"John, fair friend, this business is mine alone, nor because of it
shall you hang shield about your neck."
So Sir Robert held forth his gage to his lord, and Sir Raoul tendered
gage of battle in return, though but fearfully; for needs must he
defend himself, or be proclaimed recreant and traitor. Thus were the
pledges given, and the day for the ordeal by battle pronounced to be
fifteen days thence without appeal.
Now hearken well to this strange story of John, and what he did. John,
who more sweetly was named Madame Jehane, had in the house of her
father a certain cousin, who was a fair demoiselle of some twenty-five
years. To this cousin Jehane went and discovered the whole matter,
telling her all the story, from the first thing to the last. She prayed
her, moreover, to keep the business hidden, until such time and hour as
she should make herself known to her father. The cousin--to whom Jehane
was very well known--promised readily to conceal the matter, saying
that never should the secret be made plain by her fault. Then was the
chamber of her cousin made fresh and ready for Madame Jehane. Therein
for the two weeks before the battle Jehane bathed and perfumed her, and
took her ease as best she might, for well had she reason to look her
fairest. Also she caused women to shape closely to her figure four
goodly gowns; one was of scarlet, one of vair, one of peacock blue,
and one of trailing silk. Thus with rest and peace she came once more
to the fulness of her beauty, and was so dainty, fresh and fair, that
no lady showed her peer in all the world.
As for Sir Robert, very greatly was he discomforted during all these
fifteen days at the loss of John his squire, for he knew nothing of his
fate. Nevertheless on the appointed day he got himself into his
harness, and prepared him for the battle stoutly and with a good heart.
On the appointed day the two knights entered within the lists together.
Drawing apart for a little space, they rushed furiously the one on the
other, and gave such mighty strokes with the blades of their great
swords that their horses were borne to the ground beneath them. Sir
Raoul was wounded lightly in the left side, so Sir Robert getting first
upon his feet came swiftly to him, and smote him with all his force
upon the helm. So mighty was the blow that the sword sheared clear
through the helmet to the coif of steel, but the coif was so strong
that the head was not wounded; nevertheless of that stroke he reeled so
that had he not caught at his saddle, certainly he had fallen to the
earth. Then Sir Raoul, who was a very stout champion, struck Sir Robert
so fiercely upon the headpiece that he was all bemused, and the sword
glancing downwards upon the shoulder hacked off the mail of the
hauberk, but did him no hurt. Thereat Sir Robert smote him again with
all the strength that he was able, and the blow lighting upon the
buckler carried away a quarter of the shield. When Sir Raoul knew the
hardiness of his foe much he feared for the issue of the combat, and
well he wished himself once more beyond the sea, and Sir Robert settled
safely on his land. However, he put forward all his prowess, and
pressed Sir Robert so grimly that with one great stroke he clove to the
boss upon the very middle of Sir Robert's shield. For his part Sir
Robert struck fairly at Sir Raoul's helm, but he thrust his shield
before him, and that mighty blow passing clean through the buckler came
full upon the charger's neck, so that horse and rider tumbled to the
ground. Messire Raoul climbed stoutly to his feet, as a valiant man who
had often ridden with the spears, but Sir Robert lighted from his
steed, for he would not deign to fight at vantage with a foe on foot.
Now strove the two knights together, hand to hand, in such fashion that
shield and helm and hauberk were hewn in pieces, and the blood ran from
their bodies by reason of their trenchant glaives. Had they been able
to deal such blows as in the first passage of their arms, very quickly
both one and the other had been slain, for of their shields scarce
enough held together to cover their gauntlets. The fear of death or
shame was now before their eyes, and the nearness of their persons
summoned them to bring this judgment to an end. Sir Robert gripped his
sword in both hands, and with all the greatness of his strength smote
Sir Raoul upon the helm. Half the shattered headpiece fell upon his
shoulders, and the sword cutting through the coif made a grisly wound.
So bewildered was Sir Raoul at the stroke that he was beaten to the
knee; but he rose lightly again, though, since he knew that his head
was naked, very fearful was he of death. He ran therefore at Sir
Robert, smiting with all his power at the remnants of his shield.
Through shield and helmet went the glaive to the depth of full three
fingers, but the wearied sword coming full upon the coif of steel brake
in pieces, for the armourer's work was very strong. When Sir Raoul
looked upon the shards of his sword, and remembered that his head was
naked, much he doubted of his end. Nevertheless he stooped to the
ground, and seizing a great stone in both his hands flung it at Sir
Robert with all his might. Sir Robert stepped aside quickly, avoiding
the cast, and ran in upon his adversary, who turned his back and took
to flight about the lists. So Sir Robert cried that save his foe
admitted himself recreant and shamed he would slay him with the sword.
