{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_5988/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_5988","id":"gutenberg_5988","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5988","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fantasy","French literature -- To 1500 -- Translations into English","Romances","Tales, Medieval"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1896 George Allen edition by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\n                                OLD FRENCH\n                                 ROMANCES\n\n\n                            DONE INTO ENGLISH\n\n                                    BY\n\n                              WILLIAM MORRIS\n\n                         WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY\n\n                              JOSEPH JACOBS\n\n                      [Picture: Decorative graphic]\n\n                                  LONDON\n                        GEORGE ALLEN, RUSKIN HOUSE\n                                   1896\n\n                          _All rights reserved_\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                   Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n                         At the Ballantyne Press\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nMANY of us have first found our way into the Realm of Romance, properly\nso called, through the pages of a little crimson clad volume of the\n_Biblioth\u00e8que Elzevirienne_. {1}  Its last pages contain the charming\nCante-Fable of _Aucassin et Nicolete_, which Mr. Walter Pater\u2019s praises\nand Mr. Andrew Lang\u2019s brilliant version have made familiar to all lovers\nof letters.  But the same volume contains four other tales, equally\ncharming in their way, which Mr. William Morris has now made part of\nEnglish literature by writing them out again for us in English,\nreproducing, as his alone can do of living men\u2019s, the tone, the colour,\nthe charm of the Middle Ages.  His versions have appeared in three\nsuccessive issues of the Kelmscott Press, which have been eagerly snapped\nup by the lovers of good books.  It seemed a pity that these cameos of\nromance should suffer the same fate as Mr. Lang\u2019s version of _Aucassin et\nNicolete_, which has been swept off the face of the earth by the Charge\nof the Six Hundred, who were lucky enough to obtain copies of the only\nedition of that little masterpiece of translation.  Mr. Morris has,\ntherefore, consented to allow his versions of the Romances to be combined\ninto one volume in a form not unworthy of their excellence but more\naccessible to those lovers of books whose purses have a habit of varying\nin inverse proportion to the amount of their love.  He has honoured me by\nasking me to introduce them to that wider public to which they now make\ntheir appeal.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nALMOST all literary roads lead back to Greece.  Obscure as still remains\nthe origin of that _genre_ of romance to which the tales before us\nbelong, there is little doubt that their models, if not their originals,\nwere once extant at Constantinople.  Though in no single instance has the\nGreek original been discovered of any of these romances, the mere name of\ntheir heroes would be in most cases sufficient to prove their Hellenic or\nByzantine origin.  Heracles, Athis, Porphirias, Parthenopeus, Hippomedon,\nProtesilaus, Cliges, Cleomades, Clarus, Berinus\u2014names such as these can\ncome but from one quarter of Europe, and it is as easy to guess how and\nwhen they came as whence.  The first two crusades brought the flower of\nEuropean chivalry to Constantinople and restored that spiritual union\nbetween Eastern and Western Christendom that had been interrupted by the\ngreat schism of the Greek and Roman Churches.  The crusaders came mostly\nfrom the Lands of Romance.  Permanent bonds of culture began to be formed\nbetween the extreme East and the extreme West of Europe by intermarriage,\nby commerce, by the admission of the nobles of Byzantium within the\norders of chivalry.  These ties went on increasing throughout the twelfth\ncentury till they culminated at its close with the foundation of the\nLatin kingdom of Constantinople.  In European literature these historic\nevents are represented by the class of romances represented in this\nvolume, which all trace back to versions in verse of the twelfth century,\nthough they were done into prose somewhere in Picardy during the course\nof the next century.  Daphnis and Chloe, one might say, had revived after\na sleep of 700 years, and donned the garb and spoke the tongue of\nRomance.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe very first of our tales illustrates admirably the general course of\ntheir history.  It is, in effect, a folk etymology of the name of the\ngreat capital of the Eastern Empire.  Constantinople, so runs the tale,\nreceived that name instead of Byzantium, because of the remarkable career\nof one of its former rulers, Coustans.  M. Wesselovsky has published in\n_Romania_ (vi. 1. seq.) the _Dit de l\u2019empereur Constant_, the verse\noriginal of the story before us, and in this occur the lines\u2014\n\n   Pour ce que si _nobles_ estoit\n   Et que nobles \u0153vres faisoit\n   L\u2019appielloient _Constant le noble_\n   Et pour \u00e7ou ot _Constantinnoble_\n   Li cyt\u00e9s de Bissence a non.\n\nFrom which it would appear that we are mistaken in thinking of the\ncapital of Turkey as the \u201cCity of Constantine,\u201d whereas it is rather\nConstant the Noble, and the name Coustant is further explained as\n\u201ccosting\u201d too much.  Constantinople, therefore, is the city that costs\ntoo much, according to the prophetic etymology of the folk.\n\nThe only historic personage with whom this Coustant can be identified is\nConstantius Chlorus, the father of Constantine the Great and the husband\nof St. Helena, to whom legend ascribes the discovery of the Holy Rood.\nBut the Coustans of our story never lived or ruled on land or sea, and\nhis predecessor, Muselinus, is altogether unknown to Byzantine annals,\nwhile their interlaced history reads more like a page of the _Arabian\nNights_ than of Gibbon.\n\nBut such a legend could scarcely have arisen elsewhere than at\nConstantinople.  It is one of those fables that the disinherited folk\nhave at all times invented to solace themselves for their disinherison.\nThe sudden and fated rise of one of the folk to the heights of power\noccurs sufficiently often to afford material for the day dreams of\nambitious youth.  There is even a popular tendency to attribute a lowly\norigin to all favourites of fortune, as witness the legends that have\ngrown up about the early careers of Beckett, Whittington, Wolsey, none of\nwhom was as ill-born as popular tradition asserts.  Yet such legends\ninvariably grow up in the country of their heroes, which is the only one\nsufficiently interested in their career, so far as the common people are\nconcerned.  Hence the very nature of our story would cause us to locate\nits origin on the banks of the Bosphorus.\n\nBut once originated in this manner, there is no limit to the travels it\nmay take.  Curiously enough, the very legend before us in all its details\nhas found a home among the English peasantry.  The Rev. S. Baring-Gould\ncollected in Yorkshire a story which he contributed to Henderson\u2019s\n_Folklore of the Northern Counties_, and entitled _The Fish and the\nRing_. {2}  In this legend a girl comes as the unwelcome sixth of the\nfamily of a very poor man who lived under the shadow of York Minster.  A\nKnight, riding by on the day of her birth, discovers, by consultation of\nthe Book of Fate, that she was destined to marry his son.  He offers to\nadopt her, and throws her into the River Ouse.  A fisherman saves her,\nand she is again discovered after many years by the Knight, who learns\nwhat Fate has still in store for his son.  He sends her to his brother at\nScarborough with a fatal letter, ordering him to put her to death.  But\non the way she is seized by a band of robbers, who read the letter and\nreplace it by one ordering the Baron\u2019s son to be married to her\nimmediately on her arrival.\n\nWhen the Baron discovers that he has not been able to evade the decree of\nfate he still persists in his persecution, and taking a ring from his\nfinger throws it into the sea, saying that the girl shall never live with\nhis son till she can show him that ring.  She wanders about and becomes a\nscullery-maid at a great castle, and one day when the Baron is dining at\nthe castle, while cleaning a great fish she finds his ring, and all ends\nhappily.\n\nNow on the east wall of the chancel of Stepney Church there is a monument\nerected to Dame Rebecca Berry, wife of Thomas Elton, of Stratford, Bow,\nand relict of Sir John Berry, 1696.  The arms on the monument are thus\nblazoned by heralds . . . .  \u201cPaly of six on a bend three mullets (Elton)\nimpaling a fish, and in the dexter chief point an annulet between two\nbends wavy.\u201d  The reference in the impalement of the blazon is obvious.\nA local tradition confidently identifies Dame Berry as the heroine of the\nYorkshire legend, though of course it is ignorant of her connection with\nthe etymology of Constantinople.\n\nNow this tale, or the first half of it, is but a Yorkshire variant of one\nspread throughout Europe.  The opening of the twenty-ninth story of the\ncollection of the Brothers Grimm, and entitled _The Devil with the Three\nGolden Hairs_, is exactly the same, and in their Notes they give\nreferences to many similar European folk-tales.  The story is found in\nModern Greece (Von Hahn, No. XX.), and it is, therefore, possible that\nthe story of King Coustans is the adaptation of a Greek folk-tale for the\npurposes of a Folk Etymology.  But the letter, \u201cOn delivery, please kill\nbearer,\u201d is scarcely likely to have occurred twice to the popular\nimagination, and one is almost brought to the conclusion that the romance\nbefore us was itself either directly or indirectly the source of all the\nEuropean Folk-tales in which the letter \u201cTo kill bearer\u201d occurs.  And as\nwe have before traced the Romance back to Constantinople, one is further\ntempted to trace back the Letter itself to a reminiscence of Homer\u2019s\n\u03c3\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u03bb\u03c5\u03b3\u03c1\u03ac.\n\nI have said above that no Greek original of any of these Romances has\nhitherto been discovered.  But in the case of King Coustans we can at any\nrate get within appreciable distance of it.  As recently as 1895 a\nlearned Teuton, Dr. Ernst Kuhn, pointed out, appropriately enough in the\n_Byzantinische Zeitschrift_, the existence of an Ethiopic and of an\nArabic version of the legend.  He found in one of Mr. Quaritch\u2019s\ncatalogues a description of an illuminated Ethiopic MS., once belonging\nto King Theodore of Magdala fame, which from the account given of several\nof the illustrations he was enabled to identify as the story of \u201cThe Man\nborn to be King.\u201d  His name in the Ethiopic version is Thalassion, or\nEthiopic words to that effect, and the Greek _provenance_ of the story is\nthereby established.  Dr. Kuhn was also successful in finding an Arabic\nversion done by a Coptic Christian.  In both these versions the story is\ntold as a miracle due to the interference of the Angel Michael; and it is\na curious coincidence that in Mr. Morris\u2019 poetical version of our story\nin the \u201cEarthly Paradise\u201d he calls his hero Michael.  Unless some steps\nare taken to prevent the misunderstanding, it is probable that some\nTeutonic investigator of the next century will, on the strength of this\nidentity of names, bring Mr. Morris in guilty of a knowledge of Ethiopic.\n\nBut for the name of the hero one might have suspected these Oriental\nversions of being derived, not from a Greek, but from an Indian original.\nMr. Tawney has described a variant found in the _Kath\u0101kosa_ {3} which\nresembles our tale much more closely than any of the European folk-tales\nin the interesting point that the predestined bride herself finds the\nfatal letter and makes the satisfactory substitution.  In the Indian tale\nthis is done with considerable ingenuity and _vraisemblance_.  The girl\u2019s\nname is Visha, and the operative clause of the fatal letter is:\n\n   \u201cBefore this man has washed his feet, do thou with speed\n   Give him poison (_visham_), and free my heart from care.\u201d\n\nThe lady thinks (or wishes) that her father is a bad orthographist, and\ncorrects his spelling by omitting the final _m_, so that the letter reads\n\u201cGive him Visha,\u201d with results more satisfactory to the young lady than\nto her father.  This variant is so very close to our tale, while the\nletter incident in it is so much more naturally developed than in the\nromance that one might almost suspect it of having been the original.\nBut we must know more about the _Kath\u0101kosa_ and about the communication\nbetween Byzantium and India before we can decisively determine which came\nfirst.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nAmis and Amil were the David and Jonathan, the Orestes and Pylades, of\nthe medi\u00e6val world.  Dr. Hofmann, who has edited the earliest French\nverse account of the Legend, enumerates nearly thirty other versions of\nit in almost all the tongues of Western and Northern Europe, not to\nmention various versions which have crept into different collections of\nthe Lives of the Saints.  For their peerless friendship raised them to\nthe ranks of the martyrs, at any rate, at Mortara and Novara, where,\naccording to the Legend, they died.  The earliest of all these forms is a\nset of Latin Hexameters by one Radulfus Tortarius, born at Fleury, 1063,\nlived in Normandy, and died some time after 1122.  It was, therefore,\npossible that the story had come back with the first crusaders, and the\nGrimms attribute to it a Greek original.  But in its earliest as well as\nin its present form, it is definitely located on Romance soil, while the\nnames of the heroes are clearly Latin (Amicus and \u00c6milius).  It was,\nhowever, only at a later stage that the story was affiliated to the Epic\nCycle of Charlemagne.  On the face of it there is clearly stamped the\nimpress of popular tradition.  Heads are not so easily replaced, except\nby a freak of the Folk imagination.  It is probably for this reason that\nM. Gaston Paris attributes an Oriental origin to the latter part of the\ntale, and for the same reason the Benedictine Fathers have had serious\ndoubts about admitting it into the _Acta Sanctorum_.  On the other hand,\nthe editors of the French text, the translation of which we have before\nus, go so far as to conjecture that there is a historic germ for the\nwhole Legend in certain incidents of the War of Charlemagne against\nDidier.  But as the whole connection of the Legend with the Charlemagne\nCycle is late, we need not attribute much importance to, indeed, we may\nat once dismiss their conjecture.\n\nThese disputes of the pundits cannot destroy the charm of the Legend.\nNever, even in antiquity, have the claims of friendship been urged with\nsuch a passionate emphasis.  The very resemblance of the two heroes is\nsymbolic of their similarity of character; the very name of one of them\nis Friend pure and simple.  The world is well lost for friendship\u2019s sake\non the one side, on the other nearest and dearest are willingly and\nliterally sacrificed on the altar of friendship.  One of the most\ncharming of the _Fioretti_ tells how St. Francis overcame in himself the\nmedi\u00e6val dread at the touch of a leper, and washed and tended one of the\npoor unfortunates.  He was but following the example of Amil, who was not\ndeterred by the dreaded sound of the \u201ctartavelle\u201d\u2014the clapper or rattle\nwhich announced the approach of the leper {4}\u2014from tending his friend.\n\nHere again romance has points of contact with the folk tale.  The end of\nthe Grimms\u2019 tale of _Faithful John_ is clearly the same as that of _Amis\nand Amile_. {5}  Once more we are led to believe in some dependence of\nthe Folk-Tale on Romance, or, _vice versa_, since an incident like that\nof resuscitation by the sacrifice of a child is not likely to occur\nindependently to two different tellers of tales.  The tale also contains\nthe curious incident of the unsheathed sword in bed, which, both in\nromances and folk-tales, is regarded as a complete bar to any divorce\ncourt proceedings.  It is probable that the sword was considered as a\nliving person, so that the principle _publico_ was applied, and the sword\nwas regarded as a kind of chaperon. {6}  It is noteworthy that the\nincident occurs in _Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp_, which is a late\ninterpolation into the _Arabian Nights_, and may be due there to European\ninfluence.  But another incident in the romance suggests that it was\nderived from a folk-tale rather than the reverse.  The two bowls of wood\ngiven to the heroes at baptism are clearly a modification of that\nfamiliar incident in folk-tales, where one of a pair leaves with the\nother a \u201cLifetoken\u201d {7} which will sympathetically indicate his state of\nhealth.  As this has been considerably attenuated in our romance, we are\nled to the conclusion that it is itself an adaptation of a folk-tale.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThe tale of _King Florus_\u2014the gem of the book\u2014recalls the early part of\nShakespeare\u2019s _Cymbeline_ and the bet about a wife\u2019s virtue, which forms\nthe subject of many romances, not a few folk-tales, and at least one\nfolk-song.  _The Romance of the Violet_, by Gerbert de Montruil, _circa_\n1225, derives its name from the mother\u2019s mark of the heroine, which\ncauses her husband to lose his bet.  This was probably the source of\nBoccaccio\u2019s novel (ii. 9), from which Shakespeare\u2019s more immediately\ngrew.  The Gaelic version of this incident, collected by Campbell (_The\nChest_, No. ii.), is clearly not of folk origin, but derived directly or\nindirectly from Boccaccio, in whom alone the Chest is found.  Yet it is\ncurious that, practically, the same story as the _Romance of the Violet_\nis found among folk-songs in modern Greece and in Modern Scotland.  In\nPassow\u2019s collection of Romaic Folk Songs there is one entitled _Maurianos\nand the King_, which is in substance our story; and it is probably the\nexistence of this folk-song which causes M. Gaston Paris to place our\ntale among the romances derived from Byzantium.  Yet Motherwell in his\n_Minstrelsy_ has a ballad entitled _Reedisdale and Wise William_, which\nhas the bet as its motive.  Here again, then, we have a connection\nbetween our romance and the story-store of European folk, and at the same\ntime some slight link with Byzantium.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nThe tale of \u201cOversea\u201d has immediate connection with the Crusades, since\nits heroine is represented to be no other than the great grandmother of\nSaladin.  But her adventures resemble those of Boccaccio\u2019s Princess of\nBabylon (ii. 7), who was herself taken from one of the Greek romances by\nXenophon of Ephesus.  Here again, then, we can trace back to Greek\ninfluence reaching Western Europe in the twelfth century through the\nmedium of the Crusades.  But the tale finds no echo among the folk, so\nfar as I am aware, and is thus purely and simply a romance of adventure.\n\nThis, however, is not the only story connected with the Crusades in which\nthe Soudan loves a lady of the Franks.  Saladin is credited by the chatty\nChronicle of Rheims with having gained the love of Eleanor, wife of Louis\nVII., when they were in Palestine on the Second Crusade.  As Saladin did\nnot ascend the throne till twenty years later, chronology is enabled to\nclear his memory of this piece of scandal.  But its existence chimes in\nwith such relations between Moslem and Christian as is represented in our\nstory, which were clearly not regarded at the time with any particular\naversion by the folk; they agree with Cardinal Mazarin on this point.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nSo much for the origin of our tales.  Yet who cares for origins nowadays?\nWe are all democrats now, and a tale, like a man, is welcomed for its\nmerits and not for its pedigree.  Yet even democracy must own, that\npedigree often leaves its trace in style and manner, and certainly the\ntales before us owe some of their charm to their lineage.  \u201cOut of\nByzantium by Old France\u201d is a good strain by which to produce\nthoroughbred romance.\n\nCertainly we breathe the very air of romance in these stories.  There is\nnone of your modern priggish care for the state of your soul.  Men take\nrank according to their might, women are valued for their beauty alone.\nAdventures are to the adventurous, and the world is full of them.  Every\nplace but that in which one is born is equally strange and wondrous.\nOnce beyond the bounds of the city walls and none knows what may happen.\nWe have stepped forth into the Land of Faerie, but at least we are in the\nopen air.\n\nMr. Pater seems to regard our stories as being a premonition of the\nfreedom and gaiety of the Renaissance rather than as especially\ncharacteristic of the times of Romance.  All that one need remark upon\nsuch misconception is that it only proves that Mr. Pater knew less of\nRomance Literature than he did of his favourite subject.  The freshness,\nthe gaiety, the direct outlook into life are peculiar neither to Romance\nnor Renaissance; their real source was the _esprit Gaulois_.  But the\nunquestioning, if somewhat external, piety, the immutability of the caste\nsystem, the spirit of adventure, the frankly physical love of woman, the\nlarge childlike wonder, these are of the essence of Romance, and they are\nfully represented in the tales before us.  Wonder and reverence, are not\nthese the parents of Romance?  Intelligent curiosity and intellectual\ndoubt\u2014those are what the Renaissance brought.  Without indulging in\ninvidious comparisons between the relative value of these gifts, I would\nturn back to our stories with the remark that much of the wonder which\nthey exhibit is due to the vague localisation which runs through them.\nRome, Paris, Byzantium, form spots of light on the medi\u00e6val map, but all\nbetween is in the dim obscure where anything may occur, and the brave man\nmoves about with his life in his hands.\n\nWe thus obtain that absence or localisation which helps to give the\ncharacteristic tone to medi\u00e6val romance.  Events happen in a sort of\nsublime No Man\u2019s Land.  They happen, as it were, at the root of the\nmountains, on the glittering plain, and in short, we get news from\nNowhere.  It seems, therefore, peculiarly appropriate that they should be\ndone into English in the same style and by the same hand that has already\nwritten the annals of those countries of romance.  Writing here, in front\nof Mr. Morris\u2019s versions, I am speaking, as it were, before his face, and\nmust not say all that I should like in praise of the style in which he\nhas clothed them, and of its appropriateness for its present purpose.  I\nshould merely like to recall the fact that it was used by him in his\nversions of the Sagas as long ago as 1869.  Since then it has been\nadopted by all who desire to give an appropriate English dress to their\nversions of classic or medi\u00e6val masterpieces of a romantic character.  We\nmay take it, I think, that this style has established itself as the only\none suitable for a romantic version, and who shall use it with ease and\ngrace if not its original inventor?\n\nIf their style suits Mr. Morris, there is little doubt that their subject\nis equally congenial.  I cannot claim to be in his confidence on the\npoint, but it is not difficult, I fancy, to guess what has attracted him\nto them.  Nearly all of them, we have seen, are on the borderland between\nfolk-tale and romance.  It is tales such as these that Mr. Morris wishes\nto see told in tapestry on the walls of the Moot-Hall of the Hammersmith\nof Nowhere.  It was by tales such as these that he first won a hearing\nfrom all lovers of English literature.  The story of Jason is but a Greek\nsetting of a folk-tale known among the Gaels as the _Battle of the\nBirds_, and in Norse as the _Master Maid_.  Many of the tales which the\ntravellers told one another in the _Earthly Paradise_, such as _The Man\nBorn to be King_ (itself derived from the first of our stories), _The\nLand East of the Sun and West of the Moon_, and _The Ring given to\nVenus_, are, on the face of them, folk-tales.  Need I give any stronger\nrecommendation of this book to English readers than to ask them to regard\nit as a sort of outhouse to that goodly fabric so appropriately known to\nus all as _The Earthly Paradise_?\n\n                                                            JOSEPH JACOBS.\n\n\n\n\nThe Tale of King Coustans the Emperor\n\n\nTHIS tale telleth us that there was erewhile an Emperor of Byzance, which\nas now is called Constantinople; but anciently it was called Byzance.\nThere was in the said city an Emperor; pagan he was, and was held for\nwise as of his law.  He knew well enough of a science that is called\nAstronomy, and he knew withal of the course of the stars, and the\nplanets, and the moon: and he saw well in the stars many marvels, and he\nknew much of other things wherein the paynims much study, and in the lots\nthey trow, and the answers of the Evil One, that is to say, the Enemy.\nThis Emperor had to name Musselin; he knew much of lore and of sorceries,\nas many a pagan doth even yet.\n\nNow it befell on a time that the Emperor Musselin went his ways a\nnight-tide, he and a knight of his alone together, amidst of the city\nwhich is now called Constantinople, and the moon shone full clear.\n\nAnd so far they went, till they heard a Christian woman who travailed in\nchild-bed in a certain house whereby they went.  