_The erle of Angiers being falsely accused, was banished out of Fraunce,
and left his two sonnes in sondry places in Englande, and retourning
(vnknowen) by Scotlande, founde theim in great authoritie, afterwardes
he repayred in the habite of a seruaunte, to the Frenche kinges armie,
and being knowen to be innocent, was againe aduaunced to his first
estate._
The Romaine Empire being transferred from the Frenche, vnto the Almanes,
there rose a great discencion betwene both the nacions, and in the ende
a cruell and continuall warre. For whiche cause, as well for the defence
of his kingdome, as to offende his ennemies, the Frenche king and one of
his sonnes, with all the power of their owne Realme and of their frendes
and allies, assembled a great hoste of menne to encountre with their
enemies: and before they proceaded, because they would not leaue their
realme without a gouernour, knowing Gualtieri, Erie of Anglers, to be a
gentle and sage knight, and their moste trustie frend, and that he was a
man moste expert in the art of warfare, seming vnto them
(notwithstanding) more apt to pleasure, then paine, lefte him
Lieutenaunt generall in their place, for the gouernement of the whole
kingdome of Fraunce: and preceded in their enterprise. The Erle then
began with great knowledge, and by good order, to execute his office
committed vnto hym, doynge nothinge withoute the consente of the Queene
and her fayre daughter in lawe, althoughe they were lefte to be vnder
his custodie and gouernement, yet neuertheles, he honoured them as his
Maistresses and superiours. The Erle Gaultieri was a beautiful
personage, about the age of fourtie yeares, so familiar and well
condicioned, as any gentleman could be, and be sides that, hee was the
moste excellent and trimmest knight that was knowen in those dayes, and
one moste comelie in his apparell. It chaunced that the king and his
sonne, being at the warres aforesaide, the wife of the Erle died in the
meane whyle, leauing him onely twoo litle yong children, a sonne and a
doughter, whiche he had by her. He then frequenting the court of the
aforesaid ladies, talking many times with theim about the affaires of
the Realme: the wife of the kinges sonne, fixed her eyes vpon him, and
with great affection (for his persone and vertues) feruently embraced
hym with secrete loue. And knowing her selfe to bee yonge and freshe,
and him to be without a wyfe, thought (sodainly) to bring to passe, that
whiche shee desired, and thinking that nothing could lette it but onelye
shame to discouer it, shee purposed vtterlye to abandone the same. And
vppon a daye beyng alone, shee sente one to seeke the Erle, as though
shee would haue communicated with him of other matters. The Erle whose
mynde was farre different from the Ladies, incontinentlye came vnto her:
who beyng sette downe together vppon a bedde (whiche she desired) alone
in a chamber, he asked her twyse vpon what occasion she sent for hym:
and she hauing nothing to saye vnto hym, pressed in the ende, and rapte
with loue waxed verie shamefaste and almoste wepinge, and quaking for
feare, with faynte woordes, began to saye as foloweth. “My derely
beloued and louing frende, and Lorde, you may easely knowe (beyng a wyse
man as you bee) the frailtie of men and women: and by diuers
considerations, the weakenesse to be more in the one, then in the other.
