"What is it you would have? Tell me now, for by my faith I will aid
you if I may, yet in all things saving my honour."
"Yea, sire, very easily you may do this thing, if so you please. May
God but grant that such is your pleasure."
"I will grant you the gift if it seems to me well, and I will refuse
you the boon if it seems to me ill. Nothing will you get from me,
neither gift, nor promise, nor blame, that it is not fitting for me to
bestow."
"Sire," answered he, "I will tell you the gift I crave at your hand.
You know who I am, and right well you knew my father. Well, too, you
know my manor and my household, and all those things wherein I take my
pleasure and delight. In guerdon of my love, I pray--so it may please
you, sire--your daughter as my wife. God grant that my prayer may not
disturb your heart, and that my petition may not be refused to my
shame. For I will not hide from you that although I am not of her
fellowship, yet have I spoken from afar with my demoiselle, and
perceived those fair virtues which all men praise. Greatly is my lady
loved and esteemed in these parts, for truly there is not her like in
all the world. I have been too rash, since I have dared to require so
gracious a gift, but so you deign to give to my asking, joyous and
merry shall I go for all my days. Now have I told you my petition; so
answer me according to my hope and your good pleasure."
The old man had no need for counsel in this matter, so without delay he
made answer to the knight--
"I have heard with patience what you had to tell. Certes, and without
doubt, my daughter is fair, and fresh, and pure, and a maiden of high
descent. For myself, I am a rich vavasour, and come of noble ancestry,
having fief and land worth fully one thousand pounds each year in
rent. Think you I am so besotted as to give my daughter to a knight who
lives by play! I have no child but one, who is close and dear to my
heart, and after I am gone all my wealth will be hers. She shall wed no
naked man, but in her own degree; for I know not any prince of this
realm, from here even to Lorraine, however wise and brave, of whom she
would not be more than worthy. It is not yet a month agone since such a
lord as this prayed her at my hand. His lands were worth five hundred
pounds in rent, and right willingly would he have yielded them to me,
had I but hearkened to his suit. But my daughter can well afford to
wait, for I am so rich that she may not easily lose her price, nor miss
the sacrament of marriage. Too high is this fruit for your seeking, for
there is none in this realm, nor from here to Allemaigne, however high
his race, who shall have her, save he be count or king."
The knight was all abashed at these proud words. He did not wait for
further shame, but took his leave, and went as speedily as he might.
But he knew not what to do, for Love, his guide, afflicted him very
grievously, and bitterly he complained him thereof. When the maiden
heard of this refusal, and was told the despiteful words her father had
spoken, she was grieved in her very heart, for her love was no girl's
light fancy, but was wholly given to the knight, far more than any one
can tell. So when the knight--yet heavy and wrathful--came to the
accustomed trysting place to speak a little to the maiden, each said to
the other what was in the mind. There he opened out to her the news of
his access to her father, and of the disaccord between the twain.
"Sweet my demoiselle," said the knight, "what is there to do? It seems
better to me to quit my home, and to dwell henceforth amongst
strangers in a far land, for my last hope is gone. I may never be
yours, neither know I how these things will end. Cursed be the great
wealth with which your father is so puffed up. Better had it been that
you were not so rich a dame, for he would have looked upon my poverty
with kinder eyes if his substance were not so great."
"Certes," answered she, "very gladly would I be no heiress, but only
simple maid, if all things were according to my will. Sire, if my
father took heed only to your good qualities, by my faith he would not
pain himself to prevent your coming to me. If he but weighed your
little riches in the balance against your great prowess, right soon
would he conclude the bargain. But his heart cannot be moved: he does
not wish what I would have, nor lament because I may wring my hands. If
he accorded with my desire, right speedily would this matter be ended.
But age and youth walk not easily together, for in the heart is the
difference between the old and young. Yet so you do according to my
device, you shall not fail to gain what you would have."
"Yea, demoiselle, by my faith, I will not fail herein; so tell me now
your will."
"I have determined on a thing to which I have given thought many a time
and oft. Very surely you remember that you have an uncle who is right
rich in houses and in goods. He is not less rich than my father; he has
neither child, wife nor brother, nor any kindred of his blood nearer
than you. Well is it known that all his wealth is yours when he is
dead, and this in treasure and in rent is worth sixty marks of virgin
gold. Now go to him without delay, for he is old and frail; tell him
that between my father and yourself is such a business that it may not
come to a good end unless he help therein. But that if he would promise
you three hundred pounds of his land, and come to require grace of my
father, very soon can the affair be ended. For my father loves him
dearly, and each counts the other an honourable man. Your uncle holds
my father as prudent and wise: they are two ancient gentlemen, of ripe
years, and have faith and affiance the one in the other. Now if for
love of you your uncle would fairly seek my father and speak him thus,
'I will deliver to my nephew three hundred pounds of my lands, so that
you give him your child,' why, the marriage will be made. I verily
believe that my father would grant your uncle his request, if only he
would ask me of him. And when we are wedded together, then you can
render again to your uncle all the land that he has granted you. And so
sweetly do I desire your love, that right pleasing I shall find the
bargain."
