THE GIANT OF ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT
Many are the tales of King Arthur's valiant Round Table of
knights--whose deeds have been sung almost more than those of the King
himself. But from the day when as a "damoiseau of some fifteen years,"
(men say in the sixth century after Christ), Arthur was crowned as
successor to Uther Pendragon, he was an example of chivalry to his
whole court.
"He was a very virtuous knight, right worthy of praise, whose fame was
much in the mouths of men. To the haughty he was proud; but tender and
pitiful to the simple. He was a stout knight and a bold: a passing
crafty captain, as indeed was but just, for skill and courage were his
servants at need: and large of his giving. He was one of Love's lovers;
a lover also of glory; and his famous deeds are right fit to be kept
in remembrance. He ordained the courtesies of courts, and observed
high state in very splendid fashion. So long as he lived and reigned
he stood head and shoulders above all princes of the earth, both for
courtesy and prowess, as for valor and liberality."
Having settled his own realm in peace and restored the kingdom to its
ancient borders, he conquered Ireland, Norway, Denmark and Flanders;
and, after a nine-years' war, added France to his dominions.
To him, thus flushed with victory, came ambassadors from the Emperor of
Rome, bidding him to appear at that city and make restitution for his
wrongful attacks on the empire's provinces, or to expect to be haled
thither in bonds for judgment by the senate.
The king's answer was to summon a vast army, commit the realm to the
care of his nephew Mordred, (who afterward wrought such bale to that
noble company) and set out over sea for Rome--"not to carry tribute,
but to seek it."
* * * * *
A puissant and well-armed host it was that set forth; and the
warrior-monarch who led them was arrayed in harness that surpassed
all his followers. His thigh-pieces were of steel, wrought strong and
fairly by some cunning smith. His hauberk was stout and richly chased,
even such a vesture as became so puissant a king. Upon him was girt his
sword, Excalibur. Mighty was the glaive, and long in the blade. It was
forged in the Isle of Avalon, and he who brandished it naked in his
hand deemed himself a happy man.
His helmet gleamed upon his head. The nasal was of gold; circlets of
gold adorned the head-piece, with many a clear stone; and a dragon was
fashioned for its crest. This helm had once been worn by Uther his
sire. The king was mounted upon a destrier (charger), passing fair,
strong, and speedy, loving well the battle. About his neck was set his
shield, all clean of elephant's bone (ivory), on which was painted in
several colors the image of Our Lady of St. Mary. The lance he carried
was named Ron: it was a strong shaft, tough and great, sharp at the
head, and very welcome at need in the press of battle. It had been
made in Caermarthen by a smith that hight Griffin, and King Uther had
carried it before time.
Setting out from Southampton with his great host, the king sailed for
France; and though the mariners, steering by the stars, "were very
fearful of the dark," the ships came safely to haven very early in the
morning at Barfleur in Normandy.
They had been but a little while in the land when tidings were brought
to the king that a marvellously strong giant, newly come to that land,
had carried off Helen the niece of his kinsman, Hoel.
This doleful lady the giant, named Dinabuc, had taken to a high place
known as St. Michael's Mount, though in that day there was neither
church nor monastery on the cliff, but all was shut close by the waves
of the sea.
The adventure which followed was told many times in the old days, by
Wace, Layamon and others. Let us listen to the unknown romancer of the
14th Century who left us _Morte Arthure_:
* * * * *
When they had reached the shore and raised their tents, a templar
came and informed the king: "Here, too, is a tyrant that torments thy
people, a great giant of Genoa engendered by fiends; he hath devoured
more than five hundred people and also many infants and free-born
children. This hath been his sustenance now for seven winters and
yet is the glutton not sated so well it pleaseth him. In the country
of Cotentin no people has he left outside the strong castle enclosed
within walls--for he has completely destroyed all the children of the
commons and carried them to his crag and devoured them there. The
Duchess of Brittany he has taken to-day near Reynes as she rode with
her fair knights, and led her to the mountain where he abideth. We
followed afar off, more than five hundred barons and citizens and noble
bachelors, but he reached the crag: she shrieked so loud: the horror of
that creature I shall never forget. She was the flower of France or of
five realms, and one of the fairest that was ever formed, the gentlest
jewel accounted by lords from Genoa to Geron, by Jesus of Heaven! She
was thy wife's cousin, as thou mayest know, and sprung from the noblest
race that reign in this earth. As thou art a righteous king, take pity
on the people and endeavor to avenge them that are thus affronted."
