Arthurian Romances

by Chretien de Troyes

  ‘What shall I say first?’ she wondered. ‘Shall I call him by his name or say “beloved”? “Beloved”? Not I. What then? Call him by his name! Heavens! The word “beloved” is so fair and sweet to speak. If only I dared to call him “beloved”. Dared? What keeps me from it? Thinking it might be a lie. A lie? I don’t know what will happen, but if I lie I will suffer for it. Therefore it’s best to admit that I would never knowingly tell a lie. Heavens! He would not be lying if he called me his sweet “beloved”! So would I be lying about him? It is best to tell one another the truth. But if I lie, it is his fault. And why is his name so hard for me to say that I want to give him another? I think it is because it is too long and I’m afraid I would get caught up in the middle. But if I called him “beloved”, I could easily say it all. Since I am afraid I won’t be able to say the other, at the risk of my blood I wish he were just called “my sweet beloved”.’

  She stayed contemplating this thought until the queen returned from her summons by the king. When Alexander saw her approaching, he went to meet her and asked her what the king had ordered to be done with the prisoners, and what was to happen to them.

  ‘My friend,’ she replied, ‘he has asked me to hand them over at his discretion and allow him to punish them. He’s very angry that I have not surrendered them already; I see no other choice than to send them to him.’

  And so that day passed. And the next day the good and faithful knights assembled in front of the royal tent to determine by lawful judgement the agony and torture by which the four traitors were to die. Some said they should be flayed alive; others that they should be hanged or burned. The king himself maintained that traitors should be quartered. Then he commanded that they be brought forward. When they were brought in, he had them bound and said that they would be quartered below the castle walls so that those within might witness it.

  After judgement had been rendered, the king spoke to Alexander, calling him his dear friend. ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘many times yesterday I watched as you attacked skilfully and defended yourself well. I wish to reward you for that: I hereby increase your battalion by five hundred Welsh knights and a thousand foot-soldiers from my lands. Once my war is ended, in addition to what I have just given you I shall crown you king of the best kingdom in Wales. There I shall give you towns and castles, citadels and halls, while you await the lands held by your father, over which you are to rule as emperor.’

  Alexander gratefully thanked the king for this gift, as did his companions. All the barons of the court agreed that the honour accorded to Alexander by the king was well merited. When Alexander beheld the many men, the knights and foot-soldiers that it had pleased the king to give him, he ordered that clarions and trumpets be sounded throughout the camp. Brave men and cowards, too, I tell you, from Wales and Britain, from Scotland and Cornwall, all took up their arms, for the army was raised from every quarter without exception.

  It had not rained all summer and the Thames was running shallow; there had been such a drought that the fish had died and ships were locked in port, so it was possible to ford the river even at its widest point. The army crossed the Thames; some held the valley while others occupied the high ground. Those in the castle noticed this and observed with astonishment the spectacle of the army preparing to take and destroy the town; they for their part made ready to defend it. But before launching any attack, the king had the traitors ripped asunder by four horses beneath the castle walls and dragged through the valleys, over the hillocks, and across the barren fields. Count Angrés was enraged to see his dear friends quartered beneath the castle walls. The others, too, were much distressed, but their distress did not move them to surrender the castle. They had no choice but to defend themselves, for the king had clearly shown his anger and wrath, and they understood that if he captured them they would be made to die a shameful death.

  Once the four had been quartered and their limbs lay scattered about the field, the assault began. But all the efforts were in vain: they would have had to launch many stones and shoot many arrows before having any impact; yet they did their best, showering forth stones and shooting countless arrows, darts, and javelins. The crossbows and catapults raised a mighty din on every side as arrows and round stones flew pell-mell, like rain mixed with hail. Thus they struggled on all through the day: the ones attacking and the others defending, until night separated them.

  For his part, the king had proclaimed and made known throughout the camp what gift he would give the man who captured the castle: a most valuable gold cup weighing fifteen marks, the finest in his treasure. The cup was ornate and rich, and to tell the unequivocal truth, it was more valuable for its workmanship than for the gold. Yet although the cup was splendidly wrought, the precious stones set in it were, if the truth be known, worth more even than the workmanship or the gold. If the castle is captured by a foot-soldier, he shall have the cup; and if it is taken by a knight he shall have, in addition to the cup, whatever reward he might request if it is to be found in this world.

  After hearing this proclamation, Alexander did not forget his custom of going each evening to see the queen. He returned there that evening, and Alexander and the queen sat together side by side. Nearby Soredamors sat alone, gazing so contentedly at him that she would not even have preferred to be in paradise. The queen held Alexander’s right hand and observed the golden thread that had grown dull; it paled beside the strand of hair, which appeared more beautiful by contrast. Then by chance she recalled that Soredamors had sewn these stitches and began to laugh. Alexander noticed this and begged her to tell him, if it were proper to do so, what it was that amused her. The queen hesitated to reply; she looked at Soredamors and bade her draw near. She came willingly and knelt in front of the queen. Alexander was delighted when he saw her come so near that he might have touched her. But he was not bold enough even to dare to look at her, for he had so lost his senses that he could scarcely speak. And she, for her part, was so abashed that her eyes no longer served her; she cast her glance upon the ground and nowhere else. The queen marvelled at how she first grew pale and then blushed red, and marked well in her heart the behaviour and looks of the two of them. She clearly noticed, and it seemed true, that these changings of colour were the effects of love. However, not wishing to cause them any embarrassment, she gave no indication of having noticed any of what she had seen.

