The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

by Peter Ackroyd

  Three hours after Palamon had set out for the temple, the bright sun began its pilgrimage across the sky. Whereupon Emily rose, too, and hastened to the temple of Diana. Her maidens escorted her, bearing the sacred fire, the incense and the vestments that would be used in the ritual sacrifice. The drinking horns were filled to the brim with mead, as was the custom; they had everything they needed for the holy ceremony. Emily washed herself in the water of a holy well before sprinkling the temple with incense; then she, of the gentle heart, robed herself modestly. I dare not tell you how she performed the sacred rites, except in the most general terms -

  ‘What can be forbidden?’ the Monk asked him. ‘Those days are past. The pagan night is over.’

  ‘Tell us all,’ the Reeve urged him. ‘It will entertain us.’

  ‘It can do no harm,’ the Miller said. ‘Not if you mean well. We must be free and easy in this company.’

  ‘If you permit me, then so will it be.’

  Emily’s bright hair was loose, combed behind her back. Upon her head was set a coronet twined from the leaves of the evergreen oak, sacred to Zeus. First she kindled two fires upon the altar, and then performed the ritual as it is outlined in the Thebaid of Statius and other ancient authorities. When the fires were fully lit she kneeled before the statue of Diana, and prayed to her.

  ‘Oh chaste goddess of the green woods,’ she murmured, ‘to whom all things of heaven and earth are visible, queen of Plato’s dark dominions, goddess of innocent maidens – you have seen into my heart for many years. You know my desire. I hope I never shall incur your wrath and vengeance, as Actaeon did when he was turned into a stag. But you understand, great goddess, that I seek only to remain a virgin. I never wish to be a mistress or a wife. I am a part of your order of maidens, devoted to hunting and not to love. I long to walk in the wild woods, never to marry and never to bear children. I have never wished to lie with any man. So help me now. As goddess of the chase, the moon and the underworld, cast your triune grace upon me. Cure Palamon, and also Arcite, of their passion for me. Restore love and peace between them, and turn their hearts away from me. Let all the flames of burning love and hot desire be quenched. Assuage their violent torment and put out their fire. Or, at the very least, send them other loves. But if you will not vouchsafe this favour to me, and if my destiny will not be as I wish, then I ask you this. If I must have Arcite or Palamon, grant me the one who loves me best. Yet let it not come to that. Behold, goddess of chaste purity, one who kneels before you weeping bitter tears. Since you are maid and preserver of us all, I pray you keep my maidenhead intact. As a virgin, I will serve you all my life.’

  The bright flames lit up the altar, while Emily kneeled in prayer. But then to her amazement one of the fires was suddenly extinguished, only to flare up again; after that the other fire went out and, as it died away, there came a great crackling and roaring as of wet branches burning in a heap. From each of the branches of the fire there now dripped blood, drop upon drop falling to the floor of the temple. Emily was confused and terribly alarmed. What was this? In her fear she cried out like a mad woman. She broke down and wept. But at that moment she had a vision of Diana. The apparition of the goddess stood before her, with hunter’s bow in hand, and spoke thus.

  ‘Daughter, cast off your melancholy. The gods have decreed, and by eternal oath confirmed, that you must be wedded to one of these two noble knights who have suffered so much on your behalf. I may not tell you which of them. But one of them will be your lawful husband. Farewell. I must leave you now. But I can tell you this. The fires now burning on my altar have been a sign to you. You have seen your destiny.’ Then the figure of Diana vanished, with the rattling of her arrows in the quiver.

  Emily was amazed at this sudden vision. ‘I do not know what the goddess meant,’ she said. ‘But, Diana, I put myself under your protection. Dispose of me as you will.’ Thereupon she left the holy place and returned to the palace. There I will leave her.

  The hour after this, in the planetary hour of Mars, Arcite walked to the temple of the god where he would make his sacrifice. He performed all of the sacred rites and then, with passion and devotion, he prayed to the god of battle.