"Alas," said the king, "so long as I have lived had I known of this it
had been well: it has not happened fairly but fallen foul that this
fiend hath destroyed the fair lady. I had leifer than all France this
fifteen winters that I had been before that fellow a furlong away when
he laid hold of that lady and led her to the mountains; I had left
behind my life ere she had suffered harm. But can you tell me the crag
where lives that man? I will go to that place and speak with him, to
deal with that tyrant for treason to his lord, and make a truce for a
time till it may happen better."
"Sire, see ye yon foreland with yonder two fires? there lurks that
fiend--ask when thou mayest, upon the crest of the crag by a cold well
that encloses the cliff within its clear stream: there wilt thou find
dead folk without number, more florins i' faith than in all the rest of
France, and more treasure hath that traitor unlawfully got than there
was in Troy, I trow, what time it was conquered."
Then the noble king sighed for pity of those people, went right to a
tent and rested no longer, he welters and wrestleth with himself and
wringeth his hands--there was no wight in the world that knew what he
wanted. He called Sir Cayous that served with the cup and Sir Bedivere
the bold that bore his great brand.
"Look to it that after evensong ye be armed full well and mounted
on horses by yonder thicket--by yon blithe stream, for I will pass
privately in pilgrimage that way at supper-time when the lords are
served to seek a saint by yon salt streams on St. Michael's Mount where
miracles are seen."
After evensong King Arthur himself went to his wardrobe and took out
his clothes--he armed him in a jerkin with a rich golden fringe, and
above that laid a jeryn of Acre right over, and above that a coat
of gentle mail--a tunic of Jerodyn with edges frayed. He drew on a
bacenett of burnished silver--the best that was in Basill with rich
borders: the crest and the crown enclosed so fair with clasps of bright
gold adorned with stones--the visor and the aventail equipped so fair
without a flaw, with eyelets of silver; his gauntlets gaily gilded and
engraven at the borders with grains and balls of most glorious hue; he
bore a broad shield and calls for his sword, he jumped on a brown steed
and waits on the heath. He rises in his stirrups and stands aloft, he
strains himself stoutly and looks forth, then he spurs the bay steed
and rides to the thicket and there his knights await him gallantly
arrayed.
They rode by that river that runneth so swift where the trees
overstretch with fair boughs, the roe and the reindeer run recklessly
there in thickets and rose-gardens to feast themselves. The thickets
were in blossom with may-flowers, with falcons and pheasants of fair
hues--all the birds lived there which fly with wings, for there sang
the cuckoo full loud on the bushes, with all birds of merriment they
gladden themselves: the voice of the nightingale's notes was sweet,
they strove with the throstles three hundred at once, that this murmur
of water and singing of birds might cure him of ill who never was whole.
Then move these folk quickly and alighted on foot and fastened their
fair steeds afar off; then the king sternly told his knights to abide
with their horses and come no further, "For I will seek this saint by
myself and speak with this master man that guards this mountain, and
then shall ye partake of the Sacrament one after the other honourably
at St. Michael's full mighty with Christ!"
The king climbs the crag with cliffs full high, to the top of the
crag he climbs aloft; lifts up his umbrer and looks about him keenly,
receiving the cold wind on his face to comfort him; two fires he finds
flaming full high--for a quarter of a furlong he thus walks between
them: along the way by the well he wanders on to get to know of the
warlock and where he abides.
He moves to the port fire and even there he finds a very woeful widow
wringing her hands and weeping with painful tears on a grave newly
marked in the soil since midday it seemed. He saluted her sorrowfully
with becoming words and straightway asked after the fiend. Then this
woeful widow joylessly greets him, rose up on her knees and clasped her
hands, saying: "Unhappy man, thou speakest too loudly; if yon warlock
heareth he will devour us both. Cursed be the wight that directed thee
hither, that made thee to travel here in these wild parts. I warn
thee for thy honour thou seekest sorrow. Whither hastenest thou, man?
thou seem'st unhappy, goest thou to slay him with thy bright sword?
Wert thou wightier than Wade or Gawayn thou shouldest win no honour.
I warn thee beforehand: thou crossedst thyself unsafely to seek these
mountains; six such as thou were not sufficient to cope with him alone.
For an thou seest him alone, thy heart will fail thee to cross thyself
safely, so huge he seemeth.