"Gentle knight," answered Sir Raoul, "I yield thee what remaineth of my
sword, and throw myself entirely on thy grace. Show mercy on me, gentle
knight, and pray thy lord and mine that he have pity upon me, and spare
my life. Take back thy land that I have held against both law and
right, and therewith take my own; for all I said against that fair and
spotless lady was just foul lies."
When my lord, Sir Robert, heard these words he thought within himself
that Sir Raoul might do no more. Therefore he prayed his lord so
urgently to pardon Sir Raoul for this felony, that his prayer was
accorded on such terms that Sir Raoul should abide over sea for all his
days.
In such fashion Sir Robert won back his land, and added that of Sir
Raoul besides. But in this thing he found little comfort, for grief of
heart over the fair and faithful lady from whom he had parted.
Moreover, in no wise could he forget John, his squire, who was lost to
him also. His lord, too, shared in his sorrow, for reason that he might
never gain tidings of his one fair child.
But Madame Jehane, who had spent two weeks in her cousin's chamber in
all ease and comfort, when she heard that her husband had gained the
battle, was greatly content. As we know, she had caused her women to
shape closely to her person four goodly gowns, and of these she arrayed
herself in the most rich, which was of cloth of silk, banded with fine
Arabian gold. So shapely was she of body, so bright of face, and so
gracious of address that nothing more lovely could be found in all the
world, so that her very cousin, even, marvelled at her exceeding
beauty. For the bathing, the tiring, and ease of mind and body of the
past fifteen days had given her back her early freshness, as was
wonderful to see. Very sweet, very ravishing showed Madame Jehane in
her silken robe banded with gold. So when she was ready she called to
her cousin, and said--
"How seem I to thee?"
"Why, dame, the prettiest person in all the world."
"Now, fair cousin, I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Go thou
straight to my father, and tell him to be heavy no more, but rather
merry and glad, because thou bringest him good news of his daughter.
Tell him that she is sound and well, and that so he come with thee, he
shall see her with his eyes. Then lead him here, and he will greet me
again, I deem, right willingly."
The maiden answered that gladly would she give the message, so she
sought out the father of Madame Jehane, and said as she was bidden.
When the lord heard thereof he wondered at this strange thing, and
going after the damsel found his daughter in her chamber. When he saw
her face he cast his arms about her neck, shedding tears of joy and
pity, yea, such was his happiness that scarcely could he find a word.
When he might speak he asked where she had been so long a while.
"Fair father," said the lady, "you shall hear it in good time. But, for
the love of God, cause my mother to come to me speedily, for I die
till I see her once again."
The lord sent incontinent for his wife, and when she was come into the
chamber where her daughter lay, and saw and knew her face, straight she
fell down in a swoon for joy, and might not speak for a great space.
But when her senses were come to her again no man could conceive the
joy and festival she made above her child.
Whilst mother and daughter held each other fast, the father of the fair
lady went in quest of Sir Robert, and meeting him said thus--
"Fair sweet son, very joyful news have I to share with you."
"Certes," said Sir Robert, "of joy have I great need, but God alone can
help my evil case, for sad at heart am I for the loss of my sweet wife,
and sad, besides, for the loss of him who did me more good than any
other in the world, for John, my faithful squire."
"Sir Robert," said the lord, "spoil not your life for John; squires can
be met with at every turning. But as to your wife, I have a certain
thing to tell, for I come from her but now, and know well that she is
the most peerless lady in all the world."
When Messire Robert heard this he fell a-trembling with joy, and said
to his lord--
"Ah, sir, for God's love bring me to see that this is true!"
"Right willingly," said the lord, "come now with me."
The lord went before and Robert followed after, till they were come to
the chamber where mother and daughter yet clasped each other close,
weeping with joy the one upon the other. When they knew their husbands
near they drew apart, and as soon as Sir Robert saw his wife he ran to
her with open arms, and embraced her. So they kissed each the other
with many little kisses, and wept for joy and pity. Yea, they held each
to the other in this fashion whilst a man might run ten acres of land,
nor ceased enlacing. Then the lord commanded that the tables should be
spread for supper; so they ate with mirth and merriment.
After supper, when the songs and the dances were done, they went to
their beds, neither was Sir Robert parted from the Lady Jehane, for
they were right happy to be met together again, and talked of many
things. At the last Sir Robert asked of her where she had been so great
a time, and she said--
"Husband, it is over long a story to tell, but you shall hear it all at
a more convenient season. Tell me, rather, what you have done, and
where you have been all this while."
"Wife," said Sir Robert, "I will tell you gladly."
So he told her all the tale she knew by rote, and of John his squire,
who gained him bread, and said that so distressed was he at the loss of
his companion that never would he give over the search till he had
found him, yea, that he would saddle with the morn and part.