There was the husband of\nthe said woman aloft in a high solar, and was praying to God one while\nthat she might be delivered, and then again another while that she might\nnot be delivered.\n\nWhen the Emperor had hearkened this a great while, he said to the knight:\n\u201cHast thou heard it of yonder churl how he prayeth that his wife may be\ndelivered of her child, and another while prayeth that she may not be\ndelivered?  Certes, he is worser than a thief.  For every man ought to\nhave pity of women, more especially of them that be sick of childing.\nAnd now, so help me Mahoume and Termagaunt! if I do not hang him, if he\nbetake him not to telling me reason wherefore he doeth it!  Come we now\nunto him.\u201d\n\nThey went within, and said the Emperor: \u201cNow churl, tell me of a sooth\nwherefore thou prayedst thy God thus for thy wife, one while that she\nmight be delivered, and another while that she might be delivered not.\nThis have I will to wot.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cI will tell thee well.  Sooth it is that I be a clerk,\nand know mickle of a science which men call Astronomy.  Withal I wot of\nthe course of the stars and of the planets; therefore saw I well that if\nmy wife were delivered at the point and the hour whereas I prayed God\nthat she might not be delivered, that if she were delivered at that hour,\nthe child would go the way of perdition, and that needs must he be\nburned, or hanged, or drowned.  But whenas I saw that it was good hour\nand good point, then prayed I to God that she might be delivered.  And so\nsore have I prayed God, that he hath hearkened my prayer of his mercy,\nand that she is delivered in good point.  God be heried and thanked!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell me now,\u201d said the Emperor, \u201cin what good point is the child born?\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cof a good will; know sir, for sooth, that this child,\nwhich here is born, shall have to wife the daughter of the emperor of\nthis city, who was born but scarce eight days ago; and he shall be\nemperor withal, and lord of this city, and of all the earth.\u201d  \u201cChurl,\u201d\nsaid the Emperor, \u201cthis which thou sayest can never come to pass.\u201d\n\u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cit is all sooth, and thus it behoveth it to be.\u201d\n\u201cCertes,\u201d quoth the Emperor, \u201c\u2019tis a mighty matter to trow in.\u201d\n\nBut the Emperor and the Knight departed thence, and the Emperor bade the\nKnight go bear off the child in such wise, if he might, that none should\nsee him therein.  The Knight went and found there two women, who were all\nbusied in arraying the woman who had been brought to bed.  The child was\nwrapped in linen clothes, and they had laid him on a chair.  Thereto came\nthe Knight, and took the child and laid him on a board, and brought him\nto the Emperor, in such wise that none of the women wotted thereof.  The\nEmperor did do slit the belly of him with a knife from the breast down to\nthe navel, and said withal to the Knight, that never should the son of\nthat churl have to wife his daughter, nor be emperor after him.\n\nTherewithal would the Emperor do the Knight to put forth his hand to the\nbelly, to seek out the heart; but the Knight said to him: \u201cAh, sir,\na-God\u2019s mercy, what wouldst thou do?  It is nought meet to thee, and if\nfolk were to wot thereof, great reproach wouldst thou get thee.  Let him\nbe at this present, for he is more than dead.  And if it please thee that\nthat one trouble more about the matter, I will bear him down to the sea\nto drown him.\u201d  \u201cYea,\u201d quoth the Emperor, \u201cbear him away thither, for\nright sore do I hate him.\u201d\n\nSo the Knight took the child, and wrapped him in a cover-point of silk,\nand bore him down toward the sea.  But therewith had he pity of the\nchild, and said that by him should he never be drowned; so he left him,\nall wrapped up as he was, on a midden before the gate of a certain abbey\nof monks, who at that very nick of time were singing their matins.\n\nWhen the monks had done singing their matins, they heard the child\ncrying, and they bore him before the Lord Abbot.  And the Abbot saw that\nthe child was fair, and said that he would do it to be nourished.\nTherewith he did do unwrap it, and saw that it had the belly cloven from\nthe breast down to the navel.\n\nThe Abbot, so soon as it was day, bade come leeches, and asked of them\nfor how much they would heal the child and they craved for the healing of\nhim an hundred of bezants.  But he said that it would be more than\nenough, for overmuch would the child be costing.  And so much did the\nAbbot, that he made market with the surgeons for four-score bezants.  And\nthereafter the Abbot did do baptize the child, and gave him to name\nCoustans, because him-seemed that he costed exceeding much for the\nhealing of him.\n\nThe leeches went so much about with child, that he was made whole and the\nAbbot sought him a good nurse, and got the child to suckle, and he was\nhealed full soon; whereas the flesh of him was soft and tender, and grew\ntogether swiftly one to the other, but ever after showed the mark.\n\nMuch speedily waxed the child in great beauty; when he was seven years\nold the Abbot did him to go to the school, and he learned so well, that\nhe over-passed all his fellows in subtilty and science.  When he was of\ntwelve years, he was a child exceeding goodly; so it might nought avail\nto seek a goodlier.  And whenas the Abbot saw him to be a child so goodly\nand gentle, he did him to ride abroad with him.\n\nNow so it fell out, that the Abbot had to speak with the Emperor of a\nwrong which his bailiffs had done to the abbey.  The Abbot made him a\ngoodly gift, whereas the abbey and convent were subject unto him, for the\nEmperor was a Saracen.  When the Abbot had given him his goodly gift, the\nEmperor gave him day for the third day thence, whenas he should be at a\ncastle of his, three leagues from the city of Byzance.\n\nThe Abbot abode the day: when he saw the time at point to go to the\nEmperor, he mounted a-horseback, and his chaplain, and esquire, and his\nfolk; and with him was Coustans, who was so well fashioned that all\npraised his great beauty, and each one said that he seemed well to be\ncome of high kindred, and that he would come to great good.\n\nSo when the Abbot was come before the castle whereas the Emperor should\nbe, he came before him and spake to and greeted him: and the Emperor said\nto him that he should come into the castle, and he would speak with him\nof his matter: the Abbot made him obeisance, and said to him: \u201cSir,\na-God\u2019s name!\u201d  Then the Abbot called to him Coustans, who was holding of\nhis hat while he spake unto the Emperor; and the Emperor looked on the\nlad, and saw him so fair and gentle as never before had he seen the like\nfair person.  So he asked of the Abbot what he was; and the Abbot said\nhim that he wotted not, save that he was of his folk, and that he had\nbred him up from a little child.  \u201cAnd if I had leisure with thee, I\nwould tell thee thereof fine marvels.\u201d  \u201cYea,\u201d said the Emperor; \u201ccome ye\ninto the castle, and therein shalt thou say me the sooth.\u201d\n\nThe Emperor came into the castle, and the Abbot was ever beside him, as\none who had his business to do; and he did it to the best that he might,\nas he who was subject unto him.  The Emperor forgat in nowise the great\nbeauty of the lad, and said unto the Abbot that he should cause him come\nbefore him, and the Abbot sent for the lad, who came straightway.\n\nWhen the child was before the Emperor, he seemed unto him right fair; and\nhe said unto the Abbot, that great damage it was that so fair a lad was\nChristian.  But the Abbot said that it was great joy thereof, whereas he\nwould render unto God a fair soul.  When the Emperor heard that, he fell\na-laughing, and said to the Abbot that the Christian law was of no\naccount, and that all they were lost who trowed therein.  When the Abbot\nheard him so say, he was sore grieved; but he durst not make answer as he\nwould, so he said much humbly: \u201cSir, if God please, who can all things,\nthey are not lost; for God will have mercy of his sinners.\u201d\n\nThen the Emperor asked of him whence that fair child was come; and the\nAbbot said that it was fifteen years gone since he had been found before\ntheir gate, on a midden, all of a night-tide.  \u201cAnd our monks heard him\na-crying whenas they had but just said matins; and they went to seek the\nchild, and brought him to me; and I looked on the babe, and beheld him\nmuch fair, and I said that I would do him to be nourished and baptized.\nI unwrapped him, for the babe was wrapped up in a cover-point of vermil\nsendel; and when he was unwrapped, I saw that he had the belly slit from\nthe breast to the navel.  Then I sent for leeches and surgeons, and made\nmarket with them to heal him for four-score bezants; and thereafter he\nwas baptized, and I gave him to name Coustans, because he costed so much\nof goods to heal.  So was the babe presently made whole: but never\nsithence might it be that the mark appeared not on his belly.\u201d\n\nWhen the Emperor heard that, he knew that it was the child whose belly he\nhad slit to draw the heart out of him.  So he said to the Abbot that he\nshould give him the lad.  And the Abbot said that he would speak thereof\nto his convent, and that he should have him with their good-will.  The\nEmperor held his peace, and answered never a word.  But the Abbot took\nleave of him, and came to his abbey, and his monks, and told them that\nthe Emperor had craved Coustans of him.  \u201cBut I answered that I would\nspeak to you if ye will yea-say it.  Say, now, what ye would praise of my\ndoing herein.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d said the wisest of the convent; \u201cby our faith, evil hast thou\ndone, whereas thou gavest him not presently, even as he demanded of thee.\nWe counsel thee send him straightway, lest the Emperor be wrath against\nus, for speedily may we have scathe of him.\u201d\n\nThereto was their counsel fast, that Coustans should be sent to the\nEmperor.  So the Abbot commanded the Prior to lead Coustans thereto; and\nthe Prior said: \u201cA-God\u2019s name!\u201d\n\nSo he mounted, and led with him Coustans, and came unto the Emperor, and\ngreeted him on behalf of the Abbot and the convent; and then he took\nCoustans by the hand, and, on the said behalf, gave him to the Emperor,\nwho received him as one who was much wrath that such a runagate and\nbeggar churl should have his daughter to wife.  But he thought in his\nheart that he would play him the turn.\n\nWhen the Emperor had gotten Coustans, he was in sore imagination how he\nshould be slain in such wise that none might wot word thereof.  And it\nfell out so that the Emperor had matters on hand at the outer marches of\nhis land, much long aloof thence, well a twelve days\u2019 journey.  So the\nEmperor betook him to going thither, and had Coustans thither with him,\nand thought what wise he might to do slay him, till at last he let write\na letter to his Burgreve of Byzance.\n\n\u201cI Emperor of Byzance and Lord of Greece, do thee to wit who abidest duly\nin my place for the warding of my land; and so soon as thou seest this\nletter thou shalt slay or let slay him who this letter shall bear to\nthee, so soon as he hast delivered the said letter to thee, without\nlonger tarrying.  As thou holdest dear thine own proper body, do\nstraightway my commandment herein.\u201d\n\nEven such was the letter which the fair child Coustans bore, and knew not\nthat he bore his own death.  The lad took the letter, which was close,\nand betook him to the road, and did so much by his journeys that he came\nin less than fifteen days to Byzance, which is nowadays called\nConstantinople.\n\nWhen the lad entered into the city, it was the hour of dinner; so, as God\nwould have it, he thought that he would not go his errand at that nick of\ntime, but would tarry till folk had done dinner: and exceeding hot was\nthe weather, as is wont about St. John\u2019s-mass.  So he entered into the\ngarden all a-horseback.  Great and long was the garden; so the lad took\nthe bridle from off his horse and unlaced the saddle-girths, and let him\ngraze; and thereafter he went into the nook of a tree; and full pleasant\nwas the place, so that presently he fell asleep.\n\nNow so it fell out, that when the fair daughter of the Emperor had eaten,\nshe went into the garden with three of her maidens; and they fell to\nchasing each other about, as whiles is the wont of maidens to play; until\nat the last the fair Emperor\u2019s daughter came under the tree whereas\nCoustans lay a-sleeping, and he was all vermil as the rose.  And when the\ndamsel saw him, she beheld him with a right good will, and she said to\nherself that never on a day had she seen so fair a fashion of man.  Then\nshe called to her that one of her fellows in whom she had the most\naffiance, and the others she made to go forth from out of the garden.\n\nThen the fair maiden, daughter of the Emperor, took her fellow by the\nhand, and led her to look on the lovely lad whereas he lay a-sleeping;\nand she spake thus: \u201cFair fellow, here is a rich treasure.  Lo thou! the\nmost fairest fashion of a man that ever mine eyes have seen on any day of\nmy life.  And he beareth a letter, and well I would see what it sayeth.\u201d\n\nSo the two maidens drew nigh to the lad, and took from him the letter,\nand the daughter of the Emperor read the same; and when she had read it,\nshe fell a-lamenting full sore, and said to her fellow: \u201cCertes here is a\ngreat grief!\u201d  \u201cHa, my Lady!\u201d said the other one, \u201ctell me what it is.\u201d\n\u201cOf a surety,\u201d said the Maiden, \u201cmight I but trow in thee I would do away\nthat sorrow!\u201d  \u201cHa, Lady,\u201d said she, \u201chardily mayest thou trow in me,\nwhereas for nought would I uncover that thing which thou wouldst have\nhid.\u201d\n\nThen the Maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, took oath of her according\nto the paynim law; and thereafter she told her what the letter said; and\nthe damsel answered her: \u201cLady, and what wouldest thou do?\u201d  \u201cI will tell\nthee well,\u201d said the daughter of the Emperor; \u201cI will put in his pouch\nanother letter, wherein the Emperor, my father, biddeth his Burgreve to\ngive me to wife to this fair child here, and that he make great feast at\nthe doing of the wedding unto all the folk of this land; whereas he is to\nwot well that the lad is a high man and a loyal.\u201d\n\nWhen the damsel had heard that, she said that would be good to do.  \u201cBut,\nLady, how wilt thou have the seal of thy father?\u201d  \u201cFull well,\u201d said the\nMaiden, \u201cfor my father delivered to me four pair of scrolls, sealed of\nhis seal thereon; he hath written nought therein; and I will write all\nthat I will.\u201d  \u201cLady,\u201d said she, \u201cthou hast said full well; but do it\nspeedily, and haste thee ere he awakeneth.\u201d  \u201cSo will I,\u201d said the\nMaiden.\n\nThen the fair Maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, went to her coffers,\nand drew thereout one of the said scrolls sealed, which her father had\nleft her, that she might borrow moneys thereby, if so she would.  For\never was the Emperor and his folk in war, whereas he had neighbours right\nfelon, and exceeding mighty, whose land marched upon his.  So the Maiden\nwrote the letter in this wise:\n\n\u201cI King Musselin, Emperor of Greece and of Byzance the city, to my\nBurgreve of Byzance greeting.  I command thee that the bearer of this\nletter ye give to my fair daughter in marriage according to our law;\nwhereas I have heard and wot soothly that he is a high person, and well\nworthy to have my daughter.  And thereto make ye great joy and great\nfeast to all them of my city and of all my land.\u201d\n\nIn such wise wrote and said the letter of the fair daughter of the\nEmperor; and when she had written the said letter, she went back to the\ngarden, she and her fellow together, and found that one yet asleep, and\nthey put the letter into his pouch.  And then they began to sing and make\nnoise to awaken him.  So he awoke anon, and was all astonied at the fair\nMaiden, the daughter of the Emperor, and the other one her fellow, who\ncame before him; and the fair Maiden, daughter of the Emperor, greeted\nhim; and he greeted her again right debonairly.  Then she asked of him\nwhat he was, and whither he went; and he said that he bore a letter to\nthe Burgreve, which the Emperor sent by him; and the Maiden said that she\nwould bring him straightway whereas was the Burgreve.  Therewith she took\nhim by the hand, and brought him to the palace, where there was much\nfolk, who all rose against the Maiden, as to her who was their Lady.\n\nNow the Maiden demanded the Burgreve, and they told her that he was in a\nchamber; so thither she led the lad, and the lad delivered the letter,\nand said that the Emperor greeted him.  But the Burgreve made great joy\nof the lad, and kissed the hand of him.  The Maiden opened the pouch, and\nfell a-kissing the letter and the seal of her father for joy\u2019s sake,\nwhereas she had not heard tidings of him a great while.\n\nThereafter she said to the Burgreve that she would hearken the letter in\nprivy council, even as if she wotted nought thereof; and the Burgreve\nsaid that that were good to do.  Then went the Burgreve and the Maiden\ninto a chamber, and the Maiden unfolded the letter and read it to the\nBurgreve, and made semblance of wondering exceedingly; and the Burgreve\nsaid to her, \u201cLady, it behoveth to do the will of my lord thy father, for\notherwise we shall be blamed exceedingly.\u201d  The Maiden answered him: \u201cAnd\nhow can this be, that I should be wedded without my lord my father?  A\nstrange thing it would be, and I will do it in no manner.\u201d\n\n\u201cHa, Lady!\u201d said the Burgreve, \u201cwhat is that thou sayest?  Thy father has\nbidden thus by his letter, and it behoveth not to gainsay.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the Maiden, (unto whom it was late till the thing were done)\n\u201cthou shalt speak unto the barons and mighty men of this realm, and take\ncounsel thereof.  And if they be of accord thereto, I am she who will not\ngo against it.\u201d  Then the Burgreve said that she spake well and as one\nwise.\n\nThen spake the Burgreve to the barons, I and showed them the letter, and\nthey accorded all to that that the matter of the letter must be\naccomplished, and the will of the Emperor done.  Then they wedded the\nfair youth Coustans, according to the paynim law, unto the fair daughter\nof the Emperor; and the wedding endured for fifteen days: and such great\njoy was there at Byzance that it was exceeding, and folk did no work in\nthe city, save eating and drinking and making merry.\n\nLong while abode the Emperor in the land whereas he was: and when he had\ndone his business, he went his ways back towards Byzance; and whenas he\nwas but anigh two journeys thence, came to him a message of the\nmessengers who came from Byzance.  The Emperor asked of him what they did\nin the city; and the varlet said that they were making exceeding good\ncheer of eating and drinking and taking their ease, and that no work had\nthey done therein these fifteen days.\n\n\u201cAnd wherefore is that?\u201d said the Emperor.  \u201cWherefore, Sir!  Wot ye not\nwell thereof?\u201d  \u201cNay, forsooth,\u201d said the Emperor, \u201cbut tell me\nwherefore.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the varlet, \u201cthou sentest a youngling, exceeding fair, to thy\nBurgreve, and badest him by thy letter to wed him to thy daughter the\nfair, and that he should be emperor after thee, whereas he was a man\nright high, and well worthy to have her.  But thy daughter would not take\nthat before that the Burgreve should have spoken to the barons.  And he\nspake to all them, and showed them thy letter; and they said that it\nbehoved to do thy commandment.  And when thy daughter saw that they were\nall of one accord thereon, she durst not go against them, but yea-said\nit.  Even in such wise hath thy daughter been wedded, and such joy has\nbeen in the city as none might wish it better.\u201d\n\nThe Emperor, when he heard the messenger speak thus, was all astonied,\nand thought much of this matter; and he asked of the varlet how long it\nwas since the lad had wedded his daughter, and whether or no he had lain\nby her?\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the varlet, \u201cyea; and she may well be big by now; because it\nis more than three weeks since he hath wedded her.\u201d  \u201cForsooth,\u201d said the\nEmperor, \u201cin a good hour be it! for since it is so, it behoveth me to\nabide it, since no other it may be.\u201d\n\nSo far rode the Emperor till he came to Byzance, whereas they made him\nmuch fair feast; and his fair daughter came to meet him, and her husband\nCoustans, who was so fair a child that none might better be.  The\nEmperor, who was a wise man, made of them much great joy, and laid his\ntwo hands upon their two heads, and held them there a great while; which\nis the manner of benison amongst the paynims.\n\nThat night thought the Emperor much on this marvel, how it could have\ncome about; and so much he pondered it, that he wotted full well that it\nhad been because of his daughter.  So he had no will to gain-say her, but\nhe demanded to see the letter which he had sent, and they showed it unto\nhim, and he saw his seal hanging thereto, and saw the letter which was\nwritten; and by the manner whereby the thing had been done, he said to\nhimself that he had striven against the things which behoved to be.\n\nThereafter, the Emperor made Coustans a knight, even his new son who was\nwedded unto his daughter, and he gave and granted to him all the whole\nland after his death.  And the said Coustans bore him well and wisely, as\na good knight, and a valiant and hardy, and defended him full well\nagainst his enemies.  No long time wore ere his lord the Emperor died,\nand his service was done much richly, after the paynim law.  Then was\nCoustans emperor, and he loved and honoured much the Abbot who had\nnourished him, and he made him his very master.  And the Emperor\nCoustans, by the counsel of the Abbot, and the will of God the all\nmighty, did do christen his wife, and all they of that land were\nconverted to the law of Jesus Christ.  And the Emperor Coustans begot on\nhis wife an heir male, who had to name Constantine, who was thereafter a\nprudhomme much great.  And thereafter was the city called Constantinople,\nbecause of his father, Coustans, who costed so much, but aforetime was it\ncalled Byzance.\n\nHere withal endeth the Story of King Coustans the Emperor.\n\nThe said story was done out of the ancient French into English by William\nMorris.\n\n\n\n\nThe Friendship of Amis and Amile\n\n\nIN the time of Pepin King of France was a child born in the Castle of\nBericain of a noble father of Alemaine who was of great holiness.\n\nThe father and the mother promised to God, and Saint Peter and Saint\nPaul, whereas they had none other child, that if God gave it life, they\nwould bear it to Rome to baptism.  At the same time came a vision to a\nCount of Alverne, whose wife was big with child, whereby it seemed that\nthe Apostle of Rome was baptizing many children in his palace and\nconfirming them with chrism.\n\nSo when the Count was awaken he sought of many wise folk what might\nsignify that which he had seen in the dream.  And when his vision was\nuncovered, a wise man and ancient bespake him by the counsel of God:\n\u201cMake great joy, Count, for there shall be born to thee a son full of\ngreat prowess and of great holiness; and him thou shalt let bear to Rome\nand let baptize him by the Apostle.\u201d\n\nThereof great joy made the Count, and he and his folk praised the counsel\nof the elder.\n\nThe child was born and dearly fostered, and when he had two years, and\nthe father after his purpose was bearing him to Rome, he came to the city\nof Lucca.  And therein he found a noble man of Almaine who was wending\nRomeward and bearing his son to baptism.  They greeted one the other, and\neach asked other who he was and what he sought, and when they found\nthemselves to be of one purpose they joined company in all friendliness\nand entered Rome together.  And the two children fell to loving one\nanother so sorely that one would not eat without the other, they lived of\none victual, and lay in one bed.\n\nIn this wise the fathers brought them before the Apostle at Rome, and\nspake to him: \u201cHoly Father, whom we know and believe to be in the place\nof Saint Peter the Apostle, the Count of Alverne, and a noble knight of\nBericain the Castle, beseech your Holiness that ye would deign to baptize\ntheir sons which they have brought from far away, and that ye would take\ntheir little offering from their hands.\u201d\n\nAnd the Apostle answered them: \u201cI hold your gifts for right acceptable,\nbut they are not to me of much necessity; give them to the poor, who have\nneed thereof.  The infants will I baptize with a good will, that the\nFather, the Son, and the Holy Ghost may embrace them in the love of the\nHoly Trinity.\u201d\n\nForthwith then the Apostle baptized them in the Church of the Holy\nSaviour, and laid for name on the son of the Count, Amile, and on the son\nof the Knight, Amis; and many a knight of Rome held them at the font with\nmickle joy, and raised them aloft even as God would.  And the office of\nBaptism done, the Apostle bade bring two hanaps of tree dight with gold\nand precious stones, side and wide alike, and of like fashion, and gave\nthem to the bairns and said: \u201cTake these gifts in token that I have\nbaptized you in the Church of the Holy Saviour.