and multiplied in great good. 

The Count of Ponthieu, who was a valiant man, saw my lord Thibault ofDontmart, and summoned him, and retained him of his meney; and whenhe had him of his meney he was much joyous thereat, for the Countmultiplied in great good and in great avail by means of him. 

As they returned from a tournament, the Count called to him MessireThibault, and asked of him and said: "Thibault, as God may helpthee, tell me what jewel of my land thou lovest the best?" "Sir, "said Messire Thibault, "I am but a poor man, but, as God may help me, of all the jewels of thy land I love none so much as my damosel, thydaughter. " The Count, when he heard that, was much merry and joyfulin his heart, and said: "Thibault, I will give her to thee if shewill. " "Sir, " said he, "much great thank have thou; God rewardthee. "

Then went the Count to his daughter, and said to her: "Fairdaughter, I have married thee, save by thee be any hindrance. ""Sir, " said she, "unto whom?" "A-God's name, " said he, "to a muchvaliant man, of much avail: to a knight of mine, who hath to nameThibault of Dontmart. " "Ha, " sir, said she, "if thy country were akingdom, and should come to me all wholly, forsooth I should hold meright well wedded in him. " "Daughter, " said the Count, "blessed bethine heart, and the hour wherein thou wert born. "

So the wedding was done; the Count of Ponthieu and the Count of St. Pol were thereat, and many another good valiant man. With great joywere they assembled, in great lordship and in great mirth: and ingreat joy dwelt those together for five years. But it pleased notour Lord Jesus Christ that they should have an heir of their flesh, which was a heavy matter to both of them. 

On a night lay Messire Thibault in his bed and pondered sore, andsaid: "God! of whom it cometh that I love so much this dame, and sheme, and forsooth no heir of our flesh may we have, whereby God mightbe served, and good be done to the world. " Therewith he thought onmy lord St. Jakeme, the apostle of Galicia, who would give to such ascrave aright that which by right they crave, and he behight him theroad thither in his heart. 

The dame was a-sleeping yet, and whenas she awoke he held her betwixthis arms, and prayed her that she would give him a gift. "Sir, " saidthe dame, "and what gift?" "Dame, " said he, "thou shalt wot thatwhen I have it. " "Sir, " she said, "if I may give it, I will give it, whatso it may be. " "Dame, " he said, "I crave leave of thee to go tomy lord St. Jacque the Apostle, that he may pray our Lord JesusChrist to give us an heir of our flesh, whereby God may be served inthis world, and the Holy Church refreshed. " "Sir, " said the dame, "the gift is full courteous, and much debonairly will I grant itthee. "

In much great joy were they for long while: wore one day, andanother, and a third; and it befell that they lay together in bed ona night, and then said the dame: "Sir, I pray and require of thee agift. " "Dame, " said he, "ask, and I will give it, if give it I may. ""Sir, " she said, "I crave leave of thee to go with thee on thyjourney. '

When Messire Thibault heard that, he was much sorrowful, and said:"Dame, grievous thing would it be to thine heart, for the way is muchlongsome, and the land is much strange and much diverse. " She said:"Sir, doubt thou nought of me, for of such littlest squire that thouhast, shalt thou be more hindered than of me. " "Dame, " said he, "a-God's name, I grant it thee. "

Day came, and the tidings ran so far till the Count of Ponthieu knewit, and sent for Messire Thibault, and said: "Thibault, thou artvowed a pilgrim, as they tell me, and my daughter also?" "Sir, " saidhe, "that is sooth. " "Thibault, " said the Count, "concerning thee itis well, but concerning my daughter it is heavy on me. " "Sir, " saidMessire Thibault, "I might not naysay her. " "Thibault, " said theCount, "bestir ye when ye will; so hasten ye your palfreys, yournags, and your sumpter-beasts; and I will give you pennies andhavings enow. " "Sir, " said Messire Thibault, "great thank I givethee. "

So then they arrayed them, and departed with great joy; and they wentso far by their journeys, that they drew nigh to St. Jacque by lessthan two days. 

On a night they came to a good town, and in the evening MessireThibault called his host, and asked him concerning the road for themorrow, what road they should find, and what like it might be; and hesaid to him: "Fair sir, at the going forth from this town ye shallfind somewhat of a forest to pass through, and all the day after agood road. " Therewith they held their peace, and the bed wasapparelled, and they went to rest. 

The morrow was much fair, and the pilgrims rose up at daybreak andmade noise. Messire Thibault arose, and found him somewhat heavy, wherefore he called his chamberlain, and said: "Arise now, and doour meyney to truss and go their ways, and thou shalt abide with meand truss our harness: for I am somewhat heavy and ill at ease. " Sothat one commanded the sergeants the pleasure of their lord, and theywent their ways. 

But a little while was ere Messire Thibault and his wife arose andarrayed them, and got to the road. The chamberlain trussed theirbed, and it was not full day, but much fair weather. They issued outof the town, they three, without more company but only God, and drewnigh to the forest; and whenas they came thither, they found twoways, one good, and the other bad. Then Messire Thibault said to hischamberlain: "Prick spur now, and come up with our folk, and bidthem abide us, for ugly thing it is for a dame and a knight to wendthe wild-wood with little company. "

So the chamberlain went his ways speedily; and Messire Thibault cameinto the forest, and came on the sundering ways, and knew not bywhich to wend. So he said: "Dame, by which way go we?" "Sir, " saidshe, "by the good way, so please God. "

But in this forest were certain strong-thieves, who wasted the goodway, and made the false way wide and side, and like unto the other, for to make pilgrims go astray. So Messire Thibault lighted down, and looked on the way, and found the false way bigger and wider thanthe good; so he said: "Come dame, a-God's name, this is it. " Sothey entered therein, and went a good quarter of a league, and thenbegan the way to wax strait, and the boughs to hang alow; so he said:"Dame, meseemeth that we go not well. "

