May God above defend him from afar!
IN GLORIETTE sat William that day,
With Gilbert too, and Guielin the brave,
740 Beneath a pine, beside Orable’s maids.
He talked at ease, till suddenly there came
A Pagan crowd, to gather round and gaze
Upon the guests and see them face to face!
God help him now, Who bore the Cross’s bane,
Or one of them will seal our hero’s fate!
Behold the knave! His name was Salatrez:
God rack his bones and crack his evil brain!
Count William had held him once in jail
At Nîmes itself, till one night he’d escaped
750 Along a shaft that hid and held him safe
From all pursuit until he’d got away.
He’d sworn revenge on William that day –
And took it now, without the least delay.
He bustled up to Arragon and laid
His lips against his ear and spoke in haste:
“In Mahom’s name, now here’s your chance for fame
And sweet revenge for all the bitter pain
I would have borne at Nîmes if I’d remained!
That haughty Moor, the one with most to say,
760 Is William Bent-Nose himself, the knave!
And by him sits his nephew young and brave!
The one behind, who holds the envoys’ mace,
Is he who fled our jail the other day!
They’ve come disguised to fool you and to take
This noble town for France’s King and Faith!”
“You’re sure of this?” Prince Arragon exclaimed:
“Don’t doubt me, sire!” replied the Moor, “I say
That’s William, who flung me into jail!
He would, I’m sure, have hung me, had the aid
770 Of strong Mahom not helped me to escape!
Today’s the day for William to pay!”
My worthy lords, for love of Him who lay
Upon the Cross, attend as I relate
How William was foiled by Salatrez!
The Pagan seized a cup of wine, inlaid
With finest gold, and threw it in his face.
The contents flew across his brow and bathed
The stain away to showed its proper shade:
A skin as white as summer flowers in May!
780 The Frenchman reeled, his senses in a daze.
His blood arose, then froze inside his veins!
He called, in thought, upon our Saviour’ name:
“Almighty Lord, immortal King of Grace:
In Mary’s womb You took on human shape
To save the souls of mortal men of Faith,
And bore, for us, a life of strife and strain,
Then, on the Cross, a death of pain and shame:
As this is true, forget me not, I pray,
And let me not be beaten down or slain
790 By such a band of heathen hands as they!”
4. How William fought in Gloriette
WHEN ARRAGON could see his man had told
The truth of their identity, he rose
Upon his feet and, facing them, he spoke:
“ Count William! Your name is too well known!
You’ll rue the hour you came across the Rhône!
I’ll see you die in agony, you rogue!
A fort of gold won’t save your brazen bones:
I’ll see you burn! I’ll turn you into smoke
And ashes whipped by every wind that blows!”
800 On hearing this, the fiery Frenchman glowed
And wished he’d gone to Rheims or Louis’ Laon!
Young Guielin could see their chance had flown,
And wrung his hands and tore his hair in woe.
Said William: “Dear God, the Lord of Hope
And Majesty, Who took on mortal mould
In Mary, and Who rescued from the throes
Of death itself St Lazarus, and old
Sir Daniel and Jonah long ago:
Who freed from sin the Magdalen and sowed
810 St Peter’s bones in Nero’s Field at Rome,
And brought St Paul inside the Christian fold,
Who up to then had been its cruellest foe,
But saw the Light upon Damascus road
And followed it henceforward ever bold.
As this is true, as truly we uphold,
Defend us, Lord, from being slain or slowed
By such a swathe of heathen knaves as those!”
He held a staff, a long and solid pole,
And, in a trice, he swung it high and smote
820 Old Salatrez, the villain who’d exposed
His trickery to haughty Arragon.
Count William delivered such a blow
It split his brains and splattered them below:
“Mountjoy!” he cried, “Come on, my gallant souls!”
COUNT WILLIAM set every Pagan roaring,
Except the corpse by Arragon the Warden!
On looking round, our hero saw before him
A mighty log brought in to heat the hallway.
With sweating brow, he swept his way towards it
830 And snatched it up; then swinging it and roaring,
Struck Batamez, who should have been more cautious!
The blow he gave that stupid knave was awesome:
It halved his head and half-a-brain to quarters!
Before his Prince the villain slumped in slaughter!
Then Gilbert swung the heavy mace he sported
At Quarré’s paunch and drove it in so staunchly
That like a spear from front to rear it launched him
And laid him dead against a marble door-post.
“Mountjoy!” he cried, “You gallant pair, go forward!
840 If we must sell our lives inside this fortress,
While yet we may, let’s make them pay a fortune!”