\u201d  Which gifts they took\njoyfully and thanked him much, and betook them thence home in all\njoyance.\n\nTo the child of Bericain did God give so great wisdom, that one might\ntrow that he were another Solomon; and when he was of the age of thirty\nyears a fever took his father, and he fell to admonishing his son in such\nlike words: \u201cFair son, well beloved, it behoveth me presently to die, and\nthou shalt abide and be thine own master.  Now firstly, fair son, keep\nthou the commandments of God; the chivalry of Jesus Christ do thou.  Keep\nthou faith to thy lords, and give aid to thy fellows and friends.  Defend\nthe widows and orphans.  Uphold the poor and needy: and all days hold thy\nlast day in memory.  Forget not the fellowship and friendship of the son\nof the Count of Alverne, whereas the Apostle of Rome on one day baptized\nyou both, and with one gift honoured you.  Ye be alike of beauty, of\nfashion, and stature, and whoso should see you, would deem you to be\nbrethren.\u201d\n\nSo having finished these words, and received his Saviour, he departed in\nour Lord, and his son did do bury him, and did do render him his service,\neven as one should do for the dead.\n\nAfter the death of his father evil folk bore envy against him, and did\nhim many a scathe, and grieved him sorely; but he loved them all and\nsuffered whatsoever they did to him.  What more may I tell you, save that\nthey cast him and his folk out of the heritage of his fathers, and chased\nhim forth out of his castle.  So when he bethought him of the commandment\nof his father, he said to them who went in his company: \u201cThe wicked have\nwrongfully cast me forth out of mine heritage: yet have I good hope in\nour Lord that he will help me; go we now to the Court of the Count Amile,\nwho was my friend and my fellow.  May-happen he will make us rich with\nhis goods and his havings.  But if it be not so, then shall we go to\nHildegard the Queen, wife of King Charles of France, who is wont to\ncomfort the disinherited.\u201d\n\nAnd they answered that they were ready to follow him and do his bidding.\n\nTherewith they went their ways to the Court of the Count and found him\nnot there, because he was gone to Bericain to visit Amis his fellow, and\ncomfort him of the death of his father.  And when he found him not, he\ndeparted sore troubled, and said to himself that he would not betake him\nto his own land till he had found Amis his fellow; and he sought him in\nFrance and in Almaine, where soever he heard tell that his kindred were,\nand could find no certainty of him.\n\nTherewithal Amis together with his folk, ceased not to seek his fellow\nAmile, until they came to the house of a noble man where they were\nguested.  Thereat they told by order all their adventure and the noble\nman said to them: \u201cAbide with me, Sir Knights, and I will give my\ndaughter to your lord, because of the wisdom that I have heard of him,\nand I will make you all rich of gold and of silver, and of havings.\u201d\n\nThat word pleased them, and they I held the bridal with mickle joy.  But\nwhen they had abided there for a year and a half, then said Amis to his\nten fellows \u201cWe have done amiss in that we have left seeking of Amile.\u201d\nAnd he left there two of his sergeants and his hanap, and went his ways\ntoward Paris.\n\nNow by this time had Amile been a-seeking for Amis two years past without\nceasing.  And whenas Amile drew nigh to Paris he found a pilgrim and\nasked if he had seen Amis whom men had chased out of his land; and that\none said nay, he had not.  But Amile did off his coat and gave it to the\npilgrim and said: \u201cPray thou to our Lord and his Hallows that they give\nme to find Amis my fellow.\u201d\n\nThen he departed from the pilgrim, and went his ways to Paris, and found\nno-whither Amis his fellow.\n\nBut the pilgrim went his ways forthwith, and about vespers happened on\nAmis, and they greeted each the other.  And Amis said to the pilgrim, had\nhe seen or heard tidings in any land of Amile, son of the Count of\nAlverne.  And the pilgrim answered him all marvelling: \u201cWho art thou,\nKnight, who thus mockest a pilgrim?  Thou seemest to me that Amile who\nthis day asked of me if I had seen Amis his fellow.  I wot not for why\nthou hast changed thy garments, thy folk, thine horses, and thine arms.\nThou askest me now what thou didst ask me to-day about tierce; and thou\ngavest me this coat.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrouble not thine heart,\u201d said Amis, \u201cI am not he whom thou deemest; but\nI am Amis who seeketh Amile.\u201d  And he gave him of his silver, and bade\nhim pray our Lord to give him to find Amile.  And the pilgrim said: \u201cGo\nthy ways forthright to Paris, and I trow that thou shalt find him whom\nthou seekest so sore longing.\u201d  And therewith Aims went his ways full\neagerly.\n\nNow on the morrow Amile was already departed from Paris, and was sitting\nat meat with his knights hard by the water of Seine in a flowery meadow.\nAnd when they saw Amis coming with his fellows all armed, they rose up\nand armed them, and so went forth before them; and Amis said to his\nfellows: \u201cI see French knights who come against us in arms.  Now fight\nhardily and defend your lives.  If we may escape this peril, then shall\nwe go with great joy to Paris, and thereto shall we be received with high\nfavour at the Court of the King.\u201d\n\nThen were the reins let loose and the spears shaken aloft, and the swords\ndrawn on either side, in such wise that no semblance was there that any\nshould escape alive.  But God the all mighty who seeth all, and who\nsetteth an end to the toil of the righteous, did to hold aback them of\none part and of the other when they were now hard on each other, for then\nsaid Amis: \u201cWho are ye knights, who have will to slay Amis the exile and\nhis fellows?\u201d  At that voice Amile knew Amis his fellow and said: \u201cO thou\nAmis most well beloved, rest from my travail, I am Amile, son of the\nCount of Alverne, who have not ceased to seek thee for two whole years.\u201d\n\nAnd therewith they lighted down from their horses, and embraced and\nkissed each other, and gave thanks to God of that they were found.  And\nthey swore fealty and friendship and fellowship perpetual, the one to the\nother, on the sword of Amile, wherein were relics.  Thence went they all\ntogether to the Court of Charles, King of France; there might men behold\nthem young, well attempered, wise, fair, and of like fashion and visage,\nloved of all and honoured.  And the King received them much joyously, and\nmade of Amis his treasurer, and of Amile his server.\n\nBut when they had abided thus three years, Amis said unto Amile: \u201cFair\nsweet fellow, I desire sore to go see my wife whom I have left behind;\nand I will return the soonest that I may; and do thou abide at the Court.\nBut keep thee well from touching the daughter of the King; and above all\nthings beware of Arderi the felon.\u201d  Amile answered him: \u201cI will take\nheed of thy commandment; but betake thee back hither so soon as thou\nmayest.\u201d\n\nThuswise departed Amis.  But Amile cast his eyes upon the King\u2019s\ndaughter, and knew her so soon as he might; and right soon forgat he the\ncommandment and the teaching of Amis his fellow.  Yet is not this\nadventure strange, whereas he was no holier than David, nor wiser than\nSolomon.\n\nAmidst these things Arderi the traitor, who bore him envy, came to him\nand said: \u201cThou wottest not, fellow, thou wottest not, how Amis hath\nrobbed the treasure of the King, and therefore is fled away.  Wherefore I\nrequire of thee thou swear me fealty and friendship and fellowship, and I\nwill swear the same to thee on the holy Gospel.\u201d  And so when that was\ndone Amile doubted not to lay bare his secret to Arderi.\n\nBut whenas Amile was a-giving water to the King to wash his hands withal,\nthe false Arderi said to the King: \u201cTake thou no water from this evil\nman, sir King: for he is more worthy of death than of life, whereas he\nhath taken from the Queen\u2019s Daughter the flower of her virginity.\u201d  But\nwhen Amile heard this, he fell adown all astonied, and might say never a\nword; but the benign King lifted him up again, and said to him: \u201cRise up,\nAmile, and have no fear, and defend thee of this blame.\u201d  So he lifted\nhimself up and said: \u201cHave no will to trow, sire, in the lies of Arderi\nthe traitor, for I wot that thou art a rightwise judge, and that thou\nturnest not from the right way, neither for love nor for hatred.\nWherefore I pray thee that thou give me frist of counsel; and that I may\npurge me of this guilt before thee, and do the battle against Arderi the\ntraitor, and make him convict of his lies before all the Court.\u201d\n\nSo the King gave to one and the other frist of counsel till after nones,\nand that then they should come before him for to do their devoir; and\nthey came before the King at the term which he had given them.  Arderi\nbrought with him the Count Herbert for his part; but Amile found none who\nwould be for him saving Hildegarde the Queen, who took up the cause for\nhim, and gat frist of counsel for Amile, on such covenant that if Amile\ncame not back by the term established, she should be lacking all days of\nthe bed of the King.\n\nBut when Amile went to seek counsel, he happened on Amis, his fellow, who\nwas betaking him to the King\u2019s Court; and Amile lighted down from his\nhorse, and cast himself at the feet of his fellow, and said: \u201cO thou, the\nonly hope of my salvation, evilly have I kept thy commandment; for I have\nrun into wyte of the King\u2019s Daughter, and I have taken up battle against\nthe false Arderi.\u201d\n\nThen said Amis, sighing: \u201cLeave we here our folk, end enter into this\nwood to lay bare our secret.\u201d  And Amis fell to blaming Amile, and said:\n\u201cChange we our garments and our horses, and get thee to my house, and I\nwill do the battle for thee against the traitor.\u201d  And Amile answered:\n\u201cHow may I go into thine house, who have no knowledge of thy wife and thy\nfolk, and have never seen them face to face?\u201d  But Amis said to him: \u201cGo\nin all safety, and seek wisely to know them: but take good heed that thou\ntouch not my wife.\u201d\n\nAnd thuswise they departed each from his fellow weeping; and Amis went\nhis ways to the Court of the King in the semblance of Amile, and Amile to\nthe house of his fellow in the semblance of Amis.  But the wife of Amis,\nwhen she saw him betake him thither, ran to embrace him, whom she deemed\nwas her husband, and would have kissed him.  But he said: \u201cFlee thou from\nbefore me, for I have greater need to lament than to play; whereas, since\nI departed from thee, I have suffered adversity full sore, and yet have\nto suffer.\u201d\n\nAnd a night-time whenas they lay in one bed, then Amile laid his sword\nbetwixt the two of them, and said to the woman: \u201cTake heed that thou\ntouch me in no manner wise, else diest thou straightway by this sword.\u201d\nAnd in likewise did he the other nights, until Amis betook him in\ndisguise to his house to wot if Amile kept faith with him of his wife.\n\nNow was the term of the battle come, and the Queen abode Amile all full\nof fear, for the traitor Arderi said, all openly, that the Queen should\nnevermore draw nigh the bed of the King, whereas she had suffered and\nconsented hereto, that Amile should shame her daughter.  Amidst these\nwords Amis entered into the Court of the King clad in the raiment of his\nfellow, Amile, at the hour of midday and said to the King: \u201cRight\ndebonaire and loyal judge, here am I apparelled to do the battle against\nthe false Arderi, in defence of me, the Queen, and her daughter of the\nwyte which they lay upon us.\u201d\n\nAnd the King answered benignly and said: \u201cBe thou nought troubled, Count,\nfor if thou vanquishest the battle, I will give thee to wife Belisant my\ndaughter.\u201d\n\nOn the morrow\u2019s morn, Arderi and Amis entered armed into the field in the\npresence of the King and his folk.  And the Queen with much company of\nvirgins, and widows and wedded wives, went from church to church making\nprayers for the Champion of her daughter, and they gave gifts, oblations\nand candles.\n\nBut Amis fell to pondering in his heart, that if he should slay Arderi,\nhe would be guilty of his death before God, and if he were vanquished, it\nshould be for a reproach to him all his days.  Wherefore he spake\nthuswise to Arderi: \u201cO thou, Count, foul rede thou hast, in that thou\ndesirest my death so sorely, and hast foolishly cast thy life into peril\nof death.  If thou wouldest but take back the wyte which thou layest on\nme, and leave this mortal battle, thou mayest have my friendship and my\nservice.\u201d\n\nBut Arderi, as one out of his wit, answered him: \u201cI will nought of thy\nfriendship nor thy service; but I shall swear the sooth as it verily is,\nand I shall smite the head from off thee.\u201d\n\nSo Arderi swore that he had shamed the King\u2019s Daughter, and Amis swore\nthat he lied; and straightway they dealt together in strokes, and fought\ntogether from the hour of tierce right on till nones.  And Arderi was\nvanquished, and Amis smote off his head.\n\nThe King was troubled that he had Arderi; yet was he joyous that his\ndaughter was purged of her guilt.  And he gave to Amis his daughter, and\na great sum of gold and silver, and a city hard by the sea wherein to\ndwell.  And Amis received the same with great joy.  Then he returned at\nhis speediest to his hostel wherein he had left Amile his fellow; but\nwhenas Amile saw him coming with much company of horse, he deemed that\nAmis was vanquished, and fell to fleeing: but Amis bade him return in all\nsafety, for that he had vanquished Arderi, and thereby was wedded for him\nto the King\u2019s Daughter.  Thence then did Amile betake him, and abode in\nthe aforesaid city with his wife.\n\nBut Amis abode with his wife, and he became mesel by the will of our\nLord, in such wise that he might not move from his bed; for God\nchastiseth him that He loveth.\n\nAnd his wife, who had to name Obias, had him in sore hate, and many a\ntime strove to strangle him; and when Amis found that, he called to him\ntwo of his sergeants, Azones and Horatus by name, and said to them: \u201cTake\nme out of the hands of this evil woman, and take my hanap privily and\nbear me to the Castle of Bericain.\u201d\n\nSo when they drew nigh to the castle, folk came to meet them, and asked\nof them who was the feeble sick man whom they bore; and they said it was\nAmis, the master of them, who was become mesel, and prayed them that they\nwould do him some mercy.  But nevertheless, they beat the sergeants of\nAmis, and cast him down from the cart whereon they were bearing him, and\nsaid: \u201cFlee hence speedily if ye would not lose your lives.\u201d\n\nThen Amis fell a-weeping, and said: \u201cO Thou, God debonaire and full of\npity, give me death, or give me aid from mine infirmity!\u201d  And therewith\nhe said to his sergeants: \u201cBring me to the Church of the Father of Rome,\nwhereas God may peradventure of His great mercy purvey for my poverty.\u201d\n\nWhen they came to Rome, Constantin the Apostle, full of pity and of\nholiness, and many a knight of Rome of them who had held Amis at the\nfont, came to meet him, and gave him sustenance enough for him and his\nsergeants.\n\nBut in the space of three years thereafter was so great famine in the\ncity, that the father had will to thrust the son away from his house.\nThen spake Azones and Horatus to Amis, and said: \u201cFair sir, thou wottest\nhow feally we have served thee sithence the death of thy father unto this\nday, and that we have never trespassed against thy commandment.  But now\nwe may no longer abide with thee, whereas we have no will to perish of\nhunger: wherefore we pray thee give us leave to escape this mortal\npestilence.\u201d\n\nThen Amis answered them weeping: \u201cO ye fair sons, and not sergeants, my\nonly comfort, I pray you for God\u2019s sake that ye leave me not here, but\nbear me to the city of the Count Amile my fellow.\u201d\n\nAnd they who would well obey his commandments, bore him thither whereas\nwas Amile; and there they fell to sounding on their tartavelles before\nthe Court of Amile, even as mesel folk be wont to do.  And when Amile\nheard the sound thereof he bade a sergeant of his to bear to the sick man\nof bread and of flesh, and therewithal his hanap, which was given to him\nat Rome, full of good wine: and when the sergeant had done his\ncommandment he said to him when he came again: \u201cBy the faith which I owe\nthee, sir, if I held not thine hanap in my hand, I had deemed that it was\neven that which the sick man had; for one and the same be they of\ngreatness and of fashion.\u201d  Then said Amile: \u201cGo speedily and lead him\nhither to me.\u201d\n\nBut when he was before his fellow he asked of him who he was, and how he\nhad gotten that hanap.  Said he: \u201cI am of Bericain the Castle, and the\nhanap was given me by the Apostle of Rome, when he baptized me.\u201d\n\nAnd when Amile heard that, he knew that it was Amis his fellow who had\ndelivered him from death, and given him to wife the King\u2019s Daughter of\nFrance; straightway he cast himself upon him and fell to crying out\nstrongly, and to weeping and lamenting, and to kissing and embracing him.\nAnd when his wife heard the same, she ran thereto all dishevelled, and\nmaking great dole, whereas she had in memory of how he had slain Arderi.\nAnd straightway they laid him in a very fair bed, and said to him: \u201cAbide\nwith us, fair sir, until that God shall do his will of thee, for\nwhatsoever we have is for thee to deal with.\u201d  And he abode with them,\nand his sergeants with him.\n\nNow it befel on a night whenas Amis and Amile lay in one chamber without\nother company, that God sent to Amis Raphael his angel, who said to him:\n\u201cSleepest thou, Amis?\u201d  And he, who deemed that Amile had called to him,\nanswered: \u201cI sleep not, fair sweet fellow.\u201d  Then the angel said to him:\n\u201cThou hast answered well, whereas thou art the fellow of the citizens of\nHeaven, and thou hast followed after Job, and Thoby in patience.  Now I\nam Raphael, an angel of our Lord, and am come to tell thee of a medicine\nfor thine healing, whereas He hath heard thy prayers.  Thou shalt tell to\nAmile thy fellow, that he slay his two children and wash thee in their\nblood, and thence thou shalt get thee the healing of thy body.\u201d\n\nThen said Amis: \u201cNever shall it be that my fellow be a manslayer for the\nhealing of me.\u201d  But the Angel said: \u201cYet even so it behoveth to do.\u201d\n\nAnd when he had so said, the Angel departed; and therewith Amile, as if\na-sleeping, heard those words, and awoke, and said: \u201cWhat is it, fellow?\nwho hath spoken unto thee?\u201d  And Amis answered that none had spoken: \u201cBut\nI have prayed to our Lord according to my wont.\u201d  Then Amile said: \u201cNay,\nit is not so; some one hath spoken to thee.\u201d  Therewith he arose and went\nto the door of the chamber, and found it shut, and said: \u201cTell me, fair\nbrother, who hath spoken to thee these words of the night?\u201d\n\nThen Amis fell a-weeping sorely, and said to him that it was Raphael the\nAngel of our Lord who had said to him: \u201cAmis, our Lord biddeth that thou\ntell Amile that he slay his two children, and wash thee with the blood of\nthem, and that then thou wilt be whole of thy meselry.\u201d\n\nBut Amile was sore moved with these words, and said to him: \u201cAmis, I have\ngiven over to thee man-servant and maid-servant and all my goods, and now\nthou feignest in fraud that the Angel hath spoken to thee that I slay my\ntwo children!\u201d  But forthwith Amis fell a-weeping, and said: \u201cI wot that\nI have spoken to thee things grievous, as one constrained, and now I pray\nthee that thou cast me not out of thine house.\u201d  And Amile said that he\nhad promised that he would hold him till the hour of his death: \u201cBut I\nconjure thee by the faith which is betwixt thee and me, and by our\nfellowship, and by the baptism which we took between me and thee at Rome,\nthat thou tell me if it be man or Angel who hath said this to thee.\u201d\n\nThen Amis answered: \u201cAs true as it was an Angel who spake to me this\nnight, so may God deliver me from mine infirmity.\u201d\n\nThen Amile fell to weeping privily, and thinking in his heart: \u201cThis man\nforsooth was apparelled before the King to die for me, and why should I\nnot slay my children for him; if he hath kept faith with me to the death,\nwhy keep I not faith?  Abraham was saved by faith, and by faith have the\nhallows vanquished kingdoms; and God saith in the Gospel: \u2018That which ye\nwould that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnd Amile without more tarrying, went to the chamber of his wife, and\nbade her go hear the service of our Lord; and the Countess gat her to the\nchurch even as she was wont.\n\nThen the Count took his sword, and went to the bed where lay his\nchildren, and found them sleeping, and he threw himself upon them, and\nfell to weeping bitterly and said: \u201cWho hath heard ever of a father who\nof his own will hath slain his child?  Ah, alas my children!  I shall be\nno more your father, but your cruel murderer!\u201d  And therewith the\nchildren awoke because of the tears which fell on them from their father;\nand the children, who looked on the face of their father, fell\na-laughing.  And whereas they were of the age of three years or\nthereabout, their father said to them: \u201cYour laughter shall be turned\ninto weeping, for now shall your innocent blood be shed.\u201d\n\nWhen he had so said he cut off their heads and then laid them out behind\nthe bed, and laid the heads to the bodies, and covered them over even as\nthey slept.  And with their blood which he received, he washed his\nfellow, and said: \u201cSire God, Jesus Christ, who commandest men to keep\nfaith upon the earth, and who cleansest the mesel by thy word, deign thou\nto cleanse my fellow, for the love of whom I have shed the blood of my\nchildren.\u201d\n\nThen was Amis cleansed of his meselry, and they gave thanks to our Lord\nwith great joy and said: \u201cBlessed be God, the father of our Lord Jesus\nChrist, who healeth them that have hope in him.\u201d\n\nAnd Amile clad his fellow in his own right goodly raiment; and therewith\nthey went to the church to give thanks there, and the bells by the grace\nof God rang of themselves.  And when the people of the city heard that,\nthey ran all together toward that marvel.\n\nNow the wife of the Count when she saw them both going together, fell to\nasking which of the two was her husband and said: \u201cI know well the\nraiment of these twain, but I wot not which is Amile.\u201d\n\nAnd the Count said: \u201cI am Amile, and this my fellow is Amis, who is\nwhole.\u201d  Then the Countess wondered, and said: \u201cI see him all whole; but\nmuch I desire to know whereby he is healed.\u201d  \u201cRender we thanks to our\nLord,\u201d said the Count, \u201cnor disquiet us as to how it may be.\u201d\n\nNow was come the hour of tierce, and neither the father nor the mother\nwas yet entered in to their children; but the father sighed grievously\nfor the death of his babes.  Then the Countess asked for her children to\nmake her joy, and the Count said: \u201cDame let be, let the children sleep!\u201d\n\nTherewith he entered all alone to the children to weep over them, and he\nfound them playing in the bed; but the scars of their wounds showed about\nthe necks of each of them even as a red fillet.\n\nThen he took them in his arms, and bore them to their mother, and said\n\u201cMake great joy, dame, whereas thy sons whom I had slain by the\ncommandment of the Angel are alive again, and by their blood is Amis\ncured and healed.\u201d\n\nAnd when the Countess heard it she said: \u201cO thou, Count, why didst thou\nnot lead me with thee to receive the blood of my children, and I would\nhave washed therewith Amis thy fellow and my Lord?\u201d\n\nThen said the Count: \u201cDame, let be these words; and let us be at the\nservice of our Lord, who hath done such great wonders in our house.\u201d\n\nWhich thing they did even unto their death and held chastity.\n\nAnd they made great joy through that same city for ten days.\n\nBut on the selfsame day that Amis was made whole, the devils bore off his\nwife; they brake the neck of her, and bore away her soul.\n\nAfter these things Amis betook him to the Castle of Bericain and laid\nsiege before it; and abode there before so long, that they of the castle\nrendered themselves to him.  He received them benignly, and pardoned them\ntheir evil will; and from thenceforth he dwelt with them peaceably and he\nheld with him the elder son of Amile, and served our Lord with all his\nheart.\n\nThereafter Adrian, Apostle of Rome, sent word to Charles, King of France,\nthat he come help him against Desir, the King of the Lombards, who much\ntormented the Church; and Charles was as then in the town of Theodocion.\nThither came Peter, messenger of the Apostle, who said to him that the\nApostle prayed him to come defend Holy Church.  Thereupon King Charles\nsent to the said Desir messengers to pray him that he give back to the\nHoly Father the cities and other things which he had taken from him, and\nthat he would give him thereto the sum of forty thousand sols of gold in\ngold and in silver.  But he would give way neither for prayers nor gifts.\nThereon the good King bade come to him all manner folk, Bishops, Abbots,\nDukes, Princes, Marquises and other strong knights.  And he sent to\nCluses certain of these for to guard the passage of the ways.  Amongst\nthe which was Albins, Bishop of Angier, a man full of great holiness.\n\nThen the King Charles together with many warriors, drew nigh to Cluses by\nthe Mount of Sinense, and sent Bernhart his uncle, and a many with him,\nby the Mount of Jove.  