When he had so said, he looked before him, and saw four strong-thieves armed, upon four big horses, and each one held spear in hand. And when he beheld them, he looked behind him, and saw other four inother fashion armed and arrayed; and he said: "Dame, be not abashedat anything thou mayst see now from henceforward. " Then MessireThibault greeted those first come, but they held them all aloof fromhis greeting. So thereafter he asked them what was their will towardhim; and one thereof said: "That same shall we tell thee anon. "

Therewith the strong thief came against Messire Thibault with glaivein rest, and thought to smite him amidst of the body; and MessireThibault saw the stroke a-coming, and if he doubted thereof, nomarvel was it; but he swerved from the stroke as best he might, andthat one missed him; and as he passed by him Messire Thibault threwhimself under the glaive, and took it from the strong thief, andbestirred him against those three whence that one was come, and smoteone of them amidst the body, and slew him; and thereafter turnedabout, and went back, and smote him who had first come on him amidstof the body, and slew him. 

Now it pleased God that of the eight strong-thieves he slew three, and the other five encompassed him, and slew his palfrey, so that hefell adown on his back without any wound to grieve him: he hadneither sword nor any other armour to help him. So the strong-thieves took his raiment from him, all to his shirt, and his spursand shoon; and then they took a sword-belt, and bound his hands andhis feet, and cast him into a bramble-bush much sharp and much rough. 

And when they had thus done, they came to the Lady, and took from herher palfrey and all her raiment, right to her smock; and she was muchfair, and she was weeping tenderly, and much and of great manner wasshe sorrowful. 

Then one of the strong-thieves beheld her, and said thus to hisfellows: "Masters, I have lost my brother in this stour, thereforewill I have this Lady in atonement thereof. " Another said: "But Ialso, I have lost my cousin-german; therefore I claim as much as thouherein: yea, and another such right have I. " And even in such wisesaid the third and the fourth and the fifth; but at last said one:"In the holding of this Lady ye have no great getting nor gain; solet us lead her into the forest here, and do our will on her, andthen set her on the road again and let her go. " So did they even asthey had devised, and set her on the road again. 

Messire Thibault saw it well, and much sorrowful he was, but noughtmight he do against it; nor none ill will had he against the Lady forthat which had befallen her; for he wotted well that it had beenperforce and against the will of her. The Lady was much sorrowful, and all ashamed. So Messire Thibault called to her and said: "Dame, for God's sake come hither and unbind me, and deliver me from thegrief wherein I am; for these brambles grieve me sore and anguishme. "

So the Lady went whereas lay Messire Thibault, and espied a swordlying behind there of one of the strong-thieves who had been slain. So she took it, and went toward her lord, full of great ire and evilwill of that which was befallen. For she doubted much that he wouldhave her in despite for that he had seen her thus, and that he wouldreprove her one while and lay before her what had her betid. Shesaid: "Sir, I will deliver thee anon. "

Therewith she hove up the sword and came to her lord, and thought tosmite him amidst of the body; and when he saw the stroke coming hedoubted it much, for he was all naked to his shirt and breeches, andno more. Therefore so hardly he quaked, that the hands and thefingers of him; were sundered; and in such wise she smote him thatshe but hurt him a little, and sheared the thongs wherewith he wasbound; and when he felt the bonds slacken, he drew to him and brakethe thongs, and leapt to his feet, and said: "Dame, so please God, no more to-day shalt thou slay me. " But she said: "Of a surety, sir, I am heavy thereof. "

He took the sword of her, and put it back into the scabbard, andthereafter laid his hand on her shoulder, and brought her back on theroad whereby they had come. And when he came to the entry of thewood, there found he a great part of his company, which was come tomeet him and when they saw them thus naked, they asked of him: "Sir, who hath thus arrayed you?" But he told them that they had fallen inwith strong-thieves, who had thus ensnared them. Much great dolethey made thereof; but speedily were they clad and arrayed, for theyhad well enough thereto so they gat to horse and went their ways. 

That day they rode, and for nought that had befallen Messire Thibaultmade no worser semblance unto the Lady. That night they came unto agood town, and there they harboured. Messire Thibault asked of hishost if there were any house of religion anigh thereto, where onemight leave a lady, and the host said: "Sir, it befalleth well tothee; hard by without is a house much religious and of much gooddames. "

Wore the night, and Messire Thibault went on the morrow into thathouse and heard mass, and thereafter spake to the abbess, and theconvent, and prayed them that they would guard that Lady there tillhis coming back; and they granted it to him much willingly. MessireThibault left of his meney there to serve the Lady, and went hisways, and did his pilgrimage the best he might. And when he had donehis pilgrimage fair and well, he returned, and came to the Lady. Hedid good to the house, and gave thereto of his havings, and took theLady unto him again, and led her into his country with as much greathonour as he had led her away, save the lying a-bed with her. 

When he was gotten aback into his land, much great joy did they makeof him, and of the Lady. At his homecoming was the Count ofPonthieu, the father of the Lady, and there also was the Count of St. Pol, who was uncle unto my lord Thibault. A many was there of goodfolk and valiant at their coming. The Lady was much honoured ofdames and of damsels. 

That day the Count of Ponthieu sat, he and Messire Thibault, they twotogether, at one dish, and so it fell out that the Count said to him:"Thibault, fair son, he who long way wendeth heareth much, and seethof adventures, whereof nought they know who stir not; tell me tale, then, if it please thee, of some matter which thou hast seen, orheard tell of, since ye departed hence. "

Messire Thibault answered him that he knew of no adventure to tellof; but the Count prayed him again, and tormented him thereto, andheld him sore to tell of some adventure, insomuch that MessireThibault answered him: "Sir, since tell I needs must, I will tellthee; but so please thee, let it not be within earshot of so muchfolk. " The Count answered and said that it so pleased him well. Soafter dinner, whenas they had eaten, the Count arose and took MessireThibault by the hand, and said to him: "Now would I that thou saythy pleasure, for here is not a many of folk. "

And Messire Thibault fell to telling how that it had betid to aknight and a lady, even as ye have heard in the tale told; but hetold not the persons unto whom it had befallen: and the Count, whowas much sage and right thoughtful, asked what the knight had donewith the Lady; and he answered that the knight had brought and ledthe Lady back to her own country, with as much great joy and as muchgreat honour as he had led her thence, save lying in the bed whereaslay the Lady. 

