Four Arthurian Romances
his fame. It is my opinion that he is seeking her, not to receive her
peaceably, but because he wishes to win her by force of arms. So it
would be wise on thy part to deprive him of the satisfaction of fighting
thee. I am sorry to see thee so foolish; but if thou dost not heed my
advice, evil will come of it, and the ensuing misfortune will be worse
for thee. For the knight need fear no hostility from any one here save
thee. On behalf of myself and all my men, I will grant him a truce and
security. I have never yet done a disloyal deed or practised treason and
felony, and I shall not begin to do so now on thy account any more than
I would for any stranger. I do not wish to flatter thee, for I promise
that the knight shall not lack any arms, or horse or anything else he
needs, in view of the boldness he has displayed in coming thus far.
He shall be securely guarded and well defended against all men here
excepting thee. I wish him clearly to understand that, if he can
maintain himself against thee, he need have no fear of any one else." "I
have listened to you in silence long enough," says Meleagant, "and you
may say what you please. But little do I care for all you say. I am not
a hermit, nor so compassionate and charitable, and I have no desire to
be so honourable as to give him what I most love. His task will not be
performed so quickly or so lightly; rather will it turn out otherwise
than as you and he expect. You and I need not quarrel because you aid
him against me. Even if he enjoys peace and a truce with you and all
your men, what matters that to me? My heart does not quail on that
account; rather, so help me God, I am glad that he need not feel concern
for any one here but me; I do not wish you to do on my account anything
which might be construed as disloyalty or treachery. Be as compassionate
as you please, but let me be cruel." "What? Wilt thou not change thy
mind?" "No," he says. "Then I will say nothing more. I will leave thee
alone to do thy best and will go now to speak with the knight. I wish
to offer and present to him my aid and counsel in all respects; for I am
altogether on his side."
(Vv. 3319-3490.) Then the king goes down and orders them to bring his
horse. A large steed is brought to him, upon which he springs by the
stirrup, and he rides off with some of his men: three knights and two
squires he bade to go with him. They did not stop their ride downhill
until they came to the bridge, where they see him stanching his wounds
and wiping the blood from them. The king expects to keep him as his
guest for a long time while his wounds are healing; but he might as well
expect to drain the sea. The king hastens to dismount, and he who was
grievously wounded, stood up at once to meet him, though he did not know
him, and he gave no more evidence of the pain he felt in his feet and
hands than if he had been actually sound. The king sees that he is
exerting himself, and quickly runs to greet him with the words: "Sire,
I am greatly amazed that you have fallen upon us in this land. But be
welcome, for no one will ever repeat the attempt: it never happened in
the past, and it will never happen in the future that any one should
perform such a hardy feat or expose himself to such peril. And know that
I admire you greatly for having executed what no one before ever dared
to conceive. You will find me very kindly disposed, and loyal and
courteous toward you. I am the king of this land, and offer you freely
all my counsel and service; and I think I know pretty well what you have
come here to seek. You come, I am sure, to seek the Queen." "Sire,"
he replies, "your surmise is correct; no other cause brings me here."
"Friend, you must suffer hardship to obtain her," he replies; "and you
are sorely wounded, as I see by the wounds and the flowing blood. You
will not find him who brought her hither so generous as to give her up
without a struggle; but you must tarry, and have your wounds cared for
until they are completely healed. I will give you some of 'the three
Marys' ointment, [418] and something still better, if it can be found,
for I am very solicitous about your comfort and your recovery. And the
Queen is so confined that no mortal man has access to her--not even my
son, who brought her here with him and who resents such treatment, for
never was a man so beside himself and so desperate as he. But I am well
disposed toward you, and will gladly give you, so help me God, all of
which you stand in need. My son himself will not have such good arms but
that I will give you some that are just as good, and a horse, too,
such as you will need, though my son will be angry with me. Despite the
feelings of any one, I will protect you against all men. You will have
no cause to fear any one excepting him who brought the Queen here. No
man ever menaced another as I have menaced him, and I came near driving
him from my land, in my displeasure because he will not surrender her
to you. To be sure, he is my son; but feel no concern, for unless he
defeats you in battle, he can never do you the slightest harm against my
will." "Sire," he says, "I thank you. But I am losing time here which
I do not wish to waste. I have no cause to complain, and have no wound
which is paining me. Take me where I can find him; for with such arms
as I have, I am ready to divert myself by giving and receiving blows."