And the vanward said that Desir, together with all\nhis force, was already at Cluses, the which he had do dight with bulwarks\nof iron and stone.\n\nBut whenas Charles drew nigh to Cluses, he sent his messengers to Desir,\npraying him to give back to the Holy Father the cities which he had\ntaken; but he would nought for the prayer.  Again Charles bade him that\nhe send three of the children of the judges of Lombardy in hostage, until\nsuch time as he had given back the cities of the Church, and that he\nwould betake him to France with all his host, without battle and without\ndoing any scathe.  But he neither for that, nor for aught else would\nblench one whit.\n\nNow when God the almighty had seen the hard heart and malice of this man;\nand that the French were sore desirous to get them aback home, he set so\ngreat fear and so great trembling in the hearts of the Lombards, that\nthey turned to flight all of them, although none chased them, and left\nthere behind them their tents and all their gear.  When that saw Charles\nand his host, they followed them and thrust forth into Lombardy French,\nAlmaines, English and all other manner of folk.\n\nOf that host were Amis and Amile, who were the first in the court of the\nKing, and every way they heeded the works of our Lord, in fasting, in\npraying, in alms-doing, in giving aid to widows and orphans, in often\ntimes appeasing the wrath of the King, in suffering the evil, and\nconsoling the realm of the Romans.\n\nNow whenas Charles had much folk in Lombardy, King Desir came to meet him\nwith his little host; for whereas Desir had a priest, Charles had a\nbishop; whereas that one had a monk, the other had an abbot; where Desir\nhad a knight Charles had a prince; the one had a man afoot, the other a\nduke or a count.  What should I say, where that King had one knight,\nCharles had thirty.  So the two hosts fell to blows together with great\ncries and banners displayed; stones and darts flying here and there, and\nknights falling on every part.\n\nAnd the Lombards fought so mightily for three days, that they slew of\nKing Charles a very great infinity.  And after the third day\u2019s wearing\nCharles called to him the most mighty and the strongest of his host, and\nsaid to them: \u201cEither die ye in battle, or gain ye the victory.\u201d\n\nSo the King Desir and the whole host of the Lombards together fled away\nto the place hight Mortara, which in those days was called Fair-wood,\nwhereas thereabout was the land delectable: there they refreshed them and\ntook heed to their horses.\n\nOn the morrow morn King Charles and his host came thither, and found the\nLombards all armed, and there they joined battle, and a great multitude\nof dead there was on one side and the other, and because of this\nslaughter had the place to name Mortara.\n\nMoreover, there died Amis and Amile, for even as God had joined them\ntogether by good accord in their life-days, so in their death they were\nnot sundered.  Withal many another doughty baron was slain with them.\nBut Desir, together with his judges, and a great multitude of the\nLombards, fled away and entered into Pavia; and King Charles followed\nafter them, and besieged the city on all sides.  Withal he sent into\nFrance for his wife and his children.  But the holy Albins, bishop of\nAngier, and many other bishops and abbots gave counsel to the King and\nthe Queen, that they should bury the dead and make there a church: and\nthe said counsel pleased much the King, and there were made two churches,\none by the commandment of Charles in honour of St. Eusebius of Verceil,\nand the other by the commandment of the Queen in honour of St. Peter.\n\nAnd the King did do bear thither two arks of stone, wherein were buried\nAmis and Amile; and Amile was borne into the Church of St. Peter, and\nAmis into the Church of St. Eusebius; and the other corpses were buried\nhere and there.  But on the morrow\u2019s morn the body of Amile, and his\ncoffin therewith, was found in the Church of St. Eusebius hard by the\ncoffin of Amis his fellow.\n\nNow hear ye of this marvellous fellowship which might not be sundered by\ndeath.  This wonder wrought for them God, who had given such might to His\ndisciples that they had power to move mountains and shift them.  But\nbecause of this miracle the King and the Queen abode there thirty days,\nand did do the service of them that were slain, and worshipped the said\nchurches with great gifts.\n\nMeanwhile the host of Charles wrought for the taking of the city which\nthey had besieged; and our Lord tormented them that were within in such\nwise that they were brought to nought by great feebleness and by\nmortalities.  And after ten months from the time when the city was\nbesieged, Charles took Desir, and all them who were with him, and laid\nthe city and all the realm under his subjection.  And King Desir and his\nwife they led into France.\n\nBut Saint Albins, who by that time had raised the dead to life, and given\nlight to many blind folk, ordained clerks, priests, and deacons in the\naforesaid Church of St. Eusebius, and commanded them that they should\nwithout ceasing guard and keep the bodies of those two fellows, AMIS and\nAMILE, who suffered death at the hands of Desir, King of Lombardy, on the\nfourth of the ides of October.\n\nReigning our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth without end with\nthe Father and the Holy Ghost.  AMEN.\n\n\n\n\nThe Tale of King Florus and the Fair Jehane\n\n\nHERE telleth the tale of a king who had to name King Florus of Ausay.  A\nfull good knight was he and a gentleman of high lineage.  The said King\nFlorus of Ausay took to wife the daughter of the Prince of Brabant, who\nwas a woman very gentle, and of great line: and a right fair maid was she\nwhen he wedded her and dainty of body and fashion; and saith the tale\nthat she was but of fifteen years when the King Florus took her, and he\nbut of seventeen.  A full good life they lived, as for young folk who\nloved together dearly: but King Florus might have no child of her,\nwhereof he was sore grieving, and she also was exceeding heavy-hearted\nthereat.  Much fair was this lady, and much she loved God and Holy\nChurch, and therewith was so good almsgiver and so charitable that she\nfed and clad poor people and kissed their feet.  And to mesel folk both\ncarles and queans was she so kind and careful, that the Holy Ghost dwelt\nin her.  Her Lord King Florus went often to tournays in Alemain and\nFrance, and in many other lands whereas he wotted of them, when he was\nwithout war: much good he expended thereon and much honour he gained\nthereby.\n\nBut now leaveth the tale to tell of him and taketh up the word of a\nknight who dwelt in the marches of Flanders and Hainault.  This said\nknight was full valiant and hardy, and right trusty, and had to wife a\nfull fair dame of whom he had a much fair daughter, who had to name\nJehane and was then of the age of twelve years.  Much word there was of\nthis fair maiden; for in all the land was none so fair.  Her mother spake\noften to her lord that he should give her in marriage; but he was so\ngiven up to the following of tournays, that he was nowise hot on the\nwedding of his daughter, and his wife ever admonished him thereof when he\ncame home from his tournays.\n\nNow this knight had a squire who had to name Robin, and was the\nvaliantest squire to be found in any land, and by his prowess and his\ngood fame oft he bore away the prize for his lord from the tournay\nwhereas he wended.  Whereon it befel that his lady thus bespake him:\n\u201cRobin, my lord is so given up to these tournays that I know not how to\nspeak with him, whereof I am sore at heart, for I would well that he\nshould lay pain and care to the wedding of my daughter; wherefore I pray\nthee, for the love of me, that whenas thou seest the point thou say to\nhim that he doth very ill and is sore blamed that he weddeth not his fair\ndaughter, for there is no knight in the land how rich soever he be who\nwould not take her with a good will.\u201d  \u201cLady,\u201d said Robin, \u201cye have said\nwell; I will say it right well; since forsooth he troweth me of many\nthings, and so will he hereof meseemeth.\u201d  \u201cRobin,\u201d said the lady, \u201cI\npray thee of this business for all guerdon.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said Robin, \u201cI am\nwell prayed hereof; and wot ye that I will do to my power herein.\u201d  \u201cIt\nis enough,\u201d said the lady.\n\nNo long while after the knight betook him to wending to a tournay afar\nfrom his land, and when he came there he was retained straightway of the\nfellowship, he and the knight of whose mesney he was, and his banner was\nborne into the hostel of his lord.  The tournay began, and the knight did\nso well by means of the good deeds of Robin, his squire, that he bore off\nthe praise and prize of the tournay from one party and the other.  On the\nsecond day the knight betook him to wending to his own land, and Robin\nput him to reason many times and blamed him much in that he gave not his\nfair daughter in marriage, and many times he said it to him, till at the\nlast his lord said to him: \u201cRobin, thou and thy lady give me no peace\nabout the marrying of my daughter; but as yet I know and see no man in my\nland unto whom I would give her.\u201d  \u201cAh, sir,\u201d said Robin, \u201cthere is not a\nknight in thy land who would not take her with a good will.\u201d  \u201cFair\nfriend Robin, they are of no avail, all of them; and to none of them\nshall I give her; and forsooth to no one would I give her as now, save to\none man only, and he forsooth is no knight.\u201d  \u201cSir, tell me of him,\u201d said\nRobin, \u201cand I shall speak or let speak to him so subtilly that the\nmarriage shall be made.\u201d  \u201cCertes, Robin,\u201d said the knight, \u201cfrom the\nsemblance that I see of thee thou willest well that my daughter should be\nwedded.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said Robin, \u201cthou sayest sooth, for it is well time.\u201d\n\u201cRobin,\u201d said the knight, \u201cwhereas thou art so eager that my daughter\nshould be wedded, she shall be wedded right soon if thou accord to the\nsaid wedding.\u201d  \u201cCertes, sir,\u201d said Robin, \u201cof a good will shall I accord\nthereto.\u201d  \u201cWilt thou give me thy word herein?\u201d  \u201cYea, sir,\u201d said Robin.\n\u201cRobin, thou hast served me exceeding well, and I have found thee a\nvaliant man, and a loyal, and such as I be thou hast made me, and great\ngain have I gotten by thee, to wit, five hundred pounds of land; for it\nwas but a little while that I had but five hundred, and now have I a\nthousand, and I tell thee that I owe much to thee: wherefore will I give\nmy fair daughter unto thee, if thou wilt take her.\u201d  \u201cHa, sir,\u201d said\nRobin, \u201cGod\u2019s mercy, what is this thou sayest?  I am too poor a person to\nhave so high a maiden, nor one so fair and so rich as my damsel is; I am\nnot meet thereto.  For there is no knight in this land, be he never so\ngentle a man, but would take her with a good will.\u201d  \u201cRobin, know that no\nknight of this land shall have her, but I shall give her to thee, if thou\nwill it; and thereto will I give thee four hundred pounds of my land.\u201d\n\u201cHa, sir,\u201d said Robin, \u201cI deem that thou mockest me.\u201d  \u201cRobin,\u201d said the\nknight, \u201cwot thou surely that I mock thee not.\u201d  \u201cHa, sir, neither my\nlady nor her great lineage will accord hereto.\u201d  \u201cRobin,\u201d said the\nknight, \u201cnought shall be done herein at the will of any of them.  Hold!\nhere is my glove, I invest thee with four hundred pounds of my land, and\nI will be thy warrant for all.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said Robin \u201cI will nought naysay\nit; fair is the gift since I know that is soothfast.\u201d  \u201cRobin,\u201d said the\nknight, \u201cnow hast thou the rights thereof.\u201d\n\nThen the knight delivered to him his glove, and invested him with the\nland and his fair daughter.\n\nThen rode the knight so far by his journeys, that he came into his land,\nand when he was come thither, his wife, who was a much fair lady, made\nhim right great joy, and said to him: \u201cSir, for God\u2019s sake think of thy\nfair daughter, that she be wedded.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said the lord, \u201cso much hast\nthou spoken hereof that I have wedded her.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said the lady, \u201cunto\nwhom?\u201d  \u201cForsooth, dame, I have given her to such a man as shall never\nlack of valiancy: I have given her to Robin my squire.\u201d  \u201cRobin!  Alas!\u201d\nquoth the lady; \u201cRobin hath nought, and there is no knight so mighty in\nall the land, but will take her with a good will; of a surety Robin shall\nnever have her.\u201d  \u201cYea, but have her he shall, dame,\u201d said the knight,\n\u201cand I have invested him with four hundred pounds of my land; and all\nthat I ought to warrant him, warrant him I will.\u201d  When the dame heard\nthat, she was much sorry, and said to her lord that Robin should have her\nnever.  \u201cNay, dame,\u201d said the lord, \u201chave her he shall, wilt thou or wilt\nthou not; for even so have I made covenant and I will hold to the same.\u201d\n\nWhen the lady heard her lord, she entered into her chamber and fell\na-weeping and making great dole; after the dole which she made she sent\nto seek her brothers and her nephews and her cousins germain, and showed\nthem that which her lord would do; and they said to her: \u201cDame, what will\nye that we do?  We have no will to go against thy lord, for he is a\nknight valiant and hardy and weighty withal: and on the other hand he may\ndo with his daughter according to his will, and with his land which he\nhath gotten withal.  So wot thou well that we will not hang shield on\nneck herein.\u201d  \u201cNay? alas, then!\u201d said the dame, \u201cso shall my heart never\nhave joy if I lose my fair daughter.  At least, fair lords, I pray you\nthat ye show him that if he does thus he will neither do well nor\naccording to his honour.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d say they, \u201cthis setting forth will we\ndo with a good will.\u201d\n\nSo they came unto the knight, and when they had showed him their business\nhe answered them right courteously: \u201cFair lords, I will tell you what I\nwill do for the love of you; if it please you I will put off the wedding\nin this wise as I shall tell you; to wit: Amongst you ye be rich and of\ngreat lands; ye are nigh friends of my fair daughter, whom I love much.\nIf ye will give her four hundred pounds of land I will set aside the\nwedding, and she shall be wedded elsewhere according to your counsel.\u201d\n\u201cA-God\u2019s name,\u201d quoth they, \u201cwe be nought fain to lay down so much.\u201d\n\u201cWell, then,\u201d said the knight, \u201csince ye will not do this, then suffer me\nto do with my daughter as I list.\u201d  \u201cSir, with a good will,\u201d said they.\n\nSo the knight sent for his chaplain, and brought thither his fair\ndaughter, and let affiance her to Robin, and set a day for the wedding.\nBut the third day thereafter, Robin spake to his lord, and prayed him\nmake him a knight, whereas it was nought meet that he should take to him\nso high a wife and so fair before he was a knight.  His lord had great\njoy thereof, and the next day he was made knight, and the third day\nwedded the fair maiden with great feast and joyance.\n\nBut when master Robin was made knight he spake thus to his lord: \u201cSir, ye\nhave made me knight; and true it is that against the peril of death I\nvowed me to the road unto Saint Jamesward on the morrow of my knighting;\nwherefore I pray thee take it not in dudgeon if to-morrow morn I must\nneeds go my ways so soon as I shall have wedded thy fair daughter;\nwhereas in nowise will I break mine oath.\u201d  \u201cForsooth, master Robin, if\nthou leave thus my fair daughter and thus wise go your ways, ye shall be\nmuch to blame.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cI shall come back right soon if God\nwill; but this wayfaring I needs must perforce.\u201d  Whenas a certain knight\nof the court of the lord heard these words he blamed Sir Robin much,\nwhereas he was leaving his fair wife at such a point, and Sir Robin said\nthat he needs must do it.  \u201cCertes,\u201d said the knight, who had to name\nRaoul, \u201cif thou goest thus to Saint James without touching thy fair wife,\nI will make thee cuckold before thine home-coming, and when thou comest\nhome I will give thee good tokens that I have had share of her.  Now I\nwill lay my land thereto against thine, which our lord hath given thee,\nfor I have well four hundred pounds of land even as thou hast.\u201d\n\u201cForsooth,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cmy wife is not come of such blood as that\nshe shall misdo against me, and I may not believe in it nowise: I will\nmake the wager with thee, if it please thee.\u201d  \u201cYea,\u201d said Sir Raoul,\n\u201cwilt thou pledge thee thereto?\u201d  \u201cYea, verily,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cand\nthou?\u201d  \u201cYea, and I also.  Now go we to my lord and make record of our\ncovenant.\u201d  \u201cThat will I well,\u201d said Sir Robin.  Therewith they go unto\nthe lord, and the wager was recorded, and they pledged them to hold\nthereto.  On the morrow betimes Sir Robin wedded the fair maiden, and\nstraightway after mass was said, he departed from the house and left the\nwedding, and took the road for St. Jakem.\n\nBut now leaveth the tale to tell of him and telleth of Sir Raoul, who was\nin great imagination how he might win his wager and lie by the fair lady.\nAnd saith the tale that the lady held her much simply while her lord was\non pilgrimage, and was going to the minster with a good will, and prayed\nGod that he would bring back her lord.  But Sir Raoul pained him on the\nother hand how he might win his wager, for great doubt he had to lose his\nland.  He spake with the carline who dwelt with the fair lady, and said\nto her, that if she could so bring it about that she might set him in\nplace and at point that he might speak privily with my lady Jehane, and\nhave his will of her, he would give her much good, so that there would be\nno hour when she should not be rich.  \u201cSir, forsooth,\u201d said the carline,\n\u201cthou art so fair a knight, and so wise and courteous that my lady should\nwell ought to love thee par amours, and I will put myself to the pain\nherein to the utmost of my might.\u201d  Then the knight drew out straightway\na forty sols, and gave it to her to buy a gown.  The carline took them\nwith a goodwill, and set them away surely, and said that she would speak\nwith the lady.  The knight departed from the carline, and the carline\nabode and took her lady to task when she came back from the minster, and\nsaid to her: \u201cIn God\u2019s name, lady, tell me true!  My lord, when he went\nto Saint Jakem, had he ever lain by thee?\u201d  \u201cWherefore dost thou say\nthis, dame Hersent?\u201d  \u201cLady, because I trow that thou be yet a clean\nmaid.\u201d  \u201cCertes, dame Hersent, so am I verily; for of no woman wot I who\nwould do such a deed.\u201d  \u201cLady,\u201d said dame Hersent, \u201cgreat damage it is;\nfor if ye wotted how great is the joy that women have when they be with a\nman who loveth them, ye would say that there is no joy so great; and for\nthis cause I marvel much that ye love not par amours even as these other\nladies who all love.  But if it pleaseth thee the matter is ready to\nhand; whereas I wot of a knight, fair and valiant and wise, who will love\nthee with a good will; a much rich man is he, and fairer by far than the\ncoward recreant who hath left thee.  And if ye dare love ye may have\nwhatso ye dare ask; and so much joy shall ye have as never lady had\nmore.\u201d  So much spake the carline by her words that the needle of nature\nstirred somewhat.  The lady asked who the knight might be.  \u201cWho is it,\nlady?  A-God\u2019s name!  I may well name him.  It is the lovely, the\nvaliant, the hardy Sir Raoul, who is one of the mesney of thy father; the\nkindest heart men wot of.\u201d  \u201cDame Hersent,\u201d said the lady, \u201cthou wert\nbest let such words be; for I have no desire to misdo of my body, of no\nsuch blood am I come.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said the carline, \u201cI wot well.  But never\nshalt thou know the worthy joy when a man wendeth with a woman.\u201d\n\nThuswise abode the matter.  Sir Raoul came back to the carline, and she\ntold him how she had talked with the lady, and what she had answered.\n\u201cDame Hersent,\u201d said the knight, \u201cthus wise should a good lady answer;\nbut ye shall speak with her again, for one doeth not the business at the\nfirst stroke: and hold, here be twenty sols to buy thee a cloth to thy\nsurcoat.\u201d  The carline took the silver, and spake with the lady often,\nbut nought it availed.\n\nWore the time till at last they heard news that Sir Robin was wending\nback from Saint Jakem, and that he was already hard on Paris.  Soon was\nknown the tidings, and Sir Raoul, who had fear of the losing of his\nlands, returned to the carline, and spake with her; and she said that she\nmight not bring the business to an end: but that she would do so much for\nthe love of him, if she should earn her service, that she would so bring\nit about as that there should be none in the house save he and this lady:\nand then he might do his will on her, will she nill she: and he said that\nhe asked for nought else.  \u201cThen,\u201d said the carline, \u201cye, my lord, shall\ncome within eight days, and I will do my lady to bathe her in her\nchamber, and I will send all the mesney out of the house and out of the\ncastle; then can ye come to her bathing in the chamber, and may have your\ndesire of her, either with her good will or maugre.\u201d  \u201cYe have well\nsaid,\u201d quoth he.\n\nAbode matters thus till Sir Robin sent word that he was coming to hand,\nand would be at the house on the Sunday.  Then the carline let bathe the\nlady the Thursday before, and the bath was in her chamber, and the fair\nlady entered therein.  But the carline sent after Sir Raoul, and he came.\nThereafter she sent all the folk of the household out of the house.  Sir\nRaoul came his ways to the chamber and entered therein, and greeted the\nlady, but she greeted him not again, but said thus:\n\n\u201cSir Raoul, thou art nowise courteous.  Whether wottest thou forsooth\nthat it is well with me of thy coming? accursed be thou, villain knight!\u201d\nBut Sir Raoul said: \u201cMy lady, mercy, a-God\u2019s name!  I am but dying for\ngrief of thee.  For God\u2019s sake have pity of me!\u201d  \u201cSir Raoul,\u201d said she,\n\u201cI will have no mercy in such wise that I will ever be thy darling.  And\nwot thou well that if thou leave me not in peace I will tell my lord, my\nfather, the honour thou requirest of me: for I am none such as that.\u201d\n\u201cNay, lady, is it so, then?\u201d  \u201cYea, verily,\u201d said she.\n\nTherewith Sir Raoul drew nigh to her, and embraced her in his arms, which\nwere strong enow, and drew her all naked out of the bath and bore her\ntoward her bed; and so soon as he drew her forth of the bath he saw a\nblack spot which she had on her right groin hard by her natural part; and\nhe thought therewithal that that were a good token that he had lain by\nher.  Thus as he bore her off to her bed, his spurs hooked them into the\nserge at the bed\u2019s edge toward the foot thereof, and down fell the\nknight, he and the lady together, he below and she above; but she rose up\nstraightway and caught up a billet of wood, and smote Sir Raoul therewith\namidst the face, and made him a wound both deep and wide, so that the\nblood fell to earth.  So when Sir Raoul felt himself hurt he had no great\ndesire to play, wherefore he arose and got him gone out of the chamber\nstraightway: he did so much that he came to his hostel, where he dwelt a\ngood league thence, and there he had his wound dealt with.  But the good\ndame entered into her bath again, and called dame Hersent, and told the\nadventure of the knight.\n\nMuch great array made the father of the fair lady against the coming of\nSir Robin, and he summoned much folk, and sent and bade Sir Raoul to\ncome; but he sent word that he might not come, for that he was sick.  On\nthe Sunday camel Sir Robin, and was received right fairly; and the father\nof the fair lady went to seek Sir Raoul and found him wounded, and said\nthat now for nought might he abide behind from the feast.  So he dight\nhis face and his hurt the best wise he might, and went to the feast,\nwhich was great and grand day long of drinking and of eating, and of\ndancing and carolling.\n\nWhen night was come Sir Robin went to bed with his wife, who received him\nmuch joyously as a good dame ought to her lord; so abode they in joy and\nin feast the more part of the night.  On the morrow great was the feast,\nand the victual was dight and they ate.  But when it was after dinner,\nSir Raoul bore on hand Sir Robin, and said that he had won his land,\nwhereas he had known his wife carnally, by the token, to wit, that she\nhad a black spot on her right thigh and a pearlet hard by her jewel.\n\u201cThereof I wot not,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cfor I have not looked on her so\nclose.\u201d  \u201cWell, then, I tell thee,\u201d said Sir Raoul, \u201cby the oath that\nthou hast given me that thou take heed thereof, and do me right.\u201d  \u201cSo\nwill I, verily,\u201d said Sir Robin.\n\nWhen night was, Sir Robin played with his wife, and found and saw on her\nright thigh the black spot, and a pearlet hard by her fair jewel: and\nwhen he knew it he was sore grieving.  On the morrow he went to Sir\nRaoul, and said before his lord that he had lost his wager.  