"Thibault, " said the Count, "otherwise deemed the knight than I haddeemed; for by the faith which I owe unto God, and unto thee, whommuch I love, I would have hung the Lady by the tresses to a tree orto a bush, or by the very girdle, if none other cord I might find. ""Sir, " said Messire Thibault, "nought so certain is the thing as itwill be if the Lady shall bear witness thereto with her very body. ""Thibault, " said the Count, "knowest thou who was the knight?""Sir, " said Messire Thibault, "yet again I pray thee that thou acquitme of naming the knight to whom this adventure betid: know of averity that in naming him lieth no great gain. " "Thibault, " said theCount, "know that it is not my pleasure that thou hide it. " "Sir, "said Thibault, "then will I tell the same, since I may not beacquitted thereof, as willingly I would be if it were your pleasure;for in telling thereof lieth not great avail, nor great honour. ""Thibault, " said the Count, "since the word has gone so far, knowthat I would wot straightway who was the knight unto whom thisadventure betid; and I conjure thee, by the faith which thou owest toGod and to me, that thou tell me who was the knight, since thouknowest thereof. "

"Sir, " said Messire Thibault, "by that wherewith thou hast conjuredme withal, I will tell thee. And I would well that thou shalt knowof a verity that I am the knight unto whom this adventure betid. Andwot thou that I was sore grieving and abashed in my heart; and wotthou well that never erst have I spoken thereof to any man alive;and, moreover, with a good will had I put aside the telling of it, ifit had but pleased thee. "

But when the Count had heard tell this adventure, much grieving washe, and abashed, and held his peace a great while, and spake no word;and when he spoke, he said: "Thibault, then to my daughter it wasthat this adventure betid?" "Sir, " said he, "of a verity. ""Thibault, " said the Count, "well shalt thou be avenged, since thouhast brought her back to me. "

And because of the great ire which the Count had, he called for hisdaughter, and asked of her if that were true which Messire Thibaulthad said; and she asked, "What?" and he answered: "This, that thouwouldest have slain him, even as he hath told it?" "Sir, " she said, "yea. " "And wherefore, " said the Count, "wouldst thou have done it?""Sir, " said she, "hereto, for that yet it grieveth me that I did itnot, and that I slew him not. "

So the Count let all that be, and abode till the Court was departed. Thereafter was he at Rue-on-Sea, and Messire Thibault with him, andthe son of the Count; and the Count let lead with him the Lady. Thenthe Count let array a strong craft and a trim, and did do the Ladyenter therein; and withal let lay therein a tun, all new, strong, andgreat, and thick. Then they entered into the said ship, all three, without fellowship of other folk, save the mariners who rowed theship. Then did the Count cause them to row a full two leagues out tosea; and much marvelled each one of what he thought to do, but nonedurst ask him. 

But when they were so far forth in the sea as ye have heard, theCount let smite out one head of the tun, and took the Lady, who washis daughter, and who was much fair and well attired, and made her toenter in the tun, would she, would she not; and then let head up thetun again straightway, and dight it well, and let redo the staves, and stop it well, that the water might not enter in no manner. Thenthe Count let put it overboard the ship, and he laid hand theretowith his very own body, and thrust the tun into the sea, and said:"I commend thee unto the winds and the waves. "

Much grieving was Messire Thibault thereat, and the brother of theLady withal; yea, and all they that saw the same; and they fell allat the feet of the Count, and prayed him mercy, that from out of thattun they might take her and deliver her. But the Count, who was muchwroth and full of ire, would not grant it them for any thing thatthey might do or pray. So they let it be, and prayed to JesusChrist, the Sovereign Father, that he, of his exceeding greatgoodness, would have pity of her soul, and do her pardon of her sins. 

Thus have they left the Lady in great mischief and great peril, evenas ye have heard the tale tell afore, and thus they returned thence. But our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the Sovereign Father of us all, andwho willeth not the death of sinners, be they he or she, but thatthey may turn them from their sins and live (every day he showeth itunto us openly by works, by examples, and by miracles), sent succourunto the Lady, even as ye may hear further on. 

For the history testifieth us, and telleth of a verity, that amerchant ship which came from the parts of Flanders, before the Countand his fellows were well come aland, saw the tun floating even asthe winds and waves led it. So said one of the merchants to hisfellows: "Masters, lo there a tun, and it shall come our way, meseemeth; and if we draw it aboard, well shall we have some avail ofit in any case. "

Now know ye that this ship was wont to go to the Land of the Saracensfor cheaping. So the mariners drew thither where was the tun, anddid so much, what by wile, what by force, that they gat the tun on totheir ship. And when the tun was laid on their ship, they lookedmuch thereon, and much marvelled what it might be; and so much, thatthey beheld how one of the heads of the said tun was newly arrayed. Wherefore they unheaded it, and found the Lady therein, in such caseas though her hour were waning, for air failed her. Her body wasbig, her visage all swollen, and her eyes ugly and troubled. Butwhen she saw the air, and felt the wind, she sighed a little, and themerchants stood about her and called unto her, but she had no mightto speak. But at last the heart came aback to her, and speechwithal, and she spoke to the merchants and other folk whom she sawaround her; and much she marvelled when she found herself in suchwise amidst of the merchants; but when she saw of them that they wereChristians and merchants, the more at ease she was, and much shepraised Jesus Christ therefor in her heart, and thanked him of hisgoodness, whereas he had so done by her that she yet had a space oflife. For she had much great devotion in her heart, and much greatdesire to amend her life toward God, and toward others, of themisdeeds she had done, whereof she doubted mightily. 

