Four Arthurian Romances
(Vv. 1473-1490.) As soon as Alexander sees his force, consisting of the
companions and the men-at-arms whom it had pleased the King to give him,
straightway they begin to sound the horns and trumpets throughout the
camp. Men of Wales and Britain, of Scotland and Cornwall, both good and
bad without exception--all take arms, for the forces of the host were
recruited from all quarters. The Thames was low because of the drought
resulting from a summer without rain, so that all the fish were dead,
and the ships were stranded upon the shore, and it was possible to ford
the stream even in the widest part.
(Vv. 1491-1514.) After fording the Thames, the army divided, some taking
possession of the valley, and others occupying the high ground. Those
in the town take notice of them, and when they see approaching the
wonderful array, bent upon reducing and taking the town, they prepare
on their side to defend it. But before any assault is made, the King has
the traitors drawn by four horses through the valleys and over the hills
and unploughed fields. At this Count Angres is much distressed, when he
sees those whom he held dear dragged around outside the town. And his
people, too, are much dismayed, but in spite of the anxiety which they
feel, they have no mind to yield the place. They must needs defend
themselves, for the King makes it plain to all that he is angry, and
ill-disposed, and they see that if he should lay hands upon them he
would make them die a shameful death.
(Vv.1515-1552.) When the four had been torn asunder and their limbs lay
strewn upon the field, then the assault begins. But all their labour is
in vain, for no matter how much they cast and shoot, their efforts are
of no effect. Yet they strive to do their utmost, hurling their javelins
amain, and shooting darts and bolts. On all sides is heard the din of
cross-bows and slings as the arrows and the round stones fly thick,
like rain mixed with hail. Thus all day long the struggle of attack and
defence continues, until the night separates them. And the King causes
to be proclaimed what gift he will bestow upon him who shall effect the
surrender of the town: a cup of great price weighing fifteen marks of
gold, the richest in his treasure, shall be his reward. The cup will be
very fine and rich, and, to tell the truth, the cup is to be esteemed
for the workmanship rather than for the material of which it is made.
But good as the workmanship may be, and fine though the gold, if the
truth be told, the precious stones set in the outside of the cup were of
most value. He through whose efforts the town shall be taken is to have
the cup, if he be only a foot soldier; and if the town is taken by a
knight, with the cup in his possession he shall never seek his fortune
in vain, if there is any to be found in the world.
(Vv. 1553-1712.) When this news was announced, Alexander had not
forgotten his custom of going to see the Queen each evening. That night,
too, he had gone thither and was seated beside the Queen. Soredamors was
sitting alone close by them, looking at him with such satisfaction
that she would not have exchanged her lot for Paradise. The Queen took
Alexander by the hand, and examined the golden thread which was showing
the effects of wear; but the strand of hair was becoming more lustrous,
while the golden thread was tarnishing. And she laughed as she happened
to recall that the embroidery was the work of Soredamors. Alexander
noticed this, and begged her to tell him, if suitable, why she laughed.
The Queen was slow to make reply, and looking toward Soredamors, bade
her come to her. Gladly she went and knelt before her. Alexander was
overjoyed when he saw her draw so near that he could have touched her.
But he is not so bold as even to look at her; but rather does he so lose
his senses that he is well-nigh speechless. And she, for her part, is so
overcome that she has not the use of her eyes; but she casts her glance
upon the ground without fastening it upon anything. The Queen marvels
greatly at seeing her now pale, now crimson, and she notes well in her
heart the bearing and expression of each of them. She notices and thinks
she sees that these changes of colour are the fruit of love. But not
wishing to embarrass them, she pretends to understand nothing of what
she sees. In this she did well, for she gave no evidence of what was in
her mind beyond saying: "Look here, damsel, and tell us truly where the
shirt was sewed that this knight has on, and if you had any hand in
it or worked anything of yours into it." Though the maiden feels some
shame, yet she tells the story gladly; for she wishes the truth to be
known by him, who, when he hears her tell of how the shirt was made, can
hardly restrain himself for joy from worshipping and adoring the golden
hair. His companions and the Queen, who were with him, annoy him and
embarrass him; for their presence prevents him from raising the hair to
his eyes and mouth, as he would fain have done, had he not thought that
it would be remarked. He is glad to have so much of his lady, but he
does not hope or expect ever to receive more from her: his very desire
makes him dubious. Yet, when he has left the Queen and is by himself, he
kisses it more than a hundred thousand times, feeling how fortunate he
is. All night long he makes much of it, but is careful that no one shall
see him. As he lies upon his bed, he finds a vain delight and solace in
what can give him no satisfaction. All night he presses the shirt in his
arms, and when he looks at the golden hair, he feels like the lord of
the whole wide world. Thus Love makes a fool of this sensible man,
who finds his delight in a single hair and is in ecstasy over its
possession. But this charm will come to an end for him before the sun's
bright dawn. For the traitors are met in council to discuss what they
can do; and what their prospects are. To be sure they will be able to
make a long defence of the town if they determine so to do; but they
know the King's purpose to be so firm that he will not give up his
efforts to take the town so long as he lives, and when that time comes
they needs must die. And if they should surrender the town, they need
expect no mercy for doing so. Thus either outcome looks dark indeed, for
they see no help, but only death in either case. But this decision at
last is reached, that the next morning, before dawn appears, they shall
issue secretly from the town and find the camp disarmed, and the knights
still sleeping in their beds. Before they wake and get their armour
on there will have been such slaughter done that posterity will always
speak of the battle of that night. Having no further confidence in life,
the traitors as a last resort all subscribe to this design. Despair
emboldened them to fight, whatever the result might be; for they see
nothing sure in store for them save death or imprisonment. Such an
outcome is not attractive; nor do they see any use in flight, for they
see no place where they could find refuge should they betake themselves
to flight, being completely surrounded by the water and their enemies.