Wherefore (before a iust iudge) one fault of diuerse qualities, ought
not of reason to receiue one like punishement. Moreouer who is he that
will saye, that a poore man or woman, which getteth their liuing with
the labour of their bodie, ought not more to be reprehended if they
become amourous, and subiect to their lustes, then the riche Ladye
whiche taketh no care for her liuing, or wanteth any thing that shee
desireth. Truely I beleue there is none that will saye so: for which
reason I suppose that the things beforesayd, ought to serue the greatest
part of the excuse to the aduauntage of her that doth possesse them: if
it happen that shee geue her selfe fully to the conductions of loue: and
the superflusage of her saide excuse ought to consiste, in that shee
hath chosen her a sage and vertuous frende, if shee that loueth hath
done so in dede. Whiche twoo thinges as they ought to be (in my
iudgement) so they are in me, and many other also: whiche ought to
induce me to loue, accordingly as my youth requireth, and the great
distaunce that is betweene my husbande and mee. It behoueth nowe then,
that they should aduaunce them selues in your presence, for the defence
of my burning loue: and if the same do raine in you, whiche haue power
in the wise, then I beseche you to geue me counsayle and aide in the
thing which I shal demaunde. True it is, that for the long absence of my
husbande (not able to resist the prickes of the fleshe, and the force of
loue) whiche be of suche great effect, that they haue many times past
and yet daily do vanquishe and ouercome, not only feble and weake women,
but also the strongest men. I liuing in ease and idlenes as you se, and
forced to folowe the pleasures of loue and to become amourous: and as I
do knowe well, that suche thinges (if they were knowen) should not be
reputed honest. Neuerthelesse, the same being kepte secrete, I truste
shall not be reprocheful. Notwithstanding dame Loue is so fauourable
vnto mee, that not onely shee hath geuen me true iudgement in choise of
a frende, but hath reueiled vnto me that it is you whiche is worthy to
be beloued, of such a Ladie as I am. For if I be not greatlye deceiued,
I doe make accompte that you be the fayrest personage, the semeliest,
the moste curteous, and wysest gentleman, in all the Realme of Fraunce.
And as I maye saye, by reason of his absence, that I am without a
husband so may you affirme that you be without a wife: wherefore I
beseche you, for the loue that I beare vnto you, that you will not denye
me your loue and frendship, and that you will haue pitie vpon my young
yeares, whiche doubtles do consume for you, as I see against the fierie
flames.” At which worde the teares ran downe in such aboundance, as
where she thought to make further supplication and praiers, she had no
more power to speake. But holding downe her head, like one that was
ouercome, she threw her self downe into the Erles lappe, who like a
faithfull knight, began to blame (with sharpe rebukes) her fonde and
foolishe loue: pushing her from hym, as shee was about to clepe him
aboute the necke, and swoore great othes, that rather hee woulde be
drawen in peces then consent to suche a thing, to bee done by him, or
any other, against the honour of his Lorde and maister. Whiche woordes
the Ladie hearing, sodainly forgat her loue, and in great rage, sayde
vnto him: “Shall I then be frustrate, thou arrent villayne, in this wyse
of my desired ioye? but sithens thou goest about, to seke my
destruction, I will cause thee to be put to death, or els to be banyshed
the worlde.” When she had sayde so, by and by she caught her selfe by
the heare of the head, and almoste tare it of cleane, and then layde
handes vppon her garmentes, renting the same in peeces, and afterwardes
cried out aloude: “Helpe, helpe, the Erle of Angiers wil rauyshe me by
force.” The Earle seeing that (and farre more doubting of the enuie, and
malice of the Courte, then his owne conscience, for any committed facte,
fearing also, that more credite would be geuen to the wickednesse of the
Ladie, then to his innocencie) conueighed him selfe from that place, and
so soone as hee coulde, hee wente out of the palace, and fledde home to
his owne house, where without any further aduise, he placed his children
on horsebacke, and so well as he coulde caried them to Callice. At the
brute and noyse of the ladie, many people assembled: who seing and
hearing the occasion of her crie, not onely beleued her wordes, but also
affirmed, that the pompouse state of the Erle, was vsed by him to bring
to passe, th’effect of his desire. Then they ranne to the houses of the
Erle, in great furie, to arreste his persone: but not finding hym there,
they firste sacked his houses, and afterwardes ouerthrewe them to the
grounde. The newes hereof (so wicked as might be deuised) arriued at the
king and dolphins Campe, whereof they were so troubled and offended, as
they condempned the Earle, and all his progenie to perpetuall exile:
promising great giftes and rewardes, to them that would present them