The merchants asked her of whence she was, and she hid the matterfrom them, and said that a wretched thing she was, and a poor sinner, even as they might behold; and that by much cruel adventure was shethither come; and for God's sake let them have mercy upon her: andthey answered that even so would they. And she ate and drank, andbecame much fair. 

Now so far went the ship of the merchants, that they came to the Landof the Saracens, and took haven by Aumarie. Galleys of the Saracenscame to meet them, and they answered that they were merchants who leddivers merchandise by many lands; and that they had the safe-conductof princes and high barons, and that they might go into all landssurely, to seek chaffer and lead their goods. 

So they brought the Lady aland, and were with her. And one asked theother what they should do with her; and one said that they shouldsell her; and another said: "If I may be trowed, we shall give heras a gift to the rich Soudan of Aumarie, and then will our matter bemightily amended. "

Thereto they accorded all, and they took the Lady and brought her tothe Soudan, who was a young man: but first they did do attire andarray the Lady much richly, and so gave her to the Soudan, whoreceived the Lady much joyously and with much good-will, for rightfair was she. The Soudan asked of them what she was, and they said:"Sir, we wot not; but by marvellous adventure did we find her. "

Much good-will had the Soudan to them of this gift, and much good hedid to them therefor. Much he loved the Lady withal, and he letserve her honourably. Well was she heeded, and the colour came againunto her, and she became marvellous fair. 

The Soudan fell to coveting the Lady and to loving of her; and he letask her by Latiners of what folk she was, but no sooth thereof wouldshe tell him or let him know. Thereof was he heavy, whereas he sawof her that she was a high woman, and of gentle lineage. He let askof her if she were Christian, and that if she would leave her law hewould take her to wife, for no wife had he as yet. She saw well thatbetter it were to come thereto by love than by force, so she answeredthat so would she do of a good will; and when she had renied her, andhad left her law, the Soudan took her to wife according to the mannerand wont of the Land of the Saracens. He held her right dear, andhonoured her much, and waxed of great love towards her. 

But a little while was she with the Soudan ere she was big of a son, and lay in at her time; the Soudan was right glad, and made muchgreat joy. And the dame was ever of good fellowship with the folk, and much courteous and of good will toward them, and learnt so muchthat she knew the Saracen tongue. 

But a little while wore in the years whereas she had the son, ere sheconceived and had a daughter, who anon became much fair and muchwise, and in all lordliness she let nourish her. Thus was the Ladyabiding a two years in much joy and mirth. 

But now the story leaves telling of the Lady and the Soudan tillafter, as ye shall come to hear, and returneth to the Count ofPonthieu, and to the son of the Count, and to Messire Thibault ofDontmart, who were sore grieving for the Lady who had been thuswisecast into the sea, even as ye have heard, and knew no tidings of her, what was become of her, and trowed more that she were dead thanalive. 

Now saith the history, and the sooth beareth witness thereto, thatthe Count was in Ponthieu, and his son, and Messire Thibault. TheCount was in sore great sadness, and heavy thought of his daughter, and much he doubted him of the sin which he had done. MessireThibault durst not to wed him; nor did the son of the Count either, because of the dolour wherein he saw his friends abiding. Neitherwould the son of the Count become knight, though he were well of anage thereto, had he the will. 

On a day the Count forthought him much of the sin which he had doneto his daughter, and he betook him to the Archbishop of Rheims andconfessed to him, and said to him all the deed, as he had done it. He took the cross of Over Sea, and crossed him. And whenas MessireThibault saw his lord the Count crossed, he confessed him and crossedhim withal. Likewise, when the son of the Count saw his fathercrossed, and Messire Thibault also, whom he loved much, he alsocrossed himself. And when the Count saw his son crossed, he was muchgrieved, and said: "Fair son, wherefore art thou crossed? Now shallthe land abide void of lord. " But the son answered and said:"Father, I am crossed for God's sake first before all things, and forthe saving of my soul, and to serve God and honour him to my power, so long as I shall have the life in my body. "

So the Count arrayed him speedily and bestirred him, and went andtook leave; but withal he looked to it who should ward his land. AndMessire Thibault and the son of the Count dight their matters, andthey took to the way with much great safe-conduct. They came in theLand of Over Sea safe of body and havings, and there they did theirpilgrimage much holily in all the places whereas they wotted that itought to be done, and God to be served. 

And when the Count had so done, he bethought him that he would wellto do yet more: so he gave himself to the service of the Temple forone year, him and his company; and then when it came to the end ofthe year, deemed that he would go visit his land and his country. Wherefore he sent unto Acre and let array his journey, and he tookleave of them of the Temple, and of the land, and much they thankedhim for the honour which he had brought them. He came to Acre withhis fellows, and they went aboard ship, and departed from the havenwith right good wind at will; but it endured but for a little; forwhen they were on the high sea, then did a wind mighty and horriblefall upon them unawares; and the mariners knew not whitherward theywent, and every hour they looked to be drowned; and so great wastheir distress that they bound themselves together, the son to thefather, the nephew to the uncle, yea, one to the other, even as theywere intermingled. The Count and his son and Messire Thibault boundthemselves together so that they might not sunder. 