On hearing this, the Prince’s rage was awful:
“Arrest them all!” with ringing voice he ordered:
“By good Mahom, it’s you who’ll be the poorer!
I’ll cast you all beneath our deepest waters,
Or burn your bones and send your ashes soaring!”
“Keep clear of me!” young Guielin retorted,
“For by the saint they seek in Rome I warn you:
A flood of blood will flow before I’m cornered!”
850 He swung a club, his face a mask of warning,
As William, his log in hand, and also
Sir Gilbert with his metal mace, came forward.
What lusty blows those trusty arms afforded:
A dozen Moors were crushed at once to corpses,
And all the rest were so afraid and awe-struck
They fled instead through every door and portal!
Our gallant men locked every gate and doorway,
Then raised the chains upon the tower’s drawbridge.
God help them all, Who bore the Cross’s torment –
860 Sir William, his nephew and the Northman!
All three of them were trapped inside as surely
As rats upon a ship that’s left the shoreline!
Prince Arragon, and his indignant forces,
Without delay began to re-assault them!
THE SARACENS were very proud and fierce:
In hundreds and in thousands they besieged
Rich Gloriette with sharpened darts and spears,
While those inside fought gallantly to heave
Them from the walls to ditches underneath!
870 Fourteen or more were pitched that way, and he
Was luckiest whose neck was broken clean!
On seeing this, the Prince’s temper seethed
And overflowed in anger through his teeth :
With ringing voice his shout became a scream!
“Are you within, Count William, you fiend?”
The Count replied: “My lord, I am indeed!
So help me God, Who bore the Cross’s grief,
By my prowess I’ve found good shelter here!”
SIR WILLIAM, inside of Gloriette,
880 Looked down upon the Saracens and said:
“A curse on me if I’ll conceal my quest!
I journeyed here to spy on you, and yet
My trickery has met with such success
My sheep are in the fold of Gloriette!
If you’re to be our shepherd, tend us well
And you shall get what you deserve, I pledge!”
On hearing this, the Warden almost wept.
In angered pride he cried to all his men:
“My gallant knights, to arms! We’ll strike again!
890 Assault the walls with all your passion’s strength!
The man that takes Count William in check
Shall bear the flag of all my kingdom hence,
And fill his hands from my great treasure-chest!”
On hearing this, his men rejoiced and went
At once in search of arms that pleased them best
To smite the walls and William himself.
On seeing this, the Count forgot his jests
And prayed to God, the Magistrate of men.
SIR WILLIAM lost all his jesting spirit
900 In Gloriette, where now he was imprisoned
With Guielin and noble-hearted Gilbert,
As Pagan rage attacked and racked the building
With thudding spears and shiny, whining wyverns!
On hearing them, his anger almost tripled:
“What now?” he growled at Guielin, grim-visaged:
“We’ll never be in France again, our kingdom,
Nor see again our cousins and our kinsmen,
Unless the Lord is willing to assist us!”
Young Guielin the fair retorted swiftly:
910 “But surely you don’t care, good uncle William?
You journeyed here for love of lovely women –
And there’s the queen of Africa, more willing
And beautiful than any lady living!
So, go and sit beside her, at her pillow,
And place your arms around her lovely figure:
And don’t be shy of hugging her or kissing –
For by the saints besought of pilgrim-sinners,
They’re won’t be one embrace or kiss you give her
That doesn’t cost us twenty mines of silver
920 And doom our peers to years of fierce affliction!”
Said William: “By God, if you continue
To scorn me thus, I swear you’ll drive me witless!”
SIR WILLIAM lost all his jesting ways
In Gloriette, where now he was detained
With Gilbert and young Guielin the brave.
As Pagan might, below, attacked the gates,
Like gallant knights they kept their foe at bay
With any logs or tinder they could aim.
The Pagan queen, who watched the scene, exclaimed:
930 “My northern lords, surrender or be slain!
Their heathen hearts are burning with a hate
That won’t be stopped from rising all this way
And turning you to cinders in its flames!”
On hearing this, our hero roared with rage,
And, running up beneath her bower’s shade,
Addressed the queen with this request for aid:
“For love of God, Who bore the Cross’s bane,
Good Lady, give me armour and a blade!
If I survive, I swear by all the saints
940 That any loan will more than be repaid.”
The Lady wept at this, for pity’s sake,
Then, with a start, swept forward straightaway
Towards a chest she opened up in haste.
She seized at once a coat of burnished mail
And helm of green inlaid with golden plates.
