The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
and Marato stood at the poop, looking out on the sea and nowise on his
guard against them, they went of one accord and laying hold of him
suddenly from behind, cast him into the sea, nor was it till they had
sailed more than a mile farther that any perceived Marato to be
fallen overboard. Alatiel, hearing this and seeing no possible way of
recovering him, began anew to make moan for herself; whereupon the two
lovers came incontinent to her succour and with soft words and very
good promises, whereof she understood but little, studied to soothe
and console the lady, who lamented not so much her lost husband as her
own ill fortune. After holding much discourse with her at one time and
another, themseeming after awhile they had well nigh comforted her,
they came to words with one another which should first take her to lie
with him. Each would fain be the first and being unable to come to any
accord upon this, they first with words began a sore and hot dispute
and thereby kindled into rage, they clapped hands to their knives and
falling furiously on one another, before those on board could part
them, dealt each other several blows, whereof one incontinent fell
dead, whilst the other abode on life, though grievously wounded in
many places.
This new mishap was sore unpleasing to the lady, who saw herself
alone, without aid or counsel of any, and feared lest the anger of the
two masters' kinsfolk and friends should revert upon herself; but the
prayers of the wounded man and their speedy arrival at Chiarenza
delivered her from danger of death. There she went ashore with the
wounded man and took up her abode with him in an inn, where the report
of her great beauty soon spread through the city and came to the ears
of the Prince of the Morea, who was then at Chiarenza and was fain to
see her. Having gotten sight of her and himseeming she was fairer than
report gave out, he straightway became so sore enamoured of her that
he could think of nothing else and hearing how she came thither,
doubted not to be able to get her for himself. As he cast about for a
means of effecting his purpose, the wounded man's kinsfolk got wind of
his desire and without awaiting more, sent her to him forthright,
which was mighty agreeable to the prince and to the lady also, for
that herseemed she was quit of a great peril. The prince, seeing her
graced, over and above her beauty, with royal manners and unable
otherwise to learn who she was, concluded her to be some noble lady,
wherefore he redoubled in his love for her and holding her in
exceeding honour, entreated her not as a mistress, but as his very
wife.
The lady, accordingly, having regard to her past troubles and
herseeming she was well enough bestowed, was altogether comforted and
waxing blithe again, her beauties flourished on such wise that it
seemed all Roumelia could talk of nothing else. The report of her
loveliness reaching the Duke of Athens, who was young and handsome and
doughty of his person and a friend and kinsman of the prince, he was
taken with a desire to see her and making a show of paying him a
visit, as he was wont bytimes to do, repaired, with a fair and
worshipful company, to Chiarenza, where he was honourably received and
sumptuously entertained. Some days after, the two kinsmen coming to
discourse together of the lady's charms, the duke asked if she were
indeed so admirable a creature as was reported; to which the prince
answered, 'Much more so; but thereof I will have not my words, but
thine own eyes certify thee.' Accordingly, at the duke's
solicitation, they betook themselves together to the princess's
lodging, who, having had notice of their coming, received them very
courteously and with a cheerful favour, and they seated her between
them, but might not have the pleasure of conversing with her, for that
she understood little or nothing of their language; wherefore each
contented himself with gazing upon her, as upon a marvel, and
especially the duke, who could scarce bring himself to believe that
she was a mortal creature and thinking to satisfy his desire with her
sight, heedless of the amorous poison he drank in at his eyes,
beholding her, he miserably ensnared himself, becoming most ardently
enamoured of her.
After he had departed her presence with the prince and had leisure to
bethink himself, he esteemed his kinsman happy beyond all others in
having so fair a creature at his pleasure, and after many and various
thoughts, his unruly passion weighing more with him than his honour,
he resolved, come thereof what might, to do his utmost endeavour to
despoil the prince of that felicity and bless himself therewith.
Accordingly, being minded to make a quick despatch of the matter and
setting aside all reason and all equity, he turned his every thought
to the devising of means for the attainment of his wishes, and one
day, in accordance with the nefarious ordinance taken by him with a
privy chamberlain of the prince's, by name Ciuriaci, he let make ready
in secret his horses and baggage for a sudden departure.
The night come, he was, with a companion, both armed, stealthily
introduced by the aforesaid Ciuriaci into the prince's chamber and saw
the latter (the lady being asleep) standing, all naked for the great
heat, at a window overlooking the sea-shore, to take a little breeze
that came from that quarter; whereupon, having beforehand informed his
companion of that which he had to do, he went softly up to the window
and striking the prince with a knife, stabbed him, through and through
the small of his back; then, taking him up in haste, he cast him forth
of the window. The palace stood over against the sea and was very
lofty and the window in question looked upon certain houses that had
been undermined by the beating of the waves and where seldom or never
any came; wherefore it happened, as the duke had foreseen, that the
fall of the prince's body was not nor might be heard of any. The
duke's companion, seeing this done, pulled out a halter he had brought
with him to that end and making a show of caressing Ciuriaci, cast it
adroitly about his neck and drew it so that he could make no outcry;
then, the duke coming up, they strangled him and cast him whereas they
had cast the prince.