quicke or dead. The Erle being offended in his conscience, for that he
was fled, innocent of the facte, made himself culpable therof, and
arriued at Callice with his children, dissembling what he was, and
sodainlye passed ouer into England, and in poore apparell, trauailed vp
to London. And before he entred the citie, he gaue his children diuers
admonicions, but specially of two things: First, that they should beare
paciently the pouertie, wherunto fortune (without their offence) had
brought theim. Afterwardes, that wisely they should take hede, at no
time to manifeste and declare from whence they came, and whose children
they were, as they loued the price of their owne lyues. The sonne was
named Lewes, almoste of the age of nyne yeares, and the doughter called
Violenta, was about the age of VII. bothe whiche chyldren, as their age
could suffer them, did well obserue their fathers hest, as afterwardes
it did right wel appeare. And because that this might the better be
brought to passe, it semed good vnto him, to alter their names, naming
the son Perotto, and the doughter Gianetta. And when they were arriued
at London, in maner of beggers, they craued their almosse, and being by
fortune for that purpose, one morning at a church doore, it came to
passe that a great Lady, which was one of the Marshalles of Englandes
wiues, in going out of the church, sawe the Erle and his two litle
children begging their almose, of whom she demaunded, what countrie man
he was, and whether those children were his owne, or not. To whom the
Erle answered, that he was a Picarde, and by reason of a wicked facte,
done by his eldest sonne (that was an vnhappie boye) he was forced to
departe his countrie, with those his twoo children. The Ladie whiche was
pitifull, fixed her eyes vpon the girle, who pleased her verie much,
because she was beautifull, gentil, and amiable, saying: “Good man, if
thou be content to leaue vnto mee, this thy litle doughter, which hath a
good face, I will willingly take her, and if she become a duetiful
maiden, when shee is mariagable, I wil marie her in honest wise.” This
demaunde greatly pleased the Erle, who redely aunswered, that hee was
contented, and with teares trickeling downe his eyes he deliuered and
commended his pretie doughter vnto her. And when he had thus well
bestowed her, he determined to tarrie no longer there, but in begging
his almose, traueiled through the countrie, with his sonne Perotto, and
went into Wales, not without great labour and paine, as one neuer
accustomed to trauayle on foote. Where dwelte one other of the kyng of
Englandes Marshalles, that was of great authoritie, and kepte a noble
house: to whose courte the Erle and his sonne oftentymes repayred, to
practise and begge their liuing: where one of the Marshalles sonnes, and
other Gentlemens chyldren, doyng certayne chyldyshe sportes and
pastymes, as to runne and leape, Perotto began to entermedle hym selfe
amonges them (who in those games dyd so excellentlye well, as none was
his better) whiche thyng diuers tymes the Marshall perceiuing, well
pleased with the order of the chylde, asked of whence hee was. It was
tolde him that hee was a poore man’s sonne, which many tymes came
thyther, to begge his almose. The Marshall desiring to haue the childe,
the Erle, whiche prayed vnto God for nothing els, liberallye gaue hym
vnto hym, although it greeued hym to departe from him. The Erle then
hauing bestowed his sonne and his doughter, determined no longer to
tarrie in England, but so well as he coulde, he passed ouer into
Irelande, and when he was arriued at Stanforde, he placed him selfe in
the seruice of a man of armes, belonging to an Erle of that countrie,
doing all thinges that did belong vnto a seruing man, or page: and not
knowen to any man, hee continued there a long time, with great paine and
toile. Violenta named Gianetta, that dwelt with the Ladie at London,
grewe so in yeares, in beautie, in personage, and in such grace and
fauour of her lord and lady, and of all the reste of the house, and so
well beloued of al them that knew her, that it was maruailous to see.
All men that sawe her maners and countenaunce, iudged her to be worthy
of great honour and possessions, by reason wherof, the lady that
receiued her of her father, not knowing what shee was, but by his
reporte, purposed to marrie her honourablie, according to her
worthinesse. But God the rewarder of all mens desertes, knowing her to
be a noble woman, and to beare (without cause) the penaunce of an other
man’s offence, disposed her otherwise, and to the intent, that this
noble gentlewoman might not come into the handes of a man of ill
condicions, it must be supposed that that whiche came to passe was by
God’s own will and pleasure, suffred to be done. The gentlewoman, with
whome Gianetta dwelte, had but one onely sonne by her husband, whiche
both shee and the father, loued verie dearelye: as well because hee was
a sonne, as also that in vertue and good merites hee greatlye excelled.