  ‘Oh powerful god, who holds dominion in the freezing land of Thrace – who holds the outcome of all wars, in all countries and kingdoms, in your hands – oh lord of all the fortunes of war – accept my sacrifice and hear my plea. If my youth deserves your sympathy, and if my strength is sufficient to serve you as one of your followers, I entreat you to have pity on my pain. You suffered the same anguish, the same hot flame of desire, when you took as your paramour the fair, young and fresh Venus. You possessed her at your will. Of course there was the occasion when lame Vulcan caught you in his net, just as you were lying with his wife, but let that pass. For the sake of all the pain you suffered, have pity upon my agonies. I am young and ignorant, as you know, but I believe that I am wounded by love more sorely than any other man in the wide world. Emily, the cause of all my woe, does not care whether I sink or swim. I know well enough that I must win her in the tournament before she will have mercy on me; I know well, too, that I will need your help and grace before I assay my strength. So assist me, lord, in the battle tomorrow. For the sake of the fire that once burned you, and for the sake of the fire that now burns me, ordain that the victory tomorrow will be mine. Let my portion be the labour, so that yours may be the glory. I will honour your sacred temple before any other place on earth. I will strive for your delight in all the arts and crafts of war. I will hang my banners, and all the arms of my company, above this hallowed altar. Here, too, I will light an everlasting flame where I will worship to the day of my death. And I make this vow to you. I will cut off my hair and beard, that have never yet felt the blade or razor, and offer them as a sacrifice to your might. I will be your true servant for the rest of my life. Now, great god, have pity on my sorrow. Grant me the victory. I ask no more.’

  When Arcite had finished his prayer, the rings that hung upon the doors of the temple began to shake; the doors themselves trembled with some unearthly power. And Arcite became afraid. The fires upon the altar flared up, and the whole temple was filled with brightness. A sweet scent issued from the ground, and wafted through the trembling air. Arcite raised his hand and sprinkled more incense upon the flame. When he had finished all the rites of worship, he waited with head bowed. The statue of Mars began to move, and the god’s coat of arms rattled. There was a sound as of low murmuring, and one word was whispered. ‘Victory!’ Arcite rejoiced and, having paid homage to Mars, returned to his lodgings with high hopes for the coming battle. He was as exultant as a lark ascending.

  Yet now, as a result of these events upon the earth, there sprang up strife among the gods above. Venus and Mars were opposed, the goddess of love against the god of war. Jupiter attempted to resolve their dispute, but it was really Saturn who restored their harmony. Saturn is the pale and cold god, but he was experienced in all the foibles and adventures of the other divinities. He knew how to bring unity to the chambers of heaven. Age has its advantages, after all. It is a sign of wisdom and of long practice. You can outrun the old, but you cannot outwit them. It may not be in the nature of Saturn to quell strife and dispel terror, yet on this occasion he found the means to satisfy both parties.

  ‘Venus, my granddaughter,’ he said. ‘My wide orbit extends much further than humankind can understand. Mine is the drowning in the dark sea. The prisoner in the dark cell is also mine. I am the lord of strangling and of hanging by the throat. I am the leader of revolt and rebellion. I provoke the loud groaning. I administer the secret poison. When I am in the sign of Leo, then I deal out vengeance and punishment. I stand in triumph above the ruined halls. I throw the walls down on masons and on carpenters. I slew Sampson as he shook the pillar. I am the master of shivering ague. I direct the treasons and the secret plots. I smile upon pestilence. So listen to me now. Weep no more. I will look after you. Your knight, Palamon, will win the lady
just as you have promised to him. Mars will in turn help Arcite and save his honour. Nevertheless there must now be peace between the two of you. I know that you have different temperaments, and that as a result there is division between you, but enough of strife. I am your grandfather. I am ready, and willing, to help you. Dry your eyes.’ So spoke dread Saturn.

  Now I will leave the gods in heaven, and return to the events of earth. It is time for the tournament. Of arms, and the men, I sing.