"Thou art noble and fair and in the flower of thy manhood, but thou
art doomed already, by my fay, and that I foretell thee. Were there
fifty such as thee in the field or on the fair earth--the monster
with his fist would fell you all. Lo! here the dear duchess--to-day
was she taken--deep buried in the ground--he murdered this mild lady
e'er midday was rung--without any mercy I wot not why, he slew her
churlishly, and here have I embalmed her and buried her afterwards. For
the grief of this incurable woe I shall never be happy again. Of all
the friends she had, none followed after her but I, her foster-mother
of fifteen winters: to move from this foreland I shall never attempt,
but shall be found in this field till I am left dead."
Then answere Sir Arthur to that old wife: "I am come from the conqueror
courteous and noble, as one of the most noble of Arthur's knights, a
messenger to this vile wretch for the benefit of the people, to speak
with this master man that guards this mountain: to treat with this
tyrant for the treasure of lands and to make truce foretime till it may
turn out better."
"Fie, thy words are but wasted," quoth that wife then, "for he sets
but little by both lands and people. Nor of rents of red gold he
troubles, but he will break the law when he chooses himself, without
the permission of any, as lord of his own.
"But he hath a mantle which he keeps for himself that was spun in Spain
by special women and afterwards adorned in Greece full fairly: it is
covered all over with hair and embroidered with the beards of valiant
kings, woven and combed that knights may know each king by his colour,
in his home there he abides. Here he seizes the revenues of fifteen
kingdoms each Easter evening, however it so happens that they send it
themselves for the safety of the people--at that season with certain
knights, and he has asked Arthur all these seven winters. Therefore
he herds here to outrage his people until the King of Britain has
fed his lips and sent his beard to that bold monster with his best
knights; unless thou hast brought that beard go thou no further, for
it is bootless that thou shouldst stay for aught else: for he has more
treasure to take when he likes than ever had Arthur or any of his
forefathers. If thou hast brought the beard, he will be more pleased
than if thou gavest him Burgundy or Britain: but take care for love's
sake that thou keep thy lips silent so that no word escape from them
whatever betides; see that thy present be ready and trouble him but
little, for he is at his supper and will be easily angered. And now
take my advice and remove thy clothes and kneel in thy mantle and call
him thy lord. He sups all this season on seven children of the commons,
chopped up on a charger of pure white silver with pickles and finely
ground spices and wines of Portugal mixed with honey. Three luckless
damsels turn his spits."
"Ha! I have brought the beard," quoth he, "for thus it pleaseth me,
forth then will I go and bear it myself. But, pray, if thou wilt tell
me where this monster abideth, I shall commend thee an I live, so help
me our Lord!"
"Go straight to the fire," quoth she, "that flames so high: there lurks
that fiend as thou wilt discover: but thou must go somewhat to the
south, sidling a little, for his power of smelling extends over six
miles."
The source of the smoke he sought speedily, crossed himself safely
with certain words, and going to the side he caught sight of the fiend
as she said, unseemly supping alone. He lay at full length reposing
foully, the thigh of a man's limb he lifted up by the haunch, his back
and the lower parts and his broad loins he baked at the dreadful fire,
and he was breechless: there were roasting full rudely dreadful meats
of men and cattle bound together, a large pot crammed with anointed
children, some spitted like birds, and women turned them.
And then this comely king's heart was sorely grieved because of his
people at the place where he stood. Then he girded on his shield and
hesitates no longer, he brandishes his bright sword by its bright hilt,
goes forth to the fiend with a rough determination, and loudly hails
that giant with fierce words:
"Now may Almighty God that ruleth us all give thee sorrow and trouble,
thou glutton, that liest there for the foulest monster that was ever
formed--foully thou feedest thyself--the devil take thy soul! Here is
unclean quarry, fellow, by my troth--refuse of all creatures--thou
cursed wretch, because thou hast killed anointed children thou hast
made martyrs and taken away the lives of those who are broached here
on spits in this place and slaughtered by thy hand. I shall work thee
thy punishment as thou greatly deservest, by the might of St. Michael
who guardeth this mountain: and for this fair lady that thou hast left
dead; gird thyself, thou son of a dog, the devil take thy soul, for
thou shalt die to-day through the force of my arm."