For hee surpassed all other in good condicions, valiaunce, goodnes, and
beautie of personage, being about sixe yeares elder then Gianetta: who
seyng the mayden, to be both fayre and comelye, became so farre in loue
with her, as he estemed her aboue all thinges of the worlde. And because
he thought her to be of base parentage, he durst not demaunde her of his
father and mother to wyfe. But fearing that he should lose their fauour,
he kept his loue secret, wherby he was worse tormented, then if it had
bene openly knowen. And thereby it chaunced, through Loue’s malice, he
fel sore sicke: for whose preseruation, were many Phisitions sent for,
who marking in him all signes and tokens of sickenes, and not knowing
the disease, were altogether doubtfull of his health: wherof the father
and mother tooke so great sorowe and griefe, as was possible, and many
times with pitifull praiers, they demaunded of him the occasion of his
disease. To whome he gaue for aunswere, nothing els but heauie sighes,
and that he was like to consume, and die for weakenesse. It chaunced
vpon a daye there was brought vnto him a Phisicion, that was very yonge,
but in his science profoundlie learned, and as he was holding him by the
poulces, Gianetta (who for his mother’s sake, attended him very
carefully, entered vpon occasion into the chamber, where he lay sicke,
and so sone as the yonge gentleman perceiued her, and that she spake
neuer a woorde, or made any signe, or demonstration towardes him, he
felte in his hart to arise his most amorous desire, wherefore his
poulces began to beate aboue their common custome: whiche thing the
Phisicion immediatly perceiued and marueiled, standing still to see howe
long that fitte would continue. Gianetta was no soner gone out of the
Chamber, but the beating of the poulces ceased: wherefore the Phisicion
thought, that he had founde out some part of the gentleman’s disease,
and a litle while after seming to take occasion to speake to Gianetta
holding him still by the armes, he caused her to bee called in, and she
incontinently came, but she was no soner entred the chambre but the
poulces began to beate againe: and when she departed, the beating
ceased. Wherupon the Phisicion was throughly perswaded that he
vnderstode the effecte of his sickenes, and therwithall rose vp and
taking the father and mother aside, sayde vnto them: “The health of your
sonne doth not consiste in the helpe of Phisicions, but remaineth in the
handes of Gianetta your maide, as I haue perceiued by moste manifest
signes, which maide the yong man feruently doth loue. And yet (so farre
as I perceiue) the maide doth not knowe it: you therfore vnderstand now
what to doe, if you loue his life.” The gentleman and his wife hearing
this, was somewhat satisfied: for so muche as remedy might be founde to
saue his life, although it greued theim greatly, that the thing whereof
they doubted, should come to passe, whiche was the mariage betwene
Gianetta and their sonne. The Phisicion departed, and they repaired to
their sicke sonne, the mother saying vnto him in this wyse: “My sonne,
I would neuer haue thought, that thou wouldest haue kept secret from
mee, any parte of thy desire: specially, seing that without the same
thou doest remaine in daunger of death. For thou art, or ought to be
assured, that there is nothing that may be gotten, for thy contentment,
whatsoeuer it had bene, but it should haue bene prouided for thee, in as
ample maner as for my selfe. But sithe thou hast thus done, it chaunceth
that our Lord God, hath shewed more mercy vpon thee, then thou hast done
vpon thy selfe. And to the ende thou shalt not die of this disease, he
hath declared vnto me the cause of the same: whiche is none other, but
the great loue that thou bearest to a yonge maiden, wheresoeuer she bee.