This done and they being manifestly certified that they had been
unheard of the lady or of any other, the duke took a light in his hand
and carrying it to the bedside, softly uncovered the princess, who
slept fast. He considered her from head to foot and mightily commended
her; for, if she was to his liking, being clothed, she pleased him,
naked, beyond all compare. Wherefore, fired with hotter desire and
unawed by his new-committed crime, he couched himself by her side,
with hands yet bloody, and lay with her, all sleepy-eyed as she was
and thinking him to be the prince. After he had abidden with her
awhile in the utmost pleasure, he arose and summoning certain of his
companions, caused take up the lady on such wise that she could make
no outcry and carry her forth by a privy door, whereat he had entered;
then, setting her on horseback, he took to the road with all his men,
as softliest he might, and returned to his own dominions. However (for
that he had a wife) he carried the lady, who was the most distressful
of women, not to Athens, but to a very goodly place he had by the sea,
a little without the city, and there entertained her in secret,
causing honourably furnish her with all that was needful.
The prince's courtiers on the morrow awaited his rising till none,
when, hearing nothing, they opened the chamber-doors, which were but
closed, and finding no one, concluded that he was gone somewhither
privily, to pass some days there at his ease with his fair lady, and
gave themselves no farther concern. Things being thus, it chanced next
day that an idiot, entering the ruins where lay the bodies of the
prince and Ciuriaci, dragged the latter forth by the halter and went
haling him after him. The body was, with no little wonderment,
recognized by many, who, coaxing the idiot to bring them to the place
whence he had dragged it, there, to the exceeding grief of the whole
city, found the prince's corpse and gave it honourable burial. Then,
enquiring for the authors of so heinous a crime and finding that the
Duke of Athens was no longer there, but had departed by stealth, they
concluded, even as was the case, that it must be he who had done this
and carried off the lady; whereupon they straightway substituted a
brother of the dead man to their prince and incited him with all their
might to vengeance. The new prince, being presently certified by
various other circumstances that it was as they had surmised, summoned
his friends and kinsmen and servants from divers parts and promptly
levying a great and goodly and powerful army, set out to make war upon
the Duke of Athens.
The latter, hearing of this, on like wise mustered all his forces for
his own defence, and to his aid came many lords, amongst whom the
Emperor of Constantinople sent Constantine his son and Manual his
nephew, with a great and goodly following. The two princes were
honourably received by the duke and yet more so by the duchess, for
that she was their sister,[117] and matters drawing thus daily nearer
unto war, taking her occasion, she sent for them both one day to her
chamber and there, with tears galore and many words, related to them
the whole story, acquainting them with the causes of the war.
Moreover, she discovered to them the affront done her by the duke in
the matter of the woman whom it was believed he privily entertained,
and complaining sore thereof, besought them to apply to the matter
such remedy as best they might, for the honour of the duke and her own
solacement.
[Footnote 117: _i.e._ sister to the one and cousin to the other.]
The young men already knew all the facts as it had been; wherefore,
without enquiring farther, they comforted the duchess, as best they
might, and filled her with good hope. Then, having learned from her
where the lady abode, they took their leave and having a mind to see
the latter, for that they had oftentimes heard her commended for
marvellous beauty, they besought the duke to show her to them. He,
unmindful of that which had befallen the Prince of the Morea for
having shown her to himself, promised to do this and accordingly next
morning, having let prepare a magnificent collation in a very goodly
garden that pertained to the lady's place of abode, he carried them
and a few others thither to eat with her. Constantine, sitting with
Alatiel, fell a-gazing upon her, full of wonderment, avouching in
himself that he had never seen aught so lovely and that certes the
duke must needs be held excused, ay, and whatsoever other, to have so
fair a creature, should do treason or other foul thing, and looking on
her again and again and each time admiring her more, it betided him no
otherwise than it had betided the duke; wherefore, taking his leave,
enamoured of her, he abandoned all thought of the war and occupied
himself with considering how he might take her from the duke,
carefully concealing his passion the while from every one.
Whilst he yet burnt in this fire, the time came to go out against the
new prince, who now drew near to the duke's territories; wherefore the
latter and Constantine and all the others, sallied forth of Athens
according to the given ordinance and betook themselves to the defence
of certain frontiers, so the prince might not avail to advance
farther. When they had lain there some days, Constantine having his
mind and thought still intent upon the lady and conceiving that, now
the duke was no longer near her, he might very well avail to
accomplish his pleasure, feigned himself sore indisposed of his