"Husband," said the lady, "that would be madness. Are you set again to
leave me, and what shall I do thereof?"
"Certes, lady, I can do none other; for never man did such things for
his friend as he has done for me."
"Husband," said the wife, "what he did for you was but his duty; he did
no more than what he should have done."
"Wife," said Messire Robert, "by your speech you should have known
him."
"Truly," answered the lady, "truly, I should know him well, for never
aught of what he did was hid from me."
"Lady," said Sir Robert, "I marvel at such words."
"Sir," said she, "there is no need for wonder. If I tell you, yea and
verily, that such a thing is true, will you honestly believe my word?"
"Wife," said he, "on my honour."
"Believe, then, what I am about to tell you, for know assuredly that I
am that very John whom you would seek and this is how it happed. When I
was told the matter of the wager, and of the treason of Messire Raoul;
when, too, I knew that you were fled because of your grief at my
faithlessness, and by reason of the land that for ever you had lost,
then was I more cast down than any woman since woman first was made. So
I clipped my hair close to my head, and taking all the money in my
chest, about ten pounds Tournay, I arrayed me in the guise of a squire,
and followed after you to Paris, coming up with you at Tombe Isoire.
From there we companied together, even to Marseilles, where I served
you as my own liege lord for near seven years, nor do I grudge you
varlet's service. And know for truth that I am innocent and clean of
that deed the foul knight fastened upon me, as clearly now appears, for
he has been put to shame in open field, and has publicly confessed his
treason."
Having spoken thus, Madame Jehane embraced Sir Robert, her lord, and
kissed him very sweetly on the mouth. When Messire Robert was persuaded
that she, indeed, was John, his faithful squire, his joy was greater
far than thought or words may express, and much he marvelled that so
high a lady could prove so lowly and so serviceable. For which thing he
loved her the more dearly all the days of his life.
Thus came together these two parted lovers; thus, on their own domain,
which was both broad and fair, they lived a happy life, as becometh
lovers in their youth. Often Sir Robert rode to tournaments in the
train of his lord, and much honour he gained and such wealth, moreover,
that his land became twice as great as that he had. After the death of
the father and mother of Lady Jehane he became the heir to all their
substance. So stout a knight was he, that by his prowess he was made a
double banneret, and was worth four thousand pounds in land. Yet always
must he be a childless man, to his exceeding grief, though for more
than ten years he was with his wife after the combat with Sir Raoul.
After the term of ten years, by the will of God--which is mightier than
the strength of man--the pains of death gat hold upon him. He met death
like a brave knight, assoiled by the rites of Holy Church, and was laid
in his grave with great honour. His wife, the fair lady, mourned so
grievously upon him, that all about her felt pity for her sorrow. Yet,
during the days, the sharpness of her grief was assuaged, and she came
to take a little comfort, though as yet it was but a little.
The Lady Jehane bore herself during her widowhood as a devout and
kindly lady, devoted to God and Holy Church. Very humble was she and
right charitable, dearly cherishing the poor and needy. So good was she
that no tongue might say aught of her but praise; and so fair that all
who looked upon her owned that she was the mirror of all ladies in the
world for beauty and for virtue. But now for a little space the tale
ceases to speak of her, and returns to tell of King Florus, for it has
been dumb of him o'erlong.
King Florus of Ausay lay at his own castle sorely grieved and vexed at
the departure of his first wife, for she whom the barons had seated in
her chair, though fresh and gracious, might not bring that peace of
heart which was that lady's gift. Four years they lived together, yet
never might have an heir. At the end thereof the pains of death seized
the lady, so she was buried amidst the weeping of her friends, and with
such fair state and service as were fitting to the dignity of a queen.
King Florus remained a widower for above two years. He was yet a young
man, for he was no more than forty-five years of age, and his barons
prayed him that he would seek another wife.
"Certes," answered King Florus, "I desire not greatly to do this thing,
for I have had two wives, yet might not get an heir by either. Moreover
the first wife that I had was so virtuous and so fair, and so dearly
did I love her in my heart for her exceeding goodlihead, that never is
she absent from my thoughts. I tell you truly that never again will I
wed till I may meet a woman sweet and good as she. God rest her soul,
for as I hear she passed away in that White convent where she was
withdrawn."
"Ah, sire," said a knight who was in his private counsel, "many a
comely dame goes about the realm whom you have never seen. One at least
I know who for kindness and for beauty has not her like in all the
world. If you but saw her fairness, if you but knew her worth, you
would own that fortunate indeed were he--yea, though a king--who might
own such rich treasure. She is a gentlewoman, discreet, and rich in
money and in lands, and, if you will, I can tell you many a tale of her
discretion and of her worth."