And in deede thou oughtest not to be ashamed, to manifest thy loue,
because it is meete and requisite for thyne age. For if I wist thou
couldest not loue, I would the lesse esteme thee. Now then my good
sonne, be not afraid, franckly to discouer thine affection. Driue away
the furie and thought which thou hast taken, and wherof this sickenes
commeth, and comfort thy selfe. Being assured, that thou shalt desire
nothing at my handes, that may be done, but it shall be accomplished of
mee, that loueth thee better then mine owne life: and therefore expell
from thee this shame and feare. And spare not to tell me, if I be able
to doe any thing, in that whiche thou louest. And if thou perceiue, that
I be not carefull to bring it to passe, repute me for the cruellest
mother that euer bare childe.” The yonge gentleman hearing these woordes
of his mother, was first ashamed, but after thinking with him selfe,
that none was so well able to pleasure him as shee (driuing awaye all
shame) sayed to her in this wise: “Madame, there is none other thing
that hath made me to kepe my loue so secrete, but that, which I see by
commune proofe in many, who after they be growen to yeares of
discretion, doe neuer remembre that they haue bene yonge. But for so
much as herein I doe see your Ladiship discrete and wyse, I will not
onely affirme that to be true, whiche you haue perceiued in me, but also
I will confesse what it is, vpon condicion that the effect shall folowe
your promise, so farre as lieth in you, and whereby you shalbe able to
recouer my life.” Whereunto the mother trusting to much in that, which
she ought not to haue accomplished, for certaine consideracions, which
afterwardes came into her minde, answered him liberally: “That he might
boldly discouer all his desire, and that forthwith she would bring the
same to passe.” “Madame (sayde the yonge man then) the great beautie and
commendable qualities of your maiden Gianetta, whom as yet not only I
haue no power to intreate, to take pitie vpon me, but also I haue made
no wight in the world priuie of this my loue. The not disclosing and
secrecie of whose loue, hath brought me in case you see: and if so be
the thing, whiche you haue promised, doe not by one meane or other come
to passe, assure your selfe that my life is but shorte.” The Ladie
knowing, that it was more tyme to comforte, then to reprehende, sayd
vnto him smiling: “Alas, my sonne, were you sicke for this? Bee of good
chere and when you are whole let me alone.” The yonge gentleman being
put in good hope, shewed in litle time tokens and signes of great
amendement. Wherof the mother was marueilous glad, disposing her selfe
to proue, howe she might obserue that which she had promised. And on a
day calling Gianetta vnto her, demaunded in gentle wise, by waye of mery
talke, “If she had not gotten her a louer.” Gianetta with face al
blushing, aunswered: “Madame, I haue no nede therof, and much more
vnsemely for so poore a damosell as I am, to meditate or thincke vpon
louers, which am banished from my frendes and kinsfolke, remaining in
seruice as I doe.” To whom the Lady saide: “If you haue none, wee will
bestowe one vpon you, whiche shall content your minde, and make your
life more delectable and pleasaunt: for it is not meete that so faire a
maide as you be, should continue without a louer.” Whereunto Gianetta
answered: “Madame, waying with my selfe, that you haue taken me from my
poore father, and brought me vp as your doughter, it becommeth me to do
that whiche pleaseth you. Notwithstanding, I intende neuer to make any
complaint to you for lacke of such, but if it please you, to geue me a
husbande, I purpose dutifully to loue and honour him. For my
progenitours haue left me none other inheritaunce but honestie, whiche I
meane to kepe, so long as my life indureth.” These woordes to the Ladye,
semed contrary to that whiche shee desired to knowe, to atchieue her
promyse made to her sonne, although (lyke a wyse Ladie) to her selfe,
shee greatly praysed the Damosell, and sayde vnto her. “But Gianetta,
what if my Lorde the Kyng (whiche is a younge Prince, and you a fayre
mayden) would take pleasure in your loue, woulde you refuse him?”
