After {047}Sir Jaufry had rode on his way, Estout his promise kept, and
to each knight restored both horse and arms. That evening he set out for
Arthur's court, which he resolved to reach before the jousts and games
and banquetings were o'er. Eight days had they been holden in those
halls when he arrived there with his company. 'Twas after dinner, as the
king was seated with his lords, lending an ear to minstrels' tales and
the discourse of knights, who told of acts of lofty prowess done, that
Estout came with that armed troop of knights. Having alighted at the
palace-gates, they soon were led before the worthy king; when, kneeling
at his feet, Estout expressed himself in terms like these:
“Sure, may that high King who made and fashioned {048}all things, He,
the Lord of every sovereign, who hath nor peer nor mate, now save us in
your company!”
“Friend,” the king replied, “God save you, and your friends beside! Who
are ye, and what come ye here to seek?”
“My lord, I will recount you the whole truth: from Jaufry, son of Dovon,
come we, to proclaim ourselves your captives, and submit to your just
law. Sir Jaufry hath delivered all these knights, whom I had captured
one by one, and who were bound to follow me on foot,--for they had mercy
only on such terms; now he hath conquered me by force of arms.”
“And when thou last beheldst him,” asked the king, “by that true faith
thou ow'st to gracious Heaven, say, was he well in health?”
“Yea, sire, by the troth I owe to you, believe, that eight days since,
arise to-morrow's sun, I left him sound, robust, and full of fire. He
would not even tarry to break bread; for he declared no food should pass
his lips, no joy, no pleasure, no repose be his, until the knight named
Taulat he had found. He now is on his track; and I engage, that if he
meet him, and a chance do get to measure sword with sword, it will be
strange {049}an he not force him to cry grace; for I do not believe the
world doth own a braver knight, or one more strong in arms. I speak from
proof, who dearly know his force.”
“O Heaven, in which I trust,” cried Arthur, as he clasped his hands,
“grant me my prayer, that Jaufry fry safe and sound may back return!
Already is he known a doughty knight, and noble are the gifts he hither
sends.”
Leave we now bold Estout to tell his tale, and turn we to our knight. I
have related how Sir Jaufry still went on seeking his foe by valley and
by mount; yet neither spied nor heard he living man to give him tidings.
He rode on thus, nor met he man or beast till the high noon was passed.
The sun had now become intensely hot, and hardly could he bear its
burning ray; still, neither sun, nor hunger, thirst, nor aught beside,
could cow his spirit. Determined not to stop upon his road till he had
Taulat met, he still progressed, though ne'er a soul was seen.
As he pressed hotly on, some hours' riding found the youthful knight
close by a gentle hill shaded by one of nature's finest trees. Pendent
there hung from an outstretching bough a fair white lance of ash with
point {050}of burnished steel. Thinking a knight perchance was resting
near, Jaufry in that direction turned his horse, and galloped towards
the spot. When he had reached the bottom of the hill, he nimbly leapt
him down, and walked to the high tree; but, to his great surprise,
no soul was there, naught save the lance suspended to the bough. With
wonder then--asking of himself why arm so stout and good, the point of
which like virgin silver shone, should there be placed--he took it down,
and his own resting gainst the mossy trunk, handled and brandished this
new dainty lance, which he discovered to be good as fair.
“Good faith,” quoth he, “I will e'en keep this arm, and leave mine own
behind.”
Whilst making this exchange, a dwarf of frightful shape suddenly rushed
from out a neighbouring grove. Stunted and broad and fat, he had a
monstrous head, from which straight hair streamed down and crossed his
back; long eyebrows hid his eyes; his nose was large and shapeless;
nostrils so immense they would have held your fists; and thick and
bluish lips rested on large and crooked fangs; a stiff moustache
surrounded this huge mouth; and to his very girdle flowed {051}his
beard; he measured scarce a foot from waist to heel; his head was sunken
in his shoulders high; and his arms seemed so short, that useless would
have been the attempt to bind them at his back. As to his hands, they
were like paws of toads, so broad and webbed.
“Knight,” cried this monster, “woe befals the man who meddles with that
lance! Thou wilt receive thy dues, and dangle on our tree; come, then,
give up thy shield.”
Sir Jaufry eyed the dwarf, and angrily replied:
“What mean you by such tale, misshapen wretch?” At this the dwarf set
up so loud a cry that all the vale resounded; and at once a knight well
armed, mounted upon a steed in iron cased, came, with high threats upon
his lips exclaiming:
“Woe to the man who hath dared touch the lance!”
Having the hill attained, he Jaufry saw; and thereupon he said:
“By Heaven, sir knight! to do what thou hast done is proof thou carest
little for thy life.”
“And why so, lord?” Sir Jaufry calmly asked.
“Thou shalt soon learn. No man doth touch that lance {052}and get him
hence without a fight with me. If I unhorse the knight so bold as dare
to touch it, and conquer him by arms, no ransom saves his life,--I
hang him by the neck; and on my gallows which thou seest from here full
three-and-thirty dangle in mid air.”
“Tell me now faithfully,” Sir Jaufry said,--“can he who sues for mercy
gain it at thy hands?”
“Yea, but on one condition I have firmly fixed; which is, that never in
his life he cross a horse; ne'er cut his hair or pare his nails; ne'er
eat of wheaten bread, or taste of wine; and never on his back wear other
dress than what his hands have woven. Should he such terms accept before
the fight, he may perchance find grace; but naught can save the man who
once hath fought.”
“And if he know not how to weave such dress?” asked Jaufry.
“The art to weave, to shape the doth, and sew, must then be learned,”
the knight replied. “Say, then, if thou consent; or if thou choose this
hour to be thy last.”