Heavy of\nheart was he day long, and when it was night he went to the stable, and\nset the saddle on his palfrey, and went forth from the house, bearing\nwith him what he might get him of silver.  So came to Paris, and when he\nwas at Paris he abode there three days.  But now leaveth the tale to tell\nof him, and taketh up the word concerning his wife.\n\nHere saith the tale that much sorrowful was the fair lady and heavy of\nheart, when she called to mind how she had cast her lord out of his\nhouse.  Much she thought of the wherefore thereof and wept and made great\ndole; till her father came to her, and said that he were fainer if she\nwere yet to wed, whereas she had done him shame and all them of his\nlineage; and he told her how and wherefore.  When she heard that, she was\nsore grieved and denied the deed downright; but nought availed.  For it\nis well known that shame so sore is contrary to all women, that if a\nwoman were to burn all, she would not be trowed of such a misdoing, once\nit were laid on her.\n\nOn the first hour of the night the lady arose, and took all pennies that\nshe had in her coffer, and took a nag and a harness thereto, and gat her\nto the road; and she had let shear her fair tresses, and was otherwise\narrayed like to an esquire.  So much she went by her journeys that she\ncame to Paris, and went after her lord; and she said and declared that\nshe would never make an end before she had found him.  Thus she rode like\nto a squire.  And on a morning she went forth out of Paris, and wended\nthe way toward Orleans until she came to the Tomb Isory, and there she\nfell in with her lord Sir Robin.  Full fain she was when she saw him, and\nshe drew up to him and greeted him, and he gave her greeting back and\nsaid: \u201cFair friend, God give thee joy!\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said she, \u201cwhence art\nthou?\u201d  \u201cForsooth, fair friend, I am of old Hainault.\u201d  \u201cSir, whither\nwendeth thou?\u201d  \u201cForsooth, fair friend, I wot not right well whither I\ngo, nor where I shall dwell.  Forsooth, needs must I where fortune shall\nlead me; and she is contrary enough; for I have lost the thing in the\nworld that most I ever loved: and she also hath lost me.  Withal I have\nlost my land, which was great and fair enough.  But what hast thou to\nname, and whither doth God lead thee?\u201d  \u201cCertes, sir,\u201d said Jehane, \u201cI am\nminded for Marseilles on the sea, where is war as I hope.  There would I\nserve some valiant man, about whom I shall learn me arms if God will.\nFor I am so undone in mine own country that therein for a while of time I\nmay not have peace.  But, sir, meseemeth that thou be a knight, and I\nwould serve thee with a right good will if it please thee.  And of my\ncompany wilt thou be nought worsened.\u201d  \u201cFair friend,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201ca\nknight am I verily.  And where I may look to find war, thitherward would\nI draw full willingly.  But tell me what thou hast to name?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said\nshe, \u201cI have to name John.\u201d  \u201cIn a good hour,\u201d quoth the knight.  \u201cAnd\nthou, sir, how hight thou?\u201d  \u201cJohn,\u201d said he, \u201cI have to name Robin.\u201d\n\u201cSir Robin, retain me as thine esquire, and I will serve thee to my\npower.\u201d  \u201cJohn, so would I with a good will.  But so little of money have\nI that I must needs sell my horse before three days are worn.  Wherefore\nI wot not how to do to retain thee.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said John, \u201cbe not dismayed\nthereof, for God will aid thee if it please him.  But tell me where thou\nwilt eat thy dinner?\u201d  \u201cJohn, my dinner will soon be made; for not\nanother penny have I than three sols of Paris.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said John, \u201cbe\nnought dismayed thereof, for I have hard on ten pounds Tournais, whereof\nthou shalt not lack, if thou hast not to spend at thy will.\u201d  \u201cFair\nfriend John, have thou mickle thanks.\u201d\n\nThen made they good speed to Montlhery: there John dight meat for his\nlord and they ate.  When they had eaten, the knight slept in a bed and\nJohn at his feet.  When they had slept, John did on the bridles, and they\nmounted and gat to the road.  They went so far by their journeys that\nthey came to Marseilles-on-sea; but of war they heard no word there,\nwhereof were they much sorry.  But now leaveth the tale to tell of them\ntwo, and returneth to tell of Sir Raoul, who had by falsehood gained the\nland of Sir Robin.\n\nHere telleth the tale that so long did Sir Raoul hold the land of Sir\nRobin without righteous cause, for seven years\u2019 wearing.  Then he took a\ngreat sickness and of that sickness was sore beaten down, insomuch that\nhe was on the point of death.  Now he doubted much the transgression\nwhich he had done against the fair lady the daughter of his lord, and\nagainst her husband also, whereby they were undone, both of them by\noccasion of his malice.  Exceeding ill at ease was he of his wrongdoing,\nwhich was so great that he durst not confess it.\n\nCame a day when he was sore undone by his sickness, so he sent for his\nchaplain whom he loved much, for he had found him a man valiant and\nloyal; and he said to him: \u201cSir, thou who art my father before God, know\nthat I look to die of this sickness, wherefore I pray thee for God\u2019s sake\nthat ye aid me with your counsel, for great is my need thereof, for I\nhave done an ill deed so hideous and dark that scarce shall I have mercy\ntherefor.\u201d  The chaplain bade him tell it out hardily, and that he would\naid him with counsel to his power; till at last Sir Raoul told him all as\nye have heard afore.  And he prayed him for God\u2019s sake give him counsel,\nso great as was his misdoing.  \u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cbe nought dismayed, for\nif thou wilt do the penance which I enjoin thee, I will take thy\ntransgression on me and on my soul, so that thou shalt be quit.\u201d  \u201cYea,\ntell me then,\u201d said the knight.  \u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cthou shalt take the\ncross far over sea, and thou shalt get thee thereto within the year\nwherein thou art whole, and shalt give pledges to God that thou shalt so\ndo: and in every place where men ask thee the occasion of thy journey,\nthou shalt tell it to all who shall ask it of thee.\u201d  \u201cAll this will I\nwell do,\u201d said the knight.  \u201cThen, sir, give thou good pledge.\u201d  \u201cWith a\ngood will,\u201d said the knight; \u201cthou thyself shalt abide surety for me, and\nI swear to thee on my knighthood that I shall quit thee well.\u201d  \u201cA-God\u2019s\nname, sir!\u201d quoth the chaplain, \u201cI will be thy surety.\u201d  Now turned the\nknight to amendment, and was all whole; and a year wore wherein he went\nnot over sea.  The chaplain spake to him often thereof, but he held the\ncovenant as but a jest; till at last the chaplain said that but if he\nacquitted him before God of his pledge, he would tell the tale to the\nfather of the fair damsel, who had been thus undone by him.  When the\nknight heard that, he said to the chaplain that within half a year he\nwould set about the crossing of the sea, and so swore to him.  But now\nleaveth the tale to tell of the knight, and returneth to telling of King\nFlorus of Ausaye, of whom for a great while it hath been silent.\n\nNow saith the tale that a much good life led King Florus of Ausay and his\nwife, as of young folk who loved each other; but much sorry and\nheavy-hearted were they that they might have no child.  The lady made\ngreat prayers to God, and let sing masses; but whereas it was not well\npleasing to God, it might not be.  But on a day came thither into the\nhouse of King Florus a good man who had his dwelling in the great forest\nof Ausaye in a place right wild; and when the queen knew that he was come\nshe came unto him and made him right great joy.  And because he was a\ngood man she confessed to him and told him all her ailing, and how that\nshe was exceeding heavy of heart, because she had had no child by her\nlord.  \u201cAh, lady,\u201d said the good man, \u201csince it pleaseth not our Lord,\nneeds must thou abide it; and when it pleaseth him thou shalt have one,\nor two.\u201d  \u201cCertes, sir,\u201d said the lady, \u201cI were fain thereof; for my lord\nholdeth me the less dear, and the high barons of this land also.  Withal\nit hath been told to me that they have spoken to my lord to leave me and\ntake another.\u201d  \u201cVerily, dame,\u201d said the good man, \u201che would do ill; it\nwould be done against God and against Holy Church.\u201d  \u201cAh, sir, I pray\nthee to pray to God for me that I may have a child of my lord, for great\nfear I have lest he leave me.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said the good man, \u201cmy prayer\nshall avail but little, but if it please God; nevertheless I will pray\nheartily.\u201d\n\nThe good man departed from the lady, and the barons of the land and of\nthe country came to the King Florus, and bade him send away his wife and\ntake another, since by this he might have no child.  And if he did not\nafter their counsel, they would go and dwell otherwhere; for in no case\nwould they that the realm should be without an heir.  King Florus feared\nhis barons and trowed their word, and he said that he would send away his\nwife, and that they should seek him another, and they trusted him\ntherein.  When the lady knew it she was exeeeding heavy of heart; but\nnought durst she do, for she knew that her lord would leave her.  So she\nsent for the hermit who had been her confessor, and he came to her.  Then\nthe lady told him all the tale of the matter of the barons, who would\nseek for their lord another woman.  \u201cAnd I pray thee, good father, that\nthou wouldst aid me, and counsel me what I should do.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said the\ngood man, \u201cif it be so as thou sayest, ye must needs suffer it; for\nagainst thy lord and against his barons ye may do nought perforce.\u201d\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the good lady, \u201cthou sayest sooth: but if it please God, I\nwere fain to be a recluse nigh unto thee; whereby I may be at the service\nof God all the days of my life, and that I may have comfort of thee.\u201d\n\u201cDame,\u201d said the good man, \u201cthat would be over strange a thing, whereas\nthou art too young a lady and too fair.  But I will tell thee what thou\nshalt do.  Hard by my hermitage there is an abbey of White Nuns, who are\nright good ladies, and I counsel you go thither; and they will have great\njoy of thee for thy goodness and thy high dignity.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said she,\n\u201cthou hast well said; I will do all that thou counsellest me.\u201d\n\nOn the morrow King Florus spake to his wife, and said thus: \u201cNeeds must\nthou and I sunder, for that thou mayst have no child by me.  Now I say\nthee soothly that the sundering lies heavy on me, for never shall I love\nwoman as I have loved thee.\u201d  Therewith fell King Florus to weep sorely,\nand the lady also.  \u201cSir,\u201d said she, \u201ca-God\u2019s mercy!  And whither shall I\ngo, and what shall I do?\u201d  \u201cDame, thou shalt do well, if it please God,\nfor I will send thee back well and richly into thy country to thy\nkindred.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said the lady, \u201cit shall not be so: I have purveyed me\nan abbey of nuns, where I will be, if it please thee; and there I will\nserve God all my life; for since I lose thy company I am she that no man\nshall go with any more.\u201d  Thereat King Florus wept and the lady also.\nBut on the third day the queen went to the abbey; and the other queen was\ncome, and had great feast made her, and great joy of her friends.  King\nFlorus held her for three years, but never might have child of her.  But\nhere the tale holdeth peace of King Florus, and betaketh it again to Sir\nRobin, and to John who were at Marseilles.\n\nHere telleth the tale that much sorry was Sir Robin when he came to\nMarseilles, whereas he heard tell of nought toward in the country; so he\nsaid to John: \u201cWhat do we?  Thou hast lent me of thy moneys, whereof I\nthank thee: I will give them back to thee, for I will sell my palfrey,\nand quit me toward thee.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said John, \u201cif it please thee, believe\nme, and I shall tell thee what we shall do.  I have yet well an hundred\nsols of Tournay, and if it please thee, I will sell our two horses, and\nmake money thereby: for I am the best of bakers that ye may wot of; and I\nwill make French bread, and I doubt me not but I shall earn my spending\nwell and bountifully.\u201d  \u201cJohn,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cI grant it thee to do\nall as thou wilt.\u201d\n\nSo on the morrow John sold the two horses for ten pounds Tournays, and\nbought corn and let grind it, and bought baskets, and fell to making\nFrench bread, so good and so well made that he sold it for more than the\nbest baker of the town might do; and he did so much within two years that\nhe had well an hundred pounds of chattels.  Then said John to his lord:\n\u201cI rede thee well that we buy us a very great house, and that we buy us\nwine and take to harbouring good folk.\u201d  \u201cJohn,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cdo\naccording to thy will, for I grant it thee, and moreover I praise thee\nmuch.\u201d  So John bought a house, great and fair, and harboured good folk,\nand earned enough plenteously; and he arrayed his lord well and richly;\nand Sir Robin had his palfrey, and went to eat and drink with the most\nworthy of the town, and John sent him wine and victual, so that all they\nthat haunted his company marvelled thereat.  So much he gained that in\nthree years\u2019 time he had gotten him more than three hundred pounds of\ngarnishment, out-taken his plenishing, which was well worth fifty pounds.\nBut here leaveth the tale to tell of Sir Robin and of John, and goeth\nback to tell of Sir Raoul.\n\nFor, saith the tale, that the chaplain held Sir Raoul right short that he\nshould go over sea, and quit him of the pledge he had laid down; for\ngreat fear he had lest he yet should leave it; and so much he did that\nSir Raoul saw well that he needs must go.  So he dight his journey, and\narrayed him right richly, as he that hath well enough thereto; and so he\nbetook him to the road with three squires: and went so much by his\njourneys that he came into Marseilles-on-sea and took lodging in the\nFrench hostel, whereas dwelt Sir Robin and John.  So soon as John saw him\nshe knew him by the scar of the wound she had made him, and because she\nhad seen him many times.  The knight sojourned in the town fifteen days,\nand hired him passage.  But the while he sojourned, John drew him in to\nprivy talk, and asked of him the occasion of his going over sea, and Sir\nRaoul told him all the occasion, as one who had little heed thereof, even\nas the tale hath told afore.  When John heard that, he held his peace.\nSir Raoul set his goods aboard ship, and went upon the sea; but tarried\nso much the ship wherein he was that he abode in the town for eight days;\nbut on the ninth day he betook him to go his ways to the holy sepulchre,\nand did his pilgrimage, and confessed him the best he might: and his\nconfessor charged him in penance that he should give back the land which\nhe held wrongfully to the knight and his wife.  Whereon he said to his\nconfessor, that when he came into his own country he would do what his\nheart bade him.  So he departed from Jerusalem and came to Acre, and\ndight his passage as one who had great longing to repair to his own\ncountry.  He went up on to the sea, and wended so diligently, as well by\nnight as by day, till in less than three months he came to the port of\nAigues-mort.  Then he departed from the port and came straight to\nMarseilles, wherein he sojourned eight days in the hostel of Sir Robin\nand John, which hight the French house.  Never did Sir Robin know him,\nfor on that matter he thought nothing.  At the end of eight days he\ndeparted from Marseilles, he and his squires, and went so long by his\njourneys that he came into his own country, where he was received with\ngreat joy, as one who was a knight rich in land and chattels.  Thereon\nhis chaplain took him to task, and asked of him if any had demanded the\noccasion of his journey; and he said: \u201cYea, in three places, to wit:\nMarseilles, Acre, and Jerusalem: and he of whom I took counsel bade me to\ngive back the land to Sir Robin, if I hear tidings of him, or to his wife\nelse, or to his heir.\u201d  \u201cCertes,\u201d said the chaplain; \u201che bade thee good\ncounsel.\u201d  Thus was Sir Raoul in his own country a great while in rest\nand good ease.  But here leaveth the tale to tell of him, and returneth\nto Sir Robin and John.\n\nHere saith the tale that when Sir Robin and John had been at Marseilles\nfor six years that John had gotten to the value of six hundred pounds,\nand they were come into the seventh year, and John might gain eke what he\nwould, and so sweet he was, and so debonaire that he made himself loved\nof all the neighbours, and therewithal he was of good hap as he might not\nbe of more, and maintained his lord so nobly and so richly that it was\nwonder to behold.  When the end of the seven years drew nigh, John fell\nto talk with his lord Sir Robin, and spake thus: \u201cSir, we have now been a\ngreat while in this country, and so much have we gained, that we have\nhard on six hundred pounds of chattels, what of money, what of vessel of\nsilver.\u201d  \u201cForsooth, John,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cthey be not mine, but thine;\nfor it is thou hast earned them.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said John, \u201csaving thy grace,\nit is not so, but they are thine: for thou art my rightful lord, and\nnever, if it please God, will I change.\u201d  \u201cGramercy, John, I hold thee\nnot for servant, but for companion and friend.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said John, \u201call\ndays I have kept thee loyal company, and shall do from henceforth.\u201d  \u201cBy\nmy faith,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cI will do what so pleaseth thee: but to go\ninto my country, I wot not to say thereof: for I have lost so much there\nthat hardly shall my scathe be righted to me.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said John, \u201cbe\nthou never dismayed of that matter; for when thou art come into thine own\ncountry thou shalt hear good tidings, please God.  And doubt thou\nnothing, for in all places whereas we shall be, if it please God, I shall\nearn enough for thee and for me.\u201d  \u201cCertes, John,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cI\nwill do as it pleaseth thee, and where thou wilt that I go, thither will\nI.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said John, \u201cI shall sell our chattels, and dight our journey,\nand we will go within fifteen days.\u201d  \u201cA-God\u2019s name, John,\u201d said Sir\nRobin.\n\nJohn sold all his plenishing, whereof he had good store and goodly, and\nbought three horses, a palfrey for his lord, another for himself, and a\nsumpter horse.  Then they took leave of the neighbours, and the most\nworthy of the town, who were sore grieved of their departure.\n\nWore the way Sir Robin and John, insomuch that in three weeks\u2019 space they\ncame into their country.  And Robin made known to his lord, whose\ndaughter he had had, that he was at hand.  The lord was much joyful\nthereof, for he was deeming well that his daughter would be with him.\nAnd she indeed it was, but in the guise of an esquire.  Sir Robin was\nwell received of his lord, whose daughter he had erewhile wedded.  When\nthe lord could have no tidings of his daughter, he was right sorrowful;\nnevertheless he made good feast to Sir Robin, and bade thereto his\nknights and his neighbours; and thither came Sir Raoul, who held the land\nof Sir Robin wrongfully.  Great was the joy that day and the morrow, and\nthat while Sir Robin told to John the occasion of the wager, and how Sir\nRaoul held his land wrongfully.  \u201cSir,\u201d said John, \u201cdo thou appeal him of\ntreason, and I will do the battle for thee.\u201d  \u201cNay, John,\u201d said Sir\nRobin, \u201cthou shalt not do it.\u201d\n\nSo they left it till the morrow, when John came to Sir Robin and did him\nto wit that he would speak to the father of his wife; and thus he said to\nhim: \u201cSir, thou art lord to my lord Sir Robin after God, and he wedded\nthy daughter time was.  But there was a wager betwixt him and Sir Raoul,\nwho said that he would make him cuckold by then he returned from St.\nJakeme; whereof Sir Raoul hath made false report, whereas he hath had nor\npart nor lot in thy fair daughter.  And he hath done disloyal treason.\nAll which things I am ready to prove on his body.\u201d  Then leapt forth Sir\nRobin and said: \u201cJohn, fair friend, none shall do the battle save I;\nnowise shalt thou hang shield on neck herein.\u201d  Therewith Sir Robin\nreached his pledge to his lord; and Sir Raoul was sore grieving of the\npledging, but needs must he defend him, or cry craven; so he reached for\nthis pledge right cowardly.  So were the pledges given, and day of battle\nappointed on that day fifteen days without naysay.\n\nNow hear ye marvels of John what he did.  John who had to name my Lady\nJehane, had in the house of her father a cousin germain of hers, who was\na fair damsel, and of some five and twenty years.  Jehane came to her,\nand laid all the whole truth bare to her, and told her the whole business\nfrom point to point, and showed her all openly; and prayed her much that\nshe would hide all the matter until the time and hour came when she\nshould make herself known to her father.  Wherefore her cousin, who knew\nher well, said to her that she would keep all well hidden, so that by her\nit should never be discovered.  Then was the chamber of her cousin dight\nfor the Lady Jehane; and the said lady, the while of the fortnight before\nthe battle should be, let bathe her and stove her; and she took her ease\nthe best she might, as one who well had therewithal.  And she let cut and\nshape for her duly four pair of gowns, of Scarlet, of Vair, of Perse, and\nof cloth of silk; and she took so well her ease that she came back to her\nmost beauty, and was so fair and dainty as no lady might be more.\n\nBut when it came to the end of the fifteen days, then was Sir Robin sore\ngrieving of John his esquire, because he had lost him, and knew not where\nhe was become.  But none the more did he leave to apparel him for the\nfight as one who had heart enough and hardihood.\n\nOn the morn of the day whenas the battle was appointed, came both the\nknights armed.  They drew apart one from the other, and then they fell on\neach other with the irons of their glaives, and smote on each other with\nso great heat that they bore down each other\u2019s horses to the earth\nbeneath their bodies.  Sir Raoul was hurt a little on the left side.  Sir\nRobin rose up the first, and came a great pace on Sir Raoul, and smote\nhim a great stroke on the helm in such wise that he beat down the\nhead-piece and drave in the sword on to the mail-coif, and sheared all\nthereto; but the coif was of steel so strong that he wounded him not,\nhowbeit he made him to stagger, so that he caught hold of the arson of\nthe saddle; and if he had not, he had fallen to earth.  Then Sir Raoul,\nwho was a good knight, smote Sir Robin so great a stroke upon the helm\nthat he all to astonied him; and the stroke fell down to the shoulder,\nand sheared the mails of the hawberk, but hurt him not.  Then Sir Robin\nsmote him with all his might, but he threw his shield betwixt, and Sir\nRobin smote off a quarter thereof.  When Sir Raoul felt his strong\nstrokes, he misdoubted him much, and wished well that he were over sea,\nif he were but quit of the battle, and Sir Robin back on the land which\nhe held.  Nevertheless he put forth all his might and drew nigh, and fell\non Sir Robin much hardly, and gave him a great stroke upon his shield so\nthat he sheared it to the boss thereof.  But Sir Robin laid a great\nstroke upon his helm, but he threw his shield betwixt and Sir Robin\nsheared it amidst, and the sword fell upon the neck of the horse, and\nsheared it amidst, and beat down straightway both horse and man.  Then\nSir Raoul leapt to his feet, as one who was in a stour exceeding heavy.\nThen Sir Robin lighted down, whereas he would not betake him to his horse\nwhile the other was afoot.\n\nNow were both knights come unto the skirmish and they hewed in pieces\neach other\u2019s shields and helms and haw\u2014berks, and drew the blood from\neach other\u2019s bodies with their trenchant swords; and had they smitten as\ngreat strokes as at first, soon had they slain each other, for they had\nso little of their shields that scarce might they cover their fists\ntherewith.  Yet had neither of them fear of death or shame: nevertheless\nthe nighness of them to each other called on them to bring the battle to\nan end.  Sir Robin took his sword in both hands, and smote Sir Raoul with\nall his might on the helm, and sheared it amidst, so that one half\nthereof fell upon the shoulders, and he sheared the steel coif, and made\nhim a great wound on the head; and Sir Raoul was so astonied of the\nstroke that he bent him to the earth on one knee; but he rose up\nstraightway and was in great misease when he thus saw his head naked, and\ngreat fear of death he had.  But he came up to Sir Robin and fetched a\nstroke with all his might on what he had of shield and he sheared it\nasunder and the stroke came on the helm and cut into it well three\nfingers, so that the sword came on the iron coif, which was right good,\nso that the sword brake a-twain.  