wisely and well. He would willingly have taken counsel of the maiden,
but first, as surely he knew, he must joust with this knight. He
gathered the reins in his glove, and choosing a lance with an ashen
staff, opposed himself to his adversary. The combatants met together
so fiercely that the lance pierced the steel of the buckler; yet
neither lost stirrup by the shock. When the prince saw this he smote
the knight so shrewdly that he would have fallen from the saddle, had
he not clung to the neck of his destrier. Of his courtesy the prince
passed on, and refrained his hand until his enemy had recovered his
seat. On his return he found the knight full ready to continue his
devoir. Each of the champions plucked forth his sword, and sheltered
him beneath his shield. They struck such mighty blows that the
bucklers were hewn in pieces, but in spite of all they remained firm
in the saddle. The maiden was aghast whilst she watched the melée. She
had great fear for her friend, lest mischief should befall him, and
she cried loudly to the knight that, for grace, he should give over
this combat, and go his way. Very courteous was the knight, and meetly
schooled in what was due to maidens. He saluted the damsel, and,
together with his companion, rode straightway from the ford. The
prince watched them pass for a little, then without further tarrying
he went swiftly to the maiden, where, all fearful and trembling, she
knelt beneath the thorn. The lady stood upon her feet as her lover
drew near. She climbed behind him on the saddle, for well she knew
that their pains were done. They fared so fast that when it was yet
scarce day they came again to the palace. The King saw them approach,
and rejoiced greatly at his son's prowess; but at this he marvelled
much, that he should return with the daughter of the Queen.
The self-same day of this home-coming--as I have heard tell--the King
had summoned to Court his barons and vassals because of a certain
quarrel betwixt two of his lords. This quarrel being accorded between
them, and come to a fair end, the King related to that blithe company
the story of this adventure. He told again that which you know, of how
the prince defended the Ford, of the finding of the maiden beneath the
thorn, of the mighty joust, and of that white horse which was taken
from the adversary.
The prince both then and thereafter caused the horse to be entreated
with the greatest care. He received the maiden to wife, and cherished
her right tenderly. She, and the steed on which she would always ride,
were his richest possessions. The destrier lived many years in much
honour, but on a day when his master was taking the harness from his
head, he fell and died forthwith.
Of the story which has been set before you the Bretons wrought a Lay.
They did not call the song the Lay of the Ford, although the adventure
took place at a river; neither have they named it The Lay of the Two
Children. For good or ill the rhyme is known as the Lay of the Thorn.
It begins well and endeth better, for these kisses find their fruition
in marriage.
XV
THE LAY OF GRAELENT
Now will I tell you the adventure of Graelent, even as it was told to
me, for the Lay is sweet to hear, and the tune thereof lovely to bear
in mind.
Graelent was born in Brittany of a gentle and noble house, very comely
of person and very frank of heart. The King who held Brittany in that
day, made mortal war upon his neighbours, and commanded his vassals to
take arms in his quarrel. Amongst these came Graelent, whom the King
welcomed gladly, and since he was a wise and hardy knight greatly was
he honoured and cherished by the Court. So Graelent strove valiantly
at tourney and at joust, and pained himself mightily to do the enemy
all the mischief that he was able. The Queen heard tell the prowess of
her knight, and loved him in her heart for reason of his feats of arms
and of the good men spoke of him. So she called her chamberlain apart,
and said, "Tell me truly, hast thou not often heard speak of that fair
knight, Sir Graelent, whose praise is in all men's mouths?"
"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "I know him for a courteous
gentleman, well spoken of by all."
"I would he were my friend," replied the lady, "for I am in much
unrest because of him. Go thou, and bid him come to me, so he would be
worthy of my love." "Passing gracious and rich is your gift, lady, and
doubtless he will receive it with marvellous joy. Why, from here to
Troy there is no priest even, however holy, who in looking on your
face would not lose Heaven in your eyes."
Thereupon the chamberlain took leave of the Queen, and seeking
Graelent within his lodging saluted him courteously, and gave him the
message, praying him to come without delay to the palace.
"Go before, fair friend," answered the knight, "for I will follow you
at once."