Whereunto the mayde sodaynlye aunswered. “The Kyng maye well force mee,
but by consent he shall neuer obtayne the thing of mee that is
dishoneste.” The Ladye conceyuyng the courage, and stoutnesse of the
mayden in good parte, sayde no more vnto her, but thinking to put the
matter in proofe, she tolde her sonne, that when he was whole, she
woulde put them both in a chamber that he mighte haue his pleasure vppon
her. For she thought it dishonest to intreate her maide for her sonne,
because it was the office of a Ruffian. The yong man was nothing
contented therewith, whereby hee sodainlye waxed sicke againe: which the
ladye perceiuinge, opened her whole intent to Gianetta: but finding her
more constant than euer she was before, she told her husband all that
she had done, whoe agreed (althoughe against their willes) to giue her
to be his wife, thinkinge it better (their sonne lyuing) to haue a wife
vnagreeable to his estate, then to suffer him to die for her sake. Which
after great consultation, they concluded, whereof Gianetta was
maruelouslye well pleased, and with deuout harte gaue thankes to God for
that he had not forgotten her. And yet for all that, shee woulde neuer
name her selfe otherwise, then the doughter of a Picarde. The yong sonne
waxed whole incontinently, and was maried, the best contented man aliue,
and began to dispose himselfe, louingly to lead his life with her.
Perotto which did remaine in Wales with the other Marshall of the king
of England, semblably increased, and was welbeloued of his maister, and
was a very comely and valiaunt personage, that the like of him was not
to be found in all the Island, in such wise as at Torneis, Iustes, and
other factes of armes, there was none in al the Countrie, comparable
vnto him: wherefore by the name of Perotto the Picarde, hee was knowen
and renowmed. And like as God had not forgotten his sister, euen so he
shewed his mercifull remembraunce of him. For a certaine plague and
mortalitie, happened in that countrie, which consumed the one halfe of
the people there: besides that the most part of them that liued, were
fledde for feare into other countries, wherby the whole prouince, seemed
to be abandoned and desolate. Of which plague, the Marshall his maister,
his wife, and his sonne and many other brothers, neuewes, and kinsfolk
died, of whom remained no more, but his onely daughter, which was
mariageable, and some of his seruauntes, together with Perotto, whom
(after the plagues was somewhat ceased) the yong gentlewoman toke for
her husband, through the counsaile and consente of certaine of the
countrie people that were aliue, because he was a valiaunt and honest
personage, and of all that inheritaunce which her father lefte, shee
made him lord. A litle while after, the king of Englande vnderstanding
that the Marshall was dead, and knowing the valour and stoutnesse of
Perotto the Picarde, he made him to supplye the rowme of the deade
Marshall. In this sort in short time, it chaunced to the two innocent
children of the Erle of Angiers, which were left by him as lost and
quite forlorne. It was then the XVIII. yeare sithens the Erle fledde
from Paris, hauing in miserable sorte suffred manye aduentures. Who
seinge himselfe to begin to waxe olde, was desirous (being yet in
Irelande) to knowe (if hee could) what was become of his children.
Wherefore, perceyuinge that he was wholy altred from his wonted forme,
and feeling himselfe more lustie (throughe the longe exercise and labour
which he had susteined in seruice) then he was in the idle time of his
youth, he departed from his maister (verye poore and in ill apparel)
with whom hee had continued in seruice a long time, and came into
England to that place where he had left Perotto, and founde him to be
Marshall of the countrie, and saw that he was in health, lustie, and a
comelye personage, which reioysed him maruelously, but he would not make
himselfe to be knowen to him, till hee had seene what was become of his
doughter Gianetta: wherfore taking his iourney, he rested in no place,
till he came to London. And there secretely inquyring of the Lady, with
whom he had left his daughter, and of her state, he learned that his
doughter was her sonnes wife, whereof hee toke exceding great pleasure.
