"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 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, dame 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 nought 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 a 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 was Sir Graelent acquitted of his blame, and
declared a free man.
When judgment was given the lady took her leave of the King, and
attended by her four damsels departed straightway from the hall upon
her palfrey. Sir Graelent caused his white horse to be saddled, and
mounting, followed hotly after her through the town. Day after day he
rode in her track, pleading for pity and pardon, but she gave him
neither good words nor bad in answer. So far they fared that at last
they came to the forest, and taking their way through a deep wood rode
to the bank of a fair, clear stream. The lady set her palfrey to the
river, but when she saw that Graelent also would enter therein she
cried to him--
"Stay, Graelent, the stream is deep, and it is death for you to
follow."
Graelent took no heed to her words, but forced his horse to enter the
river, so that speedily the waters closed above his head. Then the lady
seized his bridle, and with extreme toil brought horse and rider back
again to land.
"Graelent," said she, "you may not pass this river, however mightily
you pain yourself, therefore must you remain alone on this shore."
Again the lady set her palfrey to the river, but Graelent could not
suffer to see her go upon her way without him. Again he forced his
horse to enter the water; but the current was very swift and the stream
was very deep, so that presently Graelent was torn from his saddle, and
being borne away by the stream came very nigh to drown. When the four
maidens saw his piteous plight they cried aloud to their lady, and
said--
"Lady, for the love of God, take pity on your poor friend. See how he
drowns in this evil case. Alas, cursed be the day you spake soft words
in his ear, and gave him the grace of your love. Lady, look how the
current hurries him to his death. How may your heart suffer him to
drown whom you have held so close! Aid him, nor have the sin on your
soul that you endured to let the man who loved you die without your
help."
When the lady heard the complaint of her maidens, no longer could she
hide the pity she felt in her heart. In all haste she turned her
palfrey to the river, and entering the stream clutched her lover by the
belt. Thus they won together to the bank. There she stripped the
drowned man of his raiment, and wrapping him fast in her own dry mantle
cherished him so meetly that presently he came again to life. So she
brought him safely into her own land, and none has met Sir Graelent
since that day.
But the Breton folk still hold firmly that Graelent yet liveth with his
friend. His destrier, when he escaped him from the perilous river,
grieved greatly for his master's loss. He sought again the mighty
forest, yet never was at rest by night or day. No peace might he find,
but ever pawed he with his hoofs upon the ground, and neighed so loudly
that the noise went through all the country round about. Many a man
coveted so noble a steed, and sought to put bit and bridle in his
mouth, yet never might one set hands upon him, for he would not suffer
another master. So each year in its season, the forest was filled with
the cry and the trouble of this noble horse which might not find its
lord.
This adventure of the good steed and of the stout knight, who went to
the land of Faery with his love, was noised abroad throughout all
Brittany, and the Bretons made a lay thereof which was sung in the ears
of many people, and was called a Lay of the Death of Sir Graelent.