With these in hand, she hurried back and gave
Them to the Count, whose gratitude was great.
He donned the coat and laced the helm in place,
While she herself laid swiftly round his waist
950 King Teebo’s sword, her Pagan husband’s blade
That all before had asked her for in vain –
Like Arragon, her step-son, who had claimed
And clamoured for the weapon every day.
Around his neck a sturdy shield she draped,
That bore in gold a crown and lion’s face.
Then in his hand she laid a spear that trailed
A gonfalon attached by golden nails:
“By God,” he cried, “I’m nobly armed again!
For Jesu’s sake, equip my friends the same!”
960 WHEN GUIELIN saw William so nobly
Equipped and armed, then he alike ran over
To hail the queen and tenderly invoke her:
“My Lady fair, by St Peter the Roman,
Equip me too to face this mortal moment!”
“How young you are!” the lovely Queen bemoaned him:
“If you survive, how bold you’ll be when older!
But you are loathed to death by all our soldiers!”
On saying this, she ran to fetch a hauberk
That Isaac made, a smith from Barcelona.
970 No blade as yet had ever laid it open.
To William’s joy she placed it on his shoulders,
Then laced a helm, engraved at Escalona
To grace the head of Babylon’s first Mogul.
No blade as yet had ever scathed its coating,
Or struck away the smallest gem it boasted.
The sword she girt was Torment of Valsona’s,
Before a thief in Valadonna stole it
And sold it on to Teebo at Vercona.
He paid the rogue a wealth of gold to own it
980 And win a land for Arragon, his oldest.
She girt it on, its fringes overflowing.
Around his neck she laid a shield, and loaned him
A lance whose name was ‘Lady of Valronna’:
Its head was fine, its body firm and golden!
So Gui was armed – and Gilbert followed closely.
In Gloriette the fight was far from over!
SIR WILLIAM, his nephew and the Northman
Were clad in arms and felt much gladder for it!
Sir Gilbert had a sturdy double hauberk
990 And helm of green with panelled reinforcements.
Around his waist they’d laced a cutting sword-blade
And placed a shield, the face of which was quartered.
But just before they found a lance-head for him
The Pagans charged so noisily towards them
They heard them there upon the stairs before them!
Count William attacked their leader Horbee,
While Gilbert ran at Maratan the porter,
And Guielin struck Turfier the warlord.
Not one of them was spared from instant slaughter:
1000 Nielloed spears, on piercing Pagan paunches,
Were split to bits and flew to every corner –
So then our men were forced to draw their sword-blades
And show the wo
rld how well they could employ them!
Count William unleashed his own and launched it
So lustily against a Turkish torso
It split him like an olive branch and sprawled him
In splintered bits upon the floral flooring!
Sir Gilbert met one Gaifier as warmly –
He stroked his head and gaily sent it soaring!
1010 And Gui, he just as dauntlessly came forward:
He thrust his shield and rushed his blade towards them:
And every wound his valour made was mortal!
On seeing this the craven Pagans faltered,
Then turned in fright and took to flight before them!
So then our men chased after them and slaughtered
Some fourteen more, then drove the rest, in torment,
From Gloriette through every Pagan portal!
Our heroes ran to block or lock each doorway,
Then turned a winch inside the royal fortress
1020 Which drew some chains attached and latched securely
On Gloriette to raise its mighty drawbridge.
Prince Arragon was livid when he saw it.
God help them now, Who is the Judge of all men!
COUNT WILLIAM, Sir Gilbert and Sir Gui
The gallant lad, were angry and aggrieved
To see themselves so bitterly besieged.
The Saracens hurled javelins and spears
And smote the walls with mallets made of steel.
Count William’s hot temper burned his cheeks:
1030 “What now,” he cried, “my gallant nephew Gui?
We never shall return to France the sweet,
Or greet again the brothers of our breed!”
But Gui replied: “Don’t waste your breath on me!
By all the saints they seek in Nero’s Field,
I’ll spend my own more meanly ere I’ll yield!”
On saying this, they leapt the steps that reached
The Moors below and struck their helms of green.
They split their chins, they hit their chests and cheeks
Till on the sand they’d landed seventeen –
1040 The luckiest with windpipes severed clean!
A shiver shook the bodies of their peers,
As they arraigned Prince Arragon, their liege:
“Arrange a truce! We’ll never break in here!”
On hearing this, the Warden raged indeed:
“They’ll pay for this!” he swore upon his creed.
THE WARDEN SAW his Pagans hanging back.
With ringing voice he hollered this harangue:
Heroines of the French Epic Page 5