And from that time forth, he compted his aduersities past as nothing,
sith he had found his children liuing and in such great honour. And
desirous to see her (began like a poore man) to harbour himselfe neare
vnto her house, whereuppon a certaine daye, beinge seene of Giacchetto
Lamyens: (for that was the name of the husbande of Gianetta,) who
hauinge pitie vppon him because he was poore and old, commaunded one of
his seruaunts, to haue him into the house and to giue him meate for
God’s sake, which the seruaunt willingly did accomplish. Gianetta had
many children by Giacchetto, of which the eldest was but eight yeares
olde: the fayrest and beste fauoured children of the worlde. Who when
they sawe the Erle eate meate, they all came about him and began to make
much of him, as though by nature’s instruction they had knowen him to be
their Graundfather. And hee knowinge his nephewes, began to shew them
tokens of loue and kindnesse. By reason whereof the children would not
go from him, although their gouernour did call them away: wherfore the
mother beinge tolde the same, came oute of a chamber vnto the place
where the Erle was, and threatned to beate them if they would not do as
their maister bad them. The children began to crie, and said that they
would tary by that good man, that loued them better then their maister
did, wherat the Lady and the Erle began to laugh. The Erle not as a
father but like a poore man, rose vp to doe honour to his daughter
because shee was a noble woman: conceyuing marueilous ioy in his minde
to see her: but she knewe him not at all, neither at that instant, nor
after, because he was so wonderfully transformed and chaunged from that
forme he was wonte to be: Like one that was old and gray headed, hauinge
a bearde leane and weather beaten, resembling rather a common personne
then an Erle. And the Ladye seinge that the children woulde not departe
from him, but still cryed when they were fetched awaye, shee willed the
maister to let them alone. The children remayning in this sort with the
honest poore man, the father of Giacchetto came in the meane time, and
vnderstode this of their maister: He that cared not for Gianetta, said,
“Let them alone with a mischiefe, to keepe companye with beggers, of
whom they come: for of the mothers side, they be but verlettes children,
and therfore it is no marueile, though they loue their company.” The
Erle hearing those words, was very sorowfull, notwithstanding (holding
downe his head) he suffred that iniurie, as well as he had done manye
other. Giacchetto which knew the mirth and ioy that the children made to
the poore man (althoughe he was offended with those words)
neuerthelesse, made as much of the poore Erle as he did before. And when
hee sawe him to weepe he commaunded that if the honest poore man would
dwel there to do some seruice, he should be reteyned. Who aunsweared,
that he wouid tarrie there with a good will, but he said that he coulde
do nothinge els but keepe horse, whereunto he was accustomed all the
dayes of his life. To whom a horse was appointed to keepe, and dailye
when he had dressed his horse, he gaue himselfe to play with the
children. Whiles that Fortune thus dealt (according to the maner
abouesaid with the Erle of Angiers and his children, it chaunced that
the French king (after many truces made with the Almaynes) died, and in
his place was crowned his sonne, whose wife shee was that caused the
Erle to be banished. When the last truce with the Almaynes was expired,
the warres began to grow more sharpe, for whose aide the king of England
sent vnto him (as to his new kinseman) a greate nomber of people vnder
the gouernement of Perotto his Marshall, and of Giacchetto Lamyens,
sonne of his other Marshall, with whom the poore Erle went: and not
knowen of any manne, remained a greate while in the Campe as a seruaunt,
where notwithstanding, like a valiaunt man, with his aduise and deedes
he accomplished notable thinges (more then hee was required.) It
chaunced that in the time of the warres, the Frenche Queene was very
sore sicke, and perceyuing herselfe at the point of death, repenting her
of all her sinnes, and was confessed deuoutly to the Archbishop of
Roane, who of all men was reputed an holye and vertuous man: and amonges
all her other sinnes she tolde him of the great wronge that she had done
to the Erle of Angiers, and was not onely contented to reueale the same
to him alone, but also rehearsed the whole matter before many other
personages of great honour, desiring them that they would worke so with
the king, that if the Erle were yet liuinge or anye of his children,