Then was the glutton dismayed and glared unseemly; he grinned like a
greyhound with grisly teeth; he gaped and groaned aloud with grievous
gestures for wrath with the good king who spake to him in anger. His
hair and his forelock were matted together and hung before his face
for about half a foot. His brow and forehead were all like the skin of
a frog and seemed freckled, hooknosed like a hawk and a fierce bird,
and hairy round his hollow eyes with overhanging brows: rough as a
dog-fish--hardly could he be seen, so was he hid in that mass of hair:
ears he had full huge and ugly to see, with horrible eyes and burning
withal: flat-mouthed like a flounder with grinning lips, and the flesh
in his front teeth as foul as a bear. His beard was rough and black and
reached to his breast, fat like a porpoise with a huge carcass, and
flesh still hung in shreds from his foul lips. Bull necked was that
giant and broad of shoulders, with a streaked breast like a boar with
long bristles. Rough arms like oak-branches with gnarled sides--limbs
and loins right hateful to see, believe ye in truth; shovel-footed was
that man and he seemed to straddle, with unshapely shanks shuffling
together: thick thighs like a giant and thicker in the haunch--fat as a
hog, full terrible he looked. Whoever might reckon faithfully the full
length of this man, from the face to the foot, he was five fathoms long.
Then he started up sturdily on two stiff shanks and soon caught up
a club of bright iron. He would have killed the king with his keen
weapon, but through the wisdom of Christ, the carle failed. The crest
and the coronal and the silver clasps cleanly with his club he crashed
down to the earth.
The king raises his shield and covers himself completely, and with his
fierce weapon reaches him a blow, right full in the face he struck
him so that the burnished blade reached to his brains--he wiped his
face with his foul hands and strikes fast at Arthur's face fiercely
thereafter. The king changes his foot and withdraws a little; had he
not escaped that blow he had fared evil; he follows up fiercely and
strikes a blow high up on the haunch with his hard weapon, that half a
foot of the weapon is hidden in the flesh: the monster's hot blood runs
down the hilt; even to the entrails he strikes the giant.
Then he groaned and he roared and roughly strikes full eagerly at
Arthur, and on the earth strikes a sword's length within the sward, he
smites at once so that the king nearly swooned from the force of his
blow. But yet the king nimbly and swiftly strives, he smites with the
sword so that it gashed the giant's loins; and the blood gushes out so
that it makes all the ground slimy on which he stands.
Then he cast down his club and seizes the king--on the top of the
crag he caught him in his arms and enfolds him securely to crush his
ribs: so tightly holds he him that his heart is near to bursting. Then
the doleful damsels fall down on the earth, kneeling and crying and
wringing their hands, "Christ deliver yonder knight and keep him from
grief, and never let that fiend take his life."
Yet the warlock is so mighty that he crushes him under; fiercely they
wrung and wrestled together, they weltered and wallowed on those
rushes, they tumble and turn about and tear their clothes--roughly
from the top they tumble down together, Arthur sometimes on top and
sometimes beneath--from the crest of the hill right down to the hard
rock--they cease not until they reach the brink of the sea. But Arthur
with his dagger smites the giant until it sinks right up to the hilt in
him. The thief in his death-struggle grasped him so fiercely that three
ribs in the king's side were thrust asunder.
Then Sir Cayous the Keen, moved in sorrow for the king, said, "Alas,
we are undone, my lord is overthrown--fallen down with a fiend--it is
all over! We must be forfeit and banished for ever." They lift up his
hauberk and feel beneath--his stern and his haunches, too, right up to
his shoulders, his flanks and his loins and his fair sides, both his
back and his breast and his bright arms. They were glad when they found
no flesh wounds, and for that they were joyed, these gentle knights.
"Now certes," says Sir Bedivere, "it seemeth by my Lord! He seeketh
saints but seldom, wherefore he grips the tighter that thus seizes this
saint's body out of these high cliffs, to carry forth such a man to
clothe him in silver. By Michael, of such a fellow I have great wonder
than ever our Sovereign Lord should suffer him in Heaven: if all saints
be such who serve our Lord, I shall no saint be ever, by my father's
soul!"
Then laughs the bold king at Bedivere's words--"This saint have I
sought, so help me our Lord! Wherefore draw out thy sword and pierce
him to the heart; make certain of this fellow, he hath angered me
sorely. I have not fought with such a wight these fifteen winters, but
in the mountains in Wales I met such another. He was the strongest by
far that I ever met, and had not my fortune been favourable, dead would
I be now."