  PART FOUR

  The festivities that day in Athens were glorious. The vigour of May entered every person, so that all were bold and playful. They danced and jousted all that Monday, or spent the day in the service of Venus. The night was for rest. All were eager to rise early and to witness the great fight. On that morning there was a great bustle and noise, in the inns and lodgings, as the horses and the suits of armour were prepared for the battle. The knights and the companies of nobles, mounted on stallions and fine steeds, rode out to the palace. If you had been there, you would have seen armour so ornate and so exotic that it seemed to be spun out of gold and steel. The spears, the head-armour, and the horse-armour, glittered in the morning sun while the golden mail and coats of arms glowed in the throng. In the saddle were lords wearing richly decorated robes, followed by the knights of their retinue and their squires; the squires themselves were busy fastening the heads to the shafts of the spears, buckling up the helmets and fitting the shields with leather straps. This was no time to be idle. The horses were foaming and champing on their golden bridles. The armourers were running here and there with file and hammer. There were yeomen in procession, and also many of the common people with thick staffs in their hands. All of them rode, or marched, to the notes of pipes, trumpets, bugles and kettledrums blaring out the sound of battle.

  In the palace there were small groups of people in excited debate, all of them discussing the merits of the Theban knights. One had an opinion, which another contradicted. One said this, another said that. Some supported the knight with the black beard, while others commended the bald fellow. Yet others gave the palm to the knight with the shaggy hair. ‘I tell you this,’ one courtier said, ‘he looks like a fighter. That axe of his must weight twenty pounds at least.’ ‘Never!’ So, long after the sun had risen, the halls rang with gossip and speculation.

  The noble lord, Theseus, had already been woken by the music of minstrels and by the noise of the crowd. Yet he remained in the privy chambers of his palace until Palamon and Arcite, equally honoured guests, were brought into the courtyard. Theseus appeared at a great window, where he sat in state as if he were a god enthroned. The crowd of people were allowed to enter, and pressed forward to see him and to do him reverence. They were also curious to hear what he had decided to say. So they grew silent when the herald called out, ‘Oye! Oye!’ When they were quite still, he proceeded to read out the duke’s decree. ‘The lord, Theseus,’ he said, ‘revolving the matter of this tournament in his noble mind, and deeming it little better than folly to risk the lives of these noble knights in mortal struggle, whereupon, what with one thing and another, with the intent that none of them shall die, he has changed his original plan. No man, therefore, on pain of his life, will bring any arrow or axe or knife into the jousts. No one will carry, or cause to be carried, or draw, or cause to be drawn, any short sword; no such weapon will be allowed. Only one charge will be allowed with a sharp spear against an opponent. If on foot, the combatant is allowed to thrust in self-defence. If by mischance he is taken, he is not to be slain but marched under guard to a post that will be set up on either side. There he must stay. If either Palamon or Arcite is captured, or if one of them dies, then the tournament comes to an end. God speed to all the fighters. Go forth now, and smite hard! Good luck with your maces and your long swords. Make your way to the list. This is the will of noble Theseus.’

  The people cried aloud with one voice, and their approbation reached the gates of heaven. ‘God bless you, great lord! In your goodness of heart, you are not willing to shed noble blood!’ Then, as the trumpets blew and the drums began to beat, the whole company made its way to the amphitheatre of stone. The people of Athens proceeded according to their rank, through a city decked in cloth of gold. Leading them was Theseus himself, with Palamon and Arcite riding on either side; after him rode his queen, Hippolita, and fair Emily herself, while all the rest followed. It was not yet nine o’clock when they arrived at the lists, but Theseus took his seat of state. When he was enthroned in majesty, Hippolita and Emily sat in their appointed places. Then all the others took their seats. They looked towards the western gate of Mars where Arcite, with a banner of red, entered with his hundred knights. At the same moment, through the eastern gate dedicated to Venus, Palamon rode out with his retinue; he had unfurled a banner of white, and carried it with spirit and dedication. There could not have been two sets of troops in the world who were so evenly matched in every respect, in courage, in nobility, and in age; they rode in two ranks, like beside like. When their names were called, to confirm their number, each one answered in turn. There was no attempt at treachery. After the muster was taken the gates were shut, and the cry rang out – ‘Knights, fulfil your duty!’ Then, as the trumpets blared, the heralds withdrew. The battle was set to begin on both sides.