But a little way had they gone in this wise ere they saw land; andthey asked the mariners what land it was, and they answered that itwas the Land of the Saracens; and they called it the Land of Aumarie, and said unto the Count: "Sir, what is thy pleasure that we do? forif we go yonder, we shall be all taken and fall into the hands of theSaracens. " The Count said to them: "Let go according to the will ofJesus Christ, who shall take heed to our bodies and our lives; for ofan eviller or uglier death we may not die than to die in this sea. "

So they let run along Aumarie, and galleys and craft of the Saracenscame against them. Wot ye well that this was an evil meeting; forthey took them and brought them before the Soudan, who was lord ofthat land and country. So they made him a present of the Christiansand of all their havings: the Soudan departed them, and sent them todivers places of his prisons. The Count of Ponthieu and his son andMessire Thibault were so strongly bound together that they might notbe sundered. The Soudan commanded that they should be laid in aprison by themselves, where they should have but little to eat andlittle to drink; and it was done even as he commanded. There werethey a while of time in great misease, and so long that the son ofthe Count was much sick, insomuch that the Count and Messire Thibaulthad fear of his dying. 

Thereafter it fell out that the Soudan held court much mightily, andmade great joy for his birthday; and this was after the custom of theSaracens. 

After dinner came the Saracens unto the Soudan, and said to him:"Sir, we require of thee our right. " He asked them what it was, andthey said: "Sir, a captive Christian to set up at the butts. " So hegranted it to them whereas it was a matter of nought, and he said tothem: "Go ye to the gaol, and take him who has the least of life inhim. "

To the gaol they went, and drew out the Count, all bedone with athick beard; and when the Soudan saw him in so poor estate, he saidto them: "This one hath little might to live; go ye, lead him hence, and do ye your will on him. "

The wife of the Soudan, of whom ye have heard, who was daughter ofthe Count, was in the place whereas the Count who was her father wasbeing led to the death, and so soon as she saw him, the blood and theheart was stirred within her, not so much for that she knew him, butrather that nature constrained her. Then said the Lady to theSoudan: "Sir, I am French, wherefore I would willingly speak toyonder poor man before he dieth, if it please thee. " "Yea, dame, "said the Soudan, "it pleaseth me well. "

So the Lady came to the Count, and drew him apart, and caused theSaracens to draw aback, and asked him of whence he was, and he said:"Lady, I am of the kingdom of France, of a land which is calledPonthieu. "

When the Lady heard that, all the blood of her stirred within her, and straightway she asked of what kindred he was. "Certes, dame, "said he, "it may not import to me of what kin I be, for I havesuffered so many pains and griefs since I departed, that I lovebetter to die than to live; but so much can I tell thee of a sooth, that I was the Count of Ponthieu. "

When the Lady heard that, she made no semblance, but forthwithdeparted from the Count and came to the Soudan, and said: "Sir, giveme this captive, if it please thee, for he knoweth the chess and thetables, and fair tales withal, which shall please thee much; and heshall play before thee and learn thee. " "Dame, " said the Soudan, "bymy law, wot that with a good will I will give him thee; do with himas thou wilt. "

Then the Lady took him and sent him into her chamber, and the jailerswent to seek another, and led out Messire Thibault, who was thehusband of the Lady; and in sorry raiment was he, for he was dightwith long hair, and had a great beard; he was lean and fleshless, asone who had suffered pain and dolour enough. When the Lady saw him, she said unto the Soudan: "Sir, again with this one would Iwillingly speak, if it please thee. " "Dame, " said the Soudan, "itpleaseth me well. " So the Lady came to Messire Thibault, and askedhim of whence he was, and he said: "I am of the land of the oldwarrior whom they led before thee e'en now: and I had his daughterto wife; and I am a knight. "

The Lady knew well her lord, so she went back unto the Soudan, andsaid to him: "Sir, great goodness wilt thou do unto me if thou wiltgive me this one also. " "Dame, " said he, "with a good will I willgive him to thee. " So she thanked him, and sent him into her chamberwith the other. 

But the archers hastened and came to the Soudan, and said: "Sir, thou doest us wrong, and the day is a-waning. " And therewith theywent to the gaol and brought out the son of the Count, who was allcovered with his hair and dishevelled, as one who had not been washena while. Young man he was, so that he had not yet a beard; but solean he was, and so sick and feeble, that scarce might he hold himup. And when the Lady saw him, she had of him much great pity. Shecame to him and asked of him whose son, and whence he was, and hesaid he was the son of the first worthy. Then she wotted well thathe was her brother, but no semblance she made thereof. 

"Sir, certes, " said she to the Soudan, "thou wilt now do me greatgoodness if thou wilt give me this one also; for he knows the chessand the tables, and all other games, which much shall please thee tosee and to hear. " But the Soudan said: "Dame, by my law, were therean hundred of them I would give them unto thee willingly. "

The Lady thanked him much, and took her brother, and sent himstraightway into her chamber. But the folk betook them anew to thegaol, and brought forth another; and the Lady departed thence, whereas she knew him not. So was he led to his martyrdom, and ourLord Jesus Christ received his soul. But the Lady went her waysforthwith; for it pleased her not, the martyrdoms which the Saracensdid on the Christians. 

She came to her chamber wherein were the prisoners, and when they sawher coming, they made as they would rise up, but she made sign tothem to hold them still. Then she went close up to them, and madethem sign of friendship. And the Count, who was right sage, askedthereon: "Dame, when shall they slay us?" And she answered that itwould not be yet. "Dame, " said they, "thereof are we heavy; for wehave so great hunger, that it lacketh but a little of our heartsdeparting from us. "

Thereat she went forth and let array meat; and then she brought it, and gave to each one a little, and a little of drink. And when theyhad taken it, then had they yet greater hunger than afore. Thuswiseshe gave them to eat, ten times the day, by little and little; forshe doubted that if they ate all freely, that they would take so muchas would grieve them. Wherefore she did them to eat thus attemperly. 

Thuswise did the good dame give them might again; and they werebefore her all the first seven days, and the night-tide she did themto lie at their ease; and she did them do off their evil raiment andlet give them good and new. After the eighth day, she hadstrengthened them little by little and more and more; and then shelet bring them victuals and drink to their contentment, and in suchwise that they were so strong that she abandoned to them the victualand the drink withal. They had chequers and tables, and playedthereon, and were in all content. The Soudan was ofttimes with them, and good will he had to see them play, and much it pleased him. Butthe dame refrained her sagely toward them, so that never was one ofthem that knew her, neither by word nor deed of hers. 