When Sir Raoul saw his sword broken and\nhis head naked, he doubted much the death.  Nevertheless he stooped down\nto the earth, and took up a great stone in his two hands, and cast it\nafter Sir Robin with all his might; but Sir Robin turned aside when he\nsaw the stone coming, and ran on Sir Raoul, who took to flight all over\nthe field; and Sir Robin said to him that he would slay him but if he\ncried craven.  Whereon Sir Raoul thus bespake him: mercy on me, gentle\nknight, and ere my sword, so much as I have thereof, and I render it to\nthee, and all of me therewith unto thy mercy; and I pray thee have pity\nof me, and beg of thy lord and mine to have mercy on me and that thou and\nhe save my life, and I render and give both thy land and mine.  For I\nhave held it against right and against reason.  And I have wrongfully\ndefamed the fair lady and good.\n\nWhen Sir Robin heard this, he said that he had done enough, and he prayed\nhis lord so much that he pardoned Sir Raoul of his misdeed, in such wise\nthat he was quit thereof on the condition that he should go over seas and\nabide there lifelong.\n\nThuswise conquered Sir Robin his land and the land of Sir Raoul to boot\nfor all his days.  But he was so sore grieving and sad at heart of his\ngood dame and fair, whom he had thus lost, that he could have no solace;\nand on the other hand, he was so sore grieving for John his esquire whom\nhe had so lost, that marvel it was.  And his lord was no less sad at\nheart for his fair daughter whom he had thus lost, and of whom he might\nhave no tidings.\n\nBut dame Jehane, who was in the chamber of her cousin germain for fifteen\ndays in good ease, when she wotted that her lord had vanquished the\nbattle, was exceeding much at ease.  Now she had done make four pair of\ngowns, as is aforesaid, and she clad her with the richest of them which\nwas of silk bended of fine gold of Araby.  Moreover she was so fair of\nbody and of visage, and so dainty withal, that nought in the world might\nbe found fairer, so that her cousin germain all marvelled at her great\nbeauty.  And she had been bathed, and attired and had ease at all points\nfor the fifteen days, so that she was come into so great beauty as wonder\nwas.  Much fair was the Lady Jehane in her gown of silk bended of gold.\nSo she called her cousin to her and said: \u201cHow deemest thou of me?\u201d\n\u201cWhat, dame!\u201d said her cousin, \u201cthou art the fairest lady of the world.\u201d\n\u201cI shall tell thee, then, fair cousin, what thou shalt do: go thou tell\nso much before my father as that he shall make dole no more, but be glad\nand joyful, and that thou bearest him good news of his daughter who is\nwhole and well; and that he come with thee and thou wilt show him.  Then\nbring him hither, and meseemeth he will see me with a good will.\u201d  The\ndamsel said that she would well do that errand and she came to the father\nof the Lady Jehane, and said him what his daughter had said.  When her\nsire heard thereof great wonder he wist it, and went with the damsel, and\nfound his daughter in her chamber, and knew her straightway, and put his\narms about her neck, and wept over her for joy and pity, and had so great\njoy that scarce might he speak to her.  Then he asked her where she had\nbeen so long a while.  \u201cFair father,\u201d said she, \u201cthou shalt know it well\nanon.  But a-God\u2019s sake do my lady mother to come to me, for I have great\nlonging to see her.\u201d  The lord sent for his wife, and when she came into\nthe chamber where was her daughter, and saw her and knew her, she swooned\nfor joy, and might not speak a great while, and when she came out of her\nswooning none might believe the great joy that she made of her daughter.\n\nBut whiles they were in this joy, the father of the fair lady went to\nseek Sir Robin and bespake him thus: \u201cSir Robin, fair sweet son, tidings\ncan I say thee exceeding joyous us between.\u201d  \u201cCertes,\u201d said Sir Robin,\n\u201cof joy have I great need, for none save God can set rede to it whereby I\nmay have joy.  For I have lost thy fair daughter, whereof have I sore\ngrief at heart.  And thereto have I lost the swain and the squire, who of\nall in the world hath done me most good; to wit, John the good, my\nsquire.\u201d  \u201cSir Robin,\u201d said the lord, \u201cbe ye nought dismayed thereof, for\nof squires thou shalt find enough.  But of my fair daughter I could tell\nthee good tidings; for I have seen her e\u2019en now; and, wot ye well, she is\nthe fairest lady that may be in the world.\u201d  When Sir Robin heard that,\nhe trembled all with joy and said to his lord: \u201cAh, sir, for God\u2019s sake\nbring me where I may see if this be true!\u201d  \u201cWith a good will,\u201d said the\nlord; \u201ccome along now.\u201d\n\nThe lord went before and he after, till I they were come to the chamber,\nwhere the mother was yet making great feast of her daughter, and they\nwere weeping with joy one over the other.  But when they saw their\nrightful lords a-coming, they rose up; and so soon as Sir Robin knew his\nwife, he ran to her with his arms spread abroad, and they clipped and\nkissed together dearly, and wept of joy and pity; and they were thus\nembracing together for the space of the running of ten acres, or ever\nthey might sunder.  Then the lord commanded the tables to be laid for\nsupper, and they supped and made great joy.\n\nAfter supper, when the feast had been right great, they went to bed, and\nSir Robin lay that night with the Lady Jehane his wife, who made him\ngreat joy, and he her in likewise; and they spake together of many\nthings, and so much that Sir Robin asked of her where she had been; and\nshe said: \u201cSir, long were it to tell, but thou shalt know it well in\ntime.  Now tell to me what thou couldest to do, and where thou hast been\nso long a while.\u201d  \u201cLady,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cthat will I well tell thee.\u201d\n\nSo he fell to telling her all that she well knew, and of John his\nesquire, who had done him so much good, and said that he was so troubled\nwhereas he had thus lost him, that he would make never an end of\nwandering till he had found him, and that he would bestir himself thereto\nthe morrow\u2019s morn.  \u201cSir,\u201d said the lady, \u201cthat were folly; and how\nshould it be then; wouldst thou leave me, then?\u201d  \u201cForsooth, dame,\u201d said\nhe, \u201ce\u2019en so it behoveth me.  For none did ever so much for another as he\ndid for me.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said the dame, \u201cwherein he did for thee, he did but\nduly.  Even so he was bound to do.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cby what\nthou sayest thou shouldst know him.\u201d  \u201cForsooth,\u201d said the lady, \u201cI\nshould ought to know him well, for never did he anything whereof I wotted\nnot.\u201d  \u201cLady,\u201d said Sir Robin, \u201cthou makest me to marvel at thy words.\u201d\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the lady, \u201cnever marvel thou hereof!  If I tell thee a word\nfor sooth and for certain, wilt thou not believe me?\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said he,\n\u201cyea, verily.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, believe me in this,\u201d said she; \u201cfor wot of a verity that I\nam the very same John whom thou wouldest go seek, and I will tell thee\nhow.  For I knew that thou wert gone for the great sorrow thou hadst for\nmy misdoing against thee, and for thy land which thou deemedst thou hadst\nlost for ever.  Whereas I had heard tell of the occasion of the wager,\nand of the treason Sir Raoul had done, whereof I was so wroth as never\nwoman was more wroth.  Straightway I let shear my hair, and took the\nmoney in my coffer, about ten pounds of Tournais, and arrayed me like an\nesquire, and followed thee away to Paris, and found thee at the tomb of\nYsore; and there I fell into company with thee, and we went together into\nMarseilles, and were there together seven years long, where I served thee\nunto my power as my rightful lord, and I hold for well spent all the\nservice that I did thee.  And know of a truth that I am innocent and just\nof that which the evil knight laid upon me; as well appeareth whereas he\nhath been shamed in the field, and hath acknowledged the treason.\u201d\n\nTherewith my lady Jehane embraced Sir Robin, her lord, and kissed him on\nthe mouth right sweetly; for Sir Robin understood well that it was she\nthat had so well served him; and so great joy he had, that none could say\nit or think it; and much he wondered in his heart how she could think to\ndo that which so turned to her great goodness.  Wherefore he loved her\nthe more all the days of his life.\n\nThus were these two good persons together; and they went to dwell upon\ntheir land, which they had both wide and fair.  Good life they led as for\nyoung folk who loved dearly together.  Sir Robin went often to tournays\nwith his lord, of whose mesney he was, and much worship he won, and great\nprize he conquered and great wealth, and did so much that he gat him as\nmuch land again as he had had.  And when the lord and his lady were dead,\nthen had he all the land.  And he did so well by his prowess that he was\nmade a double banneret, and he had well four thousand pounds of land.\nBut never might he have child by his wife, whereof he was much grieved.\nThus was he with his wife for ten years after he had conquered the battle\nwith Sir Raoul.\n\nAfter the term of ten years, by the will of God, to whom we be all\nsubject, the pain of death took hold of him, and he died like a valiant\nman, and had all his rights, and was laid in earth with great worship.\nHis wife the fair lady made so great sorrow over him, that all they that\nsaw her had pity of her; but in the end needs must she forget her\nmourning and take comfort, for as little as it were.  Much abode the lady\nin her widowhood as a good dame and a holy, for she loved much God and\nHoly Church.  She held her much humbly and much she loved the poor, and\ndid them much good, and was so good a lady that none knew how to blame\nher or to say of her aught save great good.  Therewithal was she so fair,\nthat each one said who saw her, that she was the mirror of all ladies in\nthe world for beauty and goodness.  But here leaveth the tale a little to\nspeak of her, and returneth to tell of the King Florus, of whom it hath\nbeen silent a great while.\n\nFor saith the tale, that King Florus of Ausay was in his own country sore\ngrieving, and ill at ease for the departure of his first wife.\nNotwithstanding the other was brought unto him, and was both fair and\ndainty, but he could not hold her in his heart like as he did the first\none.  Four years was he with her, but never child might he have of her;\nand when the said time was ended the pains of death took the a lady, and\nshe was buried, whereof her friends were sore grieving.  But service was\ndone unto her, as was meet to a queen.\n\nThen abode King Florus in widowhood more than two years, and he was still\na young man, whereas he was not of more than five-and-forty winters,\nwherefore the barons said to him that he behoved to marry again.\n\u201cForsooth,\u201d said King Florus, \u201cso to do have I no great longing, for two\nwives have I had, and never child might I have by either.  And on the\nother hand, the first that I had was so good and so fair, and so much I\nloved her in my heart for the great beauty that was in her, that I may\nnot forget her.  And I tell you well that never woman will I wed but may\nhave her as fair and as good as was she.  Now may God have mercy on her\nsoul, for she hath passed away in the abbey where she was, as folk have\ndone me to wit.\u201d  \u201cHa, sir,\u201d said a knight, who was of his privy counsel,\n\u201cthere be many good dames up and down the country side, of whom ye know\nnot all; and I know one who hath not for goodness and beauty her peer in\nthe world.  And if thou knew her goodness, and saw but her beauty, thou\nwouldst say well that happy were the king who held the danger of such a\nlady.  And wot well that she is a gentle lady, and valiant, and rich, and\nof great lands.  And I will tell thee a part of her goodness so please\nthee.\u201d\n\nSo the king said that he would well he should tell him.  Wherefore the\nknight fell to telling how she had bestirred her to go seek her lord, and\nhow she found him and brought him to Marseilles, and the great goodness\nand great services which she did him, even as the tale hath told afore,\nso that King Florus wondered much thereat; and he said to the knight\nprivily that such a woman he would take with a good will.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the knight, who was of the country of the lady, \u201cI will go to\nher, if it please thee, and I will so speak to her, if I may, that the\nmarriage of you two shall be made.\u201d  \u201cYea,\u201d said King Florus, \u201cI will\nwell that thou go, and I pray thee to give good heed to the business.\u201d\n\nSo the knight bestirred him, and went so much by his journeys that he\ncame to the country where dwelt the fair dame, whom the tale calleth my\nLady Jehane, and found her abiding at a castle of hers, and she made him\ngreat joy, as one whom she knew.  The knight drew her to privy talk, and\ntold her of King Florus of Ausay, how he bade her come unto him that he\nmight take her to wife.  When the lady heard the knight so speak, she\nbegan to smile, which beseemed her right well, and she said to the\nknight: \u201cThy king is neither so well learned, nor so courteous as I had\ndeemed, whereas he biddeth me come to him and he will take me to wife:\nforsooth, I am no wageling of him to go at his command.  But say to thy\nking, that, so please him, he come to me, if he prize me so much and\nloveth me, and it seem good to him that I take him to husband and spouse,\nfor the lords ought to beseech the ladies, and not ladies the lords.\u201d\n\u201cLady,\u201d said the knight, \u201call that thou hast said to me, I will tell him\nstraight; but I doubt that he hold not with pride.\u201d  \u201cSir knight,\u201d said\nthe lady, \u201che shall take what heed thereof may please him but in the\nmatter whereof I have spoken to thee, he hath neither courtesy nor\nreason.\u201d  \u201cLady,\u201d said the knight, \u201cso be it, a-God\u2019s name!  And I will\nget me gone, with thy leave, to my lord the king, and will tell him what\nthou hast told me.  And if thou wilt give me any word more, now tell it\nme.\u201d  \u201cYea,\u201d said the lady, \u201ctell him that I send him greeting, and that\nI can him much good will for the honour he biddeth me.\u201d\n\nSo the knight departed therewith from the lady, and came the fourth day\nthereafter to King Florus of Ausay, and found him in his chamber, whereas\nhe was speaking with his privy counsel.  The knight greeted the king, who\nreturned the greeting, and made him sit by his side, and asked tidings of\nthe fair lady, and he told all her message how she would not come to him,\nwhereas she was not his wageling to come at his command: for that lords\nare bound to beseech ladies how she had given him word that she sent him\ngreeting, and could him goodwill for the honour he bade her.  When the\nKing Florus had heard these words, he fell a-pondering, and spake no word\nfor a great while.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said a knight who was of his most privity, \u201cwhat ponderest thou so\nmuch?  Forsooth, all these words well befit a good lady and wise to say;\nand so, may help me God, she is both wise and valiant.  Wherefore I\ncounsel thee in good faith that thou look to a day when thou canst be\nthere; that thou send greeting to her that thou wilt be there on such day\nto do her honour, and take her to wife.\u201d  \u201cForsooth,\u201d said King Florus,\n\u201cI will send word that I will be there in the month of Paske, and that\nshe apparel her to receive such a man as I be.\u201d  Then said King Florus to\nthe knight who had been to the lady, that within three days he should go\nhis ways to tell the lady these tidings.  So on the third day the knight\ndeparted, and went so much that he came to the lady, and said that the\nking sent word that he would be with her in the month of Paske; and she\nanswered that it was so by God\u2019s will, and that she would speak with her\nfriends, and that she would be arrayed to do his will as the honour of a\ngood lady called on her.  After these words departed the knight, and came\nto his lord King Florus, and told him the answer of the fair lady, as ye\nhave heard it.  So King Florus of Ausay dight his departure, and went his\nways with a right great folk to come to the country of the fair lady; and\nwhen he was come thither, he took her and wedded her, and had great joy\nand great feast thereof.  Then he led her into his country where folk\nmade exceeding great joy of her.  But King Florus loved her much for her\ngreat beauty, and for the great wit and great valiancy that was in her.\n\nAnd within the year that he had taken her to wife, she was big with\nchild, and she bore the fruit of her belly so long as right was, and was\ndelivered of a daughter first, and of a son thereafter, who had to name\nFlorence and the daughter had to name Floria.  And the child Florence was\nexceeding fair, and when he was a knight he was the best that knew arms\nin his time, so that he was chosen to be Emperor of Constantinople.  A\nmuch valiant man was he, and wrought much wrack and dole on the Saracens.\nBut the daughter became queen of the land of her father, and the son of\nthe King of Hungary took her to wife, and lady she was of two realms.\n\nThis great honour gave God to the fair lady for the goodness of her and\nher loyalty.  A great while abode King Florus with that fair lady; and\nwhen it pleased God that his time came, he had such goodly knowledge that\nGod had in him a fair soul.  Thereafter the lady lived but a half year,\nand passed away from the world as one good and loyal, and had fair end\nand good knowledge.\n\nHere endeth the tale of King Florus and the Fair Jehane.\n\n\n\n\nThe History of Over Sea\n\n\nIN years bygone was a Count of Ponthieu, who loved much chivalry and the\nworld, and was a much valiant man and a good knight.\n\nIn the same times was a Count of St. Pol, who held all the country, and\nwas lord thereof, and a man much valiant.  He had no heir of his flesh,\nwhereof he was sore grieving; but a sister he had, a much good dame, and\na valiant woman of much avail, who was Dame of Dontmart in Ponthieu.  The\nsaid dame had a son, Thibault by name, who was heir of the country of St.\nPol, but a poor man so long as his uncle lived; he was a brave knight and\na valiant, and good at arms: noble he was, and goodly, and was much\nhonoured and loved of good folk; for a high man he was, and gentle of\nblood.\n\nNow the Count of Ponthieu, with whom beginneth this tale, had a wife, a\nmuch good dame: of the said dame he had a daughter, much good and of much\navail, the which waxed in great beauty and multiplied in much good; and\nshe was of well sixteen years of age.  But within the third year of her\nbirth, her mother died, whereof sore troubled she was and much sorrowful.\n\nThe Count, her father, wedded him right speedily thereafter, and took a\nhigh lady and a gentle; and in a little while the Count had of the said\nlady a son, whom he loved much.  The said son waxed in great worth and in\ngreat goodness, and multiplied in great good.\n\nThe Count of Ponthieu, who was a valiant man, saw my lord Thibault of\nDontmart, and summoned him, and retained him of his meney; and when he\nhad him of his meney he was much joyous thereat, for the Count multiplied\nin great good and in great avail by means of him.\n\nAs they returned from a tournament, the Count called to him Messire\nThibault, and asked of him and said: \u201cThibault, as God may help thee,\ntell me what jewel of my land thou lovest the best?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said Messire\nThibault, \u201cI am but a poor man, but, as God may help me, of all the\njewels of thy land I love none so much as my damosel, thy daughter.\u201d  The\nCount, when he heard that, was much merry and joyful in his heart, and\nsaid: \u201cThibault, I will give her to thee if she will.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said he,\n\u201cmuch great thank have thou; God reward thee.\u201d\n\nThen went the Count to his daughter, and said to her: \u201cFair daughter, I\nhave married thee, save by thee be any hindrance.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said she,\n\u201cunto whom?\u201d  \u201cA-God\u2019s name,\u201d said he, \u201cto a much valiant man, of much\navail: to a knight of mine, who hath to name Thibault of Dontmart.\u201d\n\u201cHa,\u201d sir, said she, \u201cif thy country were a kingdom, and should come to\nme all wholly, forsooth I should hold me right well wedded in him.\u201d\n\u201cDaughter,\u201d said the Count, \u201cblessed be thine heart, and the hour wherein\nthou wert born.\u201d\n\nSo the wedding was done; the Count of Ponthieu and the Count of St. Pol\nwere thereat, and many another good valiant man.  With great joy were\nthey assembled, in great lordship and in great mirth: and in great joy\ndwelt those together for five years.  But it pleased not our Lord Jesus\nChrist that they should have an heir of their flesh, which was a heavy\nmatter to both of them.\n\nOn a night lay Messire Thibault in his bed and pondered sore, and said:\n\u201cGod! of whom it cometh that I love so much this dame, and she me, and\nforsooth no heir of our flesh may we have, whereby God might be served,\nand good be done to the world.\u201d  Therewith he thought on my lord St.\nJakeme, the apostle of Galicia, who would give to such as crave aright\nthat which by right they crave, and he behight him the road thither in\nhis heart.\n\nThe dame was a-sleeping yet, and whenas she awoke he held her betwixt his\narms, and prayed her that she would give him a gift.  \u201cSir,\u201d said the\ndame, \u201cand what gift?\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said he, \u201cthou shalt wot that when I have\nit.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d she said, \u201cif I may give it, I will give it, whatso it may\nbe.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d he said, \u201cI crave leave of thee to go to my lord St. Jacque\nthe Apostle, that he may pray our Lord Jesus Christ to give us an heir of\nour flesh, whereby God may be served in this world, and the Holy Church\nrefreshed.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said the dame, \u201cthe gift is full courteous, and much\ndebonairly will I grant it thee.\u201d\n\nIn much great joy were they for long while: wore one day, and another,\nand a third; and it befell that they lay together in bed on a night, and\nthen said the dame: \u201cSir, I pray and require of thee a gift.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cask, and I will give it, if give it I may.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d she said,\n\u201cI crave leave of thee to go with thee on thy journey.\u201d\n\nWhen Messire Thibault heard that, he was much sorrowful, and said: \u201cDame,\ngrievous thing would it be to thine heart, for the way is much longsome,\nand the land is much strange and much diverse.\u201d  She said: \u201cSir, doubt\nthou nought of me, for of such littlest squire that thou hast, shalt thou\nbe more hindered than of me.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said he, \u201ca-God\u2019s name, I grant it\nthee.\u201d\n\nDay came, and the tidings ran so far till the Count of Ponthieu knew it,\nand sent for Messire Thibault, and said: \u201cThibault, thou art vowed a\npilgrim, as they tell me, and my daughter also?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cthat\nis sooth.\u201d  \u201cThibault,\u201d said the Count, \u201cconcerning thee it is well, but\nconcerning my daughter it is heavy on me.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said Messire Thibault,\n\u201cI might not naysay her.\u201d  \u201cThibault,\u201d said the Count, \u201cbestir ye when ye\nwill; so hasten ye your palfreys, your nags, and your sumpter-beasts; and\nI will give you pennies and havings enow.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said Messire Thibault,\n\u201cgreat thank I give thee.\u201d\n\nSo then they arrayed them, and departed with great joy; and they went so\nfar by their journeys, that they drew nigh to St. Jacque by less than two\ndays.\n\nOn a night they came to a good town, and in the evening Messire Thibault\ncalled his host, and asked him concerning the road for the morrow, what\nroad they should find, and what like it might be; and he said to him:\n\u201cFair sir, at the going forth from this town ye shall find somewhat of a\nforest to pass through, and all the day after a good road.\u201d  Therewith\nthey held their peace, and the bed was apparelled, and they went to rest.\n\nThe morrow was much fair, and the pilgrims rose up at daybreak and made\nnoise.  Messire Thibault arose, and found him somewhat heavy, wherefore\nhe called his chamberlain, and said: \u201cArise now, and do our meyney to\ntruss and go their ways, and thou shalt abide with me and truss our\nharness: for I am somewhat heavy and ill at ease.\u201d  So that one commanded\nthe sergeants the pleasure of their lord, and they went their ways.\n\nBut a little while was ere Messire Thibault and his wife arose and\narrayed them, and got to the road.  The chamberlain trussed their bed,\nand it was not full day, but much fair weather.  They issued out of the\ntown, they three, without more company but only God, and drew nigh to the\nforest; and whenas they came thither, they found two ways, one good, and\nthe other bad.  