Four Arthurian Romances
Then in the hearing of all he summoned the lord of the town and said:
"My lord, I have no more time to wait, but must ask your permission
to leave at once; I cannot tarry longer here. But believe truly that
I would gladly and willingly stay here yet awhile for the sake of the
nephews and the niece of my beloved lord Gawain, if I did not have a
great business on hand, and if it were not so far away." At this the
damsel's blood quivered and boiled with fear, as well as the lady's and
the lord's. They were so afraid he would go away that they were on the
point of humbling themselves and casting themselves at his feet, when
they recalled that he would not approve or permit their action. Then the
lord makes him an offer of all he will take of his lands or wealth, if
only he will wait a little longer. And he replied: "God forbid that ever
I should take anything of yours!" Then the damsel, who is in dismay,
begins to weep aloud, and beseeches him to stay. Like one distracted and
prey to dread, she begs him by the glorious queen of heaven and of the
angels, and by the Lord, not to go but to wait a little while; and
then, too, for her uncle's sake, whom he says he knows, and loves, and
esteems. Then his heart is touched with deep pity when he hears her
adjuring him in the name of him whom he loves the most, and by the
mistress of heaven, and by the Lord, who is the very honey and sweet
savour of pity. Filled with anguish he heaved a sigh, for were the
kingdom of Tarsus at stake he would not see her burned to whom he had
pledged his aid. If he could not reach her in time, he would be unable
to endure his life, or would live on without his wits on the other hand,
the kindness of his friend, my lord Gawain, only increased his distress;
his heart almost bursts in half at the thought that he cannot delay.
Nevertheless, he does not stir, but delays and waits so long that the
giant came suddenly, bringing with him the knights: and hanging from his
neck he carried a big square stake with a pointed end, and with this he
frequently spurred them on. For their part they had no clothing on that
was worth a straw, except some soiled and filthy shirts: and their feet
and hands were bound with cords, as they came riding upon four limping
jades, which were weak, and thin, and miserable. As they came riding
along beside a wood, a dwarf, who was puffed up like a toad, had
tied the horses' tails together, and walked beside them, beating them
remorselessly with a four-knotted scourge until they bled, thinking
thereby to be doing something wonderful. Thus they were brought along in
shame by the giant and the dwarf. Stopping in the plain in front of the
city gate, the giant shouts out to the noble lord that he will kill his
sons unless he delivers to him his daughter, whom he will surrender to
his vile fellows to become their sport. For he no longer loves her nor
esteems her, that he should deign to abase himself to her. She shall be
constantly beset by a thousand lousy and ragged knaves, vacant wretches,
and scullery boys, who all shall lay hands on her. The worthy man is
well-nigh beside himself when he hears how his daughter will be made
a bawd, or else, before his very eyes, his four sons will be put to a
speedy death. His agony is like that of one who would rather be dead
than alive. Again and again he bemoans his fate, and weeps aloud and
sighs. Then my frank and gentle lord Yvain thus began to speak to him:
"Sire, very vile and impudent is that giant who vaunts himself out
there. But may God never grant that he should have your daughter in his
power! He despises her and insults her openly. It would be too great a
calamity if so lovely a creature of such high birth were handed over
to become the sport of boys. Give me now my arms and horse! Have the
drawbridge lowered, and let me pass. One or the other must be cast down,
either I or he, I know not which. If I could only humiliate the cruel
wretch who is thus oppressing you, so that he would release your sons
and should come and make amends for the insulting words he has spoken
to you, then I would commend you to God and go about my business." Then
they go to get his horse, and hand over to him his arms, striving so
expeditiously that they soon have him quite equipped. They delayed as
little as they could in arming him. When his equipment was complete,
there remained nothing but to lower the bridge and let him go. They
lowered it for him, and he went out. But the lion would by no means
stay behind. All those who were left behind commended the knight to
the Saviour, for they fear exceedingly lest their devilish enemy, who
already had slain so many good men on the same field before their eyes,
would do the same with him. So they pray God to defend him from death,
and return him to them safe and sound, and that He may give him strength
to slay the giant. Each one softly prays to God in accordance with his
wish. And the giant fiercely came at him, and with threatening words
thus spake to him: "By my eyes, the man who sent thee here surely had
no love for thee! No better way could he have taken to avenge himself on
thee. He has chosen well his vengeance for whatever wrong thou hast done
to him." But the other, fearing naught, replies: "Thou treatest of what
matters not. Now do thy best, and I'll do mine. Idle parley wearies me."