So when the chamberlain was gone Graelent caused his grey horse to be
saddled, and mounting thereon, rode to the castle, attended by his
squire. He descended without the hall, and passing before the King
entered within the Queen's chamber. When the lady saw him she embraced
him closely, and cherished and honoured him sweetly. Then she made the
knight to be seated on a fair carpet, and to his face praised him
for his exceeding comeliness. But he answered her very simply and
courteously, saying nothing but what was seemly to be said. Then the
Queen kept silence for a great while, considering whether she should
require him to love her for the love of love; but at the last, made
bold by passion, she asked if his heart was set on any maid or dame.
"Lady," said he, "I love no woman, for love is a serious business,
not a jest. Out of five hundred who speak glibly of love, not one
can spell the first letter of his name. With such it is idleness,
or fulness of bread, or fancy, masking in the guise of love. Love
requires of his servants chastity in thought, in word and in deed. If
one of two lovers is loyal, and the other jealous and false, how may
their friendship last, for Love is slain! But sweetly and discreetly
love passes from person to person, from heart to heart, or it is
nothing worth. For what the lover would, that would the beloved; what
she would ask of him that should he go before to grant. Without accord
such as this, love is but a bond and a constraint. For above all
things Love means sweetness, and truth, and measure; yea, loyalty to
the loved one and to your word. And because of this I dare not meddle
with so high a matter."
The Queen heard Graelent gladly, finding him so tripping of tongue,
and since his words were wise and courteous, at the end she discovered
to him her heart.
"Friend, Sir Graelent, though I am a wife, yet have I never loved my
lord. But I love you very dearly, and what I have asked of you will
you not go before to grant?"
"Lady," said he, "give me pity and forgiveness, but this may not be.
I am the vassal of the King, and on my knees have pledged him loyalty
and faith, and sworn to defend his life and honour. Never shall he
have shame because of me."
With these words Sir Graelent took his leave of the Queen, and went
his way.
Seeing him go in this fashion the Queen commenced to sigh. She was
grieved in her heart, and knew not what to do. But whatever chanced
she would not renounce her passion, so often she required his love by
means of soft messages and costly gifts, but he refused them all. Then
the Queen turned from love to hate, and the greatness of her passion
became the measure of her wrath, for very evilly she spoke of Graelent
to the King. So long as the war endured Graelent remained in that
realm. He spent all that he had upon his company, for the King grudged
wages to his men. The Queen persuaded the King to this, counselling
him that by withholding the pay of the sergeants, Graelent might in no
wise flee the country, nor take service with another lord. So at the
end Graelent was wonderfully downcast, nor was it strange that he was
sad, for there remained nothing which he might pledge, but one poor
steed, and when this was gone, no horse had he to carry him from the
country.
It was now the month of May, when the hours are long and warm. The
burgess, with whom Graelent lodged, had risen early in the morning,
and with his wife had gone to eat with neighbours in the town. No one
was in the house except Graelent, no squire, nor archer, nor servant,
save only the daughter of his host, a very courteous maid. When the
hour for dinner was come she prayed the knight that they might sit at
board together. But he had no heart for mirth, and seeking out his
squire bade him bridle and saddle his horse, for he had no care to
eat.
"I have no saddle," replied the squire.
"Friend," said the demoiselle, "I will lend you bridle and saddle as
well."
So when the harness was done upon him, Graelent mounted his horse, and
went his way through the town, clad in a cloak of sorry fur, which
he had worn overlong already. The townsfolk in the street turned and
stared upon him, making a jest of his poverty, but of their jibes
he took no heed, for such act but after their kind, and seldom show
kindliness or courtesy.
Now without the town there spread a great forest, thick with trees,
and through the forest ran a river. Towards this forest Graelent rode,
deep in heavy thought, and very dolent. Having ridden for a little
space beneath the trees, he spied within a leafy thicket a fair white
hart, whiter even than snow on winter branches. The hart fled before
him, and Graelent followed so closely in her track that man and deer
presently came together to a grassy lawn, in the midst of which sprang
a fountain of clear, sweet water. Now in this fountain a demoiselle
disported herself for her delight. Her raiment was set on a bush near
by, and her two maidens stood on the bank busied in their lady's
service. Graelent forgot the chase at so sweet a sight, since never
in his life had he seen so lovely a dame. For the lady was slender in
shape and white, very gracious and dainty of colour, with laughing
eyes and an open brow, certainly the most beautiful thing in all the
world. Graelent dared not draw nigh the fountain for fear of troubling
the dame, so he came softly to the bush to set hands upon her raiment.