  In go the spears, held firmly for attack; in go the spurs, piercing the flanks of the horses. These were plainly men who could joust and ride. The shivering shafts then fell against the sturdy shields. One rider feels the thrust against his breastbone. The spears spring up, some twenty feet in height; the gleaming swords are raised, as bright as silver. The helmets of the knights are smashed to smithereens. BLOOD BUBBLES. BONES BREAK. BREASTS BURST. One knight hurls himself through the thickest of the throng. One steed stumbles, and down come horse and rider, rolling under foot. Another knight stands his ground and fights with his spear, sending his opponent tumbling. Here is one wounded and taken; despite his protests he is led to the pillar of defeat, where he must remain for the duration of the tournament. Another fallen knight is escorted to the other side. From time to time Theseus ordains a pause, so that the knights may rest and with drink or other cordials refresh themselves.

  There were many occasions when the two Thebans, Palamon and Arcite, were engaged in single combat; they scarred and slashed one another, and were both unhorsed. There is no tiger in the woods of Greece, her whelp stolen by a hyena, who was more savage than Arcite stalking his foe. The Moroccan lion, hunted down and weak from hunger, was not more fierce than Palamon against his enemy in love. Enraged with jealousy they struck each other hard; their blood ran in streams upon the earth. Yet there is an end to everything. Before the day drew to a close the strong king, Emetreus, managed to get hold of Palamon while he was fighting Arcite; he plunged his sword into his flesh and with twenty men dragged him to the stake. Immediately the great king, Lycurgus, rode to the rescue of his champion, but he was knocked from his horse; Emetreus himself was wounded by Palamon, who, refusing to yield, had struck out at him with his sword and dislodged him from his saddle. Yet it was all for nothing. He was taken struggling to the stake. His brave heart could not assist him now. As the rules of Theseus had stated, he was obliged to remain where he was. He had been defeated. He was bowed in sorrow, knowing well enough that he could not fight again. When Theseus witnessed all this he cried out to the knights left in the field, ‘No more! The fighting is over! I can now give my just and proper decision. Arcite of Thebes has gained the hand of Emily. He has won her in a fair contest. Fortune is on his side.’ The people then exclaimed with joy, in cries and shouts so loud that it seemed the lists themselves might fall.

  What can fair Venus, patron of Palamon, do now? What can she say? Of course, as women will, she broke down in tears. She wept at the thwarting of her will. ‘I am disgraced,’ she said. ‘I have been put to shame.’

  ‘Wait,’ Saturn told her. ‘Be calm. Mars has had his wish fulfilled, and his knight has gained the victory. But trust me.
Your heart will soon be eased.’

  Together they looked down upon the scene on earth, as the trumpets blared out and the heralds joyfully declared that Arcite had triumphed over Palamon. But do not join the general clamour. Listen to me first. I will relate to you a miracle. Fierce Arcite had removed his helmet so that the crowd might see his face. He rode in triumph on his charger, around the course, looking up at Emily. She returned his look with an affectionate glance, indicating to everyone that fortune’s favourite was also her own. It seemed to Arcite that his heart might burst with love and tenderness.

  But then something happened. A hellborn fury rose up from the ground, despatched from the dark world by Pluto at the request of Saturn. The horse started with fright at the apparition, reared up and then fell on its side. Before Arcite could leap from his saddle he was thrown off and pitched headlong on to the ground. He lay there as if he were already dead, his chest shattered by his own bow; the blood ran into his face, so that it seemed to turn black. Immediately he was taken up and carried to the palace of Theseus. He was cut out of his armour and gently laid in a bed. He was still alive and conscious, crying out all the time for Emily.

  Meanwhile Duke Theseus returned to Athens with all of his company; he travelled in ceremonial state, and in festive guise, since he did not wish to dishearten the people by dwelling on the accident. It was widely reported that Arcite was not in danger of death, and that he would soon recover from his wounds. There was another reason for celebration, too, since not one of the combatants had been slain in the tournament. There were many who were badly injured, especially one whose breastbone was broken by a spear, but no one had died. Some of the knights had sweet-smelling ointment for their wounds, while others had magical charms to work on broken limbs and broken heads. Many of the fighters could be seen gulping down the fermentation of herbs, even sage, in order to heal themselves. Sage is good for convulsions. Hence the saying, ‘Why should a man die when sage grows in the garden?’