Four Arthurian Romances
and kingdom, and give it to me! Thou shouldst present it to me, in view
of the guerdon I intend for thee. For another day may well come when, if
he can, he will beguile thee again with his words." He, thinking his end
is near, cries aloud to him for mercy; but his cry is of no avail, nor
anything that he can say. The other drags him by the helmet, tearing all
the fastening, and he strikes from his head the ventail and the gleaming
coif. Then he cries out more loudly still: "Mercy, for God's sake!
Mercy, sir!" But the other answers: "So help me, I shall never again
show thee pity, after having once let thee off." "Ah," he says, "thou
wouldst do wrong to heed my enemy and kill me thus." While she, intent
upon his death, admonishes him to cut off his head, and not to believe
a word he says. He strikes: the head flies across the sward and the body
fails. Then the damsel is pleased and satisfied. Grasping the head by
the hair, the knight presents it to the damsel, who takes it joyfully
with the words: "May thy heart receive such delight from whatever it
most desires as my heart now receives from what I most coveted. I had
only one grief in life, and that was that this man was still alive. I
have a reward laid up for thee which thou shalt receive at the proper
time. I promise thee that thou shalt have a worthy reward for the
service thou hast rendered me. Now I will go away, with the prayer
that God may guard thee from harm." Then the damsel leaves him, as each
commends the other to God. But all those who had seen the battle in the
plain are overjoyed, and in their joy they at once relieve the knight of
his armour, and honour him in every way they can. Then they wash their
hands again and take their places at the meal, which they eat with
better cheer than is their wont. When they had been eating for some
time, the gentleman turned to his guest at his side, and said: "Sire, a
long while ago we came hither from the kingdom of Logres. We were born
your countrymen, and we should like to see you win honour and fortune
and joy in this country; for we should profit by it as well as you, and
it would be to the advantage of many others, if you should gain honour
and fortune in the enterprise you have undertaken in this land." And he
makes answer: "May God hear your desire."
(Vv. 2979-3020.) When the host had dropped his voice and ceased
speaking, one of his sons followed him and said: "Sire, we ought to
place all our resources at your service, and give them outright rather
than promise them; if you have any need of our assistance, we ought not
to wait until you ask for it. Sire, be not concerned over your horse
which is dead. We have good strong horses here. I want you to take
anything of ours which you need, and you shall choose the best of
our horses in place of yours." And he replies: "I willingly accept."
Thereupon, they have the beds prepared and retire for the night. The
next morning they rise early, and dress, after which they prepare to
start. Upon leaving, they fail in no act of courtesy, but take leave of
the lady, her lord, and all the rest. But in order to omit nothing, I
must remark that the knight was unwilling to mount the borrowed steed
which was standing ready at the door; rather, he caused him to be ridden
by one of the two knights who had come with him, while he took the
latter's horse instead, for thus it pleased him best to do. When each
was seated on his horse, they all asked for leave to depart from their
host who had served them so honourably. Then they ride along the road
until the day draws to a close, and late in the afternoon they reach the
sword-bridge.
(Vv. 3021-3194.) At the end of this very difficult bridge they dismount
from their steeds and gaze at the wicked-looking stream, which is as
swift and raging, as black and turgid, as fierce and terrible as if
it were the devil's stream; and it is so dangerous and bottomless that
anything failing into it would be as completely lost as if it fell into
the salt sea. And the bridge, which spans it, is different from any
other bridge; for there never was such a one as this. If any one asks of
me the truth, there never was such a bad bridge, nor one whose flooring
was so bad. The bridge across the cold stream consisted of a polished,
gleaming sword; but the sword was stout and stiff, and was as long as
two lances. At each end there was a tree-trunk in which the sword
was firmly fixed. No one need fear to fall because of its breaking
or bending, for its excellence was such that it could support a
great weight. But the two knights who were with the third were much
discouraged; for they surmised that two lions or two leopards would be
found tied to a great rock at the other end of the bridge. The water
and the bridge and the lions combine so to terrify them that they both
tremble with fear, and say: "Fair sire, consider well what confronts
you; for it is necessary and needful to do so. This bridge is badly made
and built, and the construction of it is bad. If you do not change your
mind in time, it will be too late to repent. You must consider which of
several alternatives you will choose. Suppose that you once get across
(but that cannot possibly come to pass, any more than one could hold in
the winds and forbid them to blow, or keep the birds from singing,
or re-enter one's mother's womb and be born again--all of which is as
impossible as to empty the sea of its water); but even supposing that
you got across, can you think and suppose that those two fierce lions
that are chained on the other side will not kill you, and suck the blood
from your veins, and eat your flesh and then gnaw your bones? For my
part, I am bold enough, when I even dare to look and gaze at them. If
you do not take care, they will certainly devour you. Your body will
soon be torn and rent apart, for they will show you no mercy. So take
pity on us now, and stay here in our company! It would be wrong for
you to expose yourself intentionally to such mortal peril." And he,
laughing, replies to them: "Gentlemen, receive my thanks and gratitude
for the concern you feel for me: it comes from your love and kind
hearts. I know full well that you would not like to see any mishap come
to me; but I have faith and confidence in God, that He will protect me
to the end. I fear the bridge and stream no more than I fear this dry
land; so I intend to prepare and make the dangerous attempt to cross.
