Four Arthurian Romances
without failing to observe what course was taken by those who were
making their way back to the town. Finally, he saw them enter it. Then
he began to plan a very daring deed and a very marvellous design. And
when he had made up his mind, he turned toward his companions and thus
addressed them: "My lords," says he, "whether it be folly or wisdom,
frankly grant me my desire if you care for my good-will." And they
promised him never to oppose his will in aught. Then he says: "Let
us change our outer gear, by taking the shields and lances from the
traitors whom we have killed. Thus, when we approach the town, the
traitors within will suppose that we are of their party, and regardless
of the fate in store for them, they will throw open the gates for us.
And do you know what reward we shall offer them? If God so will we shall
take them all dead or alive. Now, if any of you repents of his promise,
be sure that, so long as I live, I shall never hold him dear."
(Vv. 1859-1954.) All the others grant his boon, and, despoiling the
corpses of their shields, they arm themselves with them instead. The
men within the town had mounted to the battlements, and, recognising the
shields, suppose that they belong to their party, never dreaming of the
ruse hidden beneath the shields. The gatekeeper opens the gate for
them and admits them to the town. He is beguiled and deceived in not
addressing them a word; for no one of them speaks to him, but silently
and mute they pass, making such a show of grief that they trail their
lances after them and support themselves upon their shields. Thus it
seems that they are in great distress, as they pass on at their own
sweet will until they are within the triple walls. Inside they find a
number of men-at-arms and knights with the Count. I cannot tell you
just how many; but they were unarmed, except eight of them who had just
returned from the fight, and even they were preparing to remove their
arms. But their haste was ill considered; for now the other party make
no further pretence, but without any challenge by way of warning, they
brace themselves in the stirrups, and let their horses charge straight
at them, attacking them with such rigour that they lay low more than
thirty-one of them. The traitors in great dismay shout out: "We are
betrayed, betrayed!" But the assailants take no heed of this, and let
those whom they find unarmed feel the temper of their swords. Indeed,
three of those whom they found still armed were so roughly handled that
but five remained alive. Count Angres rushed at Calcedor, and in the
sight of all struck him upon his golden shield with such violence that
he stretched him dead upon the ground. Alexander is greatly troubled,
and is almost beside himself with rage when he sees his companion dead;
his blood boils with anger, but his strength and courage are doubled
as he strikes the Count with such fury that he breaks his lance. If
possible, he would avenge his friend. But the Count was a powerful man
and a good and hardy knight, whose match it would have been hard to
find, had he not been a base traitor. He now returns the blow, making
his lance double up so that it splits and breaks; but the other's shield
holds firm, and neither gives way before the other any more than a rock
would do, for both men were passing strong. But the fact that the Count
was in the wrong disturbs him greatly and troubles him. [221] The anger
of each rises higher as they both draw their swords after their lances
had been broken. No escape would have been possible if these two
swordsmen had persisted in continuing the fight. But at last one or the
other must die. The Count dares not longer hold his ground, when he sees
lying dead about him his men who had been caught unarmed. Meanwhile the
others press them hard, cutting, slashing, and carving them, spilling
their brains, and reproaching the Count for his treachery. When he hears
himself accused of treason, he flees for safety to his tower, followed
by his men. And their enemies follow after them, fiercely charging them
from the rear, and not letting a single one escape of all upon whom they
lay their hands. They kill and slay so many of them that I guess not
more than seven made good their escape.
(Vv. 1955-2056.) When they had got inside the tower, they made a stand
at the gate; for those who were coming close behind had followed so
closely after them that they too would have pressed in had the gateway
been left exposed. The traitors make a brave defence, waiting for
succour from their friends, who were arming themselves down in the town.
But upon the advice of Nabunal, who was a Greek of great wisdom, the
approach was blocked so that relief could not arrive in time; for those
below had tarried too long, either from cowardice or sloth. Now there
was only one entrance to the stronghold; so that, if they stop that
entrance-way, they need have no fear that any force shall approach to do
them harm. Nabunal bids and exhorts twenty of them to hold the gate;
for soon such a company might arrive with force as would do them harm
by their assault and attack. While these twenty hold the gate, the
remaining ten should attack the tower and prevent the Count from
barricading himself inside. Nabunal's advice is taken: ten remain to
continue the assault at the entrance of the tower, while twenty go to
defend the gate. In doing so, they delay almost too long; for they see
approaching, furious and keen for the fight, a company containing many
cross-bow men and foot soldiers of different grades who carried arms
of divers sorts. Some carried light missiles, and others Danish axes,
lances and Turkish swords, bolts for cross-bows, arrows and javelins.
The Greeks would have had to pay a heavy score, if this crowd had
actually fallen upon them; but they did not reach the place in time.