they might be restored to their state againe. Not long after the Queene
departed, and was honourablie buried. Which confession reported to the
Kinge, (after certaine sorowfull sighes, for the iniuries done to the
valiaunt man) hee made Proclamation throughout all the Campe and in many
other places, that whosoeuer could bring forth the Erle of Angiers, or
any of his children, shoulde for euery of them receiue a great rewarde,
because he was innocente of that matter for which he was exiled, by the
onely confession of the Queene: and that he entended to exalte him to
his former estate, and more higher then euer hee was. Which thing the
Erle hearing (being in the habite of a seruaunt) knowing it to be true,
by and by he wente to Giacchetto, and prayed him to repaire to Perotto
that they might come together, because he woulde manifest vnto them the
thinge which the kinge sent to seeke for. And when they were all three
assembled together in a chamber the Erle saide to Perotto, that now he
thought to let him vnderstand what he was, saying these woordes:
“Perotto, Giacchetto whoe thou seest here hath espoused thy sister and
neuer had yet any dowrie. And because she maye not be destitute of her
Dowrie, I purpose that he and none other shall haue the reward, which
the king hath promised to be so great. Thou shalt manifest thy selfe
Perotto, to be the sonne of the Erle of Angiers, and Violenta the wife
of Giacchetto to be thy sister, and me to be the Erle of Angiers thy
father.” Perotto hearing this and stedfastly beholding him, began to
know him, and weeping, threw himselfe downe at his feete, and afterwards
imbracing him, said: “My deare father, you are right hartely welcome.”
Giacchetto hearing first what the Erle had saide, and after seinge what
Perotto did, he was incontinently surprised with so great marueile and
ioye that he knew not what to do: notwithstandinge, geuinge credite to
his words, as being ashamed of the opprobrious talke, which he had vsed
towards the Erle, as to a seruaunt, weeping, fell downe at his feete and
humblie asked pardon for all his rashe behauiours towards him: which was
curteously graunted vnto him by the Erle, who toke him vp. And after
euerye of them had a while debated of their Fortune, and had well
bewailed the same, and reioysed one with another, Perotto and Giacchetto
would haue newly apparrelled the Erle, but he in no wise would suffer
them. And beinge desirous that Giacchetto mighte haue assurance of the
rewarde promised, he woulde that he shoulde first present him to the
king after that sort in the habite of a seruaunte as he was, that hee
mighte make him the more ashamed. Then Giacchetto with the Erle (and
Perotto after) came before the king, and offred to present the Erle and
his children if it should please him to reward him according to the
Proclamation. The king incontinently caused to be brought forth a reward
of marueilous value, (as Giacchetto thoughte) and commaunded him
forthwith to present the Erle and his children according to his promise.
Giacchetto then tourned about, and placed before him the Erle his
seruaunt, and Perotto, saying: “Sir, beholde the father and the sonne,
the doughter which is my wyfe, is not here. But by God’s helpe you shal
see her shortly.” The king hearing this, behelde the Erle: and albeit he
was so greatlye chaunged from his former fauour, after hee had well
viewed him, he knew him, and with teares standinge in his eyes, hee
caused the Erle to rise vp, that kneeled before him, kissing and
imbrasing him, and very graciouslye receiued Perotto: and commaunded
forthwith that the Erle should be restored to apparell, seruaunt, horses
and furniture, according to his state and degree, which incontinentlye
was done: And moreouer the kinge greatly honoured Giacchetto, and
forthwith desired to know all their Fortunes passed. And when Giacchetto
had taken the great reward for bringing forth the Erle and his children,
the Erle said vnto him: “Take these royall rewards of the king, my
soueraigne Lord, and remember to tel thy father, that thy children, his
nephewes and mine, be no beggers borne of their mother’s syde.”
Giacchetto toke the reward, and caused his wife and his mother in Lawe
to come to Paris: likewise thither came the wife of Perotto, where, with
great ioy and triumphe, they taried a certaine space wyth the Erle, to
whom the kinge had rendred all his goodes, and had placed him in greater
aucthoritie, then euer hee was before. Then euery of them toke their
leaue and retourned home to their owne houses: and from that time forth
the said Erle, to thende of his life, liued in Paris, in greater honour
and aucthority, then euer he did before.