  She behaved exactly as was proper, giving no sign or indication beyond saying to the maiden: ‘My lady, look here and tell me without dissembling where the shirt that this knight is wearing was sewn, and whether you had a part in it or worked anything of yours into it.’

  Soredamors was ashamed to speak; yet even so she told her willingly, for she was eager for the truth to be heard by him who, when she told of the making of the shirt, was so overjoyed that he could scarcely keep from bowing down and worshipping the place where he beheld the hair. The presence of his companions and the queen bothered and disturbed him: because of them he refrained from touching it to his eyes and mouth, which he would eagerly have done had he thought they would not have noticed. He was happy to possess this much of his beloved, and he did not hope for or expect more, for his desire made him doubt that he would ever have it. However, once he had left the queen and was alone, he kissed the shirt more than a hundred thousand times. Now he was certain he had been born in a lucky hour! All night long he rejoiced over it, but was very careful that no one should notice. Once he was lying in his bed, he found a vain delight and solace in what could give him no satisfaction. All night long he clasped the shirt in his arms, and when he beheld the hair he thought he was lord of the whole world. Love easily makes the wise man a fool, finding such pleasure and delight in a strand of hair; but before sunrise and the bright dawn this pleasure will be transformed.

  The traitors gathered in council to determine what was to be done and what were their prospects. There was no question that they could hold the castle for a long while if they were determined to do so; but they knew
that the king was so bold of heart that he would never turn back until he had captured it, even if it took the rest of his life, and that they would surely die. But if they surrendered the castle to him, they need expect no mercy for that. Thus, whichever choice they made seemed doomed, for in either event there was no redress, but only death. Finally they agreed that before daybreak they would steal out of the castle and attack the camp while the knights were still unarmed and sleeping in their beds. Before they would have a chance to awaken, dress, and arm themselves, so many would be killed that this night’s battle would be talked about for ever. Out of desperation the traitors all agreed to this plan, for they had no other hope for their lives. Desperation emboldened them for battle whatever the outcome might be, for they saw no other remedy than death or imprisonment. Such a remedy was not a healthy one, however; nor was there any point in fleeing, for they did not see where they could find safety if they fled, since they were encircled by their enemies and the sea.

  Their council over, they quickly armed and prepared themselves and slipped out through an old postern gate on the north-west side of the castle, since they thought that the camp would least expect them from there. They sallied forth in tight ranks, forming their men into five divisions, in each of which were a good two thousand foot-soldiers, well-armed for battle, and a thousand knights.

  The moon and stars had not shown their light in the heavens that night; but before the soldiers had reached the tents the moon began to rise. I think that it rose earlier than usual in order to confound them, and that God lit up the dark night because He wished to bring them harm and bore them no love; rather, He hated them for the sin by which they were corrupted, for God hates traitors and treason more than any other iniquity. So He commanded the moon to shine because it would confound them. And the moon did confound them by shining on their bright shields, and their helmets too confounded them as they gleamed in the moonlight, because the sentries who had been charged with keeping watch over the camp saw them and cried out through the camp: ‘Get up, knights! Quickly, on your feet! Take your armour and arm yourselves! The traitors are nearly upon us!’

  Throughout the camp the men sprang to their arms; they took pains to arm themselves, as well they should in such a situation. Not even one of them moved off until they had all had time to arm and were on their horses. But even as they were arming themselves, the traitors advanced, eager for battle and hoping to surprise them before they were armed. On five sides they moved up the five divisions of their men: the first division skirted the woods; the second followed the river; the third hid in the woods; the fourth was in a valley; and the fifth division spurred through a crevice in the rock, thinking they would be free to launch a furious attack among the tents. But they did not find the passage undefended or the path free, for the royal troops resisted them, defying them valiantly and reproaching them for their treason. They charged with lance points at the ready, splintering and breaking them, then joined battle with swords. They struck one another, unhorsing their adversaries and knocking them face down upon the ground. They rushed upon each other even more ferociously than preying lions devour whatever they assail. In this first encounter there were heavy losses on both sides, in truth, but there was help for the traitors who defended themselves fiercely and sold their lives dearly. When they could hold out no longer, from four sides they saw their battalions coming to their rescue. But the royal troops rushed upon them as fast as they could spur their steeds; they gave them such blows to their shields that, in addition to the wounded, there were more than five hundred knights unhorsed.