Nabunal by his foresight and counsel had blocked their plans, and they
were forced to remain outside. When they see that they are shut out,
they pause in their advance, as it is evident they can gain nothing by
making an assault. Then there begins such weeping and wailing of women
and young children, of old men and youths, that those in the town
could not have heard a thunder-clap from heaven. At this the Greeks are
overjoyed; for now they know of a certainty that the Count by no good
luck can escape capture. Four of them mount the walls to keep watch lest
those outside by any means or ruse should enter the stronghold and
fall upon them. The remaining sixteen returned to where the ten were
fighting. The day was already breaking, and the ten had fought so well
that they had forced their way within the tower. The Count took his
stand against a post, and, armed with a battleaxe, defended himself with
great bravery. Those whom he reaches, he splits in half. And his men
line up about him, and are not slow to avenge themselves in this last
stand of the day, Alexander's men have reason to complain, for of the
original sixteen there remain now but thirteen. Alexander is almost
beside himself when he sees the havoc wrought among his dead or
exhausted followers. Yet his thoughts are fixed on vengeance: finding at
hand a long heavy club, he struck one of the rascals with it so fiercely
that neither shield nor hauberk was worth a button in preventing him
from failing to the ground. After finishing with him, he pursues the
Count, and raising his club to strike him he deals him such a blow with
his square club that the axe falls from his hands; and he was so stunned
and bewildered that he could not have stood up unless he had leaned
against the wall.
(Vv. 2057-2146.) After this blow the battle ceases. Alexander leaps at
the Count and holds him so that he cannot move. Of the others nothing
need be said, for they were easily mastered when they saw the capture
of their lord. All are made prisoners with the Count and led away in
disgrace, in accordance with their deserts. Of all this the men outside
knew nothing. But when morning came they found their companions shields
lying among the slain when the battle was over. Then the Greeks, misled,
made a great lament for their lord. Recognising his shield, all are in
an agony of grief, swooning at sight of his shield and saying that
now they have lived too long. Cornix and Nerius first swoon, then,
recovering their senses, wish they were dead. So do Torin and Acorionde.
The tears run down in floods from their eyes upon their breasts. Life
and joy seem hateful now. And Parmenides more than the rest tore his
hair in dire distress. No greater grief could be shown than that of
these five for their lord. Yet, their dismay is groundless, for it is
another's body which they bear away when they think to have their lord.
Their distress is further increased by the sight of the other shields,
which cause them to mistake these corpses for their companions. So over
them they lament and swoon. But they are deceived by all these shields,
for of their men only one was killed, whose name was Neriolis. Him,
indeed, they would have borne away had they known the truth. But they
are in as great anxiety for the others as for him; so they bore them
all away. In every case but one they were misled. But like the man who
dreams and takes a fiction for the truth, so the shields cause them to
suppose this illusion to be a reality. It is the shields, then, that
cause this mistake. [222] Carrying the corpses, they move away and come
to their tents, where there was a sorrowing troop. Upon hearing the
lament raised by the Greeks, soon all the others gathered, until there
was but one great outcry. Now Saredamors thinks of her wretched estate
when she hears the cry and lament over her lover. Their anguish and
distress cause her to lose her senses and her colour, and her grief and
sorrow are increased because she dares not openly show a trace of her
distress. She shut up her grief within her heart. Had any one looked at
her, he could have seen by the expression of her face what agony she was
in; but every one was so engrossed with his own sorrow that he had no
care for another's grief. Each one lamented his own loss. For they find
the river bank covered with their relatives and friends, who had been
wounded or roughly treated. Each one wept for his own heavy and bitter
loss: here is a son weeping for a father, there a father for a son;
one swoons at the sight of his cousin, another over his nephew. Thus
fathers, brothers, and relatives bemoan their loss on every side. But
above all is noticeable the sorrow of the Greeks; and yet they might
have anticipated great joy, for the deepest grief of all the camp will
soon be changed into rejoicing.
(Vv. 2147-2200.) The Greeks outside continue their lament, while
those inside strive to let them know the news which will cause them to
rejoice. They disarm and bind their prisoners, who pray and beg of them
to strike off their heads straightway. But the Greeks are unwilling, and
disdain their entreaties, saying that them will keep then under guard
and hand them over to the King, who will grant them such recompense as
shall require their services. When they had disarmed them all they made
them go up on the wall that they might be seen by the troops below. This
privilege is not to their liking, and when they saw their lord bound as
a prisoner, they were unhappy men. Alexander upon the walls swears to
God and all the saints that he will not let one of them live, but will
kill them all speedily, unless they will go to surrender to the King
before he can seize them. "Go," says he, "confidently to the King at
my command, and cast yourselves upon his mercy. None of you, except the
Count, has deserved to die. You shall not lose either life or limb if
you surrender to the King. If you do not deliver yourselves from death