"Fairest," cried the knight, "verily and truly there is nothing I crave
in comparison with your love; so forthwith I will find my uncle, and
tell him this thing."
The knight bade farewell, and went his way, yet thoughtful and
bewildered and sad, by reason of the shame which had been put upon him.
He rode at adventure through the thick forest upon his grey palfrey.
But as he rode fear left him, and peace entered in his heart, because
of the honest and wise counsel given him by the fair maiden. He came
without hindrance to Medet, where his uncle had his dwelling, but when
he was entered into the house he bewailed his lot, and showed himself
all discomforted. So his uncle took him apart into a privy chamber, and
there he opened out his heart, and made plain to him all this business.
"Uncle," said he, "if you will do so much as to speak to her sire, and
tell him that you have granted me three hundred pounds of your land, I
will make this covenant with you, and plight you my faith, my hand in
yours, that when I have wedded her who is now denied me, that I will
render again and give you quittance for your land. Now I pray that you
will do what is required of you."
"Nephew," answered the uncle, "this I will do willingly, since it
pleases me right well. By my head, married you shall be, and to the
pearl of all the country, for good hope have I to bring this matter to
an end."
"Uncle," said the knight, "put your hand to my task, and so press on
with the business that time may go swiftly to the wedding. For my part
I will arm me richly, and ride to the tournament at Galardon, where, by
the aid of God, I trust to gain such ransom as will be helpful to me.
And I pray you to use such diligence that I may be married on my
return."
"Fair nephew, right gladly," answered he, "for greatly it delights me
that so gracious and tender a lady shall be your bride."
So without further tarrying Messire William went his way, merry of
heart because of his uncle's promise that without let he should have as
wife that maid whom so dearly he desired. For of other happiness he
took no heed. Thus blithe and gay of visage he rendered him to the
tournament, as one who had no care in all the world.
On the morrow, very early in the morning, the uncle got to horse, and
before the hour of prime came to the rich mansion of that old Prince,
and of her whose beauty had no peer. He was welcomed with high
observance, for the ancient lord loved him very dearly, seeing that
they were both of the same years, and were rich and puissant princes,
near neighbours in that land. Therefore he rejoiced greatly that one so
high in station did honour to his house, and spread before him a fair
banquet, with many sweet words, for the old Prince was frank and
courteous of heart, and knew to praise meetly where honour was due.
When the tables were cleared, the two spake together of old faces and
old stories, shields, and swords and spears, and of many a doughty
deed, in the most loving fashion. But the uncle of the good knight
would not forget his secret thought, and presently discovered it to the
Prince in saying--
"What go I now to tell you? I love you very truly, as you may easily
perceive. I am come to require a favour at your hand. May God put it
into your heart to lend your ear to my prayer in such a fashion that
the matter may be brought to a right fair end."
"By my head," answered the old Prince, "you are so near to my heart
that you are not likely to be refused aught that you may ask of me.
Tell me, that I may grace you with the gift."
"Sire, thanks and thanks again, for I would do the same by you,"
returned the uncle of the knight, who no longer cared to hide his privy
mind. "I am come to pray of you, fair sire, the hand of your virtuous
maid in marriage. When we once were wed I would endow her with my
wealth to the utmost of my power. You know well that I have no heir of
my body, which troubles me sorely; and I will keep good faith with you
herein, for I am he who loves you dearly. When your daughter is
bestowed upon me, it would not be my care to separate father and child,
nor to withdraw my wealth from yours, but all our substance should be
as one, and we would enjoy together in common that which God has given
us."
When he whose heart was crafty heard these words, he rejoiced greatly,
and made reply--
"Sire, I will give her to you right gladly, for you are a loyal and an
honourable man. I am more content that you have required her of me than
if the strongest castle of these parts had been rendered to my hand.
To none other in the world would I grant my maid so willingly as to
you, for you are prudent and hardy, and many a time have I proved ere
now that I may have confidence in your faith."
Then was promised and betrothed the damsel to a husband of whom she had
little envy, for she was persuaded that another had asked her as his
wife. When the maiden knew the truth thereof she was altogether amazed
and sorrowful, and often she swore by St. Mary that never should she be
wedded of him. Right heavy was she, and full of tears, and grievously
she lamented her fate.
"Alas, unhappy wretch, for now I am dead. What foul treason has this
old traitor done, for which he justly should be slain! How shamefully
he has deceived that brave and courteous knight, whose honour is
untouched by spot. By his wealth this aged, ancient man has bought me
at a price. May God requite it to his bosom, for he purposes to commit
a great folly, since the day we are wed he takes his mortal foe to
wife. How may I endure that day! Alas, may God grant that I shall never
see that hour, for too great is the anguish that I suffer because of
this treason. If I were not fast in prison, right swiftly would I get
quit of this trouble, but nought is there for me to do, since in no
wise can I flee from this manor. So stay I must, and suffer as my
father wills, but truly my pain is more than I can bear. Ah, God, what
will become of me, and when shall he return who so foully is betrayed.