I would rather die than turn back now." The others have nothing more to
say; but each weeps with pity and heaves a sigh. Meanwhile he prepares,
as best he may, to cross the stream, and he does a very marvellous thing
in removing the armour from his feet and hands. He will be in a sorry
state when he reaches the other side. He is going to support himself
with his bare hands and feet upon the sword, which was sharper than a
scythe, for he had not kept on his feet either sole or upper or hose.
But he felt no fear of wounds upon his hands or feet; he preferred to
maim himself rather than to fall from the bridge and be plunged in
the water from which he could never escape. In accordance with this
determination, he passes over with great pain and agony, being wounded
in the hands, knees, and feet. But even this suffering is sweet to him:
for Love, who conducts and leads him on, assuages and relieves the pain.
Creeping on his hands, feet, and knees, he proceeds until he reaches
the other side. Then he recalls and recollects the two lions which he
thought he had seen from the other side; but, on looking about, he does
not see so much as a lizard or anything else to do him harm. He raises
his hand before his face and looks at his ring, and by this test he
proves that neither of the lions is there which he thought he had seen,
and that he had been enchanted and deceived; for there was not a living
creature there. When those who had remained behind upon the bank saw
that he had safely crossed, their joy was natural; but they do not know
of his injuries. He, however, considers himself fortunate not to have
suffered anything worse. The blood from his wounds drips on his shirt
on all sides. Then he sees before him a tower, which was so strong that
never had he seen such a strong one before: indeed, it could not have
been a better tower. At the window there sat King Bademagu, who was very
scrupulous and precise about matters of honour and what was right, and
who was careful to observe and practise loyalty above all else; and
beside him stood his son, who always did precisely the opposite so far
as possible, for he found his pleasure in disloyalty, and never wearied
of villainy, treason, and felony. From their point of vantage they had
seen the knight cross the bridge with trouble and pain. Meleagant's
colour changed with the rage and displeasure he felt; for he knows now
that he will be challenged for the Queen; but his character was such
that he feared no man, however strong or formidable. If he were not base
and disloyal, there could no better knight be found; but he had a heart
of wood, without gentleness and pity. What enraged his son and roused
his ire, made the king happy and glad. The king knew of a truth that he
who had crossed the bridge was much better than any one else. For no one
would dare to pass over it in whom there dwelt any of that evil nature
which brings more shame upon those who possess it than prowess brings
of honour to the virtuous. For prowess cannot accomplish so much as
wickedness and sloth can do: it is true beyond a doubt that it is
possible to do more evil than good.
(Vv. 3195-3318.) I could say more on these two heads, if it did not
cause me to delay. But I must turn to something else and resume my
subject, and you shall hear how the king speaks profitably to his son:
"Son," he says, "it was fortunate that thou and I came to look out
this window; our reward has been to witness the boldest deed that ever
entered the mind of man. Tell me now if thou art not well disposed
toward him who has performed such a marvellous feat. Make peace and be
reconciled with him, and deliver the Queen into his hands. Thou shalt
gain no glory in battle with him, but rather mayst thou incur great
loss. Show thyself to be courteous and sensible, and send the Queen to
meet him before he sees thee. Show him honour in this land of thine, and
before he asks it, present to him what he has come to seek. Thou knowest
well enough that he has come for the Queen Guinevere. Do not act so that
people will take thee to be obstinate, foolish, or proud. If this man
has entered thy land alone, thou shouldst bear him company, for one
gentleman ought not to avoid another, but rather attract him and honour
him with courtesy. One receives honour by himself showing it; be sure
that the honour will be thine, if thou doest honour and service to him
who is plainly the best knight in the world." And he replies: "May God
confound me, if there is not as good a knight, or even a better one
than he!" It was too bad that he did not mention himself, of whom he
entertains no mean opinion. And he adds: "I suppose you wish me to clasp
my hands and kneel before him as his liegeman, and to hold my lands from
him? So help me God, I would rather become his man than surrender to
him the Queen! God forbid that in such a fashion I should deliver her
to him! She shall never be given up by me, but rather contested and
defended against all who are so foolish as to dare to come in quest
of her." Then again the king says to him: "Son, thou wouldst act very
courteously to renounce this pretension. I advise thee and beg thee to
keep the peace. Thou knowest well that the honour will belong to the
knight, if he wins the Queen from thee in battle. He would doubtless
rather win her in battle than as a gift, for it will thus enhance