But a little while wore after this matter, as telleth the tale, erethe Soudan had to do, for a rich soudan, who marched on him, laidwaste his land, and fell to harrying him. And he, to avenge histrouble, summoned folk from every part, and assembled a great host. When the Lady knew thereof she came into the chamber whereas were theprisoners, and she sat down before them, and spoke to them, and said:"Lords, ye have told me of your matters a deal; now would I wotwhether that which ye have told me be true or not: for ye told methat thou wert Count of Ponthieu on the day that thou departedsttherefrom, and that that man had had thy daughter to wife, and thatthe other one was thy son. Now, I am Saracen, and know the art ofastronomy: wherefore I tell you well, that never were ye so nigh toa shameful death as now ye be, if ye tell me not the truth. Thydaughter, whom this knight had, what became of her?"

"Lady, " said the Count, "I trow that she be dead. " "What wise diedshe?" quoth she. "Certes, Lady, " said the Count, "by an occasionwhich she had deserved. " "And what was the occasion?" said the Lady. 

Then the Count fell to tell, sore weeping, how she was wedded, and ofthe tarrying, whereby she might not have a child; and how the goodknight promised his ways to St. Jakeme in Galicia, and how the Ladybesought him that she might go along with him, and he granted itwillingly. And how they bestirred them with great joy, and wenttheir ways, and so far that they came unto a place where they werewithout company. Then met they in a forest robbers well armed, whofell upon them. The good knight might do nothing against all them, for he was lacking of arms; but amidst all that he slew three, andfive were left, who fell upon him and slew his palfrey, and took theknight and stripped him to the shirt, and bound him hand and foot, and cast him into a briar-bush: and the Lady they stripped, and tookfrom her her palfrey. They beheld the Lady, and saw that she wasfull fair, and each one would have her. At the last, they accordedbetwixt them hereto, that they should lie with her, and they hadtheir will of her in her despite; and when they had so done they wenttheir ways, and she abode, much grieving and much sad. The goodknight beheld it, and said much sweetly: "Dame, now unbind me myhands, and let us be going. " Now she saw a sword, which was of oneof the slain strong-thieves; she took it, and went towards her lord, who lay as aforesaid; she came in great ire by seeming, and said:"Yea, unbind thee I will. " Then she held the sword all bare, andhove it up, and thought to smite him amidst the body, but by the goodmercy of Jesus Christ, and by the valiancy of the knight, he turnedupso down, and she smote the bonds he was bound withal, and sunderedthem, and he leapt up, for as bound and hurt as he was, and said:"Dame, if God will, thou shalt slay me not to-day. "

At this word spake the Lady, the wife of the Soudan: "Ha, sir! thousayest the sooth; and well I know wherefore she would to do it. ""Dame, " said the Count, "and wherefore?" "Certes, " quoth she, "forthe great shame which had befallen her. "

When Messire Thibault heard that, he fell a-weeping much tenderly, and said: "Ha, alas! what fault had she therein then, Lady? So mayGod give me deliverance from this prison wherein I am, never should Ihave made worse semblance to her therefor, whereas it was maugre herwill. "

"Sir, " said the Lady, "that she deemed nought. Now tell me, " shesaid, "which deem ye the rather, that she be quick or dead?" "Dame, "said he, "we wot not. " "Well wot I, " said the Count, "of the greatpain we have suffered, which God hath sent us for the sin which I didagainst her. " "But if it pleased God, " said the Lady, "that she werealive, and that ye might have of her true tidings, what would ye saythereto?" "Lady, " said the Count, "then were I gladder than I shouldbe to be delivered out of this prison, or to have so much riches asnever had I in my life. " "Dame, " said Messire Thibault, "may Godgive me no joy of that which I most desire, but I were not thegladder than to be king of France. " "Dame, " said the varlet who washer brother, "certes none could give me or promise me thing whereof Ishould be so glad as of the life of my sister, who was so fair adame, and so good. "

But when the Lady heard these words, then was the heart of hersoftened and she praised God, and gave him thanks therefor, and saidto them: "Take heed, now, that there be no feigning in your words. "And they answered and said that none there was. Then fell the Ladya-weeping tenderly, and said to them: "Sir, now mayest thou well saythat thou art my father, and I thy daughter, even her on whom thoudidest such cruel justice. And thou, Messire Thibault, thou art mylord and my baron. And thou, sir varlet, art my brother. "

Therewith she told them how the merchants had found her, and how theygave her as a gift to the Soudan. And when they heard that, theywere much glad, and made much great joy, and humbled them before her;but she forbade them that they should make any semblance, and said:"I am Saracen, and renied, for otherwise I might never endure, butwere presently dead. Wherefore I pray you and bid you, for as dearas ye hold your lives and honours, and your havings the greater, thatye never once, whatso ye may hear or see, make any more fairsemblance unto me, but hold you simply. So leave me to dealtherewith. Now shall I tell you wherefore I have uncovered me toyou. The Soudan, who is now my lord, goeth presently a-riding; and Iknow thee well" (said she to Messire Thibault), "that thou art avaliant man and a good knight: therefore I will pray the Soudan totake thee with him; and then if ever thou wert valiant, now do thoushow it, and serve the Soudan so well that he may have no evil totell of thee. "

Therewith departed the Lady, and came unto the Soudan, and said:"Sir, one of my prisoners will go with thee, if it please thee. ""Dame, " said he, "I would not dare trust me to him, lest he do mesome treason. " "Sir, " she said, "in surety mayest thou lead himalong; for I will hold the others. " "Dame, " said he, "I will leadhim with me, since thou counsellest me so, and I will give him ahorse much good, and arms, and all that is meet for him. "