The two maidens marked his approach, and at their fright the lady
turned, and calling him by name, cried with great anger,
"Graelent, put my raiment down, for it will profit you little even if
you carry it away, and leave me naked in this wood. But if you are
indeed too greedy of gain to remember your knighthood, at least return
me my shift, and content yourself with my mantle, since it will bring
you money, as it is very good."
"I am not a merchant's son," answered Graelent merrily, "nor am I a
huckster to sell mantles in a booth. If your cloak were worth the
spoil of three castles I would not now carry it from the bush. Come
forth from your bathing, fair friend, and clothe yourself in your
vesture, for you have to say a certain word to me."
"I will not trust myself to your hand, for you might seize upon me,"
answered the lady, "and I tell you frankly that I put no faith in your
word, nor have had any dealings with your school."
Then Graelent answered still more merrily, "Lady, needs must I suffer
your wrath. But at least I will guard your raiment till you come forth
from the well and, fairest, very dainty is your body in my eyes."
When the lady knew that Graelent would not depart, nor render again
her raiment, then she demanded surety that he would do her no hurt.
This thing was accorded between them, so she came forth from the
fountain, and did her vesture upon her. Then Graelent took her gently
by the left hand, and prayed and required of her that she would grant
him love for love. But the lady answered, "I marvel greatly that you
should dare to speak to me in this fashion, for I have little reason
to think you discreet. You are bold, sir knight, and overbold, to seek
to ally yourself with a woman of my lineage."
Sir Graelent was not abashed by the dame's proud spirit, but wooed and
prayed her gently and sweetly, promising that if she granted him her
love he would serve her in all loyalty, and never depart therefrom
all the days of his life. The demoiselle hearkened to the words of
Graelent, and saw plainly that he was a valiant knight, courteous and
wise. She thought within herself that should she send him from her,
never might she find again so sure a friend. Since, then, she knew him
worthy of her love, she kissed him softly, and spoke to him in this
manner, "Graelent, I will love you none the less truly, though we have
not met until this day. But one thing is needful that our love may
endure. Never must you speak a word by which this hidden thing may
become known. I will furnish you with deniers in your purse, with
cloth of silk, with silver and with gold. Night and day will I stay
with you, and great shall be the love between us twain. You shall
see me riding at your side; you may talk and laugh with me at your
pleasure, but I must never be seen of your comrades, nor must they
know aught concerning your bride. Graelent, you are loyal, brave, and
courteous, and comely enough to the view. For you I spread my snare
at the fountain; for you shall I suffer heavy pains, as well I knew
before I set forth on this adventure. Now must I trust to your
discretion, for if you speak vainly and boastfully of this thing then
am I undone. Remain now for a year in this country, which shall be for
you a home that your lady loves well. But noon is past, and it is time
for you to go. Farewell, and a messenger shortly shall tell you that
which I would have you do."
Graelent took leave of the lady, and she sweetly clasped and kissed
him farewell. He returned to his lodging, dismounted from his steed,
and entering within a chamber, leaned from the casement, considering
this strange adventure. Looking towards the forest he saw a varlet
issue therefrom riding upon a palfrey. He drew rein before Graelent's
door, and taking his feet from the stirrup, saluted the knight. So
Graelent inquired from whence he rode, and of his name and business.
"Sir," answered he, "I am the messenger of your lady. She sends you
this destrier by my hand, and would have me enter in your service, to
pay your servitors their wages and to take charge of your lodging."