Then Messire Thibault said to his chamberlain: \u201cPrick\nspur now, and come up with our folk, and bid them abide us, for ugly\nthing it is for a dame and a knight to wend the wild-wood with little\ncompany.\u201d\n\nSo the chamberlain went his ways speedily; and Messire Thibault came into\nthe forest, and came on the sundering ways, and knew not by which to\nwend.  So he said: \u201cDame, by which way go we?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said she, \u201cby the\ngood way, so please God.\u201d\n\nBut in this forest were certain strong-thieves, who wasted the good way,\nand made the false way wide and side, and like unto the other, for to\nmake pilgrims go astray.  So Messire Thibault lighted down, and looked on\nthe way, and found the false way bigger and wider than the good; so he\nsaid: \u201cCome dame, a-God\u2019s name, this is it.\u201d  So they entered therein,\nand went a good quarter of a league, and then began the way to wax\nstrait, and the boughs to hang alow; so he said: \u201cDame, meseemeth that we\ngo not well.\u201d\n\nWhen he had so said, he looked before him, and saw four strong-thieves\narmed, upon four big horses, and each one held spear in hand.  And when\nhe beheld them, he looked behind him, and saw other four in other fashion\narmed and arrayed; and he said: \u201cDame, be not abashed at anything thou\nmayst see now from henceforward.\u201d  Then Messire Thibault greeted those\nfirst come, but they held them all aloof from his greeting.  So\nthereafter he asked them what was their will toward him; and one thereof\nsaid: \u201cThat same shall we tell thee anon.\u201d\n\nTherewith the strong thief came against Messire Thibault with glaive in\nrest, and thought to smite him amidst of the body; and Messire Thibault\nsaw the stroke a-coming, and if he doubted thereof, no marvel was it; but\nhe swerved from the stroke as best he might, and that one missed him; and\nas he passed by him Messire Thibault threw himself under the glaive, and\ntook it from the strong thief, and bestirred him against those three\nwhence that one was come, and smote one of them amidst the body, and slew\nhim; and thereafter turned about, and went back, and smote him who had\nfirst come on him amidst of the body, and slew him.\n\nNow it pleased God that of the eight strong-thieves he slew three, and\nthe other five encompassed him, and slew his palfrey, so that he fell\nadown on his back without any wound to grieve him: he had neither sword\nnor any other armour to help him.  So the strong-thieves took his raiment\nfrom him, all to his shirt, and his spurs and shoon; and then they took a\nsword-belt, and bound his hands and his feet, and cast him into a\nbramble-bush much sharp and much rough.\n\nAnd when they had thus done, they came to the Lady, and took from her her\npalfrey and all her raiment, right to her smock; and she was much fair,\nand she was weeping tenderly, and much and of great manner was she\nsorrowful.\n\nThen one of the strong-thieves beheld her, and said thus to his fellows:\n\u201cMasters, I have lost my brother in this stour, therefore will I have\nthis Lady in atonement thereof.\u201d  Another said: \u201cBut I also, I have lost\nmy cousin-german; therefore I claim as much as thou herein: yea, and\nanother such right have I.\u201d  And even in such wise said the third and the\nfourth and the fifth; but at last said one: \u201cIn the holding of this Lady\nye have no great getting nor gain; so let us lead her into the forest\nhere, and do our will on her, and then set her on the road again and let\nher go.\u201d  So did they even as they had devised, and set her on the road\nagain.\n\nMessire Thibault saw it well, and much sorrowful he was, but nought might\nhe do against it; nor none ill will had he against the Lady for that\nwhich had befallen her; for he wotted well that it had been perforce and\nagainst the will of her.  The Lady was much sorrowful, and all ashamed.\nSo Messire Thibault called to her and said: \u201cDame, for God\u2019s sake come\nhither and unbind me, and deliver me from the grief wherein I am; for\nthese brambles grieve me sore and anguish me.\u201d\n\nSo the Lady went whereas lay Messire Thibault, and espied a sword lying\nbehind there of one of the strong-thieves who had been slain.  So she\ntook it, and went toward her lord, full of great ire and evil will of\nthat which was befallen.  For she doubted much that he would have her in\ndespite for that he had seen her thus, and that he would reprove her one\nwhile and lay before her what had her betid.  She said: \u201cSir, I will\ndeliver thee anon.\u201d\n\nTherewith she hove up the sword and came to her lord, and thought to\nsmite him amidst of the body; and when he saw the stroke coming he\ndoubted it much, for he was all naked to his shirt and breeches, and no\nmore.  Therefore so hardly he quaked, that the hands and the fingers of\nhim; were sundered; and in such wise she smote him that she but hurt him\na little, and sheared the thongs wherewith he was bound; and when he felt\nthe bonds slacken, he drew to him and brake the thongs, and leapt to his\nfeet, and said: \u201cDame, so please God, no more to-day shalt thou slay me.\u201d\nBut she said: \u201cOf a surety, sir, I am heavy thereof.\u201d\n\nHe took the sword of her, and put it back into the scabbard, and\nthereafter laid his hand on her shoulder, and brought her back on the\nroad whereby they had come.  And when he came to the entry of the wood,\nthere found he a great part of his company, which was come to meet him\nand when they saw them thus naked, they asked of him: \u201cSir, who hath thus\narrayed you?\u201d  But he told them that they had fallen in with\nstrong-thieves, who had thus ensnared them.  Much great dole they made\nthereof; but speedily were they clad and arrayed, for they had well\nenough thereto so they gat to horse and went their ways.\n\nThat day they rode, and for nought that had befallen Messire Thibault\nmade no worser semblance unto the Lady.  That night they came unto a good\ntown, and there they harboured.  Messire Thibault asked of his host if\nthere were any house of religion anigh thereto, where one might leave a\nlady, and the host said: \u201cSir, it befalleth well to thee; hard by without\nis a house much religious and of much good dames.\u201d\n\nWore the night, and Messire Thibault went on the morrow into that house\nand heard mass, and thereafter spake to the abbess, and the convent, and\nprayed them that they would guard that Lady there till his coming back;\nand they granted it to him much willingly.  Messire Thibault left of his\nmeney there to serve the Lady, and went his ways, and did his pilgrimage\nthe best he might.  And when he had done his pilgrimage fair and well, he\nreturned, and came to the Lady.  He did good to the house, and gave\nthereto of his havings, and took the Lady unto him again, and led her\ninto his country with as much great honour as he had led her away, save\nthe lying a-bed with her.\n\nWhen he was gotten aback into his land, much great joy did they make of\nhim, and of the Lady.  At his homecoming was the Count of Ponthieu, the\nfather of the Lady, and there also was the Count of St. Pol, who was\nuncle unto my lord Thibault.  A many was there of good folk and valiant\nat their coming.  The Lady was much honoured of dames and of damsels.\n\nThat day the Count of Ponthieu sat, he and Messire Thibault, they two\ntogether, at one dish, and so it fell out that the Count said to him:\n\u201cThibault, fair son, he who long way wendeth heareth much, and seeth of\nadventures, whereof nought they know who stir not; tell me tale, then, if\nit please thee, of some matter which thou hast seen, or heard tell of,\nsince ye departed hence.\u201d\n\nMessire Thibault answered him that he knew of no adventure to tell of;\nbut the Count prayed him again, and tormented him thereto, and held him\nsore to tell of some adventure, insomuch that Messire Thibault answered\nhim: \u201cSir, since tell I needs must, I will tell thee; but so please thee,\nlet it not be within earshot of so much folk.\u201d  The Count answered and\nsaid that it so pleased him well.  So after dinner, whenas they had\neaten, the Count arose and took Messire Thibault by the hand, and said to\nhim: \u201cNow would I that thou say thy pleasure, for here is not a many of\nfolk.\u201d\n\nAnd Messire Thibault fell to telling how that it had betid to a knight\nand a lady, even as ye have heard in the tale told; but he told not the\npersons unto whom it had befallen: and the Count, who was much sage and\nright thoughtful, asked what the knight had done with the Lady; and he\nanswered that the knight had brought and led the Lady back to her own\ncountry, with as much great joy and as much great honour as he had led\nher thence, save lying in the bed whereas lay the Lady.\n\n\u201cThibault,\u201d said the Count, \u201cotherwise deemed the knight than I had\ndeemed; for by the faith which I owe unto God, and unto thee, whom much I\nlove, I would have hung the Lady by the tresses to a tree or to a bush,\nor by the very girdle, if none other cord I might find.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said\nMessire Thibault, \u201cnought so certain is the thing as it will be if the\nLady shall bear witness thereto with her very body.\u201d  \u201cThibault,\u201d said\nthe Count, \u201cknowest thou who was the knight?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said Messire\nThibault, \u201cyet again I pray thee that thou acquit me of naming the knight\nto whom this adventure betid: know of a verity that in naming him lieth\nno great gain.\u201d  \u201cThibault,\u201d said the Count, \u201cknow that it is not my\npleasure that thou hide it.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cthen will I tell the\nsame, since I may not be acquitted thereof, as willingly I would be if it\nwere your pleasure; for in telling thereof lieth not great avail, nor\ngreat honour.\u201d  \u201cThibault,\u201d said the Count, \u201csince the word has gone so\nfar, know that I would wot straightway who was the knight unto whom this\nadventure betid; and I conjure thee, by the faith which thou owest to God\nand to me, that thou tell me who was the knight, since thou knowest\nthereof.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said Messire Thibault, \u201cby that wherewith thou hast conjured me\nwithal, I will tell thee.  And I would well that thou shalt know of a\nverity that I am the knight unto whom this adventure betid.  And wot thou\nthat I was sore grieving and abashed in my heart; and wot thou well that\nnever erst have I spoken thereof to any man alive; and, moreover, with a\ngood will had I put aside the telling of it, if it had but pleased thee.\u201d\n\nBut when the Count had heard tell this adventure, much grieving was he,\nand abashed, and held his peace a great while, and spake no word; and\nwhen he spoke, he said: \u201cThibault, then to my daughter it was that this\nadventure betid?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cof a verity.\u201d  \u201cThibault,\u201d said the\nCount, \u201cwell shalt thou be avenged, since thou hast brought her back to\nme.\u201d\n\nAnd because of the great ire which the Count had, he called for his\ndaughter, and asked of her if that were true which Messire Thibault had\nsaid; and she asked, \u201cWhat?\u201d and he answered: \u201cThis, that thou wouldest\nhave slain him, even as he hath told it?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d she said, \u201cyea.\u201d  \u201cAnd\nwherefore,\u201d said the Count, \u201cwouldst thou have done it?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said\nshe, \u201chereto, for that yet it grieveth me that I did it not, and that I\nslew him not.\u201d\n\nSo the Count let all that be, and abode till the Court was departed.\nThereafter was he at Rue-on-Sea, and Messire Thibault with him, and the\nson of the Count; and the Count let lead with him the Lady.  Then the\nCount let array a strong craft and a trim, and did do the Lady enter\ntherein; and withal let lay therein a tun, all new, strong, and great,\nand thick.  Then they entered into the said ship, all three, without\nfellowship of other folk, save the mariners who rowed the ship.  Then did\nthe Count cause them to row a full two leagues out to sea; and much\nmarvelled each one of what he thought to do, but none durst ask him.\n\nBut when they were so far forth in the sea as ye have heard, the Count\nlet smite out one head of the tun, and took the Lady, who was his\ndaughter, and who was much fair and well attired, and made her to enter\nin the tun, would she, would she not; and then let head up the tun again\nstraightway, and dight it well, and let redo the staves, and stop it\nwell, that the water might not enter in no manner.  Then the Count let\nput it overboard the ship, and he laid hand thereto with his very own\nbody, and thrust the tun into the sea, and said: \u201cI commend thee unto the\nwinds and the waves.\u201d\n\nMuch grieving was Messire Thibault thereat, and the brother of the Lady\nwithal; yea, and all they that saw the same; and they fell all at the\nfeet of the Count, and prayed him mercy, that from out of that tun they\nmight take her and deliver her.  But the Count, who was much wroth and\nfull of ire, would not grant it them for any thing that they might do or\npray.  So they let it be, and prayed to Jesus Christ, the Sovereign\nFather, that he, of his exceeding great goodness, would have pity of her\nsoul, and do her pardon of her sins.\n\nThus have they left the Lady in great mischief and great peril, even as\nye have heard the tale tell afore, and thus they returned thence.  But\nour Lord Jesus Christ, who is the Sovereign Father of us all, and who\nwilleth not the death of sinners, be they he or she, but that they may\nturn them from their sins and live (every day he showeth it unto us\nopenly by works, by examples, and by miracles), sent succour unto the\nLady, even as ye may hear further on.\n\nFor the history testifieth us, and telleth of a verity, that a merchant\nship which came from the parts of Flanders, before the Count and his\nfellows were well come aland, saw the tun floating even as the winds and\nwaves led it.  So said one of the merchants to his fellows: \u201cMasters, lo\nthere a tun, and it shall come our way, meseemeth; and if we draw it\naboard, well shall we have some avail of it in any case.\u201d\n\nNow know ye that this ship was wont to go to the Land of the Saracens for\ncheaping.  So the mariners drew thither where was the tun, and did so\nmuch, what by wile, what by force, that they gat the tun on to their\nship.  And when the tun was laid on their ship, they looked much thereon,\nand much marvelled what it might be; and so much, that they beheld how\none of the heads of the said tun was newly arrayed.  Wherefore they\nunheaded it, and found the Lady therein, in such case as though her hour\nwere waning, for air failed her.  Her body was big, her visage all\nswollen, and her eyes ugly and troubled.  But when she saw the air, and\nfelt the wind, she sighed a little, and the merchants stood about her and\ncalled unto her, but she had no might to speak.  But at last the heart\ncame aback to her, and speech withal, and she spoke to the merchants and\nother folk whom she saw around her; and much she marvelled when she found\nherself in such wise amidst of the merchants; but when she saw of them\nthat they were Christians and merchants, the more at ease she was, and\nmuch she praised Jesus Christ therefor in her heart, and thanked him of\nhis goodness, whereas he had so done by her that she yet had a space of\nlife.  For she had much great devotion in her heart, and much great\ndesire to amend her life toward God, and toward others, of the misdeeds\nshe had done, whereof she doubted mightily.\n\nThe merchants asked her of whence she was, and she hid the matter from\nthem, and said that a wretched thing she was, and a poor sinner, even as\nthey might behold; and that by much cruel adventure was she thither come;\nand for God\u2019s sake let them have mercy upon her: and they answered that\neven so would they.  And she ate and drank, and became much fair.\n\nNow so far went the ship of the merchants, that they came to the Land of\nthe Saracens, and took haven by Aumarie.  Galleys of the Saracens came to\nmeet them, and they answered that they were merchants who led divers\nmerchandise by many lands; and that they had the safe-conduct of princes\nand high barons, and that they might go into all lands surely, to seek\nchaffer and lead their goods.\n\nSo they brought the Lady aland, and were with her.  And one asked the\nother what they should do with her; and one said that they should sell\nher; and another said: \u201cIf I may be trowed, we shall give her as a gift\nto the rich Soudan of Aumarie, and then will our matter be mightily\namended.\u201d\n\nThereto they accorded all, and they took the Lady and brought her to the\nSoudan, who was a young man: but first they did do attire and array the\nLady much richly, and so gave her to the Soudan, who received the Lady\nmuch joyously and with much good-will, for right fair was she.  The\nSoudan asked of them what she was, and they said: \u201cSir, we wot not; but\nby marvellous adventure did we find her.\u201d\n\nMuch good-will had the Soudan to them of this gift, and much good he did\nto them therefor.  Much he loved the Lady withal, and he let serve her\nhonourably.  Well was she heeded, and the colour came again unto her, and\nshe became marvellous fair.\n\nThe Soudan fell to coveting the Lady and to loving of her; and he let ask\nher by Latiners of what folk she was, but no sooth thereof would she tell\nhim or let him know.  Thereof was he heavy, whereas he saw of her that\nshe was a high woman, and of gentle lineage.  He let ask of her if she\nwere Christian, and that if she would leave her law he would take her to\nwife, for no wife had he as yet.  She saw well that better it were to\ncome thereto by love than by force, so she answered that so would she do\nof a good will; and when she had renied her, and had left her law, the\nSoudan took her to wife according to the manner and wont of the Land of\nthe Saracens.  He held her right dear, and honoured her much, and waxed\nof great love towards her.\n\nBut a little while was she with the Soudan ere she was big of a son, and\nlay in at her time; the Soudan was right glad, and made much great joy.\nAnd the dame was ever of good fellowship with the folk, and much\ncourteous and of good will toward them, and learnt so much that she knew\nthe Saracen tongue.\n\nBut a little while wore in the years whereas she had the son, ere she\nconceived and had a daughter, who anon became much fair and much wise,\nand in all lordliness she let nourish her.  Thus was the Lady abiding a\ntwo years in much joy and mirth.\n\nBut now the story leaves telling of the Lady and the Soudan till after,\nas ye shall come to hear, and returneth to the Count of Ponthieu, and to\nthe son of the Count, and to Messire Thibault of Dontmart, who were sore\ngrieving for the Lady who had been thuswise cast into the sea, even as ye\nhave heard, and knew no tidings of her, what was become of her, and\ntrowed more that she were dead than alive.\n\nNow saith the history, and the sooth beareth witness thereto, that the\nCount was in Ponthieu, and his son, and Messire Thibault.  The Count was\nin sore great sadness, and heavy thought of his daughter, and much he\ndoubted him of the sin which he had done.  Messire Thibault durst not to\nwed him; nor did the son of the Count either, because of the dolour\nwherein he saw his friends abiding.  Neither would the son of the Count\nbecome knight, though he were well of an age thereto, had he the will.\n\nOn a day the Count forthought him much of the sin which he had done to\nhis daughter, and he betook him to the Archbishop of Rheims and confessed\nto him, and said to him all the deed, as he had done it.  He took the\ncross of Over Sea, and crossed him.  And whenas Messire Thibault saw his\nlord the Count crossed, he confessed him and crossed him withal.\nLikewise, when the son of the Count saw his father crossed, and Messire\nThibault also, whom he loved much, he also crossed himself.  And when the\nCount saw his son crossed, he was much grieved, and said: \u201cFair son,\nwherefore art thou crossed?  Now shall the land abide void of lord.\u201d  But\nthe son answered and said: \u201cFather, I am crossed for God\u2019s sake first\nbefore all things, and for the saving of my soul, and to serve God and\nhonour him to my power, so long as I shall have the life in my body.\u201d\n\nSo the Count arrayed him speedily and bestirred him, and went and took\nleave; but withal he looked to it who should ward his land.  And Messire\nThibault and the son of the Count dight their matters, and they took to\nthe way with much great safe-conduct.  They came in the Land of Over Sea\nsafe of body and havings, and there they did their pilgrimage much holily\nin all the places whereas they wotted that it ought to be done, and God\nto be served.\n\nAnd when the Count had so done, he bethought him that he would well to do\nyet more: so he gave himself to the service of the Temple for one year,\nhim and his company; and then when it came to the end of the year, deemed\nthat he would go visit his land and his country.  Wherefore he sent unto\nAcre and let array his journey, and he took leave of them of the Temple,\nand of the land, and much they thanked him for the honour which he had\nbrought them.  He came to Acre with his fellows, and they went aboard\nship, and departed from the haven with right good wind at will; but it\nendured but for a little; for when they were on the high sea, then did a\nwind mighty and horrible fall upon them unawares; and the mariners knew\nnot whitherward they went, and every hour they looked to be drowned; and\nso great was their distress that they bound themselves together, the son\nto the father, the nephew to the uncle, yea, one to the other, even as\nthey were intermingled.  The Count and his son and Messire Thibault bound\nthemselves together so that they might not sunder.\n\nBut a little way had they gone in this wise ere they saw land; and they\nasked the mariners what land it was, and they answered that it was the\nLand of the Saracens; and they called it the Land of Aumarie, and said\nunto the Count: \u201cSir, what is thy pleasure that we do? for if we go\nyonder, we shall be all taken and fall into the hands of the Saracens.\u201d\nThe Count said to them: \u201cLet go according to the will of Jesus Christ,\nwho shall take heed to our bodies and our lives; for of an eviller or\nuglier death we may not die than to die in this sea.\u201d\n\nSo they let run along Aumarie, and galleys and craft of the Saracens came\nagainst them.  Wot ye well that this was an evil meeting; for they took\nthem and brought them before the Soudan, who was lord of that land and\ncountry.  So they made him a present of the Christians and of all their\nhavings: the Soudan departed them, and sent them to divers places of his\nprisons.  The Count of Ponthieu and his son and Messire Thibault were so\nstrongly bound together that they might not be sundered.  The Soudan\ncommanded that they should be laid in a prison by themselves, where they\nshould have but little to eat and little to drink; and it was done even\nas he commanded.  There were they a while of time in great misease, and\nso long that the son of the Count was much sick, insomuch that the Count\nand Messire Thibault had fear of his dying.\n\nThereafter it fell out that the Soudan held court much mightily, and made\ngreat joy for his birthday; and this was after the custom of the\nSaracens.\n\nAfter dinner came the Saracens unto the Soudan, and said to him: \u201cSir, we\nrequire of thee our right.\u201d  He asked them what it was, and they said:\n\u201cSir, a captive Christian to set up at the butts.\u201d  So he granted it to\nthem whereas it was a matter of nought, and he said to them: \u201cGo ye to\nthe gaol, and take him who has the least of life in him.\u201d\n\nTo the gaol they went, and drew out the Count, all bedone with a thick\nbeard; and when the Soudan saw him in so poor estate, he said to them:\n\u201cThis one hath little might to live; go ye, lead him hence, and do ye\nyour will on him.\u201d\n\nThe wife of the Soudan, of whom ye have heard, who was daughter of the\nCount, was in the place whereas the Count who was her father was being\nled to the death, and so soon as she saw him, the blood and the heart was\nstirred within her, not so much for that she knew him, but rather that\nnature constrained her.  Then said the Lady to the Soudan: \u201cSir, I am\nFrench, wherefore I would willingly speak to yonder poor man before he\ndieth, if it please thee.\u201d  \u201cYea, dame,\u201d said the Soudan, \u201cit pleaseth me\nwell.\u201d\n\nSo the Lady came to the Count, and drew him apart, and caused the\nSaracens to draw aback, and asked him of whence he was, and he said:\n\u201cLady, I am of the kingdom of France, of a land which is called\nPonthieu.\u201d\n\nWhen the Lady heard that, all the blood of her stirred within her, and\nstraightway she asked of what kindred he was.  \u201cCertes, dame,\u201d said he,\n\u201cit may not import to me of what kin I be, for I have suffered so many\npains and griefs since I departed, that I love better to die than to\nlive; but so much can I tell thee of a sooth, that I was the Count of\nPonthieu.\u201d\n\nWhen the Lady heard that, she made no semblance, but forthwith departed\nfrom the Count and came to the Soudan, and said: \u201cSir, give me this\ncaptive, if it please thee, for he knoweth the chess and the tables, and\nfair tales withal, which shall please thee much; and he shall play before\nthee and learn thee.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said the Soudan, \u201cby my law, wot that with\na good will I will give him thee; do with him as thou wilt.