* * * * *
The other whom the king had in mind was Ryence (or Riton) a Welsh giant
who in his day made war on divers kings. Of these some were slain in
battle, and others remained captive in his hand. Alive or dead, Ryence
used them despitefully; for it was his wont to shave the beards of
these kings, and purfle therewith a cloak of furs that he wore, very
rich. Vainglorious beyond measure was Ryence of his embroidered cloak.
Now by reason of folly and lightness, Ryence sent messages to Arthur,
bidding him shave his beard, and send it forthwith to the giant, in all
good will. Since Arthur was a mightier lord and a more virtuous prince
than his fellows, Ryence made covenant to prefer his beard before
theirs, and hold it in honour as the most silken fringe of his mantle.
Should Arthur refuse to grant Ryence the trophy, then nought was there
to do, but that body to body they must fight out their quarrel, in
single combat, alone. He who might slay his adversary, or force him to
own himself vanquished, should have the beard for his guerdon, together
with the mantle of furs, fringes and garniture and all. An old ballad
describes the scene at Camelot when this impudent message arrived:
As it fell out on a Pentecost day,
King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,
With his faire queene Dame Guenever the gay;
And many bold barons sitting in hall;
With ladies attired in purple and pall;
And heraults in hewkes, hooting on high,
Cryed, _Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie_.
A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;
With Steven fulle stoute amids all the preas,
Sayd, Nowe sir King Arthur, God save thee and see!
Sir Ryence of North-Gales greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.
For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,
With eleven kings beards bordered about,
And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out:
This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable,
Maugre the teethe of all thy round table.
When this mortal message from his mouthe past,
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:
The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;
Princes puffd; barons blustred; lords began lower;
Knights stormed: squires startled, like steed in a stower;
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall,
Then in came Sir Kay, the king's seneschal.
Silence, my soveraignes, quoth this courteous knight,
And in that stound the stowre began still:
Then the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight;
Of wine and wassel he had his wille:
And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill,
An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold
Were given this dwarf for his message bold.
But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king,
That for his bold message I do him defye;
And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-Gales; where he and I
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye,
Whether he, or King Arthur will prove the best barbor;
And therewith he shook his good sword Escalabor.
King Arthur met this upstart in battle on a high mountain, and there
the king slew Ryence with the sword, spoiling him of that rich garment
of furs, with its border of dead men's beards.
And now as he looked down at the loathly Dinabuc he realized that he
had this time conquered a monster more loathly and misshapen, a giant
more horrible, bigger and mightier than was Ryence, even in the prime
of his youth and strength.
When he had thought upon these things the king said to his comrades:
"Anon strike off his head and put it on a stake, give it to thy squire,
for he is well mounted: bear it to Sir Howel, that is in sore straits,
and bid him take heart, for his enemy is destroyed: then bear it to
Barfleur and fasten it on iron and set it on the barbican for men to
see: my sword and my broad shield lie upon the moor on the crest of
the crag where first we fought, and the club thereby all of bright
iron, that hath killed many a Christian in the land of Cotentin: go
to the foreland and fetch me that weapon, and let us go back to our
fleet where it lays in the water. If thou wilt have any treasure take
whatever thou likest: I will have the mantle and the club, I covet
naught else."
Now they go to the crag, these comely knights, and brought him the
broad shield and his bright weapon, the club and the cloak too. Sir
Cayous himself goes with the conqueror to show the kings whom the king
had with him in secret, while bright day climbed up above through the
clouds.
By that time a great noise was there at the court, and in front of the
comely king they kneeled all together, "Welcome, our liege lord, too
long hast thou fought, our governor under God, ablest and most noble,
to whom grace is granted and given at his will. Now thy happy arrival
hath comforted us all, thou hast in thy royalty revenged they people.
Through help of thy hand thine enemy is destroyed that overcame thy
people and reft them of their children: never was there kingdom so
readily relieved of its troubles."
Then the conqueror speaks Christianlike to his people, "Thank ye God,"
quoth he, "for his grace and no man, for man's deed it never was but
His own might, or a miracle of His Mother's, who is so mild to all." He
called then the boatmen sharply at once to hasten with the shoremen to
shift the goods.
"All that great treasure which the traitor won, see it be given to the
commons, clergy, and others of the country; see it be dealt out to my
dear people so that none may complain, under penalty of your lives." He
ordered his cousin with knightly words to build a church on the rock
where the body lay, and a convent therein for service to Christ, in
memory of that martyr who rests in the mountain.
And that beautiful pinnacled church, thrusting up from the island's
rocky cliffs toward the sky, you may see at this very day.