When Graelent heard this message he thought it both good and fair. He
kissed the varlet upon the cheek, and accepting his gift, caused the
destrier--which was the noblest, the swiftest and the most speedy
under the sun--to be led to the stable. Then the varlet carried his
baggage to his master's chamber, and took therefrom a large cushion
and a rich coverlet which he spread upon the couch. After this he drew
thereout a purse containing much gold and silver, and stout cloth
fitting for the knight's apparel. Then he sent for the host, and
paying him what was owing, called upon him to witness that he was
recompensed most largely for the lodging. He bade him also to seek out
such knights as should pass through the town to refresh and solace
themselves in the company of his lord. The host was a worthy man. He
made ready a plenteous dinner, and inquired through the town for such
poor knights as were in misease by reason of prison or of war. These
he brought to the hostelry of Sir Graelent, and comforted them with
instruments of music, and with all manner of mirth. Amongst them sat
Graelent at meat, gay and debonair, and richly apparelled. Moreover,
to these poor knights and the harpers Graelent gave goodly gifts, so
that there was not a citizen in all the town who did not hold him in
great worship, and regard him as his lord.
From this moment Graelent lived greatly at his ease, for not a cloud
was in his sky. His lady came at will and pleasure; all day long they
laughed and played together, and at night she lay softly at his side.
What truer happiness might he know than this? Often, besides, he rode
to such tournaments of the land as he was able, and all men esteemed
him for a stout and worthy knight. Very pleasant were his days, and
his love, and if such things might last for ever he had nothing else
to ask of life.
When a full year had passed by, the season drew to the Feast of
Pentecost. Now it was the custom of the King to summon at that tide
his barons and all who held their fiefs of him to his Court for a rich
banquet. Amongst these lords was bidden Sir Graelent. After men had
eaten and drunk the whole day, and all were merry, the King commanded
the Queen to put off her royal robes, and to stand forth upon the
dais. Then he boasted before the company,
"Lord barons, how seems it to you? Beneath the sky is there a lovelier
Queen than mine, be she maid, lady or demoiselle?"
So all the lords made haste to praise the Queen, and to cry and affirm
that in all the world was neither maid nor wife so dainty, fresh and
fair. Not a single voice but bragged of her beauty, save only that
of Graelent. He smiled at their folly, for his heart remembered his
friend, and he held in pity all those who so greatly rejoiced in the
Queen. So he sat with covered head, and with face bent smiling to the
board. The Queen marked his discourtesy, and drew thereto the notice
of the King.
"Sire, do you observe this dishonour! Not one of these mighty lords
but has praised the beauty of your wife, save Graelent only, who makes
a mock of her. Always has he held me in envy and despite."
The King commanded Graelent to his throne, and in the hearing of all
bade the knight to tell, on his faith as vassal to his liege, for what
reason he had hid his face and laughed.
"Sire," answered Graelent to the King, "Sire, hearken to my words. In
all the world no man of your lineage does so shameful a deed as this.
You make your wife a show upon a stage. You force your lords to praise
her just with lies, saying that the sun does not shine upon her peer.
One man will tell the truth to your face, and say that very easily can
be found a fairer dame than she."
Right heavy was the King when he heard these words. He conjured
Graelent to tell him straightly if he knew a daintier dame.
"Yes, Sire, and thirty times more gracious than the Queen."
The Queen was marvellously wrathful to hear this thing, and prayed her
husband of his grace to compel the knight to bring that woman to the
Court of whose beauty he made so proud a boast.
"Set us side by side, and let the choice be made between us. Should
she prove the fairer let him go in peace; but if not, let justice be
done on him for his calumny and malice."
So the King bade his guards to lay hands on Graelent, swearing that
between them never should be love nor peace, nor should the knight
issue forth from prison, until he had brought before him her whose
beauty he had praised so much.
Graelent was held a captive. He repented him of his hasty words, and
begged the King to grant him respite. He feared to have lost his
friend, and sweated grievously with rage and mortification. But though
many of the King's house pitied him in his evil case, the long days
brought him no relief, until a full year went by, and once again the
King made a great banquet to his barons and his lieges. Then was
Graelent brought to hall, and put to liberty on such terms that he
would return bringing with him her whose loveliness he had praised
before the King. Should she prove so desirable and dear, as his boast,
then all would be well, for he had naught to fear. But if he returned
without his lady, then he must go to judgment, and his only hope would
be in the mercy of the King.