\u201d\n\nThen the Lady took him and sent him into her chamber, and the jailers\nwent to seek another, and led out Messire Thibault, who was the husband\nof the Lady; and in sorry raiment was he, for he was dight with long\nhair, and had a great beard; he was lean and fleshless, as one who had\nsuffered pain and dolour enough.  When the Lady saw him, she said unto\nthe Soudan: \u201cSir, again with this one would I willingly speak, if it\nplease thee.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said the Soudan, \u201cit pleaseth me well.\u201d  So the\nLady came to Messire Thibault, and asked him of whence he was, and he\nsaid: \u201cI am of the land of the old warrior whom they led before thee e\u2019en\nnow: and I had his daughter to wife; and I am a knight.\u201d\n\nThe Lady knew well her lord, so she went back unto the Soudan, and said\nto him: \u201cSir, great goodness wilt thou do unto me if thou wilt give me\nthis one also.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said he, \u201cwith a good will I will give him to\nthee.\u201d  So she thanked him, and sent him into her chamber with the other.\n\nBut the archers hastened and came to the Soudan, and said: \u201cSir, thou\ndoest us wrong, and the day is a-waning.\u201d  And therewith they went to the\ngaol and brought out the son of the Count, who was all covered with his\nhair and dishevelled, as one who had not been washen a while.  Young man\nhe was, so that he had not yet a beard; but so lean he was, and so sick\nand feeble, that scarce might he hold him up.  And when the Lady saw him,\nshe had of him much great pity.  She came to him and asked of him whose\nson, and whence he was, and he said he was the son of the first worthy.\nThen she wotted well that he was her brother, but no semblance she made\nthereof.\n\n\u201cSir, certes,\u201d said she to the Soudan, \u201cthou wilt now do me great\ngoodness if thou wilt give me this one also; for he knows the chess and\nthe tables, and all other games, which much shall please thee to see and\nto hear.\u201d  But the Soudan said: \u201cDame, by my law, were there an hundred\nof them I would give them unto thee willingly.\u201d\n\nThe Lady thanked him much, and took her brother, and sent him straightway\ninto her chamber.  But the folk betook them anew to the gaol, and brought\nforth another; and the Lady departed thence, whereas she knew him not.\nSo was he led to his martyrdom, and our Lord Jesus Christ received his\nsoul.  But the Lady went her ways forthwith; for it pleased her not, the\nmartyrdoms which the Saracens did on the Christians.\n\nShe came to her chamber wherein were the prisoners, and when they saw her\ncoming, they made as they would rise up, but she made sign to them to\nhold them still.  Then she went close up to them, and made them sign of\nfriendship.  And the Count, who was right sage, asked thereon: \u201cDame,\nwhen shall they slay us?\u201d  And she answered that it would not be yet.\n\u201cDame,\u201d said they, \u201cthereof are we heavy; for we have so great hunger,\nthat it lacketh but a little of our hearts departing from us.\u201d\n\nThereat she went forth and let array meat; and then she brought it, and\ngave to each one a little, and a little of drink.  And when they had\ntaken it, then had they yet greater hunger than afore.  Thuswise she gave\nthem to eat, ten times the day, by little and little; for she doubted\nthat if they ate all freely, that they would take so much as would grieve\nthem.  Wherefore she did them to eat thus attemperly.\n\nThuswise did the good dame give them might again; and they were before\nher all the first seven days, and the night-tide she did them to lie at\ntheir ease; and she did them do off their evil raiment and let give them\ngood and new.  After the eighth day, she had strengthened them little by\nlittle and more and more; and then she let bring them victuals and drink\nto their contentment, and in such wise that they were so strong that she\nabandoned to them the victual and the drink withal.  They had chequers\nand tables, and played thereon, and were in all content.  The Soudan was\nofttimes with them, and good will he had to see them play, and much it\npleased him.  But the dame refrained her sagely toward them, so that\nnever was one of them that knew her, neither by word nor deed of hers.\n\nBut a little while wore after this matter, as telleth the tale, ere the\nSoudan had to do, for a rich soudan, who marched on him, laid waste his\nland, and fell to harrying him.  And he, to avenge his trouble, summoned\nfolk from every part, and assembled a great host.  When the Lady knew\nthereof she came into the chamber whereas were the prisoners, and she sat\ndown before them, and spoke to them, and said: \u201cLords, ye have told me of\nyour matters a deal; now would I wot whether that which ye have told me\nbe true or not: for ye told me that thou wert Count of Ponthieu on the\nday that thou departedst therefrom, and that that man had had thy\ndaughter to wife, and that the other one was thy son.  Now, I am Saracen,\nand know the art of astronomy: wherefore I tell you well, that never were\nye so nigh to a shameful death as now ye be, if ye tell me not the truth.\nThy daughter, whom this knight had, what became of her?\u201d\n\n\u201cLady,\u201d said the Count, \u201cI trow that she be dead.\u201d  \u201cWhat wise died she?\u201d\nquoth she.  \u201cCertes, Lady,\u201d said the Count, \u201cby an occasion which she had\ndeserved.\u201d  \u201cAnd what was the occasion?\u201d said the Lady.\n\nThen the Count fell to tell, sore weeping, how she was wedded, and of the\ntarrying, whereby she might not have a child; and how the good knight\npromised his ways to St. Jakeme in Galicia, and how the Lady besought him\nthat she might go along with him, and he granted it willingly.  And how\nthey bestirred them with great joy, and went their ways, and so far that\nthey came unto a place where they were without company.  Then met they in\na forest robbers well armed, who fell upon them.  The good knight might\ndo nothing against all them, for he was lacking of arms; but amidst all\nthat he slew three, and five were left, who fell upon him and slew his\npalfrey, and took the knight and stripped him to the shirt, and bound him\nhand and foot, and cast him into a briar-bush: and the Lady they\nstripped, and took from her her palfrey.  They beheld the Lady, and saw\nthat she was full fair, and each one would have her.  At the last, they\naccorded betwixt them hereto, that they should lie with her, and they had\ntheir will of her in her despite; and when they had so done they went\ntheir ways, and she abode, much grieving and much sad.  The good knight\nbeheld it, and said much sweetly: \u201cDame, now unbind me my hands, and let\nus be going.\u201d  Now she saw a sword, which was of one of the slain\nstrong-thieves; she took it, and went towards her lord, who lay as\naforesaid; she came in great ire by seeming, and said: \u201cYea, unbind thee\nI will.\u201d  Then she held the sword all bare, and hove it up, and thought\nto smite him amidst the body, but by the good mercy of Jesus Christ, and\nby the valiancy of the knight, he turned upso down, and she smote the\nbonds he was bound withal, and sundered them, and he leapt up, for as\nbound and hurt as he was, and said: \u201cDame, if God will, thou shalt slay\nme not to-day.\u201d\n\nAt this word spake the Lady, the wife of the Soudan: \u201cHa, sir! thou\nsayest the sooth; and well I know wherefore she would to do it.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d\nsaid the Count, \u201cand wherefore?\u201d  \u201cCertes,\u201d quoth she, \u201cfor the great\nshame which had befallen her.\u201d\n\nWhen Messire Thibault heard that, he fell a-weeping much tenderly, and\nsaid: \u201cHa, alas! what fault had she therein then, Lady?  So may God give\nme deliverance from this prison wherein I am, never should I have made\nworse semblance to her therefor, whereas it was maugre her will.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the Lady, \u201cthat she deemed nought.  Now tell me,\u201d she said,\n\u201cwhich deem ye the rather, that she be quick or dead?\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said he,\n\u201cwe wot not.\u201d  \u201cWell wot I,\u201d said the Count, \u201cof the great pain we have\nsuffered, which God hath sent us for the sin which I did against her.\u201d\n\u201cBut if it pleased God,\u201d said the Lady, \u201cthat she were alive, and that ye\nmight have of her true tidings, what would ye say thereto?\u201d  \u201cLady,\u201d said\nthe Count, \u201cthen were I gladder than I should be to be delivered out of\nthis prison, or to have so much riches as never had I in my life.\u201d\n\u201cDame,\u201d said Messire Thibault, \u201cmay God give me no joy of that which I\nmost desire, but I were not the gladder than to be king of France.\u201d\n\u201cDame,\u201d said the varlet who was her brother, \u201ccertes none could give me\nor promise me thing whereof I should be so glad as of the life of my\nsister, who was so fair a dame, and so good.\u201d\n\nBut when the Lady heard these words, then was the heart of her softened\nand she praised God, and gave him thanks therefor, and said to them:\n\u201cTake heed, now, that there be no feigning in your words.\u201d  And they\nanswered and said that none there was.  Then fell the Lady a-weeping\ntenderly, and said to them: \u201cSir, now mayest thou well say that thou art\nmy father, and I thy daughter, even her on whom thou didest such cruel\njustice.  And thou, Messire Thibault, thou art my lord and my baron.  And\nthou, sir varlet, art my brother.\u201d\n\nTherewith she told them how the merchants had found her, and how they\ngave her as a gift to the Soudan.  And when they heard that, they were\nmuch glad, and made much great joy, and humbled them before her; but she\nforbade them that they should make any semblance, and said: \u201cI am\nSaracen, and renied, for otherwise I might never endure, but were\npresently dead.  Wherefore I pray you and bid you, for as dear as ye hold\nyour lives and honours, and your havings the greater, that ye never once,\nwhatso ye may hear or see, make any more fair semblance unto me, but hold\nyou simply.  So leave me to deal therewith.  Now shall I tell you\nwherefore I have uncovered me to you.  The Soudan, who is now my lord,\ngoeth presently a-riding; and I know thee well\u201d (said she to Messire\nThibault), \u201cthat thou art a valiant man and a good knight: therefore I\nwill pray the Soudan to take thee with him; and then if ever thou wert\nvaliant, now do thou show it, and serve the Soudan so well that he may\nhave no evil to tell of thee.\u201d\n\nTherewith departed the Lady, and came unto the Soudan, and said: \u201cSir,\none of my prisoners will go with thee, if it please thee.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cI would not dare trust me to him, lest he do me some treason.\u201d\n\u201cSir,\u201d she said, \u201cin surety mayest thou lead him along; for I will hold\nthe others.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said he, \u201cI will lead him with me, since thou\ncounsellest me so, and I will give him a horse much good, and arms, and\nall that is meet for him.\u201d\n\nSo then the Lady went back, and said to Messire Thibault: \u201cI have done so\nmuch with the Soudan, that thou shalt go with him.  Now bethink thee to\ndo well.\u201d  But her brother kneeled before her, and prayed her that she\nwould do so much with the Soudan that he also should go.  But said she:\n\u201cI will not do it, the matter be over open thereby.\u201d\n\nThe Soudan arrayed his matters and went his ways, and Messire Thibault\nwith him, and they went against the enemy.  The Soudan delivered to\nMessire Thibault arms and horse.  By the will of Jesus Christ, who never\nforgetteth them who have in him trust and good faith, Messire Thibault\ndid so much in arms, that in a little while the enemy of the Soudan was\nbrought under, whereof much was the Soudan rejoiced; he had the victory,\nand led away much folk with him.  And so soon as he was come back, he\nwent to the Lady, and said: \u201cDame, by my law, I much praise thy prisoner,\nfor much well hath he served me; and if he will cast aside his law and\ntake ours, I will give him wide lands, and richly will I marry him.\u201d\n\u201cSir,\u201d she said, \u201cI wot not, but I trow not that he will do it.\u201d\nTherewith they were silent, so that they spake not more.  But the Lady\ndighted in her business straightway after these things the best she\nmight, and she came to her prisoners, and said:\n\n\u201cLords, now do ye hold ye wisely, that the Soudan perceive not our\ncounsel; for, if God please, we shall yet be in France and the land of\nPonthieu.\u201d\n\nNow came a day when the Lady moaned much, and complained her, and came\nbefore the Soudan, and said: \u201cSir, I go with child, well I wot it, and am\nfallen into great infirmity, nor ever since thy departure have I eaten\naught wherein was any savour to me.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said he, \u201cI am heavy of thy\nsickness, but much joyous that thou art with child.  But now command and\ndevise all things that thou deemest might be good for thee, and I will\nlet seek and array them, whatsoever they may cost me.\u201d\n\nWhen the Lady heard that, she had much great joy in her heart; but never\ndid she show any semblance thereof, save that so much she said: \u201cSir, my\nold prisoner hath said to me, that but I be presently upon earth of a\nright nature, I am but dead and that I may not live long.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said\nthe Soudan, \u201cnought will I thy death: look to it, then, on what land thou\nwouldest be, and I will let lead thee thereto.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d she said, \u201cit is\nof no matter to me, so that I be out of this city.\u201d\n\nThen the Soudan let array a ship fair and stout, and let garnish her well\nwith wine and victual.  \u201cSir,\u201d said the Lady to the Soudan, \u201cI will have\nwith me my old prisoner and my young one, and they shall play at the\nchess and the tables; and my son will I take to pleasure me.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cit pleaseth me well that thou do thy will herein.  But what hap\nwith the third prisoner?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said she, \u201cthou shalt do thy will\nherein.\u201d  \u201cDame,\u201d said he, \u201cI will that thou take him with thee; for he\nis a valiant man, and will heed thee well on land and sea, if need thou\nhave thereto.\u201d\n\nTherewith she prayed leave of the Soudan, and he granted it, and much he\nprayed her to come back speedily.  The ship was apparelled, and they were\nalboun; and they went aboard, and departed from the haven.\n\nGood wind they had, and ran much hard: and the mariners called to the\nLady, and said to her: \u201cDame, this wind is bringing straight to Brandis;\nnow command us thy pleasure to go thither or elsewhere.\u201d  And she said to\nthem: \u201cLet run hardily, for I know well how to speak French and other\ntongues, and I will lead you through all.\u201d\n\nNow so much they ran by day and by night, through the will of Jesus\nChrist, that they are come to Brandis there they took harbour in all\nsafety, and lighted down on the shore, and were received with much great\njoy.  The Lady, who was much wise, drew towards the prisoners, and said\nto them: \u201cLords, I would that ye call to mind the words and agreements\nwhich ye said to me, and I would be now all sure of you, and have good\nsurety of your oaths, and that ye say to me on all that ye hold to be of\nGod if ye will to hold to your behests, which ye have behight me, or not;\nfor yet have I good might to return.\u201d\n\nThey answered: \u201cLady, know without doubt that we have covenanted nought\nwith you which shall not be held toward you by us loyally; and know by\nour Christendom and our Baptism, and by whatsoever we hold of God, that\nwe will hold to it; be thou in no doubt thereof.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I will trow in you henceforth,\u201d said the Lady.  \u201cNow, lords,\u201d said\nshe, \u201clo here my son, whom I had of the Soudan; what shall we do with\nhim?\u201d  \u201cDame, let him come to great honour and great gladness.\u201d  \u201cLords,\u201d\nsaid the Lady, \u201cmuch have I misdone against the Soudan, for I have taken\nfrom him my body, and his son whom he loved much.\u201d\n\nThen she went back to the mariners, and called and said to them:\n\u201cMasters, get ye back and tell to the Soudan that I have taken from him\nmy body, and his son whom he loved much, and that I have cast forth from\nprison my father, my husband, and my brother.\u201d  And when the mariners\nheard that, they were much grieving; but more they might not do; and they\nreturned, sad and sorrowful for the Lady, and for the youngling, whom\nthey loved much, and for the prisoners, who were thus lost without\nrecoverance.\n\nBut the Count apparelled himself, whereto he had well enough, by means of\nmerchants and by Templars, who lent him of their good full willingly.\nAnd when the Count and his company had sojourned in the town so long as\ntheir pleasure was, they arrayed them and went their ways thence, and\ncame to Rome.  The Count went before the Apostle, and his fellowship with\nhim.  Each one confessed him the best that he could; and when the Apostle\nheard it, he was much glad, and much great cheer he made of them.  He\nbaptized the child, and he was called William.  He reconciled the Lady,\nand set her again in right Christendom, and confirmed the Lady and\nMessire Thibault, her baron, in right marriage, and joined them together\nagain, and gave penitence to each of them, and absolved them of their\nsins.\n\nAfter that, they abode no long while ere they departed from Rome and took\ntheir leave of the Apostle, who much had honoured them; and he gave them\nhis blessing, and commended them to God.  So went they in great joy and\nin great pleasance, and praised God and his mother and the hallows, both\ncarl and quean, and gave thanks for the goods which they had done them.\n\nAnd so far they journeyed, that they came into the land where they were\nborn, and were received in great procession by the bishops and the\nabbots, and the people of religion and the other clerks, who much had\ndesired them.\n\nBut above all other joys made they joy the Lady who was thus recovered,\nand who had thus delivered her father, her husband, and her brother from\nthe hands of the Saracens, even as ye have heard.  But now leave we of\nthem in this place, and tell we of the mariners who had brought them, and\nof the Saracens who had come with them.\n\nThe mariners and the Saracens who had brought them to Brandis returned at\ntheir speediest; they had good wind, and ran till they came off Aumarie.\n\nThey lighted down on shore sad and sorrowful, and went to tell the\ntidings to the Soudan, who was much sorrowful thereof, and in great dole\nabode; and for this adventure the less he loved his daughter, who had\nabided there, and honoured her the less.  Notwithstanding, the damsel\nbecame much sage, and waxed in great wit, so that all honoured her and\nloved her, and prized her for the good deeds which they told of her.\n\nBut now the history holds its peace of the Soudan, who made great dole\nfor his wife and his prisoners who thus had escaped, and it returneth to\nthe Count of Ponthieu, who was received into his land with great\nprocession, and much honoured as the lord that he was.\n\nNo long while wore ere his son was made knight, and great cheer folk made\nof him.  He was a knight much worthy and valiant, and much he loved the\nworthies, and fair gifts he gave to poor knights and poor gentle dames of\nthe country, and much was prized and loved of poor and of rich.  For a\nworthy he was, and a good knight, and courteous, and openhanded, and\nkind, and nowise proud.  Yet but a little while he lived, which was great\ndamage, and much was he bemoaned of all.\n\nAfter this adventure it befell that the Count held a great court and a\ngreat feast, and had a many of knights and other folk with him; and\ntherewithal came a very noble man and knight, who was a much high man in\nNormandy, who was called my lord Raoul de Preaux.  This Raoul had a\ndaughter much fair and much wise.  The Count spake so much to my lord\nRaoul and to his friends, that he made the wedding betwixt William his\nnephew, son to the Soudan of Aumarie, and the daughter of my lord Raoul,\nfor no heir had he save that daughter.  William wedded the damsel, and\nthe wedding was done much richly, and thereafter was the said William\nlord of Preaux.\n\nLong time thence was the land in peace and without war: and Messire\nThibault was with the Lady, and had of her sithence two man-children, who\nthereafter were worthies and of great lordship.  The son of the Count of\nPonthieu, of whom we have told so much good, died but a little\nthereafter, whereof was made great dole throughout all the land.  The\nCount of St. Pol lived yet, and now were the two sons of my lord Thibault\nheirs of those two countries, and thereto they attained at the last.  The\ngood dame their mother lived in great penitence, and much she did of good\ndeeds and alms; and Messire Thibault lived as the worthy which he was,\nand much did he of good whiles he was in life.\n\nNow it befell that the daughter of the Lady, who had abided with the\nSoudan her father, waxed in great beauty and became much wise, and was\ncalled the Fair Caitif, because her mother had left her thus as ye have\nheard: but a Turk, much valiant, who served the Soudan (Malakin of Baudas\nwas he called), this Malakin saw the damsel to be courteous and sage, and\nmuch good had heard tell of her; wherefore he coveted her in his heart,\nand came to the Soudan and said to him: \u201cSir, for the service which I\nhave done thee, give me a gift.\u201d  \u201cMalakin,\u201d said the Soudan, \u201cwhat\ngift?\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cmight I dare to say it, because of her highness,\nwhereof I have nought so much as she, say it I would.\u201d\n\nThe Soudan, who wise was and clear-seeing, said to him: \u201cSpeak in all\nsurety that which thou willest to speak; for much I love thee and prize\nthee; and if the thing be a thing which I may give thee, saving my\nhonour, know verily that thou shalt have it.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cwell I\nwill that thine honour shall be safe, and against it nought would I ask\nof thee: but if it please thee, give me thy daughter, for I pray her of\nthee, and right willingly would I take her.\u201d\n\nThe Soudan held his peace and thought awhile; and he saw well that\nMalakin was a worthy, and wise, and might well come to great honour and\ngreat good, and that well he might be worthied; so he said: \u201cMalakin, by\nmy law, thou hast craved me a great thing, for I love much my daughter,\nand no heir else have I, as thou wottest well, and as sooth is.  She is\nborn and come from the most highest kindred and the most valiant of\nFrance; for her mother is daughter of the Count of Ponthieu; but whereas\nthou art valiant, and much well hast served me, I will give her to thee\nwith a good will, if she will grant it.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d said Malakin, \u201cagainst\nher will would I do nothing.\u201d\n\nThen the Soudan let call the damsel, and she came, and he said to her:\n\u201cMy fair daughter, I have married thee, if so it please thee.\u201d  \u201cSir,\u201d\nshe said, \u201cwell is my pleasure therein, if thou will it.\u201d  Then the\nSoudan took her by the hand, and said: \u201cHold, Malakin!  I give her to\nthee.\u201d  He received her gladly, and in great joy and in great honour of\nall his friends; and he wedded her according to the Saracen law; and he\nled her into his land in great joy and in great honour.  The Soudan\nbrought him on his road a great way, with much company of folk, so far as\nhim pleased; then returned, and took leave of his daughter and her lord.\nBut a great part of his folk he sent with her to serve them.\n\nMalakin came into his country, and much was he served and honoured, and\nwas received with great joy by all his friends; and they twain lived\ntogether long and joyously, and had children together, as the history\nbeareth witness.\n\nOf this dame, who was called the Fair Caitif, was born the mother of the\ncourteous Turk Salahadin, who was so worthy and wise and conquering.\n\nHere ends the Story of Over Sea, done out of ancient French into English\nby William Morris.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                   Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n                            London & Edinburgh\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes\n\n\n{1}  _Nouvelles fran\u00e7aises en prose du xiii i\u00e8me siecle_, par MM. L.\nMoland et C. D\u2019Hericault.  (Paris: Janet, 1856.)\n\n{2}  I have given a version of it in my _English Fairy Tales_, and there\nis a ballad on the subject entitled _The Cruel Knight_.\n\n{3}  See Clouston, _Book of Sindibad_, p. 279.\n\n{4}  Figured in M. Ulysse Robert, _Signes d\u2019infamie au moyen \u00e2ge_, Paris,\n1891.  Lovers of Stevenson will remember the effective use made of this\nin _The Black Arrow_.\n\n{5}  It has been suggested that the names of our heroes have given rise\nto the proverbial saying: \u201cA miss (Amis) is as good as a mile (Amile),\u201d\nbut notwithstanding the high authority from which the suggestion\nemanates, it is little more than a pun.\n\n{6}  For occurrences of this incident in sagas, etc., see Grimm,\n_Deutsche Rechtsalterth\u00fcmer_, 168\u201370; in folk-tales, Dasent, _Tales from\nthe Norse_, cxxxiv.\u2013v., _n._ xviii\n\n{7}  Mr. Hartland has studied the \u201cLifetoken\u201d in the eighth chapter of\nhis elaborate treatise on the Legend of Perseus.","title":"Old French Romances, Done into English","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":37699}