Thereupon my lord Yvain, who was anxious to depart, rides at him. He
goes to strike him on the breast, which was protected by a bear's skin,
and the giant runs at him with his stake raised in air. My lord Yvain
deals him such a blow upon the chest that he thrusts through the skin
and wets the tip of his lance in his body's blood by way of sauce. And
the giant belabours him with the stake, and makes him bend beneath the
blows. My lord Yvain then draws the sword with which he knew how to
deal fierce blows. He found the giant unprotected, for he trusted in his
strength so much that he disdained to arm himself. And he who had drawn
his blade gave him such a slash with the cutting edge, and not with the
flat side, that he cut from his cheek a slice fit to roast. Then the
other in turn gave him such a blow with the stake that it made him sing
in a heap upon his horse's neck. Thereupon the lion bristles up, ready
to lend his master aid, and leaps up in his anger and strength, and
strikes and tears like so much bark the heavy bearskin the giant wore,
and he tore away beneath the skin a large piece of his thigh, together
with the nerves and flesh. The giant escaped his clutches, roaring and
bellowing like a bull, for the lion had badly wounded him. Then raising
his stake in both hands, he thought to strike him, but missed his aim,
when the lion leaded backward so he missed his blow, and fell exhausted
beside my lord Yvain, but without either of them touching the other.
Then my lord Yvain took aim and landed two blows on him. Before he could
recover himself he had severed with the edge of his sword the giant's
shoulder from his body. With the next blow he ran the whole blade of his
sword through his liver beneath his chest; the giant falls in death's
embrace. And if a great oak tree should fall, I think it would make no
greater noise than the giant made when he tumbled down. All those who
were on the wall would fain have witnessed such a blow. Then it became
evident who was the most fleet of foot, for all ran to see the game,
just like hounds which have followed the beast until they finally come
up with him. So men and women in rivalry ran forward without delay to
where the giant lay face downward. The daughter comes running, and
her mother too. And the four brothers rejoice after the woes they have
endured. As for my lord Yvain they are very sure that they could not
detain him for any reason they might allege, but they beseech him to
return and stay to enjoy himself as soon as he shall have completed the
business which calls him away. And he replies that he cannot promise
them anything, for as yet he cannot guess whether it will fare well or
ill with him. But thus much did he say to his host: that he wished that
his four sons and his daughter should take the dwarf and go to my lord
Gawain when they hear of his return, and should tell and relate to him
how he has conducted himself. For kind actions are of no use if you are
not willing that they be known. And they reply: "It is not right that
such kindness as this should be kept hid: we shall do whatever you
desire. But tell us what we can say when we come before him. Whose
praises can we speak, when we know not what your name may be?" And he
answers them: "When you come before him, you may say thus much: that I
told you 'The Knight with the Lion' was my name. And at the same time
I must beg you to tell him from me that, if he does not recognise who I
am, yet he knows me well and I know him. Now I must be gone from here,
and the thing which most alarms me is that I may too long have tarried
here, for before the hour of noon be passed I shall have plenty to do
elsewhere, if indeed I can arrive there in time." Then, without further
delay, he starts. But first his host begged him insistently that he
would take with him his four sons: for there was none of them who would
not strive to serve him, if he would allow it. But it did not please
or suit him that any one should accompany him; so he left the place to
them, and went away alone. And as soon as he starts, riding as fast as
his steed can carry him, he heads toward the chapel. The path was good
and straight, and he knew well how to keep the road. But before he could
reach the chapel, the damsel had been dragged out and the pyre prepared
upon which she was to be placed. Clad only in a shift, she was held
bound before the fire by those who wrongly attributed to her an
intention she had never had. My lord Yvain arrived, and, seeing her
beside the fire into which she was about to be cast, he was naturally
incensed. He would be neither courteous nor sensible who had any
doubt about that fact. So it is true that he was much incensed; but he
cherishes within himself the hope that God and the Right will be on his
side. In such helpers he confides; nor does he scorn his lion's aid.
Rushing quickly toward the crowd, he shouts: "Let the damsel be, you
wicked folk! Having committed no crime, it is not right that she should
be cast upon a pyre or into a furnace." And they draw off on either
side, leaving a passage-way for him. But he yearns to see with his own
eyes her whom his heart beholds in whatever place she may be. His eyes
seek her until he finds her, while he subdues and holds in check his
heart, just as one holds in check with a strong curb a horse that pulls.
Nevertheless, he gladly gazes at her, and sighs the while; but he does
not sigh so openly that his action is detected; rather does he stifle
his sighs, though with difficulty. And he is seized with pity at
hearing, seeing, and perceiving the grief of the poor ladies, who cried:
"Ah, God, how hast Thou forgotten us! How desolate we shall now remain
when we lose so kind a friend, who gave us such counsel and such aid,
and interceded for us at court! It was she who prompted madame to clothe
us with her clothes of vair. Henceforth the situation will change, for
there will be no one to speak for us! Cursed be he who is the cause of
our loss! For we shall fare badly in all this. There will be no one to
utter such advice as this: 'My lady, give this vair mantle, this cloak,
and this garment to such and such an honest dame! Truly, such charity
will be well employed, for she is in very dire need of them.' No such
words as these shall be uttered henceforth, for there is no one else who
is frank and courteous; but every one solicits for himself rather than
for some one else, even though he have no need."