So they spend no more time in talk, but arm and equip themselves and
make a sally by an old postern gate [220] toward the north-west, that
being the side where they thought the camp would least expect attack.
In serried ranks they sallied forth, and divided their force into five
companies, each consisting of two thousand well armed foot, in addition
to a thousand knights. That night neither star nor moon had shed a ray
across the sky. But before they reached the tents, the moon began to
show itself, and I think it was to work them woe that it rose sooner
than was its wont. Thus God, who opposed their enterprise, illumined
the darkness of the night, having no love for these evil men, but rather
hating them for their sin. For God hates traitors and treachery more
than any other sin. So the moon began to shine in order to hamper their
enterprise.
(Vv. 1713-1858.) They are much hampered by the moon, as it shines upon
their shields, and they are handicapped by their helmets, too, as they
glitter in the moonlight. They are detected by the pickets keeping watch
over the host, who now shout throughout the camp: "Up, knights, up! Rise
quickly, take your arms and arm yourselves! The traitors are upon us."
Through all the camp they run to arms, and hastily strive to equip
themselves in the urgent need; but not a single one of them left his
place until they were all comfortably armed and mounted upon their
steeds. While they are arming themselves, the attacking forces are eager
for battle and press forward, hoping to catch them off their guard and
find them disarmed. They bring up from different directions the five
companies into which they had divided their troops: some hug the woods,
others follow the river, the third company deploys upon the plain, while
the fourth enters a valley, and the fifth proceeds beside a rocky cliff.
For they planned to fall upon the tents suddenly with great fury.
But they did not find the path clear. For the King's men resist them,
defying them courageously and reproaching them for their treason. Their
iron lance-tips are splintered and shattered as they meet; they come
together with swords drawn, striking each other and casting each other
down upon the face. They rush upon each other with the fury of lions,
which devour whatever they capture. In this first rush there was heavy
slaughter on both sides. When they can no longer maintain themselves,
help comes to the traitors, who are defending themselves bravely and
selling their lives dearly. They see their troops from four sides arrive
to succour them. And the King's men ride hard with spur to attack them.
They deal such blows upon their shields that, beside the wounded, they
unhorse more than five hundred of them. Alexander, with his Greeks,
has no thought of sparing them, making every effort to prevail into the
thickest of the fight he goes to strike a knave whose shield and hauberk
are of no avail to keep him from falling to the earth. When he has
finished with him, he offers his service to another freely and without
stint, and serves him, too, so savagely that he drives the soul from his
body quite, and leaves the apartment without a tenant. After these two,
he addresses himself to another, piercing a noble and courteous knight
clean through and through, so that the blood spurts out on the other
side, and his expiring soul takes leave of the body. Many he killed and
many stunned, for like a flying thunderbolt he blasts all those whom
he seeks out. Neither coat of mail nor shield can protect him whom he
strikes with lance or sword. His companions, too, are generous in the
spilling of blood and brains, for they, too, know well how to deal their
blows. And the royal troops butcher so many of them that they break them
up and scatter them like low-born folk who have lost their heads. So
many dead lay about the fields, and so long did the battle rage, that
long before the day dawned the ranks were so cut in pieces that the rows
of dead stretched for five leagues along the stream. Count Angres leaves
his banner on the field and steals away, accompanied by only seven of
his men. Towards his town he made his way by a secret path, thinking
that no one could see him. But Alexander notices this, and sees them
escaping from the troops, and he thinks that if he can slip away without
the knowledge of any one, he will go to catch up with them. But before
he got down into the valley, he saw thirty knights following him down
the path, of whom six were Greeks, and twenty-four were men of Wales.
These intended to follow him at a distance until he should stand in need
of them. When Alexander saw them coming, he stopped to wait for them,