So then the Lady went back, and said to Messire Thibault: "I havedone so much with the Soudan, that thou shalt go with him. Nowbethink thee to do well. " But her brother kneeled before her, andprayed her that she would do so much with the Soudan that he alsoshould go. But said she: "I will not do it, the matter be over openthereby. "

The Soudan arrayed his matters and went his ways, and MessireThibault with him, and they went against the enemy. The Soudandelivered to Messire Thibault arms and horse. By the will of JesusChrist, who never forgetteth them who have in him trust and goodfaith, Messire Thibault did so much in arms, that in a little whilethe enemy of the Soudan was brought under, whereof much was theSoudan rejoiced; he had the victory, and led away much folk with him. And so soon as he was come back, he went to the Lady, and said:"Dame, by my law, I much praise thy prisoner, for much well hath heserved me; and if he will cast aside his law and take ours, I willgive him wide lands, and richly will I marry him. " "Sir, " she said, "I wot not, but I trow not that he will do it. " Therewith they weresilent, so that they spake not more. But the Lady dighted in herbusiness straightway after these things the best she might, and shecame to her prisoners, and said:

"Lords, now do ye hold ye wisely, that the Soudan perceive not ourcounsel; for, if God please, we shall yet be in France and the landof Ponthieu. "

Now came a day when the Lady moaned much, and complained her, andcame before the Soudan, and said: "Sir, I go with child, well I wotit, and am fallen into great infirmity, nor ever since thy departurehave I eaten aught wherein was any savour to me. " "Dame, " said he, "I am heavy of thy sickness, but much joyous that thou art withchild. But now command and devise all things that thou deemest mightbe good for thee, and I will let seek and array them, whatsoever theymay cost me. "

When the Lady heard that, she had much great joy in her heart; butnever did she show any semblance thereof, save that so much she said:"Sir, my old prisoner hath said to me, that but I be presently uponearth of a right nature, I am but dead and that I may not live long. ""Dame, " said the Soudan, "nought will I thy death: look to it, then, on what land thou wouldest be, and I will let lead thee thereto. ""Sir, " she said, "it is of no matter to me, so that I be out of thiscity. "

Then the Soudan let array a ship fair and stout, and let garnish herwell with wine and victual. "Sir, " said the Lady to the Soudan, "Iwill have with me my old prisoner and my young one, and they shallplay at the chess and the tables; and my son will I take to pleasureme. " "Dame, " said he, "it pleaseth me well that thou do thy willherein. But what hap with the third prisoner?" "Sir, " said she, "thou shalt do thy will herein. " "Dame, " said he, "I will that thoutake him with thee; for he is a valiant man, and will heed thee wellon land and sea, if need thou have thereto. "

Therewith she prayed leave of the Soudan, and he granted it, and muchhe prayed her to come back speedily. The ship was apparelled, andthey were alboun; and they went aboard, and departed from the haven. 

Good wind they had, and ran much hard: and the mariners called tothe Lady, and said to her: "Dame, this wind is bringing straight toBrandis; now command us thy pleasure to go thither or elsewhere. "And she said to them: "Let run hardily, for I know well how to speakFrench and other tongues, and I will lead you through all. "

Now so much they ran by day and by night, through the will of JesusChrist, that they are come to Brandis there they took harbour in allsafety, and lighted down on the shore, and were received with muchgreat joy. The Lady, who was much wise, drew towards the prisoners, and said to them: "Lords, I would that ye call to mind the words andagreements which ye said to me, and I would be now all sure of you, and have good surety of your oaths, and that ye say to me on all thatye hold to be of God if ye will to hold to your behests, which yehave behight me, or not; for yet have I good might to return. "

They answered: "Lady, know without doubt that we have covenantednought with you which shall not be held toward you by us loyally; andknow by our Christendom and our Baptism, and by whatsoever we hold ofGod, that we will hold to it; be thou in no doubt thereof. "

"And I will trow in you henceforth, " said the Lady. "Now, lords, "said she, "lo here my son, whom I had of the Soudan; what shall we dowith him?" "Dame, let him come to great honour and great gladness. ""Lords, " said the Lady, "much have I misdone against the Soudan, forI have taken from him my body, and his son whom he loved much. "

Then she went back to the mariners, and called and said to them:"Masters, get ye back and tell to the Soudan that I have taken fromhim my body, and his son whom he loved much, and that I have castforth from prison my father, my husband, and my brother. " And whenthe mariners heard that, they were much grieving; but more they mightnot do; and they returned, sad and sorrowful for the Lady, and forthe youngling, whom they loved much, and for the prisoners, who werethus lost without recoverance. 

But the Count apparelled himself, whereto he had well enough, bymeans of merchants and by Templars, who lent him of their good fullwillingly. And when the Count and his company had sojourned in thetown so long as their pleasure was, they arrayed them and went theirways thence, and came to Rome. The Count went before the Apostle, and his fellowship with him. Each one confessed him the best that hecould; and when the Apostle heard it, he was much glad, and muchgreat cheer he made of them. He baptized the child, and he wascalled William. He reconciled the Lady, and set her again in rightChristendom, and confirmed the Lady and Messire Thibault, her baron, in right marriage, and joined them together again, and gave penitenceto each of them, and absolved them of their sins. 

After that, they abode no long while ere they departed from Rome andtook their leave of the Apostle, who much had honoured them; and hegave them his blessing, and commended them to God. So went they ingreat joy and in great pleasance, and praised God and his mother andthe hallows, both carl and quean, and gave thanks for the goods whichthey had done them. 

And so far they journeyed, that they came into the land where theywere born, and were received in great procession by the bishops andthe abbots, and the people of religion and the other clerks, who muchhad desired them. 

But above all other joys made they joy the Lady who was thusrecovered, and who had thus delivered her father, her husband, andher brother from the hands of the Saracens, even as ye have heard. But now leave we of them in this place, and tell we of the marinerswho had brought them, and of the Saracens who had come with them. 