“I'll not do so,” quoth Jaufry; “for too hard the labour seems.”
“Thou'lt do it well before five years are fled; for thou art tall and
strong.”
“No, {053}by my troth, I'd rather chance the fight, since 'twould appear
I've no alternative.”
“Take my defiance, then!” cried out the knight; “and bear in mind, the
combat 's to the death.”
“So be it!” said Sir Jaufry; “I'll defend myself.”
They drew apart some space with such-like words, each thinking on his
side a victim soon would fall. Then the knight came and thundered at his
foe. In shivers flew the lance; but Jaufry bore the shock unmoved. Not
so the knight; for Jaufry, his weapon planting at his shield, broke it
right through; the hauberk too beside, and wood and iron, for a cubit's
length, pierced through the shoulder.
[Illustration: 073]
He fell: Jaufry with naked blade was by his side; but as he saw him
thus, so poorly sped,--
“Knight,” he exclaimed, “methinks thy hanging-trade is done.”
“Lord,” cried the wounded man, “unhappily 'tis true. Thou hast too well
performed thy work for safety henceforth to be banished hence.”
“I will not trust to that,” quoth Jaufry; “or at least, it shan't
prevent my hanging thee.”
“In Heaven's name, my lord, I crave thy grace!”
“And by what claim canst thou obtain it, thou who {054}never yet hast
granted it to man? Thou shalt find pity, such as those yonder found who
once begged grace of thee.”
“If, good my lord, my head have erred, my heart been black and habits
villanous, guard thee from following in my steps. I ask for mercy--that
should I receive. Wilt thou, a man of lofty virtue, choose that ever the
reproach should come to thee of hanging up a brave and courteous knight,
such as I once did bear the title of?”
“Thou liest in thy throat,” Sir Jaufry said; “never couldst thou be
prized a proper knight, but rather, I believe, an arrant knave. Who doth
a villain's act doth forfeit rank and chivalry alike. In vain thy suit;
no pardon shalt thou find.”
Undoing his steel helmet as he spoke, he seized a rope and placed it
round his neck; then, dragging him beneath the dismal tree, he well and
fairly hung him up thereto.
“Good friend,” he then apostrophised the knight, “the passage now may be
considered safe, and travellers need fear little more from thee.”
[Illustration: 076]
Leaving him hanging upon such adieu, he rode towards the dwarf, as with
intent to kill. But when the latter {055}saw him thus return, crossing
his arms full quickly on his breast,--
“Fair sir,” he cried, “I yield to you and Heaven; but grant me, pray,
your pity. Of myself no evil have I done; since, had I disobeyed the
knight, I should have lost my life. Maugre myself, for fourteen years
I've watched this lance, which twice a-day I burnished. Woe had betided
me if I had bilked such task, or failed by signal to advise my lord when
it was touched by knight. This, fair my lord, hath been my only crime.”
“Thou mayst have mercy,” Jaufry said, “an thou dost that which I shall
now command.”
“Speak, good my lord; and God confound me if I lose a word!”
“Rise, then, and hie thee to King Arthur's court. Tell to that king the
son of Dovon sends thee, and presents this lance which he hath won, the
fairest weapon eye hath e'er beheld. Recount to him beside thy lord's
ill-deeds, how that so many worthy knights he'd hung, and how in his
turn like meed was given unto him.”
“My lord,” exclaimed the dwarf, “all this I promise you.”
And Jaufry made reply, “Well then, begone!”
It {056}was one Monday eye that this fell out, just at the setting sun.
The night came shortly on serene and fair, and the full moon shone out
as bright as day. Jaufry pursued his road,--for naught could change his
purpose,--and the dwarf prepared to execute his trust. At peep of morn
he started for Carlisle, where, after certain time, he safely came. The
king was breaking up his court, which for two weeks he there had held,
and knights and barons all were going their way content and glad,
bearing rich guerdons from their noble lord, when curiosity their steps
detained at sight of a strange dwarf, who in his hand a handsome lance
did hold. This dwarf pushed forward to the palace-hall, where each with
eager eye observed his shape; for never till that day had they beheld
such wondrous man; but he, passing the gaping crowd without remark,
straight to the monarch's throne his steps pursued; and there he said:
“May God, most noble sire, grant you weal! Albeit my form is strange,
yet, please you, hear, for I do come a messenger from far.”
“Dwarf,” said the king, “God save thee too! for thou methinks art
honest. Speak without fear, and do thy message featly.”
The {057}dwarf preluded with a sigh, and thus began:
“Sire, from Dovon's son I bear to you this lance, which has been cause
of mourning dire and great. Proud of his valour and his strength, a
knight had hung it to a tree upon a hill, where I have watched it,
burnished it beside twice every day, for fourteen weary years. If a
knight touched it, I by my cry aroused my lord, who then, all armed,
would rush upon the stranger; being vanquished, he was quickly seized
and by the neck incontinently hung. 'Twas thus that three-and-thirty met
their fate; when that the knight, whose messenger I am, conquered this
lord and won the lance, hanging in turn its owner for his deeds. This is
the lance that now he sends to you; and here am I, your vassal and your
slave.”
“'Tis well,” the king replied; “but, dwarf, now give me, on thy faith,
some news of brave Sir Jaufry: without a lie, say when thou saw'st him
last.”
“'Twas Monday evening, please you, my good lord; I left him when the
fray was o'er and he had finished hanging up the knight.”
“And was his health then good?”
“Yea, sire, with God's help, and well disposed and gay.”
“Good {058}Lord divine and full of glory,” cried the king with clasped
hands, “grant of your grace that I behold him safe; for scant my
pleasure and my joys will be till I have held him in these arms again!”