The King replied that gladly would he hear; so the knight related how
the lady set out to follow after her lord, how she came up with him and
brought him to Marseilles, and the many kindnesses and the great
services she rendered him, just as the tale hath told before. Thereat
King Florus marvelled much, and said privily to the knight that very
gladly would he become the husband of such a wife.
"Sire," answered the knight, who was near neighbour to Madame Jehane,
"I will seek the lady, if such is your good pleasure, and will speak
her so fairly, if I may, that in marriage you twain may be one."
"Yea," said King Florus, "get you speedily to horse, and I pray you to
be diligent in your embassy."
The knight passed straightway upon his errand, and without any tarrying
came to the land where dwelt that lovely lady whom the tale calls
Madame Jehane. He found her in a certain castle of hers, and she
welcomed him gladly as a neighbour and a friend. When they might have
some private speech together, the knight conveyed to her the
commandment of King Florus, that she should ride to him and be wedded
as his wife. When the lady heard his word she smiled more sweetly than
ever siren sang, and answered softly to the knight--
"Your king knows less of women, nor is he so courteous, as fame has
bruited, to command that I should hasten to him that he may take me as
his wife. Certes, I am not a handmaid to ride to him for wages. But
tell your king rather to come to me if he finds my love so desirable
and sweet, and woo me to receive him as husband and as spouse. For
truly the lord should pray and require the lady, and not the lady the
lord."
"Lady," answered the knight, "all that you have told me will I tell
him again; but I doubt that he will come for pride."
"Sir knight," said the lady, "he will do the thing that pleases him;
but in this matter he shows neither courtesy nor reason."
"Lady," said the knight, "in God's name, so let it be. With leave I
take farewell to seek my lord the King, and will tell him as I am
bidden. So if there is any over-word give it me before I part."
"Yea," said the lady. "Take to him my greeting, and add my fairest
thanks for the honour to which he calls me."
The knight parted from the lady forthwith, and on the fourth day
returned to King Florus of Ausay, whom he found in his chamber, deep in
business with his privy council. The knight saluted the King, who gave
him his salutation again, and seating him by his side, asked how it
chanced in this matter of the lady. Then the knight gave the message
with which she charged him; how she would not come, for she was no
kitchen-maid to haste at his bidding for her wages; but that rather
should a lord pray and require of a lady; how that she sent him her
fairest greeting, and her sweetest thanks for the honour he craved of
her.
When King Florus heard these words, he pondered in his seat, nor did
any man speak for a great space.
"Sire," said a knight, who was of his inmost mind, "what do you
consider so deeply? Certes, all these words most richly become a
discreet and virtuous lady, and--so help me God--she is both wise and
brave. In good faith you will do well to fix upon a day when you can
seek her, and send her greetings and letters that on such a day you
will arrive to do her honour, and to crave her as your bride."
"Certes," said King Florus, "I will send her letters that I will lie at
her castle for Easter, and that she make all ready to receive her
husband and her King."
Then King Florus bade the knight who was his messenger to prepare
himself within three days to carry these tidings to his lady. On the
third day the knight set forth, and, riding hard, brought messages to
the lady that the King would spend Easter at her castle. So she
answered that since it was God's will it was woman's too, and that she
would take counsel with her friends, and would array herself to receive
him as the honour of a lady and his greatness required. At these words
the knight returned to his lord, King Florus, and gave him the answer
of the fair lady as you have heard. So King Florus of Ausay made him
ready for his journey, and with a great company set forth to the
country of this fair dame. When he was come there he took and married
her with great pomp and festival. Then he brought her to his own realm,
where she was welcomed of all most gladly. And King Florus joyed
exceedingly over his wife because of her great beauty, and because of
the right judgment and high courage that were in her.
Within the year that the King had taken her to wife the fair Jehane was
delivered of a daughter, and afterwards she rejoiced as the mother of a
son. The boy was named Florence, and the girl Flora. The boy Florence
was very goodly to see, and after he was made knight was esteemed the
hardiest warrior of his day, insomuch that he was chosen to be Emperor
of Constantinople. A mighty prince was he, and wrought great mischief
and evil to the Paynims. As to the Princess Flora, she became the Queen
of her father's realm, and the son of the King of Hungary took her as
wife, so was she lady of two kingdoms.
Such honour as this God gave to the fair lady because of her true and
loyal heart. For many years King Florus lived happily with his virtuous
wife, and when it was the will of God that his days should end, he took
back to his Maker a stainless soul. The lady endured to live but six
months after him, and departed from this world as became so good and
loyal a dame with a quiet mind.
Here finishes the tale of King Florus and the fair Jehane.