  The Greeks did not spare them at all, and Alexander thought only of acquitting himself well. So in the thickest of the throng he struck a rascal such a blow that his shield and hauberk were not worth a straw in keeping him from being stretched out on to the ground. When he had brought lasting peace to him, Alexander offered his services to another; and they were not wasted or lost, for he served him so furiously that he drove his soul from his body, leaving the hostel without its host. After these two he met a third, a very noble and gracious knight whom he struck through both flanks so deeply that the blood spurted out the other side, and his soul took leave of his body, from which it was expired. He killed many and left many wounded, for like a flashing thunderbolt he swept through all he encountered. No byrnie or shield could save any man he struck with his lance or sword.

  His companions, likewise, showed largesse in the spilling of blood and brains and spent their blows freely. And the king’s troops massacred so many that they broke their ranks and drove them apart like common, disorientated men. So many bodies lay in these fields, and so long had the fighting raged, that long before daybreak the rows of enemy dead were scattered for five leagues along the river.

  Leaving his banner on the field Count Angrés stole away, taking only seven of his men. He rode back towards his castle along a concealed path where he thought no one would see him; but Alexander noticed this and saw him as he left his men, and thought that if he could slip away without anyone knowing it, he would go to challenge them. But before he had reached the valley he saw thirty knights behind him on the path – six Greeks and twenty-four Welshmen – following at a distance to be there if needed. As soon as Alexander saw them, he stopped to wait for them, keeping an eye on the progress of those returning to the castle, until he saw them enter it.

  Then he conceived a very dangerous exploit and astonishing ruse; and when he had it all planned, he rode towards his companions and spoke to them.

  ‘My lords,’ he said, ‘if you want to have my favour, grant me my wish wholly, whether it’s wise or foolhardy.’

  And they all swore that they would never oppose him in anything he chose to do.

  ‘Let us change our colours,’ he said, ‘by taking the shields and lances from the traitors we’ve slain. As we approach the castle the traitors within will think we are their men and, whatever may be our fate, the gates will be opened to us. And do you know what we’ll offer them? God willing, we’ll capture or kill them all. And if a single one of you goes back on his oath, I promise you I will never again cherish him in my heart.’

  They all agreed to his wish, and took shields from the dead and proceeded in their equipment. The men within the castle had mounted to the ramparts and easily recognized the shields; they presumed they were carried by their own men, for they never suspected the deceit that was hidden beneath the shields. The porter opened the gates before them and admitted them inside. He was tricked and deceived because he never spoke to them; and none of them said a word to him, but passed through silent and mute, making a great show of grief by trailing their lances after them and bending low beneath their shields. And so, by feigning great sorrow, they went wherever they wished and soon passed the triple fortifications.

  Within they found such a crowd of men-at-arms and knights with the count that I could not tell you the number. But all were unarmed except the eight who had just returned from the battle, and even they were preparing to remove their armour. But they were in too great a rush, for Alexander and the men who had ridden there against them threw off their disguises, braced themselves in their stirrups, gave rein to their chargers, and attacked and pursued them, striking thirty-one dead before they had even issued a challenge. In great distress the traitors cried out: ‘We’ve been betrayed!’

  But this did not frighten their assailants, who tested their swords on whomever they found unarmed; they even cast such a spell on three men they found still armed that only five of the eight were left.

  Count Angrés charged Calcedor and struck him such a blow upon his golden shield that he knocked him to the ground dead for all to see. Alexander was sorely distressed to see his companion slain. He was nearly beside himself with rage and his blood boiled in anger, but his strength and courage doubled as he struck the count with such ferocity that his lance splintered, for he was eager to avenge his friend’s death if he could. But the count was strong, and a bold and mighty knight: had he n
ot been a wicked traitor, there would have been no finer knight in all the world. In his turn he struck Alexander such a blow that his lance bowed, then splintered and broke. But his shield did not fail him, so the two of them stood their ground, unharmed like boulders, for both were powerful men. Yet because the count was in the wrong he found himself in a perilous position. With their hatred for each other mounting, after having broken their lances they both drew their swords. There would have been no escape had these two mighty champions chosen to continue the fight: it would soon have reached a decisive end for one or the other. But the count did not dare delay when he saw his men, who had been surprised without their armour, lying slain about him. The others pursued them mercilessly, beheading, slashing, and mutilating them, spilling their brains, and calling the count a traitor. Hearing himself accused of treason, the count fled for the shelter of his keep, and his men fled with him. Their enemies accompanied them, pursuing them hotly and not letting a single man they caught up with escape alive; they killed and slaughtered so many that I do not believe more than seven reached safety.

  Once they were inside the keep, they took up positions at the entrance, for the Greeks were pursuing them so closely that they would have rushed in after them, had the way been clear. The traitors defended themselves well, expecting help from their men arming themselves in the town below.

  But on the advice of Nabunal, a very wise Greek, the passage was blocked so that reinforcements could not arrive in time, having already delayed too long out of cowardice or indifference. There was but a single entrance to the upper stronghold; if the Greeks were able to block this opening, they had no need to fear the arrival of any force to harm them. Nabunal urged them to place twenty men at that gate, for it would not be long before men bent on doing them harm would try to launch an attack through it. While the twenty go to hold the gate, the other ten should assault the keep to prevent the count from barricading himself within. Nabunal’s advice was followed: ten men remained to attack the entrance to the keep and twenty went to hold the gate.