"Friend, you had better wait two or three weeks until your wounds are
healed, for it would be well for you to tarry here at least two weeks,
and not on any account could I allow it, or look on, while you fought
in my presence with such arms and with such an outfit." And he replies:
"With your permission, no other arms would be used than these, for I
should prefer to fight with them, and I should not ask for the slightest
postponement, adjournment or delay. However, in deference to you, I
will consent to wait until to-morrow; but despite what any one may say,
longer I will not wait." Then the king assured him that all would
be done as he wished; then he has the lodging-place prepared, and
insistently requests his men, who are in the company, to serve him,
which they do devotedly. And the king, who would gladly have made peace,
had it been possible, went at once to his son and spoke to him like one
who desires peace and harmony, saying: "Fair son, be reconciled now with
this knight without a fight! He has not come here to disport himself or
to hunt or chase, but he comes in search of honour and to increase his
fame and renown, and I have seen that he stands in great need of rest.
If he had taken my advice, he would not have rashly undertaken, either
this month or the next, the battle which he so greatly desires. If thou
makest over the Queen to him, dost thou fear any dishonour in the deed?
Have no fear of that, for no blame can attach to thee; rather is it
wrong to keep that to which one has no rightful claim. He would gladly
have entered the battle at once, though his hands and feet are not
sound, but cut and wounded." Meleagant answers his father thus: "You are
foolish to be concerned. By the faith I owe St. Peter, I will not take
your advice in this matter. I should deserve to be drawn apart with
horses, if I heeded your advice. If he is seeking his honour, so do I
seek mine; if he is in search of glory, so am I; if he is anxious for
the battle, so am I a hundred times more so than he." "I see plainly,"
says the king, "that thou art intent upon thy mad enterprise, and thou
shalt have thy fill of it. Since such is thy pleasure, to-morrow thou
shalt try thy strength with the knight." "May no greater hardship ever
visit me than that!" Meleagant replies; "I would much rather it were
to-day than to-morrow. Just see how much more downcast I am than is
usual! My eyes are wild, and my face is pale! I shall have no joy or
satisfaction or any cause for happiness until I am actually engaged with
him."
(Vv. 3491-3684.) The king understands that further advice and prayers
are of no avail, so reluctantly he leaves his son and, taking a good,
strong horse and handsome arms, he sends them to him who well deserves
them, together with a surgeon who was a loyal and Christian man. There
was in the world no more trusty man, and he was more skilled in the
cure of wounds than all the doctors of Montpeilier. [419] That night
he treated the knight as best he could, in accordance with the king's
command. Already the news was known by the knights and damsels, the
ladies and barons of all the country-side, and all through the night
until daybreak strangers and friends were making long journeys from all
the country round. When morning came, there was such a press before the
castle that there was not room to move one's foot. And the king, rising
early in his distress about the battle, goes directly to his son, who
had already laced upon his head the helmet which was of Poitiers make.
No delay or peace is possible, for though the king did his best, his
efforts are of no effect. In the middle of the castle-square, where all
the people are assembled, the battle will be fought in compliance with
the king's wish and command. The king sends at once for the stranger
knight, and he is conducted to the grounds which were filled with people
from the kingdom of Logres. For just as people are accustomed to go
to church to hear the organ on the annual feast-days of Pentecost or
Christmas, so they had all assembled now. All the foreign maidens from
King Arthur's realm had fasted three days and gone barefoot in their
shifts, in order that God might endow with strength and courage the
knight who was to fight his adversary on behalf of the captives. Very
early, before prime had yet been sounded, both of the knights fully
armed were led to the place, mounted upon two horses equally protected.
Meleagant was very graceful, alert, and shapely; the hauberk with its
fine meshes, the helmet, and the shield hanging from his neck--all these
became him well. All the spectators, however, favoured the other knight,
even those who wished him ill, and they say that Meleagant is worth
nothing compared with him. As soon as they were both on the ground, the
king comes and detains them as long as possible in an effort to make
peace between them, but he is unable to persuade his son. Then he says
to them: "Hold in your horses until I reach the top of the tower. It
will be only a slight favour, if you will wait so long for me." Then in
sorrowful mood he leaves them and goes directly to the place where he
knew he would find the Queen. She had begged him the evening before to
place her where she might have an unobstructed view of the battle; he
had granted her the boon, and went now to seek and fetch her, for he
was very anxious to show her honour and courtesy. He placed her at one
window, and took his place at another window on her right. Beside them,
there were gathered there many knights and prudent dames and damsels,
who were natives of that land; and there were many others, who were
captives, and who were intent upon their orisons and prayers. Those who
were prisoners were praying for their lord, for to God and to him they
entrusted their succour and deliverance. Then the combatants without
delay make all the people stand aside; then they clash the shields with
their elbows, and thrust their arms into the straps, and spur at each
other so violently that each sends his lance two arms' length through
his opponent's shield, causing the lance to split and splinter like a
flying spark. And the horses meet head on, clashing breast to breast,
and the shields and helmets crash with such a noise that it seems like
a mighty thunder-clap; not a breast-strap, girth, rein or surcingle
remains unbroken, and the saddle-bows, though strong, are broken to