Graelent mounted his good horse, and parted from the Court sad and
wrathful. He sought his lodging, and inquired for his servant, but
might not find him. He called upon his friend, but the lady did not
heed his voice. Then Graelent gave way to despair, and preferred death
to life. He shut himself within his chamber, crying upon his dear one
for grace and mercy, but from her he got neither speech nor comfort.
So seeing that his love had withdrawn herself from him by reason of
his grievous fault, he took no rest by night or day, and held his life
in utter despite. For a full year he lived in this piteous case, so
that it was marvellous to those about him that he might endure his
life.
On the day appointed the sureties brought Graelent where the King was
set in hall with his lords. Then the King inquired of Graelent where
was now his friend.
"Sire," answered the knight, "she is not here, for in no wise might I
find her. Now do with me according to your will."
"Sir Graelent," said the King, "very foully have you spoken. You have
slandered the Queen, and given all my lords the lie. When you go from
my hands never will you do more mischief with your tongue."
Then the King spoke with a high voice to his barons.
"Lords, I pray and command you to give judgment in this matter. You
heard the blame that Graelent set upon me before all my Court. You
know the deep dishonour that he fastened on the Queen. How may such a
disloyal vassal deal honestly with his lord, for as the proverb tells,
'Hope not for friendship from the man who beats your dog!'"
The lords of the King's household went out from before him, and
gathered themselves together to consider their judgment. They kept
silence for a great space, for it was grievous to them to deal harshly
with so valiant a knight. Whilst they thus refrained from words a
certain page hastened unto them, and prayed them not to press the
matter, for (said he) "even now two young maidens, the freshest maids
in all the realm, seek the Court. Perchance they bring succour to
the good knight, and, so it be the will of God, may deliver him from
peril." So the lords waited right gladly, and presently they saw two
damsels come riding to the palace. Very young were these maidens, very
slender and gracious, and daintily cloaked in two fair mantles. So
when the pages had hastened to hold their stirrup and bridle, the
maidens dismounted from their palfreys and entering within the hall
came straight before the King.
"Sire," said one of the two damsels, "hearken now to me. My lady
commands us to pray you to put back this cause for a while, nor to
deliver judgment therein, since she comes to plead with you for the
deliverance of this knight."
When the Queen heard this message she was filled with shame, and made
speed to get her from the hall Hardly had she gone than there entered
two other damsels, whiter and more sweetly flushed even than their
fellows. These bade the King to wait for a little, since their
mistress was now at hand. So all men stared upon them, and praised
their great beauty, saying that if the maid was so fair, what then
must be the loveliness of the dame. When, therefore, the demoiselle
came in her turn, the King's household stood upon their feet to give
her greeting. Never did woman show so queenly to men's sight as did
this lady riding to the hall. Passing sweet she was to see, passing
simple and gracious of manner, with softer eyes and a daintier face
than girl of mother born. The whole Court marvelled at her beauty, for
no spot or blemish might be found in her body. She was richly dressed
in a kirtle of vermeil silk, broidered with gold, and her mantle was
worth the spoil of a king's castle. Her palfrey was of good race,
and speedy; the harness and trappings upon him were worth a thousand
livres in minted coin. All men pressed about her, praising her face
and person, her simplicity and queenlihead. She came at slow pace
before the King, and dismounting from the palfrey, spoke very
courteously in this fashion.
"Sire," said she, "hearken to me, and you, lord barons, give heed to
my pleading. You know the words Graelent spake to the King, in the
ears of men, when the Queen made herself a show before the lords,
saying that often had he seen a fairer lady. Very hasty and foolish
was his tongue, since he provoked the King to anger. But at least he
told the truth when he said that there is no dame so comely but that
very easily may be found one more sweet than she. Look now boldly upon
my face, and judge you rightly in this quarrel between the Queen and
me. So shall Sir Graelent be acquitted of this blame."
Then gazing upon her, all the King's household, lord and lackey,
prince and page, cried with one voice that her favour was greater than
that of the Queen. The King himself gave judgment with his barons that
this thing was so; therefore Sir Graelent was acquitted of his blame,
and declared a free man.