The mariners and the Saracens who had brought them to Brandisreturned at their speediest; they had good wind, and ran till theycame off Aumarie. 

They lighted down on shore sad and sorrowful, and went to tell thetidings to the Soudan, who was much sorrowful thereof, and in greatdole abode; and for this adventure the less he loved his daughter, who had abided there, and honoured her the less. Notwithstanding, the damsel became much sage, and waxed in great wit, so that allhonoured her and loved her, and prized her for the good deeds whichthey told of her. 

But now the history holds its peace of the Soudan, who made greatdole for his wife and his prisoners who thus had escaped, and itreturneth to the Count of Ponthieu, who was received into his landwith great procession, and much honoured as the lord that he was. 

No long while wore ere his son was made knight, and great cheer folkmade of him. He was a knight much worthy and valiant, and much heloved the worthies, and fair gifts he gave to poor knights and poorgentle dames of the country, and much was prized and loved of poorand of rich. For a worthy he was, and a good knight, and courteous, and openhanded, and kind, and nowise proud. Yet but a little whilehe lived, which was great damage, and much was he bemoaned of all. 

After this adventure it befell that the Count held a great court anda great feast, and had a many of knights and other folk with him; andtherewithal came a very noble man and knight, who was a much high manin Normandy, who was called my lord Raoul de Preaux. This Raoul hada daughter much fair and much wise. The Count spake so much to mylord Raoul and to his friends, that he made the wedding betwixtWilliam his nephew, son to the Soudan of Aumarie, and the daughter ofmy lord Raoul, for no heir had he save that daughter. William weddedthe damsel, and the wedding was done much richly, and thereafter wasthe said William lord of Preaux. 

Long time thence was the land in peace and without war: and MessireThibault was with the Lady, and had of her sithence two man-children, who thereafter were worthies and of great lordship. The son of theCount of Ponthieu, of whom we have told so much good, died but alittle thereafter, whereof was made great dole throughout all theland. The Count of St. Pol lived yet, and now were the two sons ofmy lord Thibault heirs of those two countries, and thereto theyattained at the last. The good dame their mother lived in greatpenitence, and much she did of good deeds and alms; and MessireThibault lived as the worthy which he was, and much did he of goodwhiles he was in life. 

Now it befell that the daughter of the Lady, who had abided with theSoudan her father, waxed in great beauty and became much wise, andwas called the Fair Caitif, because her mother had left her thus asye have heard: but a Turk, much valiant, who served the Soudan(Malakin of Baudas was he called), this Malakin saw the damsel to becourteous and sage, and much good had heard tell of her; wherefore hecoveted her in his heart, and came to the Soudan and said to him:"Sir, for the service which I have done thee, give me a gift. ""Malakin, " said the Soudan, "what gift?" "Sir, " said he, "might Idare to say it, because of her highness, whereof I have nought somuch as she, say it I would. "

The Soudan, who wise was and clear-seeing, said to him: "Speak inall surety that which thou willest to speak; for much I love thee andprize thee; and if the thing be a thing which I may give thee, savingmy honour, know verily that thou shalt have it. " "Sir, " said he, "well I will that thine honour shall be safe, and against it noughtwould I ask of thee: but if it please thee, give me thy daughter, for I pray her of thee, and right willingly would I take her. "

The Soudan held his peace and thought awhile; and he saw well thatMalakin was a worthy, and wise, and might well come to great honourand great good, and that well he might be worthied; so he said:"Malakin, by my law, thou hast craved me a great thing, for I lovemuch my daughter, and no heir else have I, as thou wottest well, andas sooth is. She is born and come from the most highest kindred andthe most valiant of France; for her mother is daughter of the Countof Ponthieu; but whereas thou art valiant, and much well hast servedme, I will give her to thee with a good will, if she will grant it. ""Sir, " said Malakin, "against her will would I do nothing. "

Then the Soudan let call the damsel, and she came, and he said toher: "My fair daughter, I have married thee, if so it please thee. ""Sir, " she said, "well is my pleasure therein, if thou will it. "Then the Soudan took her by the hand, and said: "Hold, Malakin! Igive her to thee. " He received her gladly, and in great joy and ingreat honour of all his friends; and he wedded her according to theSaracen law; and he led her into his land in great joy and in greathonour. The Soudan brought him on his road a great way, with muchcompany of folk, so far as him pleased; then returned, and took leaveof his daughter and her lord. But a great part of his folk he sentwith her to serve them. 

Malakin came into his country, and much was he served and honoured, and was received with great joy by all his friends; and they twainlived together long and joyously, and had children together, as thehistory beareth witness. 

Of this dame, who was called the Fair Caitif, was born the mother ofthe courteous Turk Salahadin, who was so worthy and wise andconquering. 

Here ends the Story of Over Sea, done out of ancient French intoEnglish by William Morris. 

Footnotes:

{1} Nouvelles francaises en prose du xiii ieme siecle, par MM. L. Moland et C. D'Hericault. (Paris: Janet, 1856. )

{2} I have given a version of it in my English Fairy Tales, andthere is a ballad on the subject entitled The Cruel Knight. 

{3} See Clouston, Book of Sindibad, p. 279. 

{4} Figured in M. Ulysse Robert, Signes d'infamie au moyen age, Paris, 1891. Lovers of Stevenson will remember the effective usemade of this in The Black Arrow. 

{5} It has been suggested that the names of our heroes have givenrise to the proverbial saying: "A miss (Amis) is as good as a mile(Amile), " but notwithstanding the high authority from which thesuggestion emanates, it is little more than a pun. 

{6} For occurrences of this incident in sagas, etc. , see Grimm, Deutsche Rechtsalterthumer, 168-70; in folk-tales, Dasent, Tales fromthe Norse, cxxxiv. -v. , n. Xviii

{7} Mr. Hartland has studied the "Lifetoken" in the eighth chapterof his elaborate treatise on the Legend of Perseus.