If he but knew the trick his uncle has set on him, and how, too, I am
taken in the snare, well I know that he would die of grief. Ah, if he
but knew! Sure I am that he would ride with speed, and that soon these
great woes would be as they had never been. Too sorely is my heart
charged with sorrow, and better I love to die than to live. Alas, that
this old man ever should cast his thought upon me, but none may deliver
me now, for my father loves him because of his wealth. Fie on age! Fie
upon riches! Never may bachelor wed with loving maid save he have money
in his pouch. Cursed be the wealth which keeps me from him wherein I
have my part, for truly my feet are caught in a golden net."
In this wise the maiden bewailed her lot, by reason of her great
misease. For so sweetly was her heart knit in the love of her fair
bachelor, that in nowise might she withdraw her thoughts from him.
Therefore she held in the more despite him to whom her father had given
her. Old he was, very aged, with a wrinkled face, and red and peering
eyes. From Chalons to Beauvais there was no more ancient knight than
he, nor from there to Sens a lord more rich, for that matter. But all
the world held him as pitiless and felon; whilst so beautiful and brave
was the lady, that men knew no fairer heiress, nor so courteous and
simple a maiden, no, not within the Crown of France. How diverse were
these twain. On one side was light, and on the other darkness; but
there was no spot in the brightness, and no ray within the dark. But
the less grief had been hers had she not set her love on so perilous a
choice.
Now he to whom the damsel was betrothed, because of his exceeding
content, made haste to appoint some near day for the wedding. For he
knew little that she was as one distraught by reason of the great love
she bore his nephew, as you have heard tell. So her father made all
things ready, very richly, and when the third day was come he sent
letters to the greybeards, and to those he deemed the wisest of that
land, bidding them to the marriage of his daughter, who had bestowed
her heart elsewhere. Since he was well known to all the country round,
a great company of his friends came together to the number of thirty,
to do honour to his house, since not one of them but owed him service
for his lands. Then it was accorded between them that the demoiselle
should be wedded early on the morrow, and her maidens were bidden to
prepare their lady for the wedding on the appointed day and hour. But
very wrathful and troubled in heart were the maidens by reason of this
thing.
The Prince inquired of the damsels if his daughter was fitly arrayed
against her marriage, and had content therein, or was in need of aught
that it became her state to have.
"Nothing she needs, fair sire," made answer one of her maidens, "so far
as we can see; at least so that we have palfreys and saddles enow to
carry us to the church, for of kinsfolk and of cousins are a many near
this house."
"Do not concern yourself with the palfreys," replied the Prince, "for I
trow we shall have to spare. There is not a lord bidden to the wedding
whom I have not asked to lend us from his stables."
Then, making no further tarrying, he returned to his own lodging, with
peace and confidence in his heart.
Messire William, that brave and prudent knight, had little thought that
this marriage was drawing so near its term. But Love held him so fast
that he made haste to return, for ever the remembrance of her face was
before his eyes. Since love flowered so sweetly within his heart, he
parted from the tournament in much content, for he deemed that he rode
to receive the gift he desired beyond all the world. Such he hoped was
the will of God, and such the end of the adventure. Therefore he
awaited in his manor, with what patience he might, the fair and
pleasant tidings his uncle must presently send him, to hasten to the
spousal of his bride. Since he had borne off all the prizes of the
tourney, he bade a minstrel to his hall, and sang joyously to the
playing of the viol. Yet, though all was revelry and merriment, often
he looked towards the door to see one enter therein with news. Much he
marvelled when the hour would bring these welcome words, and often he
forgot to mark the newest refrains of the minstrel, because his
thoughts were otherwhere. At the time hope was growing sick a varlet
came into the courtyard. When Messire William saw him the heart in his
breast leaped and fluttered for joy.
"Sire," said the varlet, "God save you. My lord, your friend, whom well
you know, has sent me to you in his need. You have a fair palfrey, than
which none goes more softly in the world. My lord prays and requires of
you that for love of him you will lend him this palfrey, and send it by
my hand forthwith."
"Friend," answered the knight, "for what business?"
"Sire, to carry his lady daughter to the church, who is so dainty-sweet
and fair."
"For what purpose rides she to church?"
"Fair sire, there to marry your uncle to whom she is betrothed. Early
to-morrow morn my lady will be brought to the ancient chapel deep
within the forest. Hasten, sire, for already I tarry too long. Lend
your palfrey to your uncle and my lord. Well we know that it is the
